What makes it all worth it

I have a student, let's call him John, who I've butted heads with since nearly the first day of school. I have John the last hour of the day; he hates English, hates to read and write, and, from what I can tell, disrespects women in particular.

John has made it his goal to disrupt me each day and generally try to wear me down (which isn't hard to do at the end of the day) with his persistent negativity. I've tried to remind myself over and over that students like this are the ones that need love the most, but he makes it very difficult to love. I'd often rather give in to my human nature and be sarcastic and bitter right back.

Back in February, my 6th hour class earned a reward of ice cream sundaes on a Friday. John loudly announced that he wouldn't eat any unless I bought Mint Chocolate Chip. That night when I went to store, I saw a half gallon of Mint Chocolate Chip and decided to try to do something nice, even though I would have much rather picked up another carton of Moosetracks.

The next day, when I took the ice cream out of the bag, I looked over at John and told him that I had honored his request and bought him some ice cream. "Yeah, whatever -- you should have," he scoffed, grabbing his ice cream without a thank you or a smile. I was angry; it seemed that there was no way to reach this student.

Today, on the last day of exams, I asked my students to fill out a couple simple survey questions on the back of their answer sheet. I asked one thing they enjoyed about my class, and one thing they would change, if they could. After grading John's exam, which he failed, I turned the paper over, dreading what critical, rude remark he had left for me. But under the question about what he liked best about the class, it simply said, "Ice cream."

I nearly cried at my desk. Maybe deep down, beneath this tough, angry exterior, John had realized that I really am rooting for him, that my desire was not to torture him everyday. It was a small moment -- but you can bet I'll hold on to that paper with his messy handwriting, a quiet acknowledgment that even when he couldn't show it in class, he did want someone to care.

And next year, when my patience is tested and I just want to turn my back on my most challenging students, I'll remember John and his Mint Chocolate Chip.