I once had a student in Grade 9 who was exceptionally smart. Rob’s* marks didn’t reflect his aptitude at all, not uncommon in high school. I encouraged him, challenged him, worked with his parents and guidance counsellors—in short, I did everything I could think of as his teacher to support him. He barely passed.
Years later, I ran into Rob in the grocery store. He thanked me for my efforts and admitted he had been sabotaging himself back then.
“The summer before high school, my friends and I got a hold of some pot. We smoked up a lot, but I’d stopped by the time school started. Then I had a falling out with my best friend. He told everyone in our grade that I was a druggie. That’s the way everyone treated me. It didn’t matter that he’d smoked as much as me, nor that I had quit. It didn’t matter who I was—or who I wanted to be. I was just the druggie kid, so that’s the part I played.”
Rob played it throughout four years of high school, just barely passing. But when he looked around at his lack of opportunities, he realized he wanted more out of life. He’d gone back to school, improved his grades and was enrolled in a paramedic program, his dream career.
Rob was able to turn his life around, but his story was a stark reminder of how we see each other when we’re in high school. Labels define us, whether we want them to or not. They tell us how we’re viewed by others—and how they expect us to act.
Karen M. McManus’s 2017 YA mystery/suspense bestseller, One of Us Is Lying is a brilliant example of labels, their power and the damage they can inflict. Bronwyn is the brain, so we all know to expect excellence from her, of course. Never a misstep allowed. Nate is a criminal and drug dealer, so we know to expect nothing from him, obviously. Addy is the popular princess, so all beauty, no brains, and Cooper is the jock, all brawn, all the time.
They’re set up in detention by Simon, the loser who tries too hard, and we all know we need to just get away from people like him.
Right?
But obviously no one is any label. We learn how Bronwyn’s perfect life isn’t perfect and how Nate struggles with absent parents. Addy is more than a pretty face and Cooper is what he wants the new definition of an all-American athlete to be.
And we see the incredible amounts of pain Simon suffers from.
Two amazing insights comes from stories like these: 1) We’re not alone. We’re all so much more than the masks we wear at school. We’re all more than the image we portray in the halls.
2) We’re reminded that the people who walk by us every day at school are also more than what we see. It gives us empathy—to recognize we don’t know what’s going on in everyone else’s life, and as such, maybe we can give them a break. Just like we’d like to people to give us one, too.
And then, instead of suffering for years, kids like Rob—and you—can be their full, dynamic selves.
(*not his real name)