Teacher's 'opus moment': chance meeting with once-troubled student
Editor’s note: In the first of an occasional series, Arlington Heights special education resource teacher Suzanne Quick writes on her 34 years of teaching, a career from which she’ll be retiring in May.
By Suzanne Quick
Special to the Daily Herald
Looking back on my 34 years as a special-education teacher, I had an occasion to wonder if I had made the right career choice.
While on a commuter train this summer, I witnessed a small but poignant interaction that confirmed it was a good choice.
It was a scene so tender, even my normally oblivious husband noticed: A man in his 30s was holding an infant, his arms a protective cradle, his fingers gently stroking the baby's hair. His expression was one of love and adoration.
The man looked familiar, and a few hours later I reached out to him on social media. He confirmed it was him, and we exchanged a few messages. Now working and supporting a loving family, this once deeply troubled kid had created a happy life for his wife and children.
During my early years at Greenbrier Elementary School in Arlington Heights, he was my student - a child who had been removed from his home by the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services. He had experienced a level of deprivation that was too sad to think about. Even his basic human needs of food, shelter and love had not been met. He didn't know how to trust. He had learning issues and was understandably angry.
He needed to learn that he had value as a person, that there were people who cared about him and could guide him. This is when our special education team and other administrators came into play.
We all worked on providing a safe, highly structured environment that would let him know we were there for him no matter what. Academics were second to his emotional health. He was able to have snacks and take naps when needed. We taught him strategies to not only handle his anger in appropriate ways, but how to know what the triggers were and what to do when those arose. Drawing, and talking about the pictures he drew, seemed to be a window into his pain and a pathway to healing.
Eventually, his outbursts reduced in intensity, and he started expressing his feelings instead of resorting to physical aggression. Most importantly, he began to develop relationships with students and teachers. He'd do so with some tall tales, such as telling us that he went to Disney World every weekend. In the beginning, he insisted this was true, and no amount of coaxing could get him to change his story. I knew we were making progress when finally I asked him if going to Disney really happened or was that something he hoped would happen.
He sighed, gave me a little smile and said, "OK. I guess I would really like it to be true!"
That was about 30 years ago. In nine months, I'll "graduate," giving up a life of standardized tests, dry erase markers and schedules, and replacing it with beach chairs, sun tan lotion and novels. How did it happen so quickly?
It seems as if it was just last year when I walked into my first class at Greenbrier School. Well-mentored there, both by staff and students, I remained for four years until the program moved to Ivy Hill School. After four years and a new baby I landed for the remainder of my years at Olive School. It has come full circle, as I have not only taught children of former students but have also had the pleasure of working with my first principal's grandchildren.
This career has never been as much about content and curriculum as it has been about the individual students. Teaching has never been a job for me, but a passion and an identity.
In the movie "Mr. Holland's Opus," the musical score of his life was not the notes on the page, but the returning students whose lives he touched.
And when I saw, on that commuter train, my challenged student, who had triumphed over every obstacle and breaking a cycle of neglect and abuse, words could not express how proud I was of him for all that he had accomplished.
That was my opus moment, validating the decision I made 35 years ago to go into education.
No amount of money, power or fame can hold a candle to such a reward.