| By Vicki Quinn 
Vicki Quinn is a language arts and drama teacher at
Bay Port High School in Green Bay. She began her teaching
career in September of 2003. | I had to laugh when I opened an e-mail from my Webgrader Inbox that read, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Q. You still look hott!” The message definitely caught my attention, but it’s not what you think; it was not an e-mail from an infatuated student. Instead, it was a sympathetic response to a recent episode that shocked my world and forced me to recognize myself as the polar opposite of hot with two ts. I am not usually materialistic or narcissistic. I never considered my career as one that requires a focus on appearance. But now I know: I actually care about how I look when I teach. Three months ago, I was diagnosed with a bout of Bell’s Palsy, a virus that attacks and temporarily paralyzes one side of the face. I woke up one morning and could barely speak because the right side of my lip drooped downwards, an exact parallel to my self-esteem at that moment. My right eyeball stared wide-open and I had to manually blink it with my hand. I could no longer wear my contacts. I could no longer drink from a glass, bite into a sandwich, or even pronounce words. There were physical effects from the disease such as extreme fatigue and body aches, but the distortion of my face caused me the most grief. I returned to work two days later. Some students didn’t know what to say or how to react. I looked different, but more than that, I had a faded enthusiasm about me. Some students were patient and some were sympathetic. Some brought me flowers, wrote me letters, and wished me well. Some told me that at least I didn’t need a mask for Halloween. For all of these students, I stood at the front of the classroom each morning, attempting to teach iambic pentameter and read Shakespeare (quite the feat for someone who can’t move her lips to speak) when all I wanted to do was crawl back into my bed and hide. It was good for me. If ever there was an episode that could make me stop thinking about what I looked like and start making me think about what I acted like, this was it. Bad hair day? Ugly pants? Who cares? I empathized with the teenager who didn’t fit in and with the handicapped bagger at the grocery store, daring people to stare and hoping they would really see. I noticed more; I paid closer attention. I blocked myself from gossip, from judgment, from pessimism. I opened myself to truth, to understanding, to optimism. It was good for my students. They watched someone perform through an uncomfortable situation. When I couldn’t read because of a dry and wide-open eye, they recited notes for the day, read scenes from the play, and announced homework assignments. They didn’t mind when I took an extra two months to grade their papers. They asked me how I was doing. I think it is rare when a student asks or even pays attention to how teachers feel. This reminded me that students do care about us, more than we realize. Today, I am 99% cured, and most would not even notice the slightly lopsided grin. Each day is a small miracle and I try to appreciate the blink of my eye, the taste of my food, and, of course, an extremely grateful smile. ‘Hott’ is all about the warmth we receive from our colleagues and students. We look good when we teach what we love and love what we teach. Now, stop looking in the mirror and get ready for your day. Return to New Teachers page Posted February 7, 2008 |