Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella

By Cindy Reitzi,
Madison substitute teacher
June 2001

“Things fall apart. There’s nothing you can do. Let a smile be your umbrella.” – unknown

We have all encountered them: the chronic complainer, the yes buts…, and the terminally negative student. “Reaching” such a student can be more an exercise in dentistry than pedagogy, as the relationship between teacher and student zigzags progressively into the twilight of the school year. By May, you may reach the “don’t-want-to-hear-it-anymore” stage if this condition is not cured earlier in the school year. Mere words, reasoning or cajoling will not encourage this student to be more positive or optimistic. It requires a gesture to make the point. Sometimes it requires a mild version of a senior prank. ...

I like high school seniors. They’ve reached the stage of teen-age social development that is on the cusp of adulthood. They can engage in civil, often intelligent conversation with adults and are usually reasonable. They make eye contact when speaking and can exchange social pleasantries. They don’t become paranoid and assume teachers are members of the Spanish Inquisition gearing up for interrogation when we ask questions like, “How are you?” or “How’s school going?”

They reply, “fine,” or briefly complain that teachers think they have only one class and then we move on to the next fascinating topic.
One year I intermittently subbed for Ms. M. Part of the assignment was “homeroom,” usually a procedural time blip designed to listen to and discuss school news. Even though homeroom was only 20 minutes, Ms. M’s seniors left an impression on me: They were active in school, intelligent, tolerant, and funny. In short, they were very good company. “Tom” was also a senior in this group, although his social skills were not as highly evolved as the others.

Tom was a chronic complainer and he worked hard at it. He’d dedicated himself to a regime of negative training and practiced relentlessly.

The announcements came on the PA. “I hate this school. Why don’t they ever give the baseball scores on the announcements?” Tom hurtled at the speaker. “Maybe that takes too long. Is there some other way you could find out the scores?” I unwisely suggested, trying to be helpful. His nostrils flared and he pouted.

Next, the announcer read off the Lancers of the Month, students and staff who were nominated for community or academic achievement.

“Why can’t I ever get Lancer of the Month?” groused Tom.“What, for your positive attitude?” I attempted, lightheartedly. He frowned even more ruthlessly. I tried again to encourage a positive outlook before I gave up.

“C’mon, Tom, haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘better to light a candle than curse the darkness?’ ”

“I DON’T WANT to light a candle,” Tom erupted. At this outburst, I had to smile. The students smirked and shrugged at me with a tolerant, “that’s just Tom” attitude.

Throughout the year, Tom persisted with griping diatribes, but the distinctive difference between him and other negative students was that Tom never verbally attacked others. He was actually quite likable.

Later in the year, I received a sheet of some smiley face stickers as a free promo in my junk mail. These kitschy remnants of the 70s so delighted me that I vowed to put them to some special use.

At the end of the school year, I gave the stickers to Ms. M. “Give these to Tom,” I smirked. “ Tell him I got them in the mail and thought of him.”

“Perfect,” she laughed.

Later that day, I was walking down the hall and saw one of the seniors with a bright yellow smiley face sticker on his lapel. I pointed and laughed.

“In honor of Tom,” he said in a mock somber tone.
Throughout the day, I recognized other seniors wearing the same sunny, gently-teasing emblems.

“So, what happened?” I finally asked Ms. M.“Well, I gave Tom the stickers and he looked confused. … But the other kids laughed. They got the joke.”