The Power of Labels

I think my mother has only lied once in her life.  And that lie proved to be life-changing.  You see, when my mother was a child her life was less than ideal.  Having to change her last name five times in elementary school due to the five new “fathers” that came in to her life was just the tip of the iceberg.  Home was a place of fear and survival- a place where “I love you” was only heard if it was coming from the TV set.  I’m sure even as her daughter, I only know the bits and pieces of her life that my mom thought I could handle.

For my mom, school was a dream world. When she walked in the doors to her school, no one knew that Vicki came from a scary world- a world she was ashamed of and felt deep down she was better than. And that is why she told her lie. Quite innocently, and without foresight about the weight her lie held, my mom told her teachers that her real name was Victoria (which it wasn’t) . . . because Victoria was a queen.  Nothing could be further from my mother’s reality than the life of a queen.  So, at school my mother was “Victoria,” and the teachers took the bait.

She acted the part.  She was prim and proper, completed all of her work, and the label stuck.  Basking in the joys of the imaginary world she created and addicted to the stability and pride she felt, she kept up the charade- always keeping her dark reality a secret, even to her best friends.  But slowly, what started as a lie became her new identity, and she graduated at the top of her class.  And although she now goes by Vicki, she carried herself as a Victoria later in her professional and family life as well.  She was “that mom.”  You know the one- the mom who looks at you sideways when you bring home an A- suggesting, “YOUR best is better.”  Her high expectations never wavered, and the only thing that trumped her expectations was her obsessive and unwavering love for her family.  My mom’s new label was so powerful and believable that she went on to create her own business, one that like my mom, broke the mold in its industry. Some might even say that it has allowed her to live the life of a queen.

When I was a teenager I overheard a conversation between my mom and a friend of hers that has never left me. Her friend had naively muttered something about how “all kids experiment with alcohol or drugs at some point.”  My mom, usually diplomatic, spoke with assertion:  “What an insult to our children,” she began.  “To assume our children are not smart enough or capable enough or strong enough to make good choices is simply dooming them to fail.  Our children most certainly can choose the life they want, and as the people that are supposed to love them most in this world, it is our duty to EXPECT that they do.”

That conversation resonated with me. As a teacher I am profoundly aware of the role that labels play in my students’ education.  Last spring I was having a conversation with a coworker of mine about what this year’s homework would look like. I am looping with some students and was attempting to make an excuse as to why I would need to modify homework expectations for a student of mine who not only lacks parent support but often does not have a bed to sleep in at night.  My teammate called me out.  He said, “For those students in particular, it is even more important that our expectations do not waver . . . for him or his parents.” 

He was so right.  We get connected, know how hard life is for some of our students, and feel it is our job to lighten the load.  But in doing so we are setting them up for failure.  Sometimes as teachers we allow labels to serve as excuses for what seems insurmountable.  It isn’t that that student of mine is incapable of learning responsibility, but rather it is just so overwhelming and plain old HARD for me to help him reach that goal, especially with everything this profession piles on our plates.

It is all too easy to succumb to labels.  If a child is on an IEP or in special education, we may tell ourselves that she is being serviced by a pull-out program . . . (someone else-the “system”--is taking care of it) to justify our inaction in the daunting task of helping her succeed.  If a child has a bad attitude about school and seems apathetic, it is easy to say to ourselves, “Well no wonder- look at his family life.  He was doomed from the beginning . . . poor guy.”  We pity these students for one reason alone: Because it is easier to pity their reality than to change their fate.

But just like my mother said, when we spend more time feeling bad for these students and justifying their lack of progress than helping them to create a new path, we are insulting them. We are essentially saying to students as young as six and seven, “Bummer- you have been dealt a hard hand, so hard in fact that the thought of how to help you overcome it is so overwhelming that I don’t know where to start. Thank God you are labeled “special education,” or “emotionally disturbed,” or (fill in the blank) because if you weren’t I would feel too much responsibility for your education.”  Thank God my mom was such a good liar.

Labels are so powerful.  Everywhere in society we can see the benefits as well as the repercussions of labels that have stuck.  BUT, it is in our hands to change them.  Not only is it in our hands, but it is our responsibility.  If we don’t take on that responsibility then we are insulting every student who walks through our doors. How often do our actions and words brand our students?  How often do they create writers, scientists, drug users, or drop-outs?  How many of our students walk through our doors as Vicki’s wishing they were Victoria’s?

It is my belief that good teachers lie and lie often. They whisper to students,  "I can tell you are destined for greatness". . .  “I have never met a greater writer in my life.” . . . “You are one of my favorite students of all time.”  Lies, lies, lies . . . or are they?  After a while, we start believing our own lies.  And they do too.  For, they are not really lies at all.  They are declarations of our students’ true identities . . . affirmations that we as their teachers can see beyond their labels . . . invitations to become the people they wish to be.   Just as my mother, lost and scared, could declare herself a “Victoria,” we too can declare our students scholars before the path unfolds.  So, we get in our student’s face- the one in the wheelchair- and demand an explanation for the A- and love him (and lie to him) until he gets there. We demand excellence and respect from our emotionally disturbed student- the one who was in foster care after being abandoned by his drug-addicted mother- telling him that we do so because he is different from the people that surround him in his life: he is special, and we are somehow privileged to be let in on the secret of just how great he is.  We hand back papers over and over again with the message, “You can do better.  You are destined to be great.  I BELIEVE in you.”  And we MUST believe they can do it.  We MUST feel responsible to ensure that they do. And the only thing that should trump our expectations is our obsessive and unwavering love for our students.

In all aspects of our educations system we need to assign new labels. How do we label parents, school board members, maintenance, ED assistants, and administrators?  And how do they label us?  If we changed labels across our district and organization, would our district or organization rise to meet those expectations?

I have had some great bosses who lied to me too.  With one finger on my less-than-ideal test scores and a knowing smile that I couldn’t escape, they told me I was great even when I was struggling in an effort to bring that potential for greatness forth. All of us deep down want to be queens (or kings), just as my mother did.  So, I fell for their bait.  I believed their words because I so desperately wanted to matter.

Deep down that’s what it comes down to:  we all want to matter. Our students, our parents, our teaching staff, all of us.  And we will take that label:  “talented student,” “supportive parent,” “great administrator,” “teacher-leader,” IF you are offering it.  What a gift. It makes us feel trusted and capable and willing to give all that we are to this profession and to this world.  Rather than feeling overwhelmed, we feel empowered . . . and we have more to offer than we ever knew.  And a label doesn’t cost a thing.  It is time to start investing.

Changing our students’ fates is no easy task. But, it CAN be done. In this field of work, it is time to start expecting mountains to be moved, by ourselves as well as our students.  Because if we don’t expect it, who will?  So we believe in our lies, believe in our dreams, believe in each other, believe in our kids and their possibilities.  And we tell the loving lies, with our heart’s conviction, that can make all the difference and bring forth the truth that every child can have a future- and we CAN make a difference.

My mother moved mountains.  It can be done. She told a lie- a lie which revealed the deeper truth of who she really was all along- a person of value.  She changed her label.  And that little girl from a scary family has left quite a big footprint on this world.  So big, in fact, that I named my daughter after her:  Gracie Victoria.