Journal Entry 7

Shahadat Rahman                                                                                                                   English 21003                                                                                                                        Professor Matyakubova                                                                                                                    31 October, 2017                                                                                                                        Journal Entry #7

Being an educator means not only following the cliché of helping students be the best they can be, but also helping students accept who they are. In Brad Cohen’s film “Front of the Class,” Cohen describes the struggles he had growing up with Tourette’s Syndrome: his father didn’t accept him, teachers believed he was simply a disruption, and worst of all everyone believed he was making noises on purpose. Cohen faced these challenges every day of his childhood, and often in adulthood. But still, Cohen decided to become an educator— why? Why pick a career that forces one to speak, and consequently act out, in front of a classroom? His journey began when his middle school principal exposed him for having Tourette’s Syndrome. Cohen’s principal helped explain to the whole school that Cohen had a disability, one which caused him to act uncontrollably. Yet despite Cohen’s disability, he can still do everything everyone else does: he has ambitions, he has fears, and he too hates the noises he makes. After being explained to what Tourette’s is, the student body and teachers accept Cohen along with his Tourette’s. The principal taught Cohen that in order for other people to accept his Tourette’s, it is crucial for Cohen to accept it as well.  This lesson even inspired Cohen to bestow this knowledge to others and become a teacher.

I have a similar experience where a teacher helped me gain my voice. All my life I have been silent: I was the student in the back of the classroom who never spoke, afraid that I would be mocked for being wrong— even when I was right. I have these voices in my head — thoughts constantly nagging me, often driving me to insanity with what only feels like a compulsion to have my ideas be heard. However, for most of my life my mind was the only place these ideas existed, whether it be because fear was impeding me or because I had no idea how to let any of my thoughts free. I was like a bird with clipped wings. For a while I used to think being quiet was a blessing, and in some ways I still do. Those who are silent often have the most to say; they observe and absorb information, amounting pressure until they release the thoughts they hold and bring awe to those who witness them. My AP US History teacher, Ms. Steiker, saw this in me and helped bring my voice to light. Ms. Steiker was notorious for many habits: her harsh grading, the copious amount of work she assigned, and most of all her grueling debates. For every debate, the students chose a position and had to prepare a paper outlining their thesis as well as their claims. The very first debate we had in her class was a Socratic seminar. While everyone argued and spoke their mind, I was the silent observer. Of course, I wasn’t unproductive during this period: with every claim someone made, I had a rebuttal; with every fact someone stated, I made a correction; with every statement someone made, I had a question to cut their argument. But I couldn’t bring myself to say any of it, instead scribbling my thoughts down on the back of my page.  When it was finally my time to speak, I fell silent until she moved on. I had what I wanted to say in front of me, but when I opened my mouth to speak nothing came out. All I could do was put my head down until Ms. Steiker asked the next student to speak. At the end of the Socratic seminar, Ms. Steiker collected all the students’ papers and assigned grades based on participation as well as the written work. While I still had my head down, she came and sat next to me. In short, she gave me my paper — I had gotten an A — and told me that I have a voice and that it shouldn’t be wasted because there are brilliant thoughts in my mind. Not only were my claims interesting and well though-out, but the rebuttals I had written down were clever and some of the refutations  were what she wanted to say as well.

When it came to the second debate I was still nervous, but after embarrassing myself during the first Socratic seminar, I had too much to prove.  As I sat down in my seat, I closed my eyes and let the thoughts in my head take control. This time, when someone spoke I did say my counterargument. Every time I questioned someone, they became afraid to speak due their inability to answer the question. And when it came for me to speak, the entire class fell silent. The arguing subsided as everyone listened to the quiet kid who found his voice. The only way to describe the event was surreal. I was there physically giving the speech, but it was as if my soul had left my body and some divine force took over. I took my audience through a journey, and once it was all over I was shook back to reality by their applause. That day was when I awakened from my dormancy; it was the day my clipped wings grew back and I was finally free.