Irish Teacher: Kindness between staff and students makes the lack of  resources bearable

The kindness between staff and students is our most powerful, and fierce companion because relationships matter most of all.

The little things?

The little moments?

They aren't little.

Jon Kabat Zinn

I spotted this last week. It sums up, in a smattering of words, what I’d struggle to convey in paragraphs — such is the place of poetry.

It also identifies what’s at the very core of working in a school. The little things school staff do every day, the little things that become big things. Those little seeds of kindness placed, planted, those tiny seeds that take root inside the hearts and minds of young people.

For me, the subject always comes second, because the person, the relationship, always comes first.

I paid more attention to little things in my school this week. There was a lot I noticed.

I noticed how teachers often leaned into one another in the staff room, offered light touches of support, asked after parents and children — asked about weekends, sleep training, nights out.

I noticed how the secretary shrieked when I arrived at reception one morning, jumped out of her skin, half laughing, because she’d seen a spider in the office. I heard the thirteen-year-old child, waiting to be picked up for a dentist appointment, telling her it would all be ok.

I noticed the little moments in lessons, in my own classroom and in the lessons I popped into. Those little moments between the humans in the room, tying everything together, invisible threads like the bindings of a book. Big and open. Full of knowing.

I noticed the seating plan the SNA printed and laminated and placed on my desk to help me and our students. I watched her making sure that everyone was exactly where they needed to be, walking around the group making slight, loving adjustments, encouraging independence. I noticed her smile when students entered, full of warmth and acceptance.

I noticed the message the guidance counsellor has facing everyone when they walk into her small room. “Has anyone told you today how amazing you are? Well, you are.” I allowed the message to get in. I allowed myself to believe it, and I hoped that every student and staff member would believe it too.

Turning a corner one afternoon, I noticed the caretaker walking two students along a corridor, showing them where things needed to go, to make the space better for everyone. I noticed how he showed them, helped them, and taught them too.

I noticed how students behaved around one another. Some quiet and some not so quiet, in clusters, in pairs, alone — happy alone, not isolated, alone because that’s okay too. How they showed one another funny things in the lulls: a silly face drawn on an eraser, their ability to stretch their thumbs back to meet their wrists.

I noticed the students’ effort. The loveliness of necks craned in work. The energy of writing and discussing and wondering — the work being done.

I noticed their struggles and their upsets, and the hard business of navigating being human.

According to Jigsaw, the National Centre for Youth Mental Health, “76% of young people have at least one adult they can talk to when they need support. Having this person in their lives is linked to better overall mental health.”

Every person inside a school building has the potential to be that person. As a country, we see school staff in small terms sometimes, but they have the power to change lives, and in this, the power to change the world.

Kindness between staff and students makes the lack of funding and resources bearable. It is our most powerful, and fierce companion because relationships matter most of all. Relationships aren’t little. Relationships aren’t small. They are all of it.

Opening my eyes widely for even one day in my school reminded me that our human infrastructure is robust and strong. A truly inclusive school is what every child needs and deserves, and that inclusivity is attitudinal, it’s an approach, a way of seeing.

Ultimately, as I understand it, the only answer when it comes to catering for all children lies in our behaviour first. Physical infrastructure matters, and many Irish children and school staff deserve far more than they receive. My school, just one example, is in its seventh year of waiting for a school building.

But this week I’m celebrating the little things that aren’t in fact, little. I know they happen everywhere, in every walk of life, but I’m so grateful to work in a loving, inclusive school where you can’t help but notice the big little things in every face, every exchange, in every tiny, not-so-tiny moment.