Teachers who think they hold all the power learn the hard way

I have a superpower.

Conversations are often thought to be back-and-forth volleys. But I have the ability to carry out a whole conversation all by myself. Those who know me understand I can talk for an entire day. Assuming I get the chance.

I was a precocious conversationalist, even as a four-year-old girl. 

But what would happen if talkative me ended up next to Andrew, the kid who loves to ignore the rest of the world? Would Andrew be forced to engage his cerebral cortex, or would his silent ways warp my budding intellectual curiosity?

This was a kid to whom the teacher sent plenty of talkers. One by one the class would watch their spark whither and die.

I was tested on a typical day in primary school.

I was seated at a pink desk with one of my friends. As usual, I was narrating about stars, and she was being a very attentive and cooperative partner. Occasionally, she’d contribute, “Yeah! I think so too,” and stuff like that. 

The teacher at the front of the class didn’t quite like what was going on. 

She told us, “Children, this is harming both of you. See, if you don’t listen to the lessons, your attention may be permanently marred.” (Or maybe she was secretly jealous my stories were much more engaging than hers?)

Either way, since we were both at rapt attention, we just couldn’t stop. When my friend asked me how I knew so much, the teacher took action. She demanded me, “Stand up.” All eyes on me. I was marched to the front desk. Forced to sit next to Andrew, the quiet kid. Everyone in primary school knew he wasn’t into people or their squawking habits. 

And now, here are two polar opposite characters sitting side by side at the same pink desk. What would happen? Whose power would be more influential and drag the other person in? 

Team me or Team Andrew? 

I don’t quite remember what happened shortly after I sat down, but I’m assuming I said, “Hi.”

Because the next thing I knew, there were vibrant rainbow crayons and pastel colored pencils all over the desk, and we were soaking them in water and drawing coloured lines on our palms while pretending we were siblings and detectives inspecting a dead family member’s crime scene who turned out to have multi-colored blood! All in the middle of the lesson. 

The teacher shot us a look, sighed, and continued. 

Guess this is what winning feels like.

As days passed, Andrew and I became good friends. I even sat with him voluntarily for a while. I’d crack jokes and plan fun activities during the lessons. Our friendship lasted till he switched schools. 

I never saw him again after. Hopefully, he is doing well, wherever he is. Be it pursuing his life goals or sitting still on the edge of his chair at his detective office, frowning over the curious case of a victim bleeding in rainbow colors!

However, I would say this is one of the times where something seemingly impossible ended up being very possibly workable. All you need to be sometimes is delusional and assume it works and do your thing.