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This past weekend my husband and I went for a walk around the lake on a rare 50-degree January day in Wisconsin.  There were a lot of others out enjoying the day too, but I especially noticed a dad, who was watching his toddler daughter play on the jungle gym at the park.  

All too soon, it was time to leave and the daughter was having none of it.  Despite her loud protestations and body slumping -- you know, when your child goes completely limp believing that a noodle body is more difficult to move than a rigid body (and they are right!), -- dad scooped her up and carried her unceremoniously to the car.  We happened to be passing their car as he plopped her into her car seat with her screaming, “Get away from me!  I don’t want you near me, Daddy!”  To which he replied, “Yeah, well, I feel the same way!”  

It hurt me to hear that so I said, “Aww, be nice, Daddy!”  I didn’t hear his exact response but I don’t think I want to.  I finally just kept walking and said, “Remember, she is only young once.” 

As I walked away, I thought that there goes another episode of me sticking my nose in where it does not belong.  However, as the days have gone by, this scene keeps replaying in my head.  At first I wasn’t sure why I was so stuck on that incident but it finally hit me.  In fact, it struck a chord with me that runs deep into my psyche and probably needs a professional to help me figure it out. 

Hearing that daddy speak in a hateful way to his young daughter brought back memories of hurtful words that have been flung at me.  The most damaging probably came from my ninth grade algebra teacher who told me I was stupid in front of the entire class.  I was 14 then and now at Plenty-nine years old and with 20 years of teaching experience, I finally have the courage to teach math.  Did Mr. Alpers know that when he spoke those words to me that they would haunt me for the rest of my life? 

I bet that none of us really gives our words much thought.  We certainly don’t consider how long the effect of what we say will last.  Perhaps, if we are honest, our egotistical side believes that our words of wisdom that we are so quick to spout off and share with even the most unwilling recipient, will make a huge, life-changing impact.  That somehow, our life experience and carefully crafted sentences will be the perfect message delivered to a needy soul. 

But do you ever think about the effect that the words we spend the least amount of time choosing have?  I mean, those words spoken in the heat of a moment that come from the gut.  Words spoken when you are at your most heightened emotional moment?  Words you spit out when you are really ticked off? 

About 10 years ago, I was on the receiving end of such a diatribe of words.  My parents had just returned from their snowbird visit to Arizona.  Traveling with my disabled dad was always difficult but they had experienced an exceptionally bad flight.  My mom was overdone by the time she came in the house.  Several cocktails later did not soften her mood.  

As it was getting time for me to go to bed, I overheard my mother griping to my dad about me and my husband.  Like any good eavesdropper, I listened in from the adjoining room.  BIG MISTAKE!!  I heard my mother call me “white trash” to my dad.  The hurt and pain I felt from that insult cut me to the core.  It wasn’t so much that being called white trash was all that bad, but it was the fact that having your own mother think so poorly of me, her daughter, was inconceivable.  Wasn’t a mom supposed to love me unconditionally?  What had I possibly done that would cause her to feel that way about me?  

Well, all of this has got me thinking about the words I use, the attitude I have, and the way I treat the students in my classroom.  Kids spend the better part of each week in the classroom away from their parents.  For many, the teacher is a parent-like figure to whom they respect and look up to.  And that is a privilege that any teacher must continue to earn in order to keep it. 

So as I continue through the second half of the school year I only have to think of Mr. Alpers when I get frustrated or annoyed at something a student does, so that I will find a way to scale back my thoughts and keep them to myself.  

After all, I don’t want to be one of my students “Mr. Alpers” and haunt their adult brains with messages of negativity and discouragement. 

Margaret Andersen is the mother of three teenagers and is a middle school teacher somewhere in the Midwest.  She is a regular ShareWIK.com columnist. For more Margaret Anderson articles, click here.