Two sides every coin, two legs to every pant, two hands come together to hold, two sides to every story…

I had a moment of awakening the other day.  It seems most of my lessons are coming from the classroom these days, because when I’m not at school, I’m home alone.  No, having a conversation with myself does not constitute as two sides to a story, it merely means I’m just insane.  Further, my cat meowing at me does not equal a conversation either because I don’t think either of us know what is going on.

Anyway, I had the class with the girl the other night.  You know, the one that called me a frog.  I prepped myself all day mentally creating a list of ways to set boundaries, rules and options for disciplining.  I knew I was feeling incredibly defensive and I hadn’t even arrived at school.   The moment they walked into the classroom, I had them sit in new seats.  The kids were upset, and SHE was the most outraged.  I shrugged my shoulders, “Sorry, you have to earn the seat you want.”  She loudly and sharply responded with something in Korean.  You don’t have to understand a language to recognize an aggressive tone.

I immediately noticed a handheld mirror on her desk and a comb.  I smirked to myself, she’s so vain.  While she was taking her test, I saw her primping her hair with her hands.  This girl’s hair is perfectly placed, there are no fly away strands and it sweeps perfectly to the side.  I somehow got her to engage in a conversation about parents and asked for her opinion.

“They’re terrible.  I hate my parents.”

I immediately felt myself soften towards her.  

At break, another teacher came in who is aware of my situation.  He wanted to give her a hard time for having a mirror out.  

He said, “I’m going to take this away.  Why do you have this out?”

Her response, “No teacher!” She stumbled through some words and mumbled, “I have to fix my face.”

“What do you mean?  You know when people see this out, they think you think you’re beautiful.”

“No, no!! Not true! I have to keep fixing my hair.  My face is so ugly and fat.”

He said, “That’s not true…”  I stood their stunned (I might have had my jaw drop).

She turned to him, “You wouldn’t understand.  You don’t know what it’s like to be this age.”

He tried to assuage her, but it’s true.  He’s a boy and it’s impossible for him to relate to a topic of beauty and insecurity.  My world kind of caved at that point and I don’t think it’s necessarily a good thing, but I found myself wanting to give her a hug so badly.  The hard shell, the sharp tongue and demanding words are all ways to protect her ego.  I’m not saying it’s right to be rude or disrespectful, but I can almost understand her pain — because I was there and somedays I still am.

So it seems, we aren’t so different.  We just deal with our insecurities differently.

For me, it was more an awakening about my constant lack of compassion.  I so quickly judge and fail to remember  that there are two sides to every story, to every love, and to every pain.