Enough

“That’s enough!” my mother used to tell me and my sisters whenever we crossed the invisible line that separated appropriate behavior from inappropriate behavior. She said it with such finality too that seemed to challenge anyone to defiance. Of course we never did.

The funny thing is that as a teacher I’ve said those words too — to silence a too noisy class or to stop behavior that bordered on rowdiness. And I’ve tried to say it with as much gravitas as my mother did. I guess it worked because some years ago, one talented student made a cartoon of me with eyebrows furrowed and with a caption that said: “ENOUGH!” And underneath it, he wrote: “Ms. Toledo’s ultimate word of finality.” Thinking about it still makes me laugh.

But it also makes me wonder about the invisible lines we set for ourselves and what we do when people cross them. When is enough enough? In my 13 years of teaching, I’ve learned that for the most part, the invisible lines I’ve drawn around myself are not about what students can or cannot cross. The invisible lines are standards that I have set and measured myself against: have I prepared my lessons enough; have I brought enough enthusiasm to the classroom; have I communicated enough positive expectations.  And ultimately: have I loved my students enough?

We educators pride ourselves on measuring standards and learning outcomes. We live in a world of grades, assessments, evaluations and quantities. But there are just some things we cannot measure. And so we must live with approximations. Sometimes, we just have to settle for “similar” instead of “specific,” “faithful” instead of “flawless” and “enough” instead of “exact.”

So when it comes to measuring when I have loved my students “enough,” I have a few invisible standards that I’ve used over the years. Here are a few of them:

I know I’ve loved my students enough when I am no longer afraid to make unpopular choices in order to stand for something right. As a young teacher, I felt this burden to want to be loved by all my students. But then I realized that my job wasn’t about being the most popular teacher. My job was about helping kids make the right choices, even if sometimes those choices brought momentary discomfort.

I know I’ve loved my students enough when I demand nothing less than the best from them. Working with young people can sometimes be overwhelming. And there can be temptations to let mediocrity slide if it means having to deal with one less confrontation or one less rolled eye or teenage angst. Mediocrity might be easy but it doesn’t change lives. And there is certainly no room for mediocrity in authentic love.

I know I’ve loved my students enough when I can learn to let them go. It can be very tempting to hover over students, to make sure they are kept from making mistakes and to insulate them from the world. I have learned that the best thing I can do for them is to train them to take on challenges and risks. I’d like to think that I’m helping raise heroes, not cowards.

Ultimately, I know that I have loved my students enough when I no longer see invisible lines at all, when it’s no longer about loving them enough, and just loving them the best way I know.