Farting made me a better teacher. There—I said it. As odd as that sounds, an incident of public flatulence helped me understand the importance of honest, upfront interactions when building relationships with students.
Back in the day I worked as a counselor in a residential treatment facility. I had quit my job in a law firm to do something real—something meaningful. My new boss figured I’d last a week. Winning her over was hard, but winning over the youth in my care was even harder. Coed Dorm housed boys under the age of eight and girls older than 12. After a strong first day (high ropes course met my fear of heights) I struggled. The youth watched and listened to what I did, what I said, and how I responded to all manners of incidents. These kids had experienced far more than they should have. They each took a different path into the system. Life had dealt them some crappy cards and as a result, they did not trust adults easily. Grownups came and went. Adults said things, made promises, and passed out of their lives as quickly as they came into them. Grownups let them down. So when I arrived in Coed Dorm, they tested me every minute. Maybe I would stay. Maybe I would be just like the other grownups. The 16 clients didn’t bother using my name. They just called me “New Guy.”
I struggled. I earned points for showing up but was in way over my head. In my first weeks as I learned and took things in, I stuck with consistency and respectful conversations. Yet, they still called me “New Guy.” After dinner one summer night while the swamp coolers struggled in the desert heat, I struggled through another shift. I sat on the end room floor during shower/homework time playing cards with a nine-year old boy named PJ. Quick aside—dinner and all food at the facility was atrocious, government surplus stuff that wrecked my digestive system. I mention this for one big reason. While it sucks to lose at Memory to a Keebler elf with ADD, what really sucks is doing so while painfully bloated with an angry stomach preparing to have a gaseous outburst. Warning—I am about to share too much.
I had to fart. I had to hold it. Silent But Deadly it would not be. Hold it. Afraid to move, unable to leave my post, New Guy didn’t want to really embarrass himself. Sitting on the linoleum, with an angry GI tract, on a warm Arizona evening… the pain. My sweaty legs cramped but stuck to the cold floor. I had to move. I couldn’t move. The horror. And then it happened.
Someone yelled at PJ. As I turned to see what was up, the skin on one leg stuck to the floor. My grandfather used to say someone sat on a duck. In this case, there might have been several ducks. The sound echoed and silence fell upon the end room. Eight faces stared at me. How do you respond to that? What do you say? Who knew that this would be my biggest test to date. PJ interrupted the awkward silence to ask,
“Did you fart?”
“Nope, that was my skin sliding on the floor.” Great, like in most situations, my first instinct is to lie.
“No way, you farted!” Giggling began in the corners of the room. Soon, the others joined in…
“New Guy farted! New Guy farted!”
“No! No No, I did not fart!”
It’s cool to tantrum in your twenties, right? And that’s when we entered into the pantheon of schoolyard legal wrangling. I went with the classic, “Whoever smelt it dealt it.” Yes, I was going to blame a nine-year old. That’s when they set the trap.
“It doesn’t smell so that doesn’t work, New Guy.”
They snared me with a pillar of American law: “Whoever denied it, supplied it.” Trapped! What was I supposed to do?
My brain whirled as I tried to figure out a reply. I couldn’t continue to deny and lie. I couldn’t quit. So, I turned to the young faces and came clean. “Ok, I farted. Sorry.” Those four words changed my life. Ok, that’s a bit dramatic. Those four words transformed how I work and interact with kids, and how I teach.
After I came clean an awkward silence fell on the end room. After which, the kids and a co-worker or two burst into laughter. Now, people laugh at me all the time so I know how it feels, but this was different.
“Oh wow, New Guy farted!”
“Man, that was crazy loud…”
“I hate when that happens.”
As they finished laughing (and in one case rolling on the floor) something changed. We talked about farting some. Turns out everyone farts. Turns out everyone fears it happening in public and the ridicule that inevitably comes with such an outburst. Also, we discovered that no one liked the food and that it made everyone feel sick. At some point Lorena, the 16 year-old alpha of the group, mumbled to everyone and no one, “How come grownups just don’t tell us the truth?” Boom. I fumbled and stumbled to reply. She continued, “We know what’s going on. We know more than you think so just tell us.” These kids had experienced a lot and knew when adults avoided hard facts and the truth. They just wanted someone to level with them.
I decided right then to always tell clients and students the truth. Maybe I couldn’t tell them the whole truth, but I would always level with them. I would be honest and upfront with them. Just like with academic material, the truth can be broken down and differentiated for specific individuals and audiences. The truth earns trust. The truth shows respect. As I have said, teaching involves a series of relationships. The core of these relationships consists of trust and respect. In this instance my clients rewarded my vulnerability when I leveled with them. Something changed. Sure this “magical” moment began with a fart, but this fart broke down barriers between individuals, and between staff and clients. Our conversation transcended differences. We found something we all had in common (farts, fear, ridicule, etc.) and something we all wanted (honesty, respect, the truth).
Later at lights out, I made my rounds to flip off lights and finish off the day. As I did bed checks Lorena’s voice called out, “Goodnight, J.” I had earned my name. I trusted and leveled with the group—and they rewarded me with their trust.
In no way am I recommending that teachers fart in front of their class. However, I do suggest leveling with your students. Be honest and trust them. They really do know when you’re snowing them. Building trust and respect is a slow process, but we should always invest in the process. In my five years at this center, the kids taught me many things, and these experiences solidified the foundation of my teaching philosophy and practice. And to think it all started with a fart.