I get it--I look like a student

Once upon a time, there was a girl. Actually, she wasn’t a girl -- she was a teacher, but the hall monitors treated her like a girl. Now, this teacher Ms. Oda was aware that she looked young. In fact, if it wasn’t for her faculty badge and a plethora of blazers, she would blend right in with the sea of students as she walked down the hallways. She was ok with looking younger than she was; she had accepted it. What she didn't accept was how the hall monitors treated her. How they patronized Ms. Oda even though she was a professional with a college degree.

She also wasn’t ok with writing in the third person, so she stopped.

It all started at the beginning of the school year. I was starting my third year of teaching, but this was my first year at Copper Hills High. No one knew me yet, and no one was really sure whether I was a teacher or just a dressed up student with an identity crisis. It was my prep period, and I needed to grab something from my car. As I walked to my car outside, a hall monitor approached me, fire gleaming in her eyes.

“Where are you going, honey?” she asked. She may have used a cute name, but the hall monitor’s words dripped with accusation. I looked at her for a split second, confused with why I was being stopped and why the woman’s hand was still on my shoulder.

“Umm, I’m going to my car?” I said, raising my faculty badge for her to see. “I’m a teacher.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she laughed. “I thought you were a student! It’s hard to tell when you’re as old as me."

I’m sure she meant the self-deprecating humor to double as a sincere apology, but it didn’t. The damage was done, and I kind of hated her for it. But let me be clear -- I didn’t choose her as my enemy because she mistook me as a student--that happens on the daily. What bothered me was how I was treated. The hall monitor talked to me like I was a guilty teenager trying to cause trouble. She stopped me with the intent to chastise me.

The next week I was stopped by the other hall monitor. It was before the first bell when I rushed past her to get some copies from the library. Copies for my class. The class that I teach because I’m an effing teacher. I had passed the hall monitor when I hear, “Uh, doll, you can’t wear that bandana.” I turn around and she sees my badge. “Oh, you’re a teacher?” she asked (without embarrassment). “I guess you’ll still have to take off the bandana. It could be a gang symbol.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’ll take it off.” Because I’m a responsible adult. Because I’m not a gangster. That was strike two.

There has been a strike three, four, and will probably continue on to higher numbers, but here is my takeaway: whether you’re an adult, a teacher, a boss, someone’s superior, or any other status of power, don’t treat those “below” you like they’re already guilty of something. Don’t expect the worst, expect the best. Give those teenagers a chance. I didn't mind being mistaken for a student, but I didn’t like how those hall monitors made me feel. I get it--the purpose of their job is to make sure students aren’t skipping class and messing around--but students are still people. And so am I.

I’d like to be treated like one.

Blazer = Teacher
Mirror Selfie = Slightly Embarrassed Millennial