Dear Teacher Who Made a Whoopsie,
Your lipstick is smudged around to your neck and you could pass as a war refugee with the smeared look of "spent" on your face. At the end of the day, you drop your heavy school bags at the door and fall face down into the brown, leather sectional that will be all yours after sixteen more monthly payments. You're exhausted, but it's Friday and you're still alive. These days that's reason enough to celebrate.
Later this weekend, you might be brave enough to do a deep self-evaluation of the week. If you do, you're probably going to recall a few things you did wrong like eating that Sonic footlong, chili dog with onions or yelling at your kid for leaving his filthy, baseball cleats in the bathtub, again.
I have been the captain of the relentless guilt game more times than I care to count, but through the years, I have adopted a coping strategy that has liberated me from the tyranny of regret. I would like to share it with you, but first I need to tell you a story.
A few years ago my identical twin sister, who is also a teacher and an ESE department head, was forced to have a tough conversation with a substitute teacher who was, how shall I say, "a little off-base," with her instructional practices.
All night my sister tossed and turned trying to think of the most effective way to address the concerns. She decided it would be best to make a list and be direct, but factual. The next day my sister arrived early to rehearse the list. When the substitute teacher walked in 30 minutes late for the third day in a row, my sister was armed and ready. Locked and loaded, she commenced to fire, "Listen. This is not going to work. This is a long term position, and in three days alone, you have been 30 minutes late, left kids unattended, used profanity in the classroom, aired out your dirty laundry to students, and you ate a boy's sandwich."
She waited for the tears to follow. Being in a leadership role for several years, she knew harsh correction was often met with tears, but what she was not expecting was the flippant response that rendered her speechless. The substitute teacher smiled, threw her hands in the air, said "Whoopsie" and went about her business as if she had not just been pulverized.
My sister was flabbergasted. "Whoopsie!" She had no come back for "Whoopsie." There is no negotiating with a "Whoopsie."
Granted that was the substitute teacher's last day, but before she left, she taught us an important lesson. No, we should not set out to make egregious mistakes without accepting responsibility, but we also should not pin ourselves to the burden of perfection. We are people. We make mistakes, and sometimes you just have to say whoopsie and let it go.
We have laughed so many times about "Whoopsie." Our friends and family have now embraced the strategy, and say it with each new mistake.
We've said it so many times our kids are now joining the fun and have made a game out of exaggerated scenarios that add to the humor. "Dad, can I make a Whoopsie?" they will say. A nod of approval, and they are ready to get the laugh. "Today I got your keys, drove into the mailbox, caught your truck on fire, then I made a s'more by the open flame. I forgot to tell you." "Whoopsie!!"
My point is teachers are their own worst critics. They grant so much grace to others but rarely save any for themselves, and that's no way to live. That's no way to learn. I firmly believe schools could be much happier places if every now and again, teachers gave themselves the gift of a whoopsie.
From experience, I know it's tough to take yourself too seriously if you add the word whoopsie to the end of any mistake. Hopefully, your mistakes don't warrant termination, but I will tell you, the bigger the mistake the more comical the "whoopsie." Don't believe me. Try it for yourself.
I'll give you a minute.
....Well??? Did it help?
-CDB