The Paws That Taught Me Empathy
Parents contact me when their family dog dies. I can tell they’re worried sick about their child and if it’s disrupting class for the day. If you’re a parent reading this, and you’ve told your child’s teacher about a family pet passing away and have not received immediate compassion from the teacher, this is a major red flag! That’s not to say that the teacher shouldn’t be given grace. Your statement might’ve reminded the teacher about three other students who recently lost a family pet; they may be thinking about their own pet; they may have been told worse news just the moment before and can’t process it all; or they may hear Johnny from 50 feet away start the “cheese touch” and all they can think about it is stopping that before it disrupts class.
I remember a student I had that first fall of Covid. I remember how excited this family was to tell me about their puppy. Her name was Rosie. I even got to meet her. I remember that day: it was the fall of our Covid year. We were masked all the time, there were outbreaks in preschool, at daycares, etc. There was so much shifting around but I made sure I had an upbeat attitude for the kids. If I could show them that their mindset can completely shift their experience, I’d be teaching them a great life skill.
Their oldest son was picked up across the bus line and I wanted to walk him across to his dad and brother (and Rosie) because, well, he’s 7 years old and I want to keep him safe. Immediately, the father introduced me to Rosie and the two boys began playing with her. I heard him say, “How was your day?” And I waited to hear what their son had to say (I’m always interested in hearing my students’ honest perspective of how their day was). The son said nothing. I smiled because he was enjoying Rosie playing so much. It was an honest moment of happiness that I could see in his eyes and it made me miss his smile covered by his mask. I was proud of him for not pulling the mask off right when he walked out the school doors. “These parents do such a nice job with their kids,” I remember thinking. Then I realized…the boy never answered about his day. The father repeated, “How was your day?” and I looked at the boy again. “Mrs. Duwe…..? How was your day?”
Oh my gosh, he was talking to me. I was so surprised, I apologized for not realizing he was speaking to me. I told him it was a good day. His reply, “Are you sure? It’s a really stressful time in the world, especially for teachers. Are you sure you’re doing ok?” What a thoughtful thing to say. I immediately felt seen. My eyes must look dead inside was my only thought after I got past how thoughtful of a question it was.
Then, their youngest child was in my class and Rosie got suddenly sick and they had to put her down. Their son came to school and told me about Rosie being sick. It must’ve been around the time of the holidays because I remember the boy talking about gifts being put under the tree and there being messes for his parents to clean up. The boy giggled at the thought of dog poop because, well, because he’s seven. But immediately became serious again at the realization this dog was very ill. I paused before I reacted because I was trying to see if the boy was going to giggle and the conversation become light-hearted or was he going to tear up and a different seven year old read the situation wrong and start giggling at the mention of dog poop.
Instead, my class paused, too. I don’t know for how long. Long enough for me to notice they were quiet, trying to read his reaction as well. I realized the pause was for empathy. Most seven year olds are going to connect with dog poop being funny, and seeing their parents angry, maybe let a few curse words slip, too. Other seven year olds are going to connect with the feelings of a pet being sick or possibly passing away. Either way, their pause is for empathy. I can tell. I’m so impressed by them and this social skill we’ve been working on that I try to think of the next progression of that skill–articulating it to others? I don’t know, I’m assuming some sort of verbalizing to model identifying it. I’m over analyzing this so I might lose this teachable moment to giggles about dog poop.
“I have empathy for you,” I managed to say. “The thought of talking about dog poop in class is kind of silly and yet I’m really sorry you have to experience your pet being sick. I hope the vet can make her feel better.” This sparked others to blurt out: Yeah, I have empathy for you, too. So awesome to hear. There’s nothing that takes away that slight edge of annoyance from a blurt than blurting out “I have empathy for you.” Such a powerful thing to hear from a group of kids, especially when they’re genuine. I wanted to record it. How can I record a sensation in my classroom?
I told him that I had memories of Rosie and I’d love to share them with him sometime. He lit up and couldn’t believe that I even knew what person he adopted her from. I was hoping that every student in my class learned about two things that day: the power of empathy and a healthy coping skill of sharing memories about a loved one.
I remember thinking about telling the family about this “full circle” moment for me but also remembered that I am working on boundaries and that is a very personal story to tell parents who probably have many more important things to worry about than if their son’s first-grade teacher remembered their family dog. But as I type this and as I’ve gotten to know them, I think they would appreciate knowing this story. I hope they’re reading this. If they’re not, I make a mental note to tell them but not be too weird about it.
