Tim was my student. No, in truth, I was his student, for he taught me some of the deepest and important lessons I have learned in my life. Tim was a short boy, with shoulder length, tussled brown hair. He was a loner and his ninth grade teachers and classmates treated him like an outsider. Tim showed little interest in school. He came from a poor family and his clothes showed wear and a lack of washing.

I had a long relationship with Tim. He was stubborn about not following the rules. If there was homework, he ignored it. If there was reading or studying to be done, he usually left it undone. Grades didn’t motivate Tim. Punishment didn’t deter him. School held no interest. Most of us, including myself, I am ashamed to say, treated Tim like a lost cause. We stopped thinking of him as a 14 year old kid with a tough family life; but looked at him as an obstacle to be dealt with, an object to subjected to the rules, punished, to be taught lessons; lessons that he, in defiance, chose not to learn.

I never understood how Tim looked at the world. It was harder to be defiant and stubborn than to “go with the flow”. Whatever work he shirked he eventually ended up having to do. I never let that part slip. I’d make him do it for me after school sitting alone, silently, bent over a blank sheet of paper in my classroom.

“Tim, wouldn’t it be easier if you did this work the first time? You’d get the full credit for it and not have to stay after school. You always end up doing it anyhow.” I asked him half -heartedly. I knew my logic wouldn’t break through his stubborness; and, sure enough, Tim would give me a half smile and shrug his shoulders.

The first lesson Tim taught me was the lesson of the limits of power. The school day was over. He had not read the chapter of Huck Finn that I had assigned the previous night for homework. I seated him in my classroom, gave him a stern lecture and ordered him to read the chapter he had not read for homework. Whenever I lectured him it made me feel good; like I was in control, I felt I had him; he couldn’t hide from me. He couldn’t defy me.

I walked out to the hallway and struck up a conversation with one of my colleagues. I deliberately stayed out in the hall to make Tim feel isolated in his punishment. When I went in to check on him, he was sitting back in his chair, legs outstretched…with…with… the book held publicly and defiantly, upside down. I went ballistic and began to rush toward him in a rage. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there; but I had snapped. He had pushed me too far this time. I felt as if he were slapping me in the face.

I was half way to him, pushing desks and chairs out of my was as I went. He looked up at me just before I reached him. He showed no fear. In fact, his face had a childish grin on. It was a grin that Huckleberry Finn or Tom Sawyer might have flashed during one of their adventures. The grin struck me in a way that disarmed me. It was at once innocent and impish. It was a boy’s grin; a real live, feeling, confused, 14 year old boy.

I stopped in my tracks and for a moment saw the humor in this scene…a red faced , sputtering teacher and this impish 14 year old holding his book upside down. For some strange reason, I saw the humor in the situation and smiled back. The moment that I smiled the two of us saw each other differently, not in our roles of angry teacher and problem student; but as human beings. I could see in his eyes that Tim was just as startled by this strange encounter, this strange feeling, as I was. We were looking at each other as if for the first time.

I broke the connection between us and with a smile, shaking my head said, “Tim, what am I going to do with you?” We both kept smiling. “Go on, Tim. Go home.”

Tim, popped up from his seat, and started towards the door. As he reached the threshold, he turned back for a brief moment. Our eyes met. “Mr. Reilly…”

I didn’t let him finish, “You’re free, Tim. Go on, get out of here!” I motioned as if pushing him away with my arm in feigned exasperation.

He turned and left.

After that day, Tim and I had a different relationship. I stopped looking on him as an obstacle. I stopped being so hard on him. My heart opened to him. Tim held a special place among my students. I would tease him in a good-natured, friendy way and he always returned the favor. Every now and then he did his homework. He even wrote a poem or two before the end of the year; but there were still many afternoons spent in my classroom after school making up assignments; only now I sat next to him and looked for openings to help him. He never shared much about his life outside of school. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

I wish I could say that Tim turned his life around and that everything turned out well for him. When the year ended he went on to other teachers. He was ground up by the system. Each year things got tougher for him. Because of his reputation, he rarely got a clean start with a new teacher. He had fewer friends. He was worn down; I could see it in his face. He defiantly refused to quit school.

Whenever I passed him in the hall or got a chance to say hello to him I did. Looking back I can see he did his best to teach me how important having a big heart is for an educator. The kids who need the most love can make it awfully hard to love them. I wasn’t ready for his lesson at that time; but it was a seed that would blossom beautifully later in my life.

Tim was defiant because he felt powerless. He had been reaching out for me and for others his entire life. I didn’t understand it until decades later. Tim was a beautiful boy, and taught me many things about myself, for he reflected back to me my own isolation, my own difficult childhood, how I used my role as teacher to control others, the way I kept my heart closed. He was a such delicate soul.

Tim’s father was a drunk. One night before he graduated, his father took after him in a fit of anger. Tim decided he wouldn’t submit to another vicious beating. He locked himself in the bathroom of the family trailer, and in a last act of defiance, took his own life.

I’m so glad I got to know Tim. I miss him.



6 thoughts on “Tim

  1. Amazing and wonderful Pete. I can completely relate to this story with students that I have had in my past.
    That and thousands of other lessons were taught to me during my years as a teacher. I loved reading this beautiful story to remind me of the ‘teacher training’ that the universe has provided me.
    I’d not go back to teach in a school system today, however, thank goodness for those wonderful lessons of my past that enable me to now be the patient, generous and open-hearted coach that I am today.
    I appreciate you writing this story and posting it here. It made a difference to me.
    Namaste, Thea

  2. Thank you for writing this, Pete. What a wonderful lesson for all of us, educators or not. Imagine if we could all learn to honor one another as the mirrors we truly are for one another, individually and as a global community.

  3. Dear Pete,
    Thank you for sharing yourself and this touching story. I wonder how many “Tim’s” are in the world and how many aspects of Tim are in ourselves as well. I could completely relate to Tim. I felt unconnected to school in so many ways and I am so grateful that my parents were engaged in my education process…. many kids do not have that involvement.

    Thank you for being a bright light in the educational system!

  4. Hello Pete,
    Not so long ago i was like Tim. My childhood wasn’t easy at all. My family was poor and i didn’t have the same opportunities as other kids did. My parents always fought between them because of that. I was often bothered by my classmates because of the way i looked or because i was poor. There were so many things in my mind, so many problems, that i wasn’t capable of concentrating at school. Sometimes i remember all those years and i feel sad.

    In other way i feel happy too. I survived that period of my life and i grew strong. Since i was a young i decided to tell the world about this matters. To show people that they need to open their hearts and minds to other human beings that live in difficult situations like this one. To understand them and to be there whenever they need to be listened.

    Right now i can proudly say that im finishing my career at one of the best Universities in my country. I have become a film maker and Ive been researching for almost a month about children and teenagers perspective of the world in this difficult times we face. I’m in the middle of the writing process, the script is almost finished but i need it to be good enough to affect people, to make them think. I decided to do this career because i want to give a message, i want the people to care about the people.

    The reason i’m writing this is to thank you for writing your story. I really got identified with Tim, the story touched me in many ways and i’m sorry he is not with us anymore. People like him should be remembered, their actions are magical because they change the world in many good ways. His story gave me inspiration to add some elements to mine. So i ask of you your permission to add this elements. It would really mean a lot to me. I believe the knowledge within this life experience should be told to more people.

    Thank you for opening your memories to the world! You are building a bright future. Keep on doing it.


  5. Hi Pete,
    Thanks for this sensitive post. I’ve known several Tims in my teaching career; it’s very true what you say, “The kids who need the most love can make it awfully hard to love them.” Despite the battles I raged against my Tims, I continue to have profound interest in how “those kids” turned out. Where are they now? Did they finish school? Are they doing better? I tried so hard to show I cared for them, yet I felt like my actions hit a cement wall and my words fell on deaf ears. Sometimes, when trying to win over a Tim, I ask myself, “Is it worth the grief?” I still wonder.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s