I’m a five-foot, two-inch girl, weighing roughly 115 pounds, seventeen years of age. I’ve never considered myself to be all too menacing, especially since I’ve met elementary students at least four inches taller than me. It’s not that I want to seem militant or forbidding, but sometimes I feel that if people were just a bit more afraid to mess with me, I’d have a more commanding presence. I guess the bottom line is that I want to be taken seriously, like the adult I’m physically not.

On one of my first days of teaching, I discovered that I could be perceived as terrifying. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to the age group that I wanted.

I had never taught kids before this date, especially children that had not yet reached the double digits in age. However, I was asked to do a lesson for a little six-year-old boy, and since I had nothing else going on at the time, I agreed to do it.

Anyway, I’m waiting for this child, and truthfully, I had absolutely no idea what he looked like. I may just be weird or something, but when people give me the names of others I’ve never met, the image of their face does not just magically appear in my mind. However, I knew the age and his belt color, so I figured he’d be easy to spot.

After a couple minutes, a little boy that fit the description walked inside the studio and looked around. I went up to him, smiled, and asked for his name; I didn’t feel like teaching the wrong kid. The boy looked up at me, eyes wide, and cried, “I don’t remember!” He then proceeded to run back out the door to his mother. I consider this to be the first “Why me?” moment in my teaching career.

Long story short, the mother brought the child back to me, told me his name, and then walked off to shop next door. I then guided him toward the lesson room where our 30-minute class took place.

I spent 10 minutes gaining that kid’s trust, and once he got over the fact that I was not his usual instructor, he loosened up…a lot. I swear, if at first he was an undoable knot, he then became an overcooked noodle. All he wanted to do was talk about Batman, and his arch nemesis: Baby Face . Seriously, does that even exist? Yes, I know he was only six, but he could have at least paid attention for two minutes. By the end, I almost wished that he was that knot again.

Still, I was able to move around him, guide him into doing his techniques and kicks. The secret is to act even more enthusiastic than the student. It’s as if kids know that the crazier person is the boss, and if they don’t want to catch whatever virus is making the teacher go insane, they better quiet up and listen.

At the time, I had no idea how any of the other instructors could deal with this sort of constant energy. Now, after having multiple students for about seven months, I realize that they could be off-the-wall manic or stone-cold silent, but they’re still your students, and you want to help them as much as you can, no matter how difficult they may make it.

Still, it took me more than this one student to help me realize this. I’ll get to that later.