NEWSLETTER
Have you ever made a student cry? Have.
Earlier this year, one of my fourth grade students continued to interrupt my instructions during the class. This behavior was unusual for her. He had taught him all last year, and she had always been attentive and committed. I tried several classroom management strategies: positive narration, proximity and computers of entire class care. Nothing worked. Finally, I issued a verbal warning. Moltera for the consequence, she shouted on the other side of the room: “I wasn't even doing anything!”
His answer surprised me, not only because he had shouted, but for whom she was, a student who had been a leader in my classroom, someone with whom he had built a strong relationship through the teaching of art the previous year.
I approached and silently asked him to go out with me. He stood up, hit his chair against the desk, put his eyes blank and let out a groan of discomfort. Outside the classroom, I turned to her and asked her: “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” he murmured, moving away.
I hesitated. “Is everything all right?” I asked again, perplexed for your change in behavior.
“Yes,” she replied, but her tone, flat and little convincing, she contrasts sharply with the quiet and collected student that I thought she knew.
I wasn't sure what to do. But before I could completely process the situation, the words left my mouth instinctively: “I'm sorry.”
I continued: “It seems that you are having a bad day, and maybe I said something that bothered you. Did I do it? If I did, is there anything I can do differently next time?
She froze. Then, suddenly, silent tears rolled down their cheeks.
I felt horrible, worried about having worsened things. She stayed there, unable to speak, the tears ran down her face. I didn't want to push her anymore. I gave him the pass from the hall and told him to take a walk, wash his face and drink some water. I assured him that he could return to the lesson every time he was ready, and if he needed more time, he could go to the quiet corner. Then, I entered again and kept teaching.
For weeks, I could not stop thinking about your reaction. I hadn't expected my apology to make her cry. What had hit her so deeply?
That moment forced me to face a difficult truth about teaching: we often talk about respect, kindness and emotional awareness, but how often do we model them? How often do we demand that students apologize after a discussion with a classmate? And how often do we receive only a reluctant and murmured “sorry” in return? We hope that students admit when they are wrong, but as teachers, we rarely do the same.
Teaching is more than delivering content: it is about modeling humanity, and my apology that day reformed my understanding of the deepest purpose of education.
Education as a practice of humanization
In “Pedagogy of the oppressed“, Paulo Freire argues that education should cause students to be more human. It should foster self -aware marginalized, we prioritize obedience to the connection. inequalities that students experience outside school.
This realization made me rethink the dynamics of power within my classroom. By apologizing to my student, I was not granting authority, but I was changing it. He was showing him that he deserved respect and his emotions mattered. I was teaching him, through action instead of words, that errors, including mine, are not signs of weakness but growth opportunities.
And I saw the impact.
Since that day, his behavior has improved markedly. Not because she fears the consequences but because she feels valued. She listens carefully, gets deeply involved and does everything possible, even when work is a challenge.
The power to apologize as a teacher
Sorry for not weakened my authority, it strengthened it. He showed my students that learning is a life process that includes humility and responsibility.
Too often, children and young people rarely listen to an apology from adults, especially those in positions of power. But if we want to teach students to navigate the world with empathy and integrity, we must first model it. A genuine apology is an act of courage. Recognize the failure and show the will to do it better. He also points to students who have the right to be heard and respected as well.
I am committed to promoting critical awareness in my students, giving them the tools to challenge power structures and help them understand what it means to be human. Changing the dynamics of power in a classroom does not mean losing control, it means transforming space into one where students see themselves as active participants in their own education.
Sorry was a small act, but challenged traditional hierarchies, demonstrating that respect should flow in both directions. He helped humanize my classroom, reinforcing the idea that mistakes, on both sides, can lead to deeper learning.
What means being educated
What I initially saw how a moment of interruption in the classroom became a deep lesson of humility and connection. The tears of my student were not the warning he had given him. They were about feeling seen, recognized and valued.
Almost six months have passed since that day, and its transformation continues to remember an essential truth: education is not just about mastering the content. It is about preparing students to move around the world with empathy and self -consciousness. If we want students to resist dehumanization, we must first model humanization.
And sometimes, that begins with a simple “sorry.”
