Tourette’s at the blackboard

By Herman M. Lagon

I was not planning to watch it. A random scroll through Facebook showed a teacher with uncontrollable tics helping a pupil who was quietly battling a terminal illness. My daughter saw me wiping my eyes and teased me about why, as a movie buff, I had missed it. Out of curiosity, I clicked play on Front of the Class (2008). Before I knew it, I was crying from beginning to end, moved by Brad Cohen’s fight to teach despite Tourette’s.

The film quickly shows the cruelty of Brad’s childhood. He barked involuntarily in class and was punished for misbehavior. On the playground, he was mocked, and at home, even his father doubted him. Studies confirm that children with Tourette’s often suffer rejection and shame, regardless of tic severity (Friedrich et al., 1994; Packer, 2005). Yet young Brad chose resilience. When a principal let him explain his condition during a school concert, he gained understanding instead of humiliation. That moment planted his dream: to be the teacher he never had.

The road to that dream was rough. Adult Brad applied to more than 20 schools, only to be turned away each time. Principals assumed his tics would cause chaos or confused him with the small minority of people with Tourette’s whose cases involve foul language (Shady et al., 1995). On his 25th try, he finally got hired. In his second-grade class, he turned his difference into a teaching opportunity. He explained his tics, invited questions, and disarmed fear. His honesty won over both students and parents.

Here in our country, we know similar stories. Early last year, I booked a Grab ride with Marlon, a driver with Tourette’s. A note in his car politely explained his condition. At first, I thought of canceling. Instead, I found myself on one of the safest rides I have taken in Metro Manila. He cracked jokes about his tics and handled traffic with precision. Like Brad, he faced bullying, rejection, and daily stares. Yet his grit, humor, and professionalism turned what others called a weakness into a strength.

That is what the film achieves. It teaches without lecturing. The bigger barrier is not Tourette’s but prejudice. Many still confuse it with bad manners or instability. Research shows that stigma often hurts more than the tics themselves (Packer, 2005). In our schools, how many children are quickly labeled “pasaway” when, in fact, they need understanding? The movie, much like Marlon’s story, challenges us to pause and listen.

The story also resonates with teachers. Brad became the mentor he once sought — kind, witty, and genuine. In our public schools, teachers juggle not just lessons but also hunger, grief, and unseen battles. They meet students who bring hunger, grief, or undiagnosed conditions into class. Brad’s story reminds us that sometimes the best lesson is not in the curriculum but in making a child feel accepted. His heartbreak over a student’s death in the film shows that teaching means walking with children even through pain.

What makes the film powerful is its honesty. Brad is not portrayed as flawless. He becomes frustrated, faces rejection, and feels unsure about love. Instead of stopping, he sees rejection as a turn in the road. That quiet strength makes his story resonate with many of us.

Hallmark films are often called sentimental, but here, the tears are earned. Patricia Heaton, as Brad’s mother, and Treat Williams, as his father, bring depth to the family’s struggles. The classrooms feel real — messy, noisy, and full of chatter. The story reflects what we know: parents are unsure how to support children with special needs, schools are unequipped to help, and workplaces are quick to judge.

As an educator myself, I could not help but think of our own gaps in inclusive education. How many “Brads” sit in our classrooms today, mislabeled as lazy or unruly when they carry burdens no one sees? DepEd’s inclusive education program is still uneven. The film reminds us that empathy is not optional. If Brad could turn his tics into teaching moments, we can also turn our students’ quirks into opportunities for growth.

By the time the credits rolled, showing the real Brad Cohen with his class, I felt both exhausted and fulfilled. It made me remember Marlon’s ride, the students I once guided through quiet battles, and my daughters asking why a Facebook clip made their father cry. Front of the Class may not be perfect cinema, but it delivers a lesson we need today: We need more Brads and Marlons, and more of us willing to listen before judging. That, in the end, is the real front of the class — where humanity, not perfection, takes the lead.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and purpose-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions that employ him or with which he is connected.