When teachers need to be liked

There was a time when I wanted all my students to like me.

I enjoyed knowing that students liked being in my class.

There was the laughter, the occasional teasing, and the student who lingered after class because there was still something to talk about. Once in a while somebody would say I was a favorite teacher.

That could make a long day a little better.

It still can.

I want students to be comfortable around me. I want them to ask questions, make mistakes, laugh, and disagree when they think I am wrong. Humor and warmth matter. Whitbourne (2019) writes about the performative side of teaching, although any teacher standing before a sleepy afternoon class has probably discovered that already.

The part I understood much later was that enjoying students’ approval could quietly become depending on it.

Then a student complains about a requirement, and somehow you are already taking their side. A policy is unpopular, and you agree. Another professor is “too strict,” and then comes the line every approval-hungry teacher enjoys hearing:

“But Sir, you are different.”

Of course you are.

You listen. You understand. You are the cool one.

And sometimes the students really do have a point. Schools make questionable rules. Teachers can be unnecessarily rigid. Students deserve someone who will hear them out.

But sometimes I did not know the whole story. The colleague they were complaining about might have had reasons I knew nothing about. Maybe the students needed an honest answer rather than another sympathetic nod. Maybe I simply enjoyed being the good guy.

I learned that slowly. Getting older helped. Being wrong helped more.

Students do not always need the version of me they find easiest to like.

Sometimes the work is simply not good enough. Sometimes the deadline was reasonable. Sometimes the student has a point. Sometimes the teacher does. Most classroom conflicts are not as tidy as either side makes them sound.

The National Association of Special Education Teachers discusses “ego teaching,” where a teacher’s own needs can begin interfering with learning. We tend to picture ego as the frightening professor or the teacher proud of a high failure rate.

There is a softer version.

These days it may even appear on our feeds.

A teacher shares the students’ complaint, posts about a cause they support, uses their language, or leaves exactly the sort of comment students will enjoy reading. Sometimes that is genuine advocacy, and good. Students are not automatically wrong because they are students.

But teachers know what gets a reaction, too.

You post. The hearts arrive. Students share it. Somebody comments, “This is why we love you, Sir.”

And yes, that feels good.

The question is whether I would still say the same thing if nobody clicked Like.

I would be careful about calling this narcissism. That word has become far too convenient. Back et al. (2013) distinguish narcissistic admiration from narcissistic rivalry, but their research was not about teachers. I would not use it to diagnose what happens inside a classroom or faculty room.

I do not need a diagnosis anyway. The ordinary human temptation is enough. A classroom can spoil a teacher a little.

Think about it. Several times a day, we walk into a room where people are expected to listen. Some laugh at our jokes. Some ask for advice. A few remember us years later and say something we told them stayed with them.

Who would not enjoy that?

Then, quietly, we begin noticing the students who give some of that affection back. The one who always laughs. The one who stays after class. The one who says, “Sir, your subject really changed me.”

And there is the other student.

Does the work. Rarely speaks. Goes home.

Or the one who disagrees with you.

Or the one who apparently missed the memo that Sir is supposed to be fascinating.

They are students, too.

That is the part I understand better now. If I need the class to admire me, saying no becomes harder. Criticism gets under my skin. A low evaluation bothers me more than it deserves to. Before long, I may be asking, “Did they like me?” when the question was supposed to be about what they learned.

I still like a lively class. I still enjoy making students laugh. I still appreciate praise.

I am human. It works.

I just try not to grade myself with it anymore.

Then the bell rings.

Chairs move. Bags close. Students leave.

And the classroom is just a classroom again.

***

Doc H calls himself a ”student of and for life” and, like many others, wants a life-giving, why-driven world dedicated to social justice and happiness. His views may not reflect those of his employers or associates.