Labels

Label:

1. A small piece of paper, fabric, plastic, or similar material attached to an object and giving information about it

2. A classifying phrase or name applied to a person or thing, especially one that is inaccurate or restrictive

3. A radioactive isotope, fluorescent dye or enzyme used to make something identifiable for study (biology, chemistry)

This word. Label. Has rolled around and around in my head. For a few weeks now. And this word has been an enemy. A word I did not want to associate myself with.

Which is kind of interesting.

Because I love to label everything! I am an organizational geek. I even organizing things to calm down. To feel peaceful. My label maker. Yes, I own a label maker. My label maker spits out all sorts of things all the time to identify and provide information as to what is located where in my classroom. I go through large boxes of mailing labels in various sized from Amazon so I can place my students’ names on their artwork and projects that adorn our classroom.

Labels and labeling all the things. It is just part of a teacher’s life.

Then there are those other labels, though. In teaching. The ones that get applied to students.

This year marks my 21st year in the classroom. And for many years I sat on the Student Study Team (SST). We would meet with teachers. Pour over student data. Make recommendations to help struggling students.

And many times, I sat at meetings with parents. As they heard the news, for the first time, about their student. Their child. News that came with a label. And I would encourage them, as much as I could. This news. This label. It did not define their child. Their child was the same before this meeting as they would be after this meeting. This news. This label. All it did. It would give us a better understand of how to reach them. How I can teach them. How we can work together. As a team. To make them the most successful as possible at school.

I have also heard labels. As a parent. About my own kids. In doctor’s appointments. In parent teacher conferences. In meetings with the principal. And even though they were my own children. My own flesh and blood. I still could view it as a way to reach them. A way to understand what was going on. A unique way God made them and would use them.

But then. Then it came time for me to be labeled. And like usual. When it comes to me. I struggle with seeing the positive. The silver lining. The God story. Oh, I am a Pollyanna when it comes to everyone else. But me. Nope. Worst case scenario it is.

As I talked and shared with those closest to me. My inner circle. Each and every one said something similar.

Whatever you hear.

Whatever the label.

It does not define you.

You are same person.

It does not change what I think of you.

It does not change how much I love you.

It is just more data.

More information.

More pieces.

One friend. In particular. She said it in a way that pierced right through all my fears and worries and doubts. Yes. Of course there is a label. There has to be. Because maybe. Just maybe. That is the way we identify what is going on. By giving it a name. And that is how we know how to help. By attaching a label.

And so. I went. And listened. And heard. My own labels. And they had to sink in. But like everyone said. It was just more information. Data. Pieces. I am the same person I was before I heard those words. They were not the end of the world. Or the end of me.

But now. I look at labels differently.

Because. Labels. It is all in how you look at them.

A label can be restrictive. Inaccurate. Defining. But only if we let it.

A label can also be identifying. A way to discover more information. To learn more. To know how to care for something.

It is all how you look at it.

It has been a few weeks now. Since this new information came. And this is how I have chosen to look at it. Information. Pieces to a puzzle. Instructions for care.

But. I am also starting to think. That maybe. Just maybe. Labels can be superpowers.

You never know. . .