Boost your Hallway Game

We at the Beacon write about school spirit regularly, and often ask ourselves and our readers questions: how can we improve student and faculty attendance at school events? How can we increase pride in and loyalty to AISG? How can we make our school more of a community? I don’t have answers to all of these questions, but there’s one small skill that I believe can contribute significantly to community building here at AISG. Practicing this skill takes virtually no time, costs no money at all, and can be mastered even by those to whom it does not come naturally. All it comes down to is making eye contact, smiling and saying ‘hi’ in the hallway.

As a teacher, my purpose is to encourage and guide students’ intellectual growth, and it gives me professional pride to see them thrive academically. As a person, though, my values are rather different. A student who graduated last year comes to mind: not enthused about English, not engaged in the classroom, rarely successful in his academic pursuits. He missed deadlines, plagiarized, made little progress in two years. But this person was an A+, an IB 7, in hallway skills. His hellos were authentic, personalized; he smiled as though he was looking at a friend and fellow human being, not an automated grade-maker. And of course I liked him, right from the start. I forgave his academic crimes (after sending him to Mr Tragert, of course); I wrote meticulous feedback in the margins of his work, which he probably never read. I wrote his college recommendation letter happily, putting a colorful and positive spin on his flaws and practically gushing about his personality. If I ever see him again, I’ll buy him dinner. All this because he knew how to make me feel human in the hallway.

The aforementioned student was not the only recent graduate with off-the-charts hallway skills, so perhaps it’s natural that this year, as I navigate the crowded hallways missing those friendly faces, I look for new ones to take their place. I’m relieved and gratified when students I’ve just begun to teach take a moment to acknowledge that we now know one another and are members of the same community. It means the world to me when a student I taught last year but no longer have in class remembers me, remembers that we know each other, takes a moment to break away from a conversation with a friend to acknowledge that with a smile. Some people go above and beyond: a ninth grader who only knows me from the eighth-grade tour last spring says ‘hi’ so enthusiastically when we pass each other in the hall that I made sure to find out his name so I could return the favor.

On the other hand, there are some who walk our halls that are sadly deficient in their hallway game. Adults and students alike can be struck by an affliction that causes them to stare intently at the floor, pretend to be deeply engaged in conversation with the nearest peer, speed up their pace while staring at a fixed point in the distance, or quickly begin pseudo-scrolling on the locked screen of their phone in a desperate effort to avoid hallway engagement with another human being (especially a teacher). I realize that some people suffer from social anxiety and consider their between-class or lunch periods to be their protected time, when they aren’t required to conform to the expectation for rosy enthusiasm and manufactured politeness. But I believe that these people should push themselves to overcome this trait, if not to enhance our community and atmosphere, then for the simple, selfish fact that it can bring them rewards. We notice these things, we adults and high-schoolers who end up spending more waking hours at Science Park than at our homes. And many of us care about them. Personally, I feel demoralized each and every time a student I know ignores me in the hall. So if you can, take that small step to look up, lock eyes, and flash a grin that shows familiarity and acceptance, even if it is completely fake. Maybe—just maybe—after a few rounds of awkward and inauthentic trials, you may surprise yourself and unearth the smiler within.

Epilogue: Bonus points go to those students we walk by at the mall or on the street who still acknowledge us. Even though I remember nothing else from the movie Mean Girls, I remember when the queen bee said, “I love seeing teachers outside of school. It’s like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs.” Last year, a colleague told me that he walked into Abercrombie at a local mall and watched a whole gaggle of sophomore girls look at him in horror, then turn and flee. Please don’t be a part of these small teacher tragedies. Go ahead, smile at a teacher on the sidewalks of Guangzhou, even if it makes you cringe inside. I promise—we won’t start a conversation with you!