By Noah Reinhardt

Seriously, middle school?

This is a question I’ve gotten a lot, having now worked for almost 15 years with middle school students.

I think the horror most adults experience in imagining what it must be like working with middle school kids is because we remember the worst parts of middle school. We remember our awkward, anxious, ugly selves that looked back at us in the mirror every morning (whether we avoided them at all costs or were obsessed by them). We remember friends (if we had them) as mean, selfish and preoccupied with things that felt so important at the time, even if those things seem trivial, maybe even destructive, now. We remember middle school as unsafe, uninspiring, unfair, if we even remember that much.

When we picture what it must be like to work with middle school students we imagine being trapped in a room with unpredictable, narcissistic, socially-obsessed, lonely misfits caught in that terrible place between the sweetness and wonder of childhood and the power and possibility of adolescence. Why would anyone want to throw oneself into a classroom with these creatures?

The truth is, we forget how wonderful and special this time can be. We forget how exciting it is to literally explode—undergoing in a few short years a kind of life-changing physical, cognitive, emotional transformation that we never again experience (with some rare exceptions). We forget how miraculous it is to have new independence, an opportunity to develop friendships, interests, passions and beliefs that are separate from our family’s. And we forget how earth-shattering tiny moments are—the gut-wrenching excitement and terror of the first kiss, heartbreak, failure or victory—that make us feel simultaneously all-powerful and powerless, brave and terrified.

We also forget how important it is to have adults around us who notice and care about these things, too. People who give us the space to try new things and the structure to moderate our experiences, to help temper our sudden swings from high to low, and to see beyond the exact instant in time in which we’re living. One of our main jobs, as adults, as we usher the next generation into adolescence, is to acknowledge that their feelings, thoughts, actions and decisions actually do matter, and to help them make sense of that within a much larger context than they at first may be able to see.

At school, students have the opportunity to practice the skills, develop the habits and learn the truths that will underpin the adults they will become. As educators, we are charged with creating schools that shape these experiences. It is impossible to get this right all of the time. There are too many variables that impact a student’s experience at school to imagine that even the very best, most thoughtful, well-resourced and compassionate schools could assure that every student is nurtured, supported, challenged and engaged every day. We can, of course, hope this for our children. As parents, we can try to do everything within our capacity and means to find schools that have the best chance of making this happen for our own kids. And we can and should commit whatever resources we have (financial, time, expertise, influence) to support all schools to do their best work in the best way they know how.

I have chosen to work in schools and to spend my days with students, teachers and families because I deeply believe in this work and in our responsibility (individually and collectively) to support children at this critical time in their lives. This is not just in spite of who they are and want to be, but because it is the very moments when they push hardest against the adults in their lives and most fiercely claim their growing independence when they actually need us most. Not to hold them so tightly as to crush their spirit, but consistently and securely, so when they feel least tethered, most angry, desolate and confused, they know that they can depend on us to get them to a better place.

I work each day to help create a school that serves our students as well as it possibly can. The most important piece of what I do, however, is working with students, teachers and families at those times when what all of us are doing, despite our best intentions, isn’t working. What happens when things go wrong? When kids make mistakes, when they feel hopeless or terrible, or when they make other people feel that way? What do we do to support the students who seem like they don’t want to be helped or have given up on the possibility of making things better?

The answers (if there are answers) may not always be clear. But one thing is for certain: it is in these moments that we define who we are as adults and who we want to be in our children’s eyes. This is hard but important work.

Noah Reinhardt is the Head of the Middle School at the Packer Collegiate Institute. He lives in Brooklyn with his wife and three small children.