Presentation Matters.

Every day, I go through the motions. On a typical day, I...

*hit the snooze 3x

*rush through breakfast

*try not to spill coffee on my commute to work

*jam out to some pump-up music

*make sure I know what I am teaching that day (and if I don't figure it out pretty dang quickly).

*clean up my desk

*try to close some tabs

*update the white board with the day's schedule

These tasks are the essentials, right? We have to make sure we know what we're doing. When I prepare for the day, I am thinking about myself: what do I have ready? What do I need to do? Will I struggle with this class?

But sometimes, we need reminders that life (and teaching) isn't about us. It's all about others. I am reminded of an experience I had over fifteen years ago.

Throughout high school, I worked part-time at the local nursing home. I was a dietary aid, and I typically worked from right after school until about 7:30 pm. It was an easy job, and my aunt was my supervisor, so it pretty much rocked. Plus, being the people-person that I am, I thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with the elderly residents and getting to know them on personal levels. They knew me, and I knew them. We had fun!

A large percentage of elderly Americans suffer from diabetes, and this was true for the residents at that particular nursing home. For every meal, it was important for me to be cognizant of which residents were diabetic, so these residents had pink tags on their trays (as opposed to white tags). I could not put any extra sugar on their trays, and their desserts were always different from the residents' with normal diets.

The desserts at this nursing home were bomb-diggity (especially when I made them). After working there for awhile, I was promoted to prep cook, which meant that I made all of the desserts for lunch and supper. I know that many people think nursing home food can't be good, but let me tell you-- it was amazing. Many of the recipes were from fifty years prior, so they were typically loaded with butter and brown sugar, and I personally felt a little jealous some days that these elderly patients got such amazing desserts (like, who was going to make me some bread pudding? Spoiler: nobody).

Wait, let me specify. I was jealous of the residents with NORMAL diets because they got to eat pies and cookies and cakes and pumpkin desserts. While they flaunted their fancy treats made by yours truly, though, what did the diabetic residents get?

Sugar-free vanilla pudding.

I know, right? It even looked sad on their trays! Many of the diabetic residents stopped eating their desserts altogether. It honestly didn't taste bad, but it was just boring. Think the food equivalent of the color beige (which it also was).

I just felt so sorry for the residents with diabetes whom had to look across their tables and see the wonderfulness on their neighbors' trays, and all I could think about was their chins trembling and tears streaming while shaky hands brought sad spoonfuls of bland pudding to their lips.

Residents' tears in their sugar-free pudding definitely wouldn't make it taste any better, so I decided to take it upon myself to give the diabetic residents a little treat.

OK, not really. I would have killed them if I legitimately gave them sugar, but I knew I could change up their lunch-time dessert a little bit, which might brighten their remaining days.

I searched through the baking cupboards in the industrial kitchen and found food coloring, sprinkles, and sugar-free whipped topping. When I had a little extra time during my shift, I added red food coloring to the sugar-free pudding mix.

At serving time, I gave the residents without diabetes a piece of cherry pie. For the residents with the diabetic pink tags, I took a little bowl and added some of the pinkish sugar-free vanilla pudding. I topped it with a dollop of sugar-free whipped cream, and then finished it off with (just a few) sprinkles.

The results of my little experiment floored me. "This dessert is delightful!" "It just looks so pretty, and it tastes great too!" "How come we got this special treat today? I think this looks even better than the cherry pie!" The residents with diabetes absolutely loved their new, improved desserts! More of them finished the whole bowl even though it probably still tasted just as boring as it had for the previous fifty lunches they had eaten!

This high school experience taught me a valuable lesson about life, and it translated into my teaching career. I learned that putting minimal extra effort into my presentation of this dessert transformed the residents' perceptions. They felt loved and appreciated, and they were excited to try something "new".

When I think about my essential preparation for a day of school, I add a few things to that list:

*greet my students in the hall

*smile

*make eye contact with each student

*talk about their weekends

*share stories

*play music they enjoy too

These tasks seem easy, and some people might think they're unimportant. They're not. Showing people you care about them can mean the difference between them having a terrible day and a fantastic day, and communicating that you invest something extra into their lives can impel them to want to learn from you.

I urge you to consider the metaphor of the diabetic desserts and take that extra step for your students; I promise you it will make a difference!