In my classroom that morning, everything appeared to be as usual. The habit was gradually taking control as the pupils settled into their places.
One thing, though, stood out to me: Maxime, one of my most reserved pupils, wore his hat.
He constantly wore it, although I had seen it before.
I’m used to informing children that there are no hats allowed in the classroom because I’m a teacher. Although it’s a straightforward regulation, it can occasionally lead to issues, particularly when a student disobeys without giving a clear explanation.
This time, I went up to Maxime and politely requested that she remove her hat. You are aware that it is not permitted in class.
However, he gave me a confused look before responding, “I’d rather keep my hat on,” in a feeble voice.
At first, I assumed it was a minor, transient rebellion and paid little heed. But I hesitated because of something in his voice. I kept a closer eye on him. He looked away from me and became increasingly uneasy.
I asked him to remain behind for a conversation after class since I knew something wasn’t right.
I was astonished to learn the explanation he gave for not taking off his hat. 😯
It would all change when I asked him a question. “What’s wrong with taking off your hat, Maxime?”
“I don’t want others to see my head,” he replied in a voice that was almost audible.
He murmured, “I have a huge scar from a surgery,” as I stared at him in confusion. It is deformed and no longer resembles a face.
It was unexpected. Normally composed and cheerful, Maxime bore the scar of a medical experience he had never talked about. Every time he glanced in the mirror, the obvious scars from the surgery following an accident haunted him.
However, why didn’t you inform me? “You don’t need to feel guilty,” I said.
Shyly, he clarified, “I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. Even if it makes me feel alone, I would like to keep my hat on.
I was stunned by this realization. Maxime sought acceptance rather than pity. Maxime, you’re not by yourself. “Everyone has scars,” I answered.
That day, I realized that often the scars we bear in quiet are more profound than the ones we can see.
