A teacher’s repeated blunder becomes an opportunity for connection.

Teachers juggle a lot. One moment I’m pondering why flip sequin shirts exist, the next moment I’m reflecting on how best to support a child in crisis. At a dizzying speed, I flex from the profound to the mundane, from the significant to the trivial. I try to put tiny moments into a bigger picture, identify larger patterns, and look for meaning even in seemingly minor incidents.

With all the juggling we do as teachers, we are bound to get things wrong now and again. And sometimes our seemingly trivial errors are more harmful than they initially appeared. I got something very wrong last year. Then I did it again. And again.

Errant exchanges

Early in the school year, an incident occurred in my 2nd-grade classroom involving a student — Sanjay — that I thought his parents — Praveena and Sai — should know about. But when I sent the email, I accidentally emailed Sahil’s parents, Prashanthi and Prem. Upon receiving an email about another child, Prashanthi kindly replied that I had written the wrong parents and that she appreciated the fact that I was being proactive. I apologized for my mistake. No harm done.

A month later, I again needed to reach out to Sanjay’s parents, and I again emailed Sahil’s parents. Prashanthi’s response was gracious, but I was embarrassed at my repeated mistake. I assured Prashanthi that I think names are important and that it would not happen again. I attached a sticky note to my computer as a concrete reminder:

Sahil, Prashanthi, Prem

Sanjay, Praveena, Sai

It’s still hard for me to believe, but a few weeks later, Prashanthi and Prem received yet another email I had intended for Praveena and Sai. By this time, Prashanthi was understandably concerned. She wondered how this could keep happening. Did I actually know the difference between Sahil and Sanjay?

When I saw her email, I felt like I was going to throw up. Of course I knew the difference between Sahil and Sanjay. I spent all day every day with them. Sahil was academically driven, obsessed with soccer, and becoming more comfortable talking about other topics. Sanjay was creative and would volunteer to give dynamic TED Talks about cone snails and black holes to the class. They were distinct, wonderful children, and it felt horrible to have my knowledge of them called into question. Everything I did was rooted in my growing understanding of my students. To have this essential, hard-earned knowledge undermined by my own carelessness was devastating.

This led me to some careful self-examination. Why had I made this hurtful mistake three times? What was going on with me? Yes, the names were similar and new to me. And technology was getting the better of me. When I typed “Pra” in my email address line, Google was quick to autofill the space, and I went right along with Google’s suggestion. Trick me once, shame on Google. Trick me twice, shame on me. But three times? Three times?

I knew that I needed to mend my relationship with Prashanthi and Prem. When I reached out to them, I didn’t assure them that I value names because I knew I would have sounded like a fraud. Instead, I asked if they would be willing to meet for coffee so that I could get to know them and apologize. Honestly, I didn’t know what else to do.

It is here that this story takes a wonderful turn. Prashanthi assured me that I was being too hard on myself, that we must laugh at these things, and that they would love to get coffee. She also said something I will never forget: “Prashanthi means supreme peace and Prem means love. That will help you remember — love and peace go together.”

At coffee, we chatted about life, about where they had lived, about how they met. Prashanthi and Prem brought me chocolates and bought me coffee. At the end of our time together, I wanted to apologize, but Prashanthi insisted that it was forgotten. That’s what I call supreme peace.

What I learned

I’ve reflected on this story at length and tried to make sense of it. As a new mom, was I merely experiencing “baby brain”? Maybe. Was I rushing? Definitely. But how could I have been so careless after my initial mistake? I still don’t know. Should I have picked up the phone instead? Yes! Didn’t I care about names? I thought so. Was my blind spot culturally insensitive and alienating? Absolutely. Was something going on with my brain? I hoped not.

In the end, I don’t know why I kept making this mistake. I can speculate, dissect my actions, punish myself, and analyze all the events that transpired, but I may still be missing the most essential point. The whole series of gaffes occurred in a context that lacked real, human connection. I tried to memorize these parents’ names by rote, a method no more personal than Google’s autofill. I needed to humanize Prashanthi and Prem, connect with them, know them as people, not just names. Prashanthi instinctively knew this when she provided a beautiful memory tool, “Love and peace go together.” How right she was, and I’m full of gratitude for her wisdom.

I know that teachers have an endless list of big and little things to toggle between. A quick email to students’ families is both big and little. It’s a quick task, but it’s also an opportunity for communication and connection. Teaching is all about communication, connection, and context building. So much is asked of us, and we will all surely blunder. So, when you do, don’t be too hard on yourself, try to laugh through the tears, and then seek out real, human connection. Coffee might help, too.
After all, you never know when a cringey series of events will lead to something beautiful.

Note: Student and parent names have been changed, except Prashanthi and Prem.