Stories from the classroom

Stories from the Classroom

When Trouble Turns a Corner

by Nidhi Guglani 

“Every child has a story. Sometimes, all they need is someone willing to read between the lines.”

Two months ago, my classroom felt like a storm I couldn’t calm. Among the many energies and temperaments I work with every day, one child stood out—not because of brilliance or charm, but because of the sheer disruption he caused.

For over a year, this child had troubled not only his peers but several teachers. His behavior was erratic and unsettling—disrupting classes, using abusive language, forging teacher signatures in others’ notebooks, scribbling nonsense across desks and books, even tearing pages. The complaints would not stop. On one particular day, I remember being called out of the staff room five or six times, unable to sit down because yet another issue had surfaced. It wasn’t just exhausting—it was emotionally draining.

But what disturbed me more was something I realized during an interaction with his parents. They weren’t unaware. In fact, they knew. And yet, there was a quiet complicity in their words—a vague support of their child’s version of the truth, even when the facts were clear. That day, something shifted in me. I decided to try a different route.

I told him, plainly and without anger, “There’s nothing wrong with being wrong.”

I gave examples of other students—those who had made mistakes, come forward, and apologized. And how that honesty made the mistake disappear. But with him, it was always one lie after another. I could sense he didn’t want to be “wrong,” even if it meant being unfair, unkind, or dishonest.

I didn’t give up.

I kept at the counseling, not as a punishment, but as a conversation. I didn’t threaten him, didn’t brand him. I reminded him of his potential and made it clear that being better was possible—and respected.

Today, for the first time in a long while, something incredible happened.

Other teachers—those who used to bring me his complaints—walked up to me and said, “He behaved really well in your absence today.” No disturbances. No mischief. No noise. Just quiet, mindful behavior.

It wasn’t a celebration. There were no confetti or claps. But for me, it was a moment of triumph—because it was a sign. He was trying.

And that wasn’t all.

Another child—also seen as destructive, unreliable—has now been made the class monitor. A risky choice, many would say. But sometimes, giving a child a sense of responsibility does more than punishment ever could. So far, he’s being sincere. He’s reporting fairly. He’s taking it seriously.

Maybe this, too, will evolve.

These small changes, these flickers of hope, are the real stories of teaching. We don’t always see immediate transformation. But sometimes, if you listen closely, if you wait just a little longer, a troubled child will turn a corner.

And in that quiet turn—without fanfare or recognition—you find your reward.