You can tell a lot about a person by where they sit. Next time you are in a meeting of some sort, look around and see where people choose to position themselves. The most earnest, engaged people, the ones who honestly don’t mind being at the meeting (and ask the most questions during it, much to the chagrin of the others in the room), sit in the front. Most people end up somewhere in the middle, many clearly hoping to hide in the crowd. They are close enough to seem involved, yet not so close that someone will single them out. Then there is the person who sits at the edge of the row closest to the door in order to ensure a quick escape the second the meeting ends.

And then there are the people in the back row. The people in the back don’t know why they are at the meeting and are praying to whatever deity they hold holy that no one notices they are there at all. They are the most likely to be surreptitiously texting or grading a stack of papers or taking a quick nap. In and out, quick and easy. That’s their plan. They are the ones who frustrate the heck out of whoever is leading the meeting, but they are also the ones most likely to crack up the entire room with an offhand comment.

This same scene plays out in our classrooms. Watching each student pick a seat gives me an initial snapshot into who he or she is, which is why I generally don’t assign seats at the beginning of the year. I let my students choose their own seats (the only caveat being that they are stuck there for a couple of weeks until I learn their names) and have them write their names on the front of a piece of card stock and prop it up on their desks so I can associate names and faces as quickly as possible.

Now, I have to admit here that I seldom use rows, per se. Most of the time my desks are in some kind of horseshoe or circle so we can all see each other and have real conversations. Nonetheless, there’s always a back row, at least in spirit. It’s that furthermost corner on the fringes of the room, the spot that says “don’t look at me.” The spot where one can see without being seen.

The thing is, I really love the kid who chooses to sit in the back row. I can’t help it. There’s something about the students who aren’t sure if they want to be there–or perhaps who aren’t sure if I’m going to be worth listening to–that I relish. Over the years, the kids in the back row have challenged me, questioned me, and made me laugh until I cried. And yes, sometimes they just made me cry. But I love them. Sometimes it’s the challenge (what’s more rewarding than winning someone over?); other times it’s the fun of redirecting the snark subverting the lesson into snark subverting the author. Sometimes, it’s just the joy of finally getting a peek behind the invisible cloak to meet the real person hiding underneath.

I enjoy all of my students, no matter where they sit. But when someone wanders in, slouches behind a desk, and gives me a look that simultaneously asks, “What have you got?” and “Are you going to realize I’ve got something, too?” I can’t help smiling.

We both have something to prove and–with a little luck and a lot of work–we can both have fun proving it.