Kids growing up in the inner city have taught me a lot about toughness, honesty, flexibility, communication and – believe it or not – love.

Lesson One: Teachers have to develop thick skins.

When I started teaching five years ago, I was surprised to find that the way kids are portrayed in The Simpsons and South Park has a grain of truth. Kids left to their own devices, without authority figures, can be mean, ornery and merciless toward each other. They'll try to manipulate adults and teachers.

Kids raised on the streets put up a tough front. A fifth-grader told me he acts that way at school so no one will mess with him. But when these kids are approached about their behavior one-on-one by a mature, concerned adult, they'll break down and cry. That's the sign of kids who can be salvaged.

Lesson Two: Keep it real.

In those first days of teaching, I wouldn't or couldn't look into the eyes of my students. Mostly African-American, they seemed aged beyond their years, jaded, as if to say: "You can't reach me." I was in culture shock. What did I, someone raised in the suburbs 30 years ago, know about minority kids, broken homes and the cycle of poverty? How could I relate?

As a choir director, I shared my passion. I wanted them to experience the enjoyment I found in all types of music. The act of singing can lift the spirit, and I chose songs about love and life. I used rap tracks to teach rhythm. But when it came to rap music containing sexual language and bleeped lyrics, I wouldn't allow it. Not with my students. I didn't care if they thought I was being an old white lady. Race had nothing to do with it. Mending their spirits did.

Lesson Three: Chill.

Like many teachers, I need to be in control. I've butted heads with many an adolescent in the battle of wills, topping their comebacks with sarcastic quips. This does not work with inner-city kids.

In the give and take that is teaching, I had to learn what I can control and what I can't. I hate class distractions – it's always the same couple of kids – but if I'm going to survive a career in teaching, I must choose my battles and row with the flow.

Lesson 4: Let them talk. They're going to anyway.

Adolescents like to talk ... a lot. I can relate. When I was their age, kids and teachers called me Motor Mouth. Now, from the teacher's perspective, I needed to point out that talking during class leads to missed information. I brought my old junior high yearbooks and read comments about me, such as "the loudest mouth" and "chatter box." A compromise was in order with my students because some constantly talk and don't even realize it. A well-behaved class, one that gets through the lesson successfully, receives time to talk. No one understands better than I do their need to gab about what's really important to young lives.

Lesson Five: All you need is love.

I wanted to reach students whatever their race or social background. After purchasing the latest visual technology and inspirational posters, I realized that wasn't what my students needed. They needed to feel love and a lot of it.

Not one to be touchy-feely, I think students should experience adults who demonstrate each day how much they care through routine and order. This makes students, especially from rough homes and neglected parts of town, feel safe and secure.

A teacher's care with details and presentation, coupled with passion for subject and for life itself, instills a love for learning.

Students will laugh off what I'm saying because they're uncomfortable with feelings they can't express. As a teacher, I've come to accept their love will be unrequited.

If life is for learning, then I am a student of my students.

Cherie Bell of Dallas is the choir director at A.W. Spence Middle Learning Center and TAG Academy in the DISD and is a Teacher Voices volunteer columnist. Her e-mail address is cheriebell69@hotmail.com.