By Derrick Brown (follow on Twitter @dbrowndbrown)
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"Outliars (Outliers)" (What the Classroom Taught Me About Honesty, Containment, and Connection) (2144 Words)
(66th Day Of School)
(Monday, November 10, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #94 ("Outliars (Outliers)") (2144 Words)
Introduction: The Mirror in the Message
I began my week by trying to clarify a simple question about dates.
<SNIP>That small exchange revealed something much larger.
I have learned that the workplace I inhabit mirrors the very challenges I encounter in my classroom.
Mutual misunderstanding does not automatically lead to mutual accountability.
Systems that insist on precision in paperwork often resist precision in human understanding.
When that happens, clarity becomes a personal rather than institutional responsibility.
In that moment, I saw how containment works at multiple levels.
The same forces that shape how students are seen, heard, and disciplined also govern how teachers are managed, perceived, and misunderstood.
Clarify first, then notify, would seem to be a logical principle.
Yet even that basic order of operations can be inverted when the environment values control over communication.
The Return to Reflection
<SNIP>
I decided to grade the latest round of geometry tests anyway, knowing that the process would give me the clarity I sought.
I did not simply record scores.
I studied each paper as evidence of a larger pattern.
The results were sobering.
Many tests were incomplete.
Several had free-response sections that were nearly blank.
Others contained scattered attempts at reasoning without structure or syntax … often using unintelligible language.
I found myself writing “mercy” grades, offering partial credit for participation or effort rather than mastery.
These results reminded me of something I once said in April 2023 during a landmark episode of my video podcast, “Outliars (Outliers).”
I said then, “I have a lot of students who do not know that they are my students.
They live in what I call ‘Lie-Lie Land.’
Their lie is their truth.
I call them ‘outliars,’ pun intended.”
At that time, the phrase “outliar” was a linguistic experiment, a play on words.
This year, it has become a reality that I can count, categorize, and confront every day.
The Meaning of “Outliars”
In statistics, an outlier is a data point that deviates markedly from the overall pattern.
In education, an outlier is often the exceptional student, the one who defies the norm through brilliance, creativity, or adversity.
My “outliars,” however, occupy a different category altogether.
They are students who do not live by the truth of their own potential.
They exist within a web of self-deception, social performance, and defensive humor that prevents learning from taking root.
They are not necessarily dishonest in character; they are dishonest in practice.
They misrepresent what they understand, what they intend, and what they are willing to attempt.
Their “lie” has become their lived truth, a means of surviving a system that rewards confidence more consistently than competence.
This phenomenon is not limited to adolescents.
It mirrors the adult world that I inhabit as an educator, where institutions can present themselves as equitable while practicing containment, and where the language of support can camouflage the reality of marginalization.
Counting the Fellowship
In moments of fatigue, I turn to data as a form of meditation.
On this day of reflection, I decided to quantify my classroom relationships.
The numbers are not perfect, but they tell a story.
I have thirteen students with whom I experience what I call “fine fellowship.”
These are students who show maturity, humility, and honesty.
They may struggle academically … or even with confidence and self-belief … but they possess a teachable spirit.
I can reach them, and therefore, I can teach them.
I have seventeen additional students who could grow into that space of fine fellowship over time.
Their potential is visible, but their self-honesty is still emerging.
I have another seventeen students whom I would rather not have in my classroom.
This is not a statement of rejection, but of realism.
Their behavior, hostility, or disengagement create daily disruptions that erode collective morale.
Beyond those groups, there are approximately sixty others, a total of seventy-seven students, whom I am neither reaching nor teaching in any meaningful way.
They attend, but they are not present.
They perform, but they do not progress.
Together, they represent the “Outliars.”
Our relationships are unstable, unsustainable, and in some cases, untenable.
Naming these numbers is not an act of judgment.
It is an act of accuracy.
Counting is one way of caring, even when the count reveals loss.
Error Analysis and Listening Lessons
The test itself contained two problems that became miniature parables of learning.
Problem sixteen involved error analysis, a type of question that requires not just an answer ... but also requires reasoning.
Only three students asked for help.
One was NH, a student with whom I share fine fellowship.
The other two were DDH and JW, both members of what I have described as the “classroom cauldron.”
They are vocal, oppositional, and quick to narrate my perceived deficiencies to their peers.
Each of the three received the same guidance.
I told them the nature of the error in clear mathematical language.
NH listened, trusted, and understood.
DDH listened … but understood partially.
JW neither listened nor trusted … and therefore could not understand.
That small interaction became a living diagram of the relationship between honesty and comprehension.
Students who trust the process can eventually trust themselves.
Those who distrust authority often confuse defiance with independence.
Problem fifteen provided another illustration.
It was a word problem that required patience to decode.
DDH called me over and said, with both sincerity and sarcasm, “Could you say it in a better way?”
Her tone implied that I had written the problem … and that the problem … and perhaps I myself, were unintelligible.
She did not get that one right, but she got the rest of them … because she approached them with the confidence that comes with preparation.
These small exchanges reminded me that communication in the classroom is not a single act.
It is a continuous negotiation of tone, trust, and timing.
The Gift of “Yu-Gi-Oh!” and the Quiet Learners
Among the sea of “Outliars,” a few students continue to surprise me.
JV, who goes by “Yu-Gi-Oh!,” solved both of the most difficult problems on the test (#19 and #20).
He has been quietly excellent all year.
His work ethic speaks louder than any announcement I could make.
I realized that I had not truly “seen” him until now.
In the noise of complaint and deflection, quiet excellence can easily become invisible.
The challenge of modern teaching is not only to discipline the disruptive … but also to discern the diligent.
The silent achievers often remind us why we began teaching in the first place.
The Message that Lifted Me
In the midst of grading, an email arrived from a student named DW.
Her words pierced through the exhaustion that had settled over me.
She wrote, “Hey, Mr. Brown, I understand you are not here with us. I pray you get over this obstacle. I want to let you know I appreciate everything you do for me, from the stern conversations to the learning experiences you provide to me. You always make me feel special and intelligent, even on my worst days. Hope everything gets better, take care.”
That message became a counterweight to every form of resistance I have faced this year.
It reminded me that teaching is not measured solely by comprehension or compliance.
It is measured by the human residue we leave behind.
Her note was not about geometry.
It was about grace.
Containment and Communication
The word “containment” has defined much of my recent professional life.
It describes a strategy often used in institutions to manage difference without addressing it.
Containment isolates the voices that challenge the system while publicly celebrating the system’s supposed inclusivity.
Communication, in such an environment, becomes carefully curated.
Dialogue is replaced by directive.
Feedback is mistaken for complaint.
Transparency is treated as disloyalty.
In the classroom, this dynamic manifests in miniature.
Students mimic what they see.
When institutions avoid accountability, young people learn to deflect responsibility.
When leadership rewards compliance, students equate silence with safety.
My struggle, therefore, is not simply to teach mathematics ... but to model truth-telling in a culture that often punishes it.
That tension produces both clarity and fatigue.
It is why I continue to write, reflect, and publish these accounts.
Morale, Mercy, and Measurement
The emotional climate of a classroom is both symptom and source.
When morale declines, the teacher’s mercy becomes currency.
I gave “mercy grades” today … not to inflate scores … but to preserve relationships.
A zero can close a door that a conversation might reopen.
Still, mercy without accountability can breed mediocrity.
The long-term goal is not to protect feelings but to restore faith … in learning, in logic, and in each other.
I measure success not by how many students pass a test … but by how many begin to tell themselves the truth.
What the Numbers Cannot Say
Even as I categorize my students into groups of thirteen, seventeen, and seventy-seven, I know that numbers cannot capture the full story.
Each student represents a complex combination of potential, pain, and perception.
Each grade is both evidence and artifact.
The act of teaching has taught me that the greatest challenge is not ignorance but dishonesty … dishonesty about effort, about focus, about accountability, and sometimes about value.
When students say “he does not allow us to ask questions,” while I am answering their questions, I see the depth of the misunderstanding.
The lie becomes a shield.
The shield becomes a wall.
I also know that walls can be temporary.
Every once in a while, a student steps through the gap and reaches out.
DW’s message was one of those moments.
It proved that honesty, though fragile, still exists.
Lessons for a Larger World
The problems I confront in my classroom are not confined to adolescence.
They mirror the cultural conditions of our time.
In politics, in workplaces, and in public discourse, people often prefer performance to truth.
We reward appearances more than accountability.
To call someone an “outliar” is not to insult them.
It is to name a condition that afflicts all of us at one time or another.
Whenever we distort truth to protect ego, we step into “Lie-Lie Land.”
Whenever we equate intention with impact, we become data points outside the moral mean.
The task of education, then, is not merely to transmit information ... but to cultivate integrity.
My hope is that students who learn to recognize their own “outlying” tendencies can return to the center of honest effort.
Closing Reflections
When I began this school year, I believed that containment was something being done to me.
Now I understand that it is also something I can resist through self-definition.
I can choose when to engage, when to withdraw, and when to rest.
The confusion over my return date became symbolic of something larger.
It reminded me that peace does not depend on clarity from others.
It depends on the clarity I carry within.
As I prepare to return, whenever that may be, I carry with me both the fatigue and the fulfillment of this journey.
I have encountered dishonesty and apathy, but I have also encountered courage, curiosity, and care.
I have learned that the “outliars” are not my enemies.
They are my mirror.
They reveal the boundaries of my patience, the reach of my compassion, and the meaning of my mission.
Selah: The Sound of Stillness
“Selah” is an ancient word that invites pause.
It means to stop, to reflect, and to let the music linger.
At the end of this long season, I find solace in that invitation.
I am reminded that teaching is not a battle to be won … but a rhythm to be sustained.
Every test, every misunderstanding, every small victory becomes a note in a larger composition.
And so I end where I began, with honesty.
The work is hard, the system is flawed, and the fatigue is real.
Yet the message from one student … “You make me feel special and intelligent, even on my worst days” … is enough to restore my resolve.
That is good stuff.
Selah.
(The "Follow The Leader (changED - Volume 2)" Audio and Video Album / Mixtape is also available at TeachersPayTeachers.com)
(The "changED (Volume 1)" Audio and Video Album / Mixtape is also available at TeachersPayTeachers.com)
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I am a “standup storyteller.”
I fuse rap, spoken word (poetry), oration (traditional public speaking), singing, and teaching into messages of hope, healing, and change that I write, direct, and produce to help people who help people.
Everything must change - and stay changED.
Tradition begins and ends with change.
Change begins with me and the renewing of my mind ... then continues through efforts to effect small-group discipleship (equipping others to equip others) with audiences that respect and embrace mentoring, mediation, and problem solving as tools of change.
I am the product of my mentoring relationships, peacemaking (and peacekeeping), and problem-solving ability.
My education began when I finished school.
After school, I enrolled in a lifelong curriculum that includes classes in ministry, entrepreneurship, stewardship, literacy, numeracy, language, self-identity, self-expression, and analysis / synthesis.
My projects execute a ministry that has evolved from wisdom earned through lessons learned.
I want to share this wisdom to build teams of "triple threat" fellows - mentors, mediators, and problem solvers.
We will collaborate in simple, powerful ways that allow us to help people who help people.
I now know that power is work done efficiently (with wise and skillful use of resources, interests, communication, and expertise).
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