I am in the most serene, most reflective mood right now. I
never blog during the day. I am usually blogging in my bed at a late hour. And I never
blog about work. This space has been reserved for my most personal and spiritual
thoughts. But today, I am breaking all the rules. I was touched in a surreal
way during my second summer school session today and I wanted to get it on
paper.
Even though it is summer and the hours are long, there is
something eerily peaceful about summer school. (Even though my story below may suggest otherwise.) For one thing, the students merge
from the six different high schools in the county, so everyone is a stranger,
with the exception of a few. Different backgrounds, learning styles, and
stories exist, but the common goal of passing this course for the second and
sometimes third time is shared by all. By the end, after the first day jitters,
initial reluctance, and downright pain of forfeiting summer vacation, a
beautiful thing transpires. The space that was once strange and dreaded soon
becomes a very safe and comfortable place.
In fact, some students become a bit too familiar. This was the context
of today’s lesson. This lesson wasn’t written by Ms. Short. It was not guided
by Common Core objectives, nor did it include a formative or summative
assessment (at least not in a literal sense). As most teachers will tell you,
the most valuable lessons learned in the classroom come directly from student interactions
rather than course content.
Lesson: Student A (a robust white male)
announced to the class that he wouldn’t stand being called “Billy” any longer.
Earlier in the summer, a few of his classmates suggested he “looked like a
Billy” and used Billy as his nickname. Student A never expressed any issues
with the name, so the students thought it was acceptable. Today, Student A exploded.
Apparently, he did not want to cause any problems in the class, but he did not
feel comfortable with the nickname Billy. Someone called him Billy and he began yelling a few obscenities. In fact, he even threatened
to punch the next person who used the nickname. The class was shocked. They did
not understand the root of his hostility. Unfortunately, the student sitting
directly in front of him decided to exacerbate the situation by saying, “what,
you don’t want people calling you Billy? What’s up Billy? Hey Billy.” Student A
jumped up, threw his hands up, and shoved the desk against the wall. Student B,
the instigator, stood up as well. I directed Student B into the hallway. Another
male student helped me. A and B argued and exchanged words. Eventually, with
Student B in the classroom across the hall and Student A back in his seat,
class resumed. Whew. I’ve never had a fight or even the makings of a fight in
my classroom. I had a tough talk with Student B across the hall. All was well for the moment. I mentioned earlier that Student A was
a robust male. Let me add some specifics. This young man is about 6’3 and
almost 300 pounds. Initially, I wanted to question why he would let such a
small thing incite him so. Then I started thinking back to the many stories
that he’d shared with me through his journal entries as well as orally. Staring
at him after the “big explosion,” I could tell that this young man was hurting.
He was used to having to wear the mask of the tough guy, but as I looked
at his face, I saw a young boy crying out for comfort. He bottled up much
anger, so much hostility, and so much heartbreak because of what had transpired
over the course of his life. Was it acceptable for the students to assign him a
stereotypical “white boy” name? Absolutely not. Should he have handled himself
better? Certainly. During our session break, he approached my desk, but didn’t
say a word. Our eyes met and his gaze alone revealed signs of both remorse and
embarrassment. He gave subtle hints
throughout the remaining class time to demonstrate his true feelings. Earlier,
he withdrew himself from the class activities, but he slowly eased his way back
in as class progressed. He continued assessing my behavior for traces of
forgiveness. We established a certain level of respect early on and he wanted to make
sure he had not ruined that. We spoke at the very end of class and my
assumptions proved true. There is an art to understanding a student’s body
language and non-verbal cues.
Now for Student B.
After this interruption, I started reading essays that they wrote yesterday. Let
me also add that Student B is one of my favored kids this summer. (I know,
teachers shouldn’t have favorites; you know what, it’s inevitable.) After completing this course, he will graduate this month. There is
something that draws me to this kid. I told him once that many of his behaviors
are almost childlike. Mischievous? Yes! But, he desperately wants my approval
at all times. You can read it all in his face that he too wants the attention
and approval of an adult. (similar to Student A.) He is also a very hardworker and extremely
passionate about writing. What’s not to love? So, as I am reading the first
paragraph of his essay, I begin to tear up. An excerpt from Student B’s paper
reads, “…I tell you, I was just swept away by the memories of my childhood back
when mama was still alive. I feel looking back in your past can be healthy for
you. You can reminisce on all the good and bad you’ve been through…” Eeeeek!
Stop right there! Immediately, I recognized what drew me to this kid: the
unspoken connection between individuals who have lost their mother during their
childhood. I couldn’t even contain my emotions at that point. (I know, I’m a
sensitive one.) Nothing else had to be said. I completely understood this child
and all of his acting out. Although I didn’t carry myself in this manner, I
have a younger sister that did, and I get it.
Every single person has a story. All of us. We want to
believe that our children have easy and carefree lives, but the reality is they
have stories as well. As a teacher, I am my best when I take these things into
consideration. I am a better teacher when I acknowledge these things about my
students. Are these excuses for misbehavior? No. Does losing a mom excuse you
from respecting the feelings of others? Of course not. The same way coming from
a divorced family does not justify shoving a desk. But it does help us
understand the idea that triggers are real. Knowing what triggers or ticks us
off is vital in understanding our true selves. When things like this happen and
I am able to reflect, it makes me realize that I was made for this. I couldn’t
imagine doing anything else. I have so many ideas for reaching these kids
outside of the classroom. I often try to deny my calling, but I will not any
longer. You can’t sit on your purpose. I will admit I often become a bit
complacent in my journey and think that this is enough. It is not. There is so
much more that I can do; I look forward to it! Pray for me.
