I Was Made For This

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.