Loving Them

A troublesome 5th grader was sent to our classroom this week. The teachers at this school are in the habit of sending students into other classrooms for time-out, and when we got S. on Thursday morning we were informed that she would be spending the entire day with our class.

I was less than excited about this addition, since just last week I had to break up a fight between S. and one of my students during recess, and I had also heard about how she was put in handcuffs by security the last time she got in a fight because she just wouldn't stop. But while I was having all of these thoughts my mentor teacher approached S. kindly and introduced herself. "How are you?" My mentor asked her. "Huh?" "How are you doing?" "Good." Some of the fire in her eyes went out and she went quietly to the table that my teacher pointed out for her.

The day progressed rather uneventfully with me teaching the class and S. sitting quietly at my mentor's desk. I couldn't tell what she was doing; I was just happy that she wasn't disrupting the other students. When we came back from lunch we got word that S. would be dismissed from school early and she packed up her things and left the room.

It wasn't until after the other students were dismissed that I walked over to my mentor's desk and my teacher showed me what S. had been working on. It was a piece of yellow cardstock drawn over with clouds and squiggles and "Happy Birthday Daddy!!!" written in large print. It was the other notes written off to the side, though, that really touched me. The first said "I will always miss u!" and I instantly wondered where her father was that she would always miss him. The second little note explained it for me: "Is this how it looks in heaven?"

It just never ceases to amaze me how much my feelings for these children have changed. When I first arrived I loved them naively. I thought they were all cute and sweet and wonderful, and it was a rude awakening when I realized that they are rarely all of the above. After that I endured them as my 9 am to 4 pm daily trial, and struggled and prayed to be able to love them. Gradually those prayers were answered and through a series of little experiences like this one with S., I can say now that I love them knowingly. I know that they can be crazy, wild, dramatic, and even violent. But I still love them. And I am learning that they are more wonderful than I gave them credit for, even in the beginning.

Lessons Learned

I love my students. It has become clearer to me in these last few days as I realized that my time remaining in their classroom is getting short, and I am a little afraid of how much I am going to miss them when I have to leave. They draw out of me (on a daily basis) every human emotion on the spectrum, and while teaching is exhausting, nerve-wracking, challenging, exasperating, etc. it also the most fulfilling thing that I have been able to do in my life so far.

One of the things that I learned this week is when to just shut up. I don’t know what it is about being a new teacher, but for some reason I was under the impression that as a good teacher I should be talking most of the time. I should be giving directions, following up, correcting behavior, calling for order, and so on. I should think aloud, read aloud, and write aloud. At one point during the week, however, the words of a very wise friend and leader came to mind: “He who talks the most learns the most.” If I want my students to learn (especially at a deeper level) I have to let them do the talking! So the next day I tried it. I was running out of things to say anyway, so during the reading aloud when the students were getting difficult to keep quiet, I just shut my mouth. I listened to their comments and conversations (most of which were about the book) and when they were done a minute or so later they quietly and calmly looked up at me to continue reading. I was so surprised and pleased! I realized that I hadn’t trusted them enough to talk before, but by denying them that exercise I was limiting their experience with whatever it was I was trying to teach. It may require more time to be invested, but I have a feeling that the returns will be well worth it. And let’s be honest, I get really tired of hearing my own voice by the end of the week.

Something else that I learned this week had to do with class discipline. I expressed to my mentor teacher my frustration with knowing how to discipline the students when some don’t seem to care about the consequences that we have set up in our class management system. I explained that while I don’t exactly want to “threaten” my students, I don’t feel like I even have anything to threaten them with at those times when their behavior gets out of control. I am not a big fan of taking away recess, since I think they need the exercise and I know that I definitely need the break. I am not sure, either, that sending students to the office does a whole lot more than get them out of the classroom for a few minutes. Detention usually seems pointless, and sending them to another classroom to be in timeout is distracting to the other classes and teachers. What, then, could I do? My mentor teacher explained that there would always be times that the students just don’t want to respond, but the loss of the teacher’s favor has to be the greatest consequence. I have to create relationships with them that are positive enough that they would be sorry to damage that confidence. I am trying to put more of this into practice and already I am seeing great results. It’s effects aren’t as immediate as the threats that I could hand out, but they are much more lasting and they help the students develop into the kind of caring people and citizens that I want them to be.

Last thing learned (again): It is hard to love so much. I realize that these students will move on and most of them I will probably never see again. It is such a short period of time in which I can have any sort of impact on their lives, and then I just have to think about them and pray for them. On Friday morning one of my students (C.) came into the classroom crying, and her silent sobs made it impossible for her to even tell me what was wrong. My mentor teacher wasn’t in the room, but one of C.’s friends came up to tell me that she was crying because her mom had just been taken to prison. What could I do for this poor little child?? I hugged her and had to tried hard to not cry myself as I assured her that everything would be okay. I asked her if there was someone to take care of her and her sister and she said that they would be staying with their grandmother. I can’t imagine having your life change so drastically at 9 years old, and in that moment it hurt my heart that there was so little I could do for her. Goodness knows I would have invited her to come live with me in an instant, but I don’t know how well that would have gone with the administration and I don’t think that is what she needs, either. I just have to pray that somehow things will be okay and that she will grow up feeling loved.

I cannot believe how quickly the time has passed. I essentially have just three more weeks of teaching before I will be done, graduated, and gone. It is still tough and tiring, but I am determined to give it my best effort while I am here. I couldn’t do any less for these kids!

Black or White: what does matter

There seems to be a lot of discussion lately on the subject of race, and I found it a little ironic that this was the first week that I had to deal with some of those issues personally. While I am sure there are still many subconscious biases that I will need to uncover and remedy, I have learned this week that treating people with respect and kindness is what matters most, and I can agree with the words of Michael Jackson that "it don't matter if you're black or white," because we are all just people.

In our student teacher seminar on Wednesday our supervisor told the story of a teacher in a predominantly black school whose students used the term "white" as an insult among themselves. One day the student teacher confronted a student about it, and told him that it really wasn't a good thing to say.

"I'm white," she told the student.

The student jumped to her defense. "No you're not!"

"Yes, I am. I was born white, my family is white, and being white isn't a bad thing."

To that point the student had never connected skin color with the words "black" and "white". White was something abnormal, despised, snoody, etc.

For the most part I have felt welcomed in my school by both students and faculty. We say "good morning" every day and chat about school, weekend plans, and life in general. Sometimes, however, I have sensed a barrier. I don't quite know how to say it, but the first time I realized it was during a school assembly when they had the entire school chant "I'm black and I'm proud" followed by a scripted performance by the student body officers pledging support to and faith in President Obama's upcoming re-election. Political opinions and correctness aside, it demonstrated the deep pride that these people have in their history and culture, and for a minute I felt like I wasn't allowed to be proud of my own ancestry. I felt mistrusted, misunderstood, and definitely like an outsider, and I started to reflect these feelings back in my interactions with students and other teachers.

These sentiments rarely surfaced in my conscious mind, but on Thursday of this past week they were brought abruptly to the forefront. I was in my classroom after school and two girls came in to wait for their after-school tutors to arrive. I see these girls every week and we always exchange smiles and say hello, but since they aren't my students I don't have a lot of personal interaction with them. This week, however, one of them turned to me and asked "Excuse me, are you white?" My first reaction was complete surprise that she had to ask. While I am capable of acquiring a nice tan in the summertime, let's be honest, I am about as Anglo-Saxon as they come in the winter. (Even in the summer you couldn't realistically mistake me for an African-American.)

"Yes, I am," I answered, not sure what else to say.

Suddenly both girls were quiet and things were awkward.

"Why would you ever ask that?" The other girl hissed at her friend.

The questioner addressed me again with "Oh, I'm sorry. No offense, but I don't like white people."

I had to laugh at the "no offense" part, but I asked her why anyway. She said "because they be mean." Her friend was embarrassed and tried to get her to be quiet, and even offered that she didn't think they were ALL mean. I admit that I was feeling a bit ruffled at being identified with such an unmerited stereotype, and I did my best to stay polite as I explained that I tried to be kind and white people were just like black people in that you have nice and mean personalities in both races. Their tutors came in soon after and I left for the day, but a feeling of resentment lingered and I was hurt that some people in this culture still seem to see me as "white" and not as "Kiera."

As I have thought more on this experience and others like it, I have realized how many times in my own life I have seen other people through a similar lens. My biased and blurried understanding of some cultures has limited my ability to see people for who they really are. Misunderstanding leads to mistrust, which leads to suspicion, which can lead to accusation, violence and so on.

On the other hand, when I get to know and see these people as individuals I learn that we are not so different after all. This week I met the parent of a student who enjoys reading, Capri Suns, and who chews ice even though she knows it is bad for her teeth. Well, so far that is just like me! I suddenly had common ground with this woman, however simple it was. And that understanding led to respect, trust, and kindness.

I don't know all the answers to the world's complicated problems, and most of the time I feel like I have enough of my own to deal with. But this week was a good reminder for me that we are all just people, and all children of the same loving Heavenly Father. The sibling rivalry we have going on here has got to stop!

God "inviteth them all to come unto him and partake of his goodness; and he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God..."

- 2 Nephi 26:33, The Book of Mormon

Speechless (almost)

Wow. WOW. It has been a busy week, and there have been so many ups, downs, goods, bads, and all-out crazies that I am completely ready to resign for the next 48 hours.

Teaching overall is getting more comfortable, and it doesn't take me nearly as much time as it used to to plan a day's worth of lessons. I used to spend hours planning a single lesson, and now I spend about one hour for multiple lessons! It makes teaching seem more doable, which is nice. The kids and I are also getting more used to each other, and I feel like I am developing a sixth sense that allows me to know when to push them, when to hold back, when to insist on certain things and when to relax a little bit. It has been such a blessing!

One example (and unquestionably my favorite moment of the week) happened on Tuesday when T. (student) refused to go to French class. T. is one of our two special education students, and he has extreme attention and behavior difficulties, and just two weeks ago we had to call security on him because he was pushing over desks, throwing things, etc. Since then he has been a little better, but on Tuesday he chose to be very adamant and vocal about not going to French (which is understandable if you read my earlier post about THAT teacher), and I couldn't even think of anything to say to him in the moment, so I didn't say anything. T. walked with me and the rest of the class down the hall to French class, all the way yelling out "I ain't goin' in there! I hate French!" And drumming along the walls quite loudly as he went. I dismissed the other students to go into he classroom, and turned to T. who was still drumming a fast beat pattern on the wall. He had found a hollow spot and the rhythm resonated throughout the hallway, and since I still had no words to say to him I just stood there. Normally I wouldn't allow him to do that, but as I stood waiting for some inspiration on how to deal with this child it suddenly occurred to me that he was quite a percussionist. Being a musician myself, I know how hard it is to keep up a very fast and regular beat, and with the intricate offbeat pattern that he had woven in it really was impressive.

"T., you are a very good drummer," I told him.

"I know that!"

"Well I didn't know that. Sometime I'll have to bring in a drum and you can play for the class."

"I have drums."

"Well sometime I'll LET you bring them in and play for the class."

I gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked away, hoping that he would decide to go to French class before another teacher caught him. The drumming stopped as I turned the corner, and when I made it back to our own classroom I was relieved that T. hadn't followed me.

When the hour of French was up I went to get my class. T. was the first one out the door, but (surprisingly) he didn't have any complaints and came to line up right next to me. Then as the other kids lined up, T. did something that left me absolutely speechless. He took hold of my hand and held it, and then draped my arm around his shoulders and leaned his head against me. T., who shuns any physical contact that isn't aggressive, and whom I had NEVER seen display any kind of affection!

T., who has no father to speak of, whose mother is in and out of prison, and whose mother told us the last time we called that when T. is in school "he ain't my problem no more." T., who can't read or write and spends half of the day in a special education classroom where he is taught he alphabet for the thousandth time. I had struggled to understand him from day 1, and at best I endured him. I had avoided his dreadlocks like the McDonalds they smelled like, and his general lack of hygiene made me less than eager to work with him one-on-one. God forgive for not seeing this child for what he is! I am so grateful for the inspiration that allowed me to love him.

The rest of the week was still crazy. A fight broke out in the hallway outside our classroom on Wednesday between two 5-grade girls. The instigator, I learned, is one who gets into fights regularly. She is also the daughter of a prostitute, and the school found out that she has begun her own "training" to continue in that profession. It broke my heart to hear that.

On Thursday there were gunshots just a block or two away from the school, so they called a lockdown and we spent the day inside with security at all exits and walking the halls. It wasn't quite like a normal lockdown, since usually that means to sit with your student in the room with the door locked and the lights off, pretending nobody is there. The teachers said it happens too often around this school to cancel instruction for it, so we were told just to close our door and keep away from the windows. I never found out what happened outside, but we walked home at the end of the day without seeing anything, so I guess that was good.

I am hoping that next week will be calmer, but you never know. I am just grateful to still be learning as a teacher.