Caring.
"Meh Ree, come take a picture with me -- I'm looking good today."
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When I started Teacher Corps, I didn't know how I would be able to care for each of my students, let alone even learn all of their names. I knew I would try what I had been taught in my graduate classes and in my experiences during my first summer school: to differentiate instruction so all students can learn and to strive for understanding and comprehension with each student, no matter their level of ability. What I didn't know was that my ability to care for these students would change, and that what I cared about would also change.
At the beginning of my time with MHS, my idea of what teaching meant was different: most of the time I taught right up the middle in an effort to force British literature into their brains: not as much to my highest achievers -- the ones who have been known to correct me at times on little bits of knowledge that come from who knows where -- and not my kids at the very bottom -- the ones whose eyes glaze over the page for the four and five letter words that they recognize -- but right up the middle. |
I could tell you that I made elaborate yet vague lesson plans with ideas for reaching students with different learning styles and abilities. I used all the buzzwords that my instructional leaders require in the lesson plans to kind of fly under their radar: words like "supplements," "visual aids," "think-pair-share," "writing reflection"... the list goes on.
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And for some of my hard-to-reach-academically students, it is about scaffolding, breaking questions down into manageable pieces, adding student interests to projects (like social media), and utilizing the dang Chromebooks because they would rather look at a screen than me.
And for some of my hard-to-reach-academically students, it is about scaffolding, breaking questions down into manageable pieces, adding student interests to projects (like social media), and utilizing the dang Chromebooks because they would rather look at a screen than me.
I could tell you that I have scanned the latest educational articles looking for new ideas that would help me reach those kids on the edges because I do. I actually Google searched "how to reach apathetic English students who really want to learn but don't want to focus" (specific, right??). I was so frustrated on that day that they seemed to be on the edge of being mentally "present" in my room, but it seemed like something was holding them back -- maybe themselves, maybe a stigma, maybe something I don't even know about, maybe me. But my search results, both on Google and just observations in the classroom, yielded little results that I found helpful. So, I started to change my approach.
I tried using the whole "I-know-you-don't-want-to-be-here-(and sometimes neither do I)-and-yet-we-have-to-be-so-let's-just-get-this-done" approach. |
It seemed like something was holding them back." |
But what I feel it really boils down to is the "making-the-relationships-really-count" approach, the "I-know-you-don't-want-to-believe-me-but-I-really-do-care-about-you" approach. What I found was that when I make the time and the effort to make the relationships with my students count, especially the ones who are hard to reach because of social issues (introverted, verbally violent, physically violent, needy, sleepy -- the list goes on), they are more willing to listen to me and try to do whatever I'm asking them to do, no matter how pointless it sometimes seems to them. They also know that I am more willing to listen to them and to really try to hear what they need me to hear when we have those relationships. Those are the kids that I hear say, "C'mon guys, just let her teach" or "This won't be that hard, let's just get started" or "Don't talk to my teacher that way" (see images below). What I found was that by making them invested in me and my class, it didn't matter most of the time what I asked of them -- they would at least try.
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"You're going to need this picture one day, Meh Ree -- I'll be famous."
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Sometimes you've just got to take a bad selfie.
And a few more.
And a few more.
If I start our Monday back from Thanksgiving break with an immediate task, I get kick-back. If I start our Monday back from Thanksgiving break by asking them what was their favorite food from the holiday, then ten minutes later they don't balk at my assignment quite as much. It's taken me two years with these students to understand this because for some reason I didn't try to know them in the beginning. It took me four months during the beginning of my second year to reach this one kid with Kool-Aid dyed hair that I finally got on my side and now he will at least pretend to nod along when I'm giving instructions and points and nods at me from down the hall. God bless him.
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It took me another four months to learn all their favorite Kodak Black songs so that I know what to play during their reward class periods when we listen to tunes while we work. God bless Kodak Black, too. But mostly, it's taken me two years to understand that they are all so different -- academically, socially, personally, creatively, physically -- and I can't treat them all the same. |
Some need a hug, and some need me to be physically very distant; some need an extra word on the way out, and some don't need to ever be singled out, even for good things. Some like the "old school" style of Beowulf, and some have preferred the dystopian world of Nineteen Eighty-Four. Some prefer tests, and some would rather draw on a poster, and some would rather try an oral argument. So I try it all -- variety and versatility and patience, most of all.
My caring has changed -- it's not that I want them to care about literature the way I do, or even that I care how much literature they have learned this year (if we're really being honest). Those things are important, yes, but not as important as them knowing how much I care about them. I care that they are alive and successful and feel good and have me as a support system every day.