What do you teach?
Why did you become a teacher?
When someone asked me what I taught, I knew they wanted to know the subject area. Sometimes I answered directly, “Middle school English.”
However, my best response to the question was, "I teach children".
The front doors to the middle school opened into the cafeteria where the day officially began for many of the students who ate breakfast and greeted friends.
Andrew, as required, met his teachers just beyond the doors to be searched and observed. Searched to confiscate non-educational contraband and observed to see if it will be a good day, or not so good. From his morning greeting, “I hate that fucking bus driver” or “Hey, Mrs. Steele” he established the mood - kind of like Jell-O. Everyone was aware that if things heated up Andrew melted down. Except for his colorful vocabulary, this young man embraced a heart of gold and the mind of a toddler encased in the body of a 278-pound teenager. He responded positively to food and humor but revolted against requests and requirements. The caring staff surrounding him provided the grace of diligence to keep him in school.
On any given day, after shedding my purse, coat and storing my lunch, I walked through the halls calling out, “Walk on the right.” A high five, and questions about their previous evening welcomed students.
Each had a story to tell - such as Anthony. He dressed in a red and white striped shirt, tight jeans, carried a backpack and wore black rimmed glasses. Restraint and concern that students might pick up my chant restricted me from exclaiming, “Where’s Waldo!” Remember the character from the I Spy books? In each book, Waldo was forgetful and lost. He roamed from page to page and with each turn dropped a personal belonging. Much the same, Anthony roamed the halls unaware he was watched but hoped all eyes are on him. Because of his impulsiveness, repeatedly, teachers asked him to put his cell phone in his locker, and he often required redirection to slow down and keep his hands to himself. For him, constant discipline was not needed but the grace of encouragement was required.
When I returned to my office, a list waited my attention knowing as the day unfolded priorities would demand my attention and the list would grow; it seldom diminished.
Often the list held an inventory of names, students whose misdeeds needed addressing. Through empathy, consequences, reprimands, and dialogue, I worked beside them developing relationships, plans, goals, choices, and problem-solving skills. When a student walked into the office, inevitably I reminded myself, “Here stands a child searching for the path to adulthood - sometimes just trying to survive.”
On this day, a secretary announced the first arrival, Tadd.
He never seemed to have control over his lanky, 12-year-old body. His reputation preceded him: his fingers stole an iPod, his hands gestured improperly, his arms threw a bolt down the crowded hall, his head repeatedly sported a forbidden hat, and his body performed a victory dance in the middle of class. If only he had picked up the food he threw in the cafeteria and thoughtfully wrote an apology letter. Whether a mature mind might someday develop to match his age, or his actions would conform to society’s expectations was yet to be seen. When his parents spoke supportive words in the office, their body language yelled rejection. Between the lines of his behavior plan, was written the grace of unconditional love.
Jenny next walked into the office.
As she sat down her dyed hair, black clothes, and dark attitude released a gust of sadness that enveloped the room. A concerned shadow circled her eyes reflecting rebellion with a hint of longing. The daily point sheet, if it had been picked up at all, returned unsigned by a parent, not because of defiance but knowledge that attempts to get signatures required energy that she didn't possess. By being tardy to class she prolonged the negative and remained in the fellowship of peers; her refusals to comply masked her failures proclaiming her independence. Her proclamation of bi-sexuality encouraged acceptance by both girls and boys. The bulge of her notebook provided evidence of banned notes as a similar bulge in her pocket confirmed the presence of a cell phone; both provided assurances of approval. Her eyes needed to read the grace of acceptance in others’ faces and words.
In the front office, Amos signed in late.
When he didn't come to school his mother wrote excuses the next day. A professional letter had been sent to the school board and the prosecuting attorney proclaiming him a habitual truant. When he did attend, he most likely loitered in the halls avoiding the classroom. Once he wrote on the lockers - maybe to notify everyone of his existence. A warm and welcoming entrance provided the grace of hospitality that brought him back again to roam and search the school halls.
The saying, “Boys will be boys” attempted to justify actions that in no way warranted justification.
Bill understood the pain he caused when he forced a peer into the trash can. Once bullied, he bullied others. However, the recent death of his friend from cancer still haunted his memories. He made a promise to himself to be kind and live each day positively; he made a promise in honor of his friend. Tears stained his cheeks as he confessed, admitted, and pleaded his guilt knowing it necessary so he could accept his punishment and the grace of forgiveness – both of which he received.
Upon opening and reading the emails, I added Johnny’s name to my list.
His new school requested more information about him. What could be said about the school’s adopted child? After eating the school provided lunch, his English teacher provided a toothbrush tucked away in a drawer so he could brush before first period. Another staff donated some clothes that her son had outgrown and yet another investigated steps to gain foster care licensing. With his absence, my wash loads decreased but Johnny touched each of us. In response to the email asking about strategies to support success, I replied, the grace of generosity.
As the bell rang, Louis stopped by the office at the end of the day to retrieve his cell phone.
His presence obvious when he entered the office. He was loud in the classroom, in the hall, at choir concerts, and on the bus. Known by teachers, students, parents, substitutes, and bus drivers as the class clown, a disruption, a peeping Tom, and trouble. But despite his disabilities and problems, he never hesitated to smile at all he met. Louis readily helped the disadvantaged. He made me smile even as I handed out consequences and spouted lectures. I granted him the grace of hope but understood that his constant enthusiasm and continual endurance provided hope.
Surrounded by teenagers’ energy, I walked towards the buses wondering how a thousand students exited a building, boarded buses, and disappeared in five minutes.
Outside the buses, students loitered with friends, so strange there was now no hurry to leave the place they had hated and cursed all day. For them must be bestowed the grace of patience, so they will learn to accept life for what it has to offer.
Boys and girls hugged goodbye in a manner that activated memories of watching soldiers leave wives and children as they depart for a tour of duty.
Students who experienced their “first love” (of many to come) learned about future relationships through the gift of the grace of experience.
The day ended with a phone message from an Arizona school principal responding to a request for information about Marcus.
I read the notations quickly realizing his behaviors remained similar since his move to Idaho: argumentative, non-compliant, tardy, disruptive, and violent. Marv’s name remained on my list, at the top, to address tomorrow.
Each child – each person – carries their past which molds who we are and who we will become.
Each one of them and all of us through the sacrifice of others receive grace not because it is deserved, but in fact, because mercy is granted. I daily praise and thank God that we don’t get what is deserved.
Teachers go to college to learn their subjects: math, science, English, history. They are masters of the curriculum. However, teachers teach children. It is often proclaimed,
“Students don’t care what you know until the know that you care.” -John C. Maxwell
When I’ve watched students walk across the stage to receive a diploma, I remember they are not simply graduating from the academics but traveling into a world that requires continual grace. They are carrying with them the lesson that they are their best.
(The vignettes shared are true stories about students I connected with as a middle school administrator. Names are changed, but these students are representative of all the teens that walk the halls of public education. Working beside them provided me the opportunity to develop compassion and learn the art of being fully human.)
# The Art of Being Fully Human
Submitted August 21, 2019 at 08:14AM by WTMMahler https://ift.tt/2Zf6Tjt
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario