Bad Kids

I fear that I will one day encounter the malicious devil-child that will make me regret these words, but for now, I’ll take the risk and say: I don’t think there are “bad kids,” only good kids turned by tragic circumstance (which includes terrible parenting.) Almost always, an awful story of misbehavior told in the staff room is followed by the question, “What’s his/her deal?” and then answered with an equally horrifying sequence of life events. I’m not saying all the hellyuns have excuses and that we should reduce our expectations for their work and behavior but, rather, that their disobedience and disruptiveness always has explanations that should fortify our resolve to help them.

I’m serious, here. I find that understanding that there is always an utterly heart-wrenching reason that the little bastards are trying to ruin my class’ engagement is key to my not seeing them as, well, little bastards. It doesn't always work, but it's well worth the try. Remembering the scope of the difficulties that our troubled kids face, helps me by maintaining my patience and also by reminding me that their issue is not actually with me.

D---, a troublesome and bright child, who can be tremendously disruptive, gave me a reminder of this today that I will never forget. We were reading from Bud, Not Buddy, and had just finished a scene where Bud was remembering some very touching experiences he shared with his mother, who has died. I finished the chapter and immediately D--- began shouting, “Really? Do mothers really do that?” I heard him, but did not immediately process what he was saying. “Do mothers really play with their kids like that?” He shouted again. There was murmuring from the class but no response. I was putting down the book and turning to face D--- when he continued, loudly talking with the tone people take when they think someone is listening but unsure if anyone will respond, “I didn’t know mothers did that. All my mother does is stop by on my birthday and give me fifty bucks.”

I didn’t know what to say.

I still don’t know how to think about this in a way that doesn’t break my heart. I could imagine D--- being smart and sophisticated enough to have said that in cynicism, feigning surprise to better the other purposes of his shouting out; but its still heart-breaking that a ten-year old should know and articulate so explicitly the failure of his mother. I could also imagine D--- being youthfully self-deluded enough to continually surprise himself with the inadequacy of his absent mother, his shouting simply an extension of his surprise; obviously heart-breaking that he must constantly find himself disappointed and miserable anew.

A sad life doesn’t allow for D--- to disrupt the education of others or to continue forestalling his own, certainly. But just as surely, such a heart-breaking story is one more vital reason not to allow myself to lose my patience with or dedication to this “bad kid.”

Here long enough to learn "Good-bye!"

S----, my newcomer, had his last day today.

I’m crushed. I suspect he’ll be fine, but I’m going to miss him for the rest of the year.

Teachers, if you could design your dream newcomer, S--- would have been it.

Despite not speaking a lick of English, S--- probably wrangled more learning out of each day than three native speakers. He was constantly focused and engaged, always demanding of his neighbors to keep him in the loop. He seemed to pay no heed to the language gap and tried to participate with the class no matter the impossibility of the activity. The only times I saw him less than eager was when I pushed him to use Starfall or Onemorestory, when our lesson was wholly pointless for him.

From the second day on, S--- came to school with every reading and vocabulary homework assignment completed, in his own handwriting. Apparently, he forced an English speaker living with him to help him read the passages and answer the questions. He made use of Spanish/English dictionary I loaned him and recorded English words he learned in a composition book.

In math, he was easily in the top third of our high class. He took notes. He carefully showed his work. He passed quizzes. He always did his homework, except for one time when he was busy packing up his room, and he cried in shame when he didn’t have it to turn in.

More than all that, S--- was the kind of bright-eyed and darling kid that comes one to a class. His best friend ---his longest stream of English was the parting, “Good bye my best friend”--- was an African-American kid who doesn’t speak a word of Spanish. He would pal around with K--- and another boy, C----, and for all his smiling engagement in their conversations, a bystander would never imagine that they were speaking a language he didn’t understand. He always came early to school and hung out in my room with M---, a “newcomer” of a few years now. We spent ten minutes one morning arguing over the superiority of Superman or Batman; S--- participated constantly with charades and shouts of “No no no!”

Late in the afternoon, his mother came to talk to me while the kids were at P.E. For some reason, she insists that I speak more Spanish than I do. (I’m upgrading myself from “Just enough Spanish to be dangerous” to “Just enough Spanish to embarrass myself.”) I told her that I was sad that S--- was leaving, she said that she did not want to move. S---, overhearing, asked why not stay, and she reminded him that it is for his father’s work. He nodded and went back to playing, crying out for his friend who was knocked out in four square.

At the end of the day, I took S--- to the back of the room so he could shake hands with all the students as they left. I was shocked to see how many of the students had a secret handshake, or inside joke, or some other sort of obvious connection to the boy who’d spent less than three weeks with us. Once again, I found myself reminded of what a small piece of my students’ experiences and perspective I am privy too. Why am I always so silly as to imagine that my students’ world is so much about the things I know and control?

I am sad to see him uprooted, but I know that S--- will be successful in Vacaville, where he’s headed, and Modesto, or Oregon, or Arizona, where he’ll wind up after that. They say Cesar Chavez attended 65 schools. After meeting S---, I can finally imagine how a child could endure that and come out literate and intellectual. Si se puede, S---.

Whispered Happiness

Things are going well…far too well. I’ve feared to write about how well things are going lest I be punished for such edu-hubris and sent a class clown, ten more students, or packing to another grade. You might think that silly excuse-making, but I sat down to blog about my happiness earlier this week and my laptop’s logic board died, ---hardly a good omen.

But I will tempt fate again, even if this post simply serves as a bittersweet reminder of the joy that was ten weeks from now.

Joy #1: Good kids. I ended every day last year with a nightmare class. There were easily six students in that class worse than our single greatest behavior problem this year and, despite my every effort, they set the tone of the class. I had forgotten what a joy it was to work with a strong community of good kids. Last year, we hadn’t a single high-achieving boy to lead the young men of the class. This year we have more than half a dozen. Last year, our smart girls were eclipsed by catty pseudo-sophisticates who modeled academic apathy as the path to cool. This year, the popular girls are intellectual forces too.

Joy #2: Small classes. Everything is more manageable with twenty-five, as opposed to 38 kids. Rather than a third, the difference feels almost ten-fold. I can keep track of achievement, stay on top of behavior, and connect with parents many times more effectively. In the classroom, less kids means more fun. More kids with access to the materials and the front of the room, less kids distant and disconnected. Less kids means it’s easier to be a little silly, build some positive affect, and still quickly return to serious learning. Less kids means more chances for each kid to be recognized, to hold an important class job, or to get the one-on-one interaction with me that makes school a place they’re happy to be.

Joy #3: Leveling, Take Two. Instead of departmentalization, this year we went back to just leveling for math. I have deep reservations about this for elementary school kids, but given the 60 point (of 300) standard deviation in our students’ math scores, it was essentially a necessity. With our small class sizes, we can have me teaching the 35 top math students in my typical Direct Instruction model, and the other fifth grade teacher working with the 15 neediest students in a centers-based intensive intervention program. I am free to teach to a level of depth that I could never have approached with the full spectrum of our students and she can offer a level of remediation impossible with 30 kids. Even in just two weeks, the effectiveness of this program is already clear.

Joy #4: Books. This year, we are teaching real books, as in novels and other complete works of literature. Right now, we’re working through Gary Soto’s collection of short stories, Baseball in April. It is a complete joy, I look forward to each reading lesson in a way I’ve never experienced before. I’ve loved Gary Soto since I was in third grade, and Baseball in April is a book that even most adults could enjoy. For the kids, a book rife with characters who talk and act like them is a totally new reading experience. Rather than being constantly stumped by foreign words and experiences, they are continually running into bits of their own language and life that just reach out and drag them into the text. We are having wonderful discussions and the kids and I cheer every time we take out our texts.

Dark clouds are certainly brewing, however. Our Program Improvement status might result in the placement of an additional administrator at any point. An unfilled resource position could bring a difficult leadership personality, or worse, push another set of critical work on to the plates of our few teachers willing to do anything. Our union is talking about the impasse in negotiations with the district. A behavior problem from last year is beginning to act up again. A class of 25 students means the constant probability of receiving overflow from other schools. However I’ve always known that the number one rule of public education is: “Be Flexible.” So, for now, I’m just going to go on loving my job.

The Newcomer Enigma

Here and here, TMAO has some fantastic posts with great ideas about how to meet the needs of our newest ELLs. However, if he (and any one else) doesn’t mind taking the conversation back down to a more immediate, practical level…

TMAO (and all others willing to offer answers):

R--- walked into my 5th grade class today, having come to our district from Mexico over the weekend. He speaks, truly, no English, but is quite L1 literate, reasonably math competent, and came to school ready to work. We have no other true newcomers and only a handful who operate at that level. They will be pulled by the resource teacher for less than an hour a day, most likely in the afternoon. This means he’ll have the whole morning of reading/language arts with us.

Assuming I have reasonable flexibility in how to use my Direct Instruction Language Arts time, what are your most critical recommendations for how to make this time productive for him?