You Win Some, You Lose Some, Some Don't Play

I could write endlessly about the horrors of the pending budget cuts for education, but I don't think it'd get past: You get what you pay for, Governor, you fool.

So let's just sidestep that issue and talk about the kids.

Report card season just passed and gave me the chance to reflect on my students’ progress. In writing the comments, I realized that I have worked with these students for 280 instructional days, and found myself doubly proud of those who I know I have helped and doubly ashamed of those who I have watched decline. But I also realized anew that there are still students who have made tremendous strides and falls completely on their own, wholly outside of my efforts. No single teacher will ever be able to reach every student in a year, or even two, and I wonder how we can design our elementary schools to address that.

Here, for your enjoyment, are two of each kind of story.

S--- was speedily racing down the road to Little Miss Bitch last year, under the influence of a malicious and manipulative friend. But the “friend” left and now S--- is excelling. She earnestly told me at the beginning of this year that she realized she was distracted last year and she was going to change. I had my doubts, but she has erased them. Her hand is in the air constantly. Now, as former friends of hers are starting to turn catty again, she is staying calm and focused on learning. I had nothing to do with this, aside from quietly applauding her good choices along the way. Even her mother doesn’t claim credit, recognizing that her daughter’s change came from within. S--- has forced me to hold out hope for tween girls everywhere.

G--- is one of the few students I know who seems to have regressed in his English Language Development. His speech is less and less comprehensible each week. His writing has become completely undecipherable. I’ve asked him to read it back to me and even he, often, cannot interpret the seeming random combination of letters. He is all heart, very attentive, diligent on all tasks and eager to learn, but the learning, and now apparently even the language, never stays. He worked with me every morning last year on basic English and sight words, he receives two hours a day of small group language instruction this, he practiced furiously on his multiplication last year and is in a small, intensive math class this year. All to no avail, he can hardly parse multi-syllabic words and he still only knows his facts to 5. All of the adults in his life, from his parents to the psychologists, are mystified.

R--- and I are trapped in a vicious cycle. I’m hard on him because he’s a capable kid who doesn’t focus. He doesn’t learn because I’m hard on him and then has trouble focusing because he’s frustrated. He knows the math class is leaving him behind. (The trouble with great self-tracking systems is that they often tell students rather discouraging things.) I’ve tried to praise him; I’ve moved him to the front, back and side of the room; I’ve called and written home. We’re stuck in a loop. I’m going to try and be all smiles on Monday and see if we can start the week well. But it’s the 100th day of school and we’re running out of time.

I’m going to take credit for the success of E---. Shamelessly, I am. In third grade, he was a screaming miscreant who had to be carried into school and bodily held in the seat. In fourth grade, he learned next to nothing because every day was an effort to push boundaries and get attention by any means necessary. He missed a week of school to avoid consequences for his misdeeds. This year, I brought him in before school started to work with me on getting the room set up. I lavished him with attention. I visited him and his Dad at home and we talked about how to work together. For the first weeks, I cut him enough slack so that he didn’t constantly end up knee deep in detention, but held the line firm enough to keep the class moving. I steeped him in praise to the class and to his Dad. Dad was happy, teacher was happy, class was happy and he didn’t want to blow it. Now, I’ve gradually pulled his long tether towards academics until E--- is writing 5-paragraph essays and participating in high-level discussions of our stories. I’ve even started to withdraw the praise because I can tell he doesn’t want his newly acquired “good reader” status to become clear to his too-cool-for-school friends. That's fine, he and I still know the truth.