I was quite nervous walking into Howe Elementary this Wednesday morning. I was preoccupied with the thought of teaching a lesson to my class. As the 4th graders shuffled out of the classroom, I sat down with the Everyday Mathematics book to look over the lesson I was supposed to cover. Even though I felt comfortable with my prepared lesson, I knew I couldn’t be too prepared.
As I was writing down information about my lesson, I asked Mrs. Slaughter if Jose would be willing to come to the front for a demonstration. She said that would be fine, he just won’t talk. We went into depth about Jose and his life at home. I was astounded to hear about his family. Jose doesn’t talk in school, but seems to be very comfortable around all of his classmates. He can get right into the middle of a group of children without hesitating. When it comes to adults though, he is very determined to keep his distance whenever possible.
Even though he keeps quiet in school, Jose talks a mile a minute when he comes home, he never stops talking to his brother. Mrs. Slaughter asked his parents what he liked to do at home, his hobbies, interests and favorite books. Jose’s parents said something that hit me like a rock. They don’t know what he likes to do; he speaks in English. His Spanish-speaking parents have no idea what their son likes to do. After hearing this, I was more confused… yet more determined to have him participate in the lesson with me.
I wrote some information on the board and waited for the children to take their seats. I was a little nervous about pairing the students across the row from each other. Some students are funny about working with one another, and I have found that to be held in this classroom. I started off with a question and the room was quiet, much to my surprise.
My experience throughout the entire lesson was amazing. Almost every child was making eye contact with me throughout my teaching and then each student was enthralled in the paper I handed out and the room was full of movement. I did not once see a child off task that needed to be redirected. As the lesson went on, I noticed Ryan in the front row. Usually he will sit and stare ahead, never answering questions Mrs. Slaughter proposes. I asked Justin how much the water bottle weighed. He said, “Umm… 15 pounds?” Ryan laughed, “No, fifteen pounds is like almost two gallons of milk!” I couldn’t really believe what I was hearing, because that is really accurate. Ryan helped me figure out the worksheet and was very eager to use the string to measure his arms, feet and hands. What did I do that made Ryan so eager to pay attention and answer all of my questions? I know my lesson was somewhat interesting to these students. Each had a sense of “wow” in them when I was presenting personal measurements and matching body parts. Maybe it was a combination of excitement and respect for me, who has rarely been in their classroom.
My test with Jose had come; I don’t know why I was so hesitant to call his name, but I was. “Jose and Eduardo can you please come to the front?” Eduardo slapped his forehead while Jose put his head down with a smirk and wobbled up to the front of the class. Each stood next to each other as I explained the directions to the class. “How many people know what their arm span is equal to?” Some children yelled, “Your height!” I measured Jose for a demonstration. I could tell he was a little timid about me being in his personal space, but he didn’t back away. I felt very relieved because he was cooperating nicely. Jose held the string out and then I pulled the string down to his toes. I asked him to hold the string up high, and low and behold his arm span was his height! A huge smile spread across his face. I did the same thing with Eduardo who gave off this sense of self-importance for being up in front. I felt I reached Jose on a different level than what I usually reach him on. We made a little eye contact as his eyes shifted from one area to another. His grin seemed like a breakthrough for me; just sensing that he was enjoying my lesson with him made me think. Maybe Jose needs a reason to come out of his shell. If he was shown activities and fun ideas constantly, would this get him to speak? Maybe Jose would want to talk, want to be a part of the fun, want to learn more.
As the class activity and lesson came to an end, I left the children with one last thought. I asked them to make a fist and take a look around them. I said, “Do you see everyone else’s fist? See how different in size everyone’s fist is? Your fist is the size of your heart. Look at all the different size hearts in this classroom.” All of the students looked around in amazement. I heard gasps and laughing; someone shouted, “You got a big ol’ heart!”
The lesson had ended and the students lined up for class. I followed the line down to the cafeteria and Sophia tapped me on the back of my arm. “I really liked how you taught today Ms. Fannin. I want you to have my pencil that I measured with.” I wanted to hug her because it was so sweet. She insisted on me taking it, so I did with a smile and thanked her. This made me think about Sophia a lot the rest of the day. I know she is on medication for depression right now, and she is often late or absent during the week. What did giving her pencil to me mean to her? I feel that she doesn’t have a close family back at home and she needs someone to look up to. I have noticed this in Sophia before; she has tried to give me her things many times. Why does she want to give her belongings to me? I think I will write to Sophia once I leave Howe Elementary, with her pencil. I think she needs the extra attention and support, which I am willing to help give. Even if it brightens her day for a moment, that will be all I need to start writing to her.
There are so many students in this classroom with special cases and special needs, if only I could reach one of them. How could a teacher reach all of them? I suppose this is where teacher burnout can be seen in full force. Going beyond what you are supposed to be doing is so easy when you care about your students as a person.