I've Got Something to Tell You

If all teachers had a dime for every time their name was announced, shouted or whined on any given day, we would never need to beg our government for more money because we would be filthy rich. Since my last name is one syllable, the call of my children sounds much like one of those jungle birds -- "CaCAW! CaCAW! CaCAW! CAA CAWWWWWWW!"
Of course I ignore them, because I am behavior-management savvy (in my own mind) and they know I will not answer them until they raise their hands.

Since I am not an octopus or three-headed snake, I cannot attend to all the darlings' needs at once. So I created a bucket in my classroom labeled "I've Got Something to Tell You!" It has slips of paper next to it, and any time a student just can't wait to tell me something or needs to disclose some news discreetly, he or she can write it on the paper and drop it in the bucket. I check it at the end of the day and usually write back.

Sometimes the notes say things like "You're the best teacher!" (Naturally). Other times the sentiments are more heartfelt, such as "I wish I could read."

Get your tissues out. This next story sounds like a Hallmark card but I swear it happened.

One of my female students, we'll name her Sarah, is of the larger size for her age. She wears the same faded, blue jacket on her body and the same grumpy, lackadaisical look on her face each day. I often get over-cheery when I greet her each morning, just to see if she'll actually smile or even laugh at my cheerleader-like efforts. Anything.

So about two months ago, I was going through the bucket and pulled out a paper, folded into fourths. I opened it in the solace of my post-schoolday classroom (ahhhhh, what a nice sound) and read these words. "I hate myself and I am ugly." 

The next day when Sarah's class lined up for the teacher handshake, I asked her to stand aside until everyone came in so I could speak to her. The other students quietly went to work on their morning problem of the day, working like busy bees ... oh wait, I'm dreaming. The other students were going nutso in the classroom, but I was determined to have a quiet moment with this wounded warrior.
I told her I read her note, and that I wanted her to know something.

"You are beautiful. You are smart. And you are loved." I said. "Now I don't know who told you that you are ugly, but they're wrong. I'm your teacher and you need to listen to me."

I told her to repeat those three statements, which she did. Then as each day went on, I continued to pull her aside every few days and ask her, "Sarah, what are you?"

She would repeat, "I am beautiful, I am smart and I am loved." Often she would say it just to appease me or just so I'd let her go sit at her desk. But she always knew the answer to my question.

Then today, which was just an ordinary Tuesday with 6 weeks of school to go (HALLELUJAH SING THE ANGELS OF THE LORD), I checked the bucket again.
Inside was a paper, folded into fourths.

I opened it, and read these words:
"I am beautiful. I am smart and I am loved. Love, Sarah."

And that's why I am a teacher.

16 Stitches

Today was a testing day at our school, and it's a trying time for students who, when asked to sit quietly for 30 minutes while others complete their test, react as if you are asking them to swallow a live cockroach. So when we up the ante to a 4-hour stretch, you can imagine the resistance.

One of my struggling readers was … well, struggling. She was at question number 3. Fear not, I thought to myself, because I have a bag full of pep talks sure to make any sulker turn into a swagger, turn any Debbie Downer into a Polly Positive, any Doubting Thomas … okay you get the picture. I can  sell these kids on most anything.

First thing I do is kneel and get on her level. (Any good teacher knows this). Then I lower my voice and turn on my calm, sweet Kindergarten teacher voice, which sounds kind of like Yoga instructor voice without all the swirly breath lingo. Then I gently touch her back because I know this student enough to know that appropriate touch is "OK" with her.
"Olivia, (not her real name by any stretch of the imagination)," I say, "If you keep going and finish your test, I'll give you a prize ticket."
Her eyebrows raised just enough for me to know I was going to have to take a different direction.
"Olivia," I say, "I know you can do this. You have been working really hard this week. You've got this."
Again, a look that showed she wasn't about to believe this white blonde lady whispering to her. She might as well have just said, "Really?"
So I reached into my bag o' tricks and pulled out the gentle but tough speech, the one I often perform with a wide smile and clenched teeth. I took a deep breath, replaced the yoga music in my head to a rough rap beat, and leaned in closer to her face.
"Olivia," (again, so very far from her real name)," I sternly suggested, "You are smart and you need sit up and finish this test." Then I tapped her paper with my index finger for effect and added, "Right. Now."
I hit some kind of nerve, because she began telling me she should have stayed in second grade because she still didn't know how to read. Then her diatribe took a turn.
"I should have stayed in second grade but that girl kept messin' with me. I told her not to mess with me. I told her but she didn't listen. So I bit her in the head and she had to have 16 stitches. I told her not to …"
At this point I realized how close I was to her face and I slowly backed away. She was still reliving the biting and I was thinking "OMG if I push her too far with this test taking stuff, I'll be sent packing from the war with a bite wound on my head." I might liken it to when you reach out to pet a stray dog; all of a sudden it starts bearing its teeth and growling, so you slowly back away with "Nice doggie!"
I was fast-forwarding through the potential scenes that might ensue, when she said, "and I should have stayed in second but she messed with me so they just passed me on to 3rd grade."
Wow.
Needless to say, I made some sort of deal with her that clicked. She was eyeing my cup of Starbucks coffee and said she wanted some. I told her if she finished the test and did her best I'd bring her a cup on Friday (genius, I know .. offering to bring a caffeine loaded drink to a third-grader who starts flipping over her seat like it's a pommel horse after 45 minutes in the classroom.) Nonetheless, she put her nose to the grindstone and finished.
Success? She finished the test and I walked out of the class injury-free. You be the judge.