"I told you this would happen Ms. Joens. I got one..."
This was the passing comment given to me by a former student just before dismissal today. My own class was packing up, grabbing their backpacks, and I happened to be standing in the hallway as the boy trudged on by, defiance in his voice.
"What did you get?" I questioned, confused.
"A referral," he responded, flashing a glimpse of an envelope without looking in my direction and moving on down the hallway.
There were only a few minutes left before the bell was to ring, my class had a lot to pick up, and there was so much commotion in the hallway by other 2nd grade classes it was easy to get lost in it all. This comment, however, stopped me and I knew I needed to address it.
This was the same boy whose mom had walked out on him last year. We went through a lot, and I mean a LOT (just read my previous post) getting through that season of his life. I had already cried so much for him, and my fear was that he would start to get on the wrong path. I could feel him testing me last year and could catch a glimpse of what his future might be if he grew more defiant, less trusting of adults, and ultimately a teacher's nightmare. His little life is so impressionable right now, and it killed me to see him accepting his fate of ending up in the office as if it was just a matter of time.
I called his name and beckoned him back. He turned, shoulders shrugged, lip jutted out and giving off an impression of callousness. This boy, who I had to retain due to his insufficient progress last year. Who could blame him for not putting school as a priority? He was just down the hall from me now, but I rarely got to engage with him. Yet I know him. I know him very well. And what happened in the next few moments is powerful in reflection to really see just how much of an impact you can have on someone's life.
He came up to me, still not directing eye contact, and I asked him to tell me what happened. He told me what he had said, which involved making a very serious threat to another student, and I asked for more information on the situation. He confided what had sparked the incident, and I heard him out. I then asked him to come closer and wrapped my arm around him, bending down to talk directly to him. I told him I was sorry to hear that had happened and that he should be careful with his words. I hugged him and challenged him to do better, "because you're a good kid. Don't think you're a bad kid. I know you, you're my Alex, and you're not a bad kid. You hear me?" He nodded, eyes glistening a bit, and then went on his way.
I later found out from his teacher that he came into her room bawling. She assumed it was because of the referral, but I knew he wasn't crying from getting in trouble. It had to have been me who caused him to cry. I had no idea that he got so emotional just moments after our interaction - he was initially so cold. I could have only hoped that my words hit home, and thank God they did something. It is incredible to witness how powerful and influential God has ordained human relationships to be, and we each must choose to use that power for good or harm. I cannot forget what position my job puts me in with these kids, and I wouldn't trade moments like this for the world!!
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Monday, May 19, 2014
"…You listen to their cry..."
He was the last student I had at dismissal that Friday afternoon, and as he and the few others from other classes were waiting to get picked up, one adult walked by observing how amazing it was that we still had kids past the normal dismissal window.
"What are all of you still doing here? You need to get home and spend some time with your mommas!" he jested, as Mother's Day was in just a couple days. But as the man walked inside the building, the eyes of my student met mine, wide and alarmed.
"He doesn't know," was all I said.
The little boy jerked his chin up and pursed his lips for a moment, as if to say he got and understood my message. Then his eyes turned down at his hands fiddling with the strings of his backpack.
Yes, he doesn't know that just earlier today when the class was making cards for Mother's Day, you said you hadn't seen your mom in so long that you weren't quite sure what she looked like anymore, and therefore couldn't draw a picture of her. He doesn't know that your mom had simply decided to not be a mom, and left you, your brother, and your sister without any proper goodbye. He doesn't know about all the times you sat at my desk, tears rolling down your face, as you tried to reason through your situation. All those moments I pushed everything else aside and sat across from you, face to face, and let you talk it out. I've heard the story over and over. I've seen your emotions ride up and down like a roller coaster. I've let you take your anger out on me, as your trust for adults close to you starts to diminish. I've reminded you how I care about you and how I'm not there to hurt you, and I've strived to prove it and keep your trust. Oh, and how many times I've cried for you and prayed for you that you don't know about. It kills me to see the destruction in your little world and the very harmful effects it has on your development. Instinct has me wanting to shelter you and make it all better, but alas, I cannot. I am powerless to right those wrongs, because I am not your mom, and could never replace her. I can get angry, I can feel sad, but still, these empathetic emotions cannot take the place of yours.
So, my dear student, all I have are moments like these. Moments where little words are said, but I can see nonverbal understandings between us. Contrasted to the adult that knows little about you, I realize how much I do know and what obligation I have to be sensitive to that. My eyes are also opened to the reality of what this job is as I will come across many many more like you. That is why I know teaching is my calling, and I pray that your time in my classroom is a breath of fresh air where you feel safe and loved. I pray it is a moment when you feel like the special child that you are, and I place you in God's hands as I must trust His will and the fact that He brought us together. How loved you are, dear one, and I pray that in your darkest night, He will be there to calm your fears and ease your pain.
"You hear, O Lord, the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry, defending the fatherless and oppressed, in order that man, who is of the earth, may terrify no more."
- Psalm 10:17-18
"What are all of you still doing here? You need to get home and spend some time with your mommas!" he jested, as Mother's Day was in just a couple days. But as the man walked inside the building, the eyes of my student met mine, wide and alarmed.
"He doesn't know," was all I said.
The little boy jerked his chin up and pursed his lips for a moment, as if to say he got and understood my message. Then his eyes turned down at his hands fiddling with the strings of his backpack.
Yes, he doesn't know that just earlier today when the class was making cards for Mother's Day, you said you hadn't seen your mom in so long that you weren't quite sure what she looked like anymore, and therefore couldn't draw a picture of her. He doesn't know that your mom had simply decided to not be a mom, and left you, your brother, and your sister without any proper goodbye. He doesn't know about all the times you sat at my desk, tears rolling down your face, as you tried to reason through your situation. All those moments I pushed everything else aside and sat across from you, face to face, and let you talk it out. I've heard the story over and over. I've seen your emotions ride up and down like a roller coaster. I've let you take your anger out on me, as your trust for adults close to you starts to diminish. I've reminded you how I care about you and how I'm not there to hurt you, and I've strived to prove it and keep your trust. Oh, and how many times I've cried for you and prayed for you that you don't know about. It kills me to see the destruction in your little world and the very harmful effects it has on your development. Instinct has me wanting to shelter you and make it all better, but alas, I cannot. I am powerless to right those wrongs, because I am not your mom, and could never replace her. I can get angry, I can feel sad, but still, these empathetic emotions cannot take the place of yours.
So, my dear student, all I have are moments like these. Moments where little words are said, but I can see nonverbal understandings between us. Contrasted to the adult that knows little about you, I realize how much I do know and what obligation I have to be sensitive to that. My eyes are also opened to the reality of what this job is as I will come across many many more like you. That is why I know teaching is my calling, and I pray that your time in my classroom is a breath of fresh air where you feel safe and loved. I pray it is a moment when you feel like the special child that you are, and I place you in God's hands as I must trust His will and the fact that He brought us together. How loved you are, dear one, and I pray that in your darkest night, He will be there to calm your fears and ease your pain.
"You hear, O Lord, the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry, defending the fatherless and oppressed, in order that man, who is of the earth, may terrify no more."
- Psalm 10:17-18
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