The Student No One Wanted

This is not the story of a group of unwanted children that magically transformed under my tutelage and became thoughtful and independent citizens of the world.  It is not that story because that story is fiction at its finest.  However, this is a virtual nod to a group of children who almost made me cry in the classroom once and did made me question teaching as a profession.

Today was extended planning.  For those of you who don't teach at my school, that means that the administration pulls you out to work on important things that make your day incredibly exhausting.  Exhausting mostly because the one rejuvenating thing about teaching is working with kids.  During extending planning, there are no kids.  And adults' reactions to my jokes are significantly less satisfying.

Setting: Yesterday afternoon in the classroom
Me: This picture shows Stapholococcus.  Anybody ever heard of a Staph infection?
Student 1: Oh!  My mom had that in her elbow once!
Me: Right. This guy (points to staph picture) is a bacteria.  He's not a fun guy.
(pause)
[Students 1-10 groan.]
[Students 10-15 laugh.]
Students 15-20: Wait, what's the joke?  I don't get it.
Student 10: Fun-gi?
[Students 20-26 ignore me completely.]

This afternoon, a colleague and I worked on updating our fifth grade science quarterly, and when 3:30 came around, I made my way upstairs to get more work done.  By this point, I was mentally exhausted.  I'd hit a wall.  But I knew that cell quizzes needed to be graded and sent home tomorrow, and that I should really send home quarterly study guides at the same time.  Once I got upstairs, I just didn't have the energy.  I desperately needed a pick-me-up.  I was trying to do something productive, though, when two teenage boys walked into my room.

At first, I was confused.  Were they looking for another class to help with tutoring?  Then I realized that one of them was my in my homeroom four years ago.  The year that almost did me in.

It was a class of misfits.  They'd given me trouble in fourth grade, but I'd hoped that they would mature over the summer and turn out to be the best fifth grade class ever (because when you're a new teacher and don't know how to deal with significant behavioral problems, wishful thinking and avoidance are your defaults).  Well, they didn't, and that year was one of power struggles, bad attitudes, and frequent conversations with the social worker and disciplinarian.

I had a kid who was constantly angry or disrespectful.  A kid whose ADD fueled a series of poor decisions (oh wait, there was more than one of those).  Kids who couldn't stop talking.  Kids who refused to work seriously.  And the cherry on top: a student whose mother was dying of liver disease, who had emotional issues, and who got suspended for cursing out his reading teacher by email that spring...one of a host of detentions and suspensions, if I remember correctly.

This trainwreck of a kid was one of the two teenage boys that came through my door this afternoon.  He hasn't come to see me much, but every time he does, it reminds me of how much of an impact a teacher's support can have on a kid.  Our relationship was never perfect--he certainly acted up in my class his fair share of times--but somehow, I ended up being the only teacher in the lower school that he ever really trusted or worked for.  In sixth grade, he came back to visit, and the social worker pulled me off my after school duty to walk around campus with him and talk.  Every year or so, he comes to visit me after school, and I hear about all of the mess that he's got himself into.  I don't know why he tells me these things but I guess it's because I listen.  I wouldn't say that I listen without judgment.  In fact, I fussed at him today for a few things he told me.  But I guess he shares because he knows that no matter what he tells me, I'll still like him.  I'll still smile when he walks through my door.  I'll still abandon whatever I'm doing to sit down with him for half an hour and catch up.

I recognize that this story reflects well on me.  I know that there's a good chance that the thirty minutes he sat with me today are the first time in a while that a teacher had a pleasant conversation with him, and I bet that validated him in a way that he really needed.  I'm proud that I could be there for him.  But most of all, I really needed that conversation today.  I was tired and overwhelmed, and he sat and talked to me for thirty minutes.  Thirty minutes that he could have been getting into trouble, watching TV, or texting his friends.  Thirty minutes that I would have otherwise spent lamenting the grades on the most recent cell quiz and wondering where I'd failed my students.

The cell quizzes never did get graded.  I'll probably have to go into work half an hour early to get them done in time.  But as much as I hate getting up early, it'll be worth it, knowing that I ended my day well today.