The semester is really busy at this point and I am just pressing on to the finish line of winter break. I thought I would share this rough draft of an essay I wrote for my Teaching Writing To Secondary Students class. This is a rough copy, so there’s probably a few errors and there are still a few points I would like to add. Yet, I thought I would share this with you all, since it is a good reflection on my past and future as a teacher. So, here’s a little preview. Elementary ed. teachers and students, this is NOT a how-to.
The sun is warm on my back. The gravel rocks crunch down under my feet. The voices of little children ring around me, as the over-all chatter makes a solid sound. It’s recess in kindergarten and I am the tall teacher. The lead teacher that I usually co-teach with has taken the day off, and I am the only teacher in my class today.
Packs of girls chase boys, (who love every second of it), while other girls sing their favorite radio hits to imaginary audiences. They sing. G.L.A.M.-O..-R.O.U.S. Hands on hips and all. Some join in jump rope lines or scream with glee on the tire swing (an oft-coveted space), while others play “football” which is really just running back and forth with a football until one kid gets rammed by another and starts to cry. Oh, the tears, I’ve dried that fall from the eyes of football star wannabees. Recess is a wonderful escape for both the children and me. I have learned more about human nature just by watching these children play than I have anywhere else.
I’ve been teaching at Nashville School for almost 9 months and I have developed some sweet little friendships with my kindergarten students. I have also become comfortable answering to hundreds of little pleas a day that begins with “Ms. Perkins.”
When sweaty Amy runs up to me, her face scrunched up in frustration, I know that a “tell-on” is about to burst out of her mouth.
Ms. Perkins, Jay is being mean! He bosses us around and won’t let us build our machine fort the way we want to! He says we have to do what he says or we can’t play with him! “
Out of the sea of children, Ali runs up to join in Amy’s complaining. “ Yeah, he’s mean! We just want to play with him, but he keeps telling us that we’re doing everything wrong! He keeps saying we can’t build it right! Ms. Perkins, make Jay be nice!”
I spot Jay a few feet away and call him over. Jay is my heart. He is a scrawny little guy, with skinny legs, blonde hair, big brown eyes and a nasally voice. Here’s the short list of experiences I’ve had with Jay this year:
1.)our school has a pool and the kids get to swim in it once a week at PE. After swimming, all the other children sit patiently in their dry school clothes to line up to go back to class. All but one, Jay. Without fail, every single week, Jay comes up against the insurmountable task of being able to put his underwear back on properly. He fumbles around in his stall for ages, until he calls out to me. Each week I show him that the skinny part goes in front, while the wide part goes in back. He stands, looking at me like a baby bird fallen from his nest, and follows my directions.
2.) Jay has gotten in trouble so many times for not finishing his lunch on time with the rest of the class, that it has become normal for Jay and I to have our own post-lunch lunch date. I stare at him munching slowly on the corners of his turkey sandwich, while the lead teacher and the rest of the class march off in their snakey line down the hallway.
3.) The machine team. Jay has strangely developed followers. Every afternoon Amy, Ali, and Jay play “Machine team.” It’s a term coined by Jay and it essentially means the group of them sit on the rocks on the corner of the playground and develop “machines” out of sticks and rocks. They call themselves the machine team and Amy and Ali are Jay’s little disciples, gathering rocks until he tells them what to do with them. Until today’s rebellion, Amy and Ali usually do what they are told. Until today.
As Jay looks up at me with his signature Who?- Me?- I-have- no- idea- what- their- problem- is- look, I say, “Jay, if you can’t be kind to your friends, you can’t play with them.”
“But Ms. Perkins. I need. To tell. You. Something. I need. To. Tell. You.Some-“
“No, Jay. You don’t. I know exactly what is going on. You are being bossy and rude and unkind. And so now you will have to play by yourself.”
“Ms. Perkins. I really. Need. To.”
“NO, Jay! No means no and you need to learn that I am the teacher and I know best sometimes,” I say in my best teacher-of-authority voice.
Jay angrily turns in a sharp motion away from me, shoving his shoulders into noisy air. His feet press the tiny rocks down in a slow crinch, crunch, crinch, crunch, as he walks away alone.
I turn back to my fellow teachers and begin to engage in playground gossip of the news of the day-adult talk. NO KIDS ALLOWED.
Then, I glance over my shoulder. I am shocked. I look at fear, unable to believe what I am seeing. Jay is standing alone beside one of the wooden playground structures, winding up and hitting himself as hard as he can over and over again on his face. I look at him for maybe ten seconds, but it feels like a hundred years. His body is heaving and his check is bright red as each slap burns his handprint onto his face. He is crying tiny tears. He looks like he is trying to get even with his worst enemy. Like his hand has multiplied in strength and has become a monster. His eyes are silent, distant, and very, very angry.
I run across the playground and pick him up, holding his arm away from his face. I say his name, “Jay, Jay, Jay” over and over, calling him back to the present and away from the dark place his mind has been. He is out of breath; my heart is racing. I put him down, take hold of his tiny hand, and together we walk over to the chain link fence and sit down, pressing our backs against the metal diamonds.
As I sat there and comforted little Jay, I was filled with so much fear at how great my responsibility as a teacher is for these children.
“Jay, why did you hit yourself?” I asked, as I gulped down my shock.
“Ms. Perkins, I was just so mad at me. And you wouldn’t let me tell you why I didn’t want to play with Ali and Amy. And I always get in trouble and I always do things wrong. And I was so so mad at me. I was so mad. “
It was right then that I realized that I was the one who had been wrong. And even though I was the teacher, and even though I had a perfectly reasonable reason for telling Jay that I wouldn’t hear his explanation, I was still wrong. I was wrong, because every child is different and every child could need to be the exception to the rule. Jay was a different kind of student. Things that were easy for other students seemed impossible for him. And on that day, he needed to tell me his side of the story.
Two years have passed since my time in kindergarten. I’m about to begin a new chapter in my teaching career, as a high school teacher this time. I’ve spent time learning and preparing for how to be the best teacher possible. But, still, I know that there will be days in the future when I am as shocked and blindsided as I felt on that day on the playground with Jay. I have learned a tremendous amount about great teaching in my graduate studies, but I must remember that I still won’t know everything when I actually am in the field. I now know that sometimes students need special treatment, because some students are special. I have learned that I will not always be right because I am the almighty teacher. I look forward into my future teaching position with humility, remembering how afraid and powerless I felt sitting on the tiny rocks of the playground, beside my tiny friend Jay. We were very much alike in that moment, both looking for someone to listen and someone to hear.
Melissa Perkins
Recent Comments