Through Her Eyes

Today a new student joined my 4^th block class. She walked into our literacy block while other students were pouring through the door, hesitant and shy, and I exuded warmth and security and the fact that I’ve got her back in the midst of the madness as strongly as I could. It worked; she didn’t hesitate to ask questions and seek help right off the bat. But for the literacy period and our fourth block, I kept having out-of-body experiences, and finding myself suddenly transported into her gaze. What a crazy world fourth block looked like from her perspective! This is what I imagined:

The teacher seems nice. The kids are really loud, though. I hope I’m not going to sit near that little hyperactive one that keeps waving his arms and screaming “lollipop.” Oh my gosh! Those two guys are fighting! Why doesn’t the teacher freak out? Oh, they’re just friends. But I wouldn’t have gotten in the middle of it like that if I were her, she could have gotten smushed by the big one.

Me today. And, you know, almost every day.

How on earth is the teacher going to get everyone to quiet down? Ah, I see. I’m not going to roar “Sparta” the way these kids do when she yells “Athens,” but maybe I’ll kind of whisper it so I don’t stand out.

Oh god, she’s introducing me. Where am I from? Michigan. Um, phew, okay, attention’s back on her. Oh, nope, wait, everyone’s looking at the guy who’s taking his shirt off in the back… huh?

 Oh my god! What was that? It sounded so violent. From here it looks like that big girl just shoved the desk with that little guy out into the middle of the class. She literally just picked him and his desk up and pushed them away from her hard. Now she’s being moved by the teacher. And the little guy’s getting in trouble, too? This doesn’t make sense. I wonder what the backstory is.

Michelle Obama’s face is on the screen. I wonder what we’re watching? Ah, I see. Wow does she not get the realities of public school education as I am witnessing it right here. Everything she’s saying has absolutely no application to this classroom. Okay, a list of advice on how to succeed in school… I can pretty much look around and just figure out what not to do.

Boromir knows.

Four students spend almost the whole class screaming to each other. They’re not mad, just loud. The guy behind me sat and did nothing for the first ten minutes, and then he suddenly woke up and asked to borrow a pencil. I gave it to him. He seems okay. Quieter than the rest. His eyes are really red, maybe he needs more sleep. Or maybe… huh.

Two students from another class came in. The teacher gets all strict-sounding with them, the way she did when that one boy wouldn’t sit down (is he standing out in the rain right now? Where did she send him?). She’s making the one near me write an apology to his teacher. He’s looking at me. Please, please don’t let him talk to me. Oh, good, he’s talking to the kid who got pushed earlier. Oh, man, this is really different from Michigan. I can’t believe they’re getting away with saying this kind of thing to each other! Your lips have ghonorrea? What does that mean? There, she’s sending him out. And reading that other one’s reflection, and saying something to him to make him laugh—how can she laugh with him? How one earth is she still laughing when these kids are so crazy? The class kind of works—it’s rolling forward in a sort of unstoppable chaos, and everyone does some amount of work. I guess it’s better for her to get them laughing instead of screaming.  

Somehing I ponder often.

The bell. Everyone’s stampeding out. A girl who was screaming all class long goes up and gives the teacher a hug. Now the teacher and she are in a duet singing, "R.E.S.P.E.C.T." I'm so confused.

“Um, Ms. W? I don’t know where to go next.” She’s looking at my schedule and asking one of the pair of really sweet-seeming guys, that sit right at the front of the class and waited to say bye to her and show her their drawings, to walk me. I hope he is as sweet as his smile.

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My kids have started writing "G-d" on their papers -- I saw it in a war poem and then in a letter of advice to a younger sibling. It’s funny what catches on—why can’t they mimic my perfect spelling instead of my religious idiosyncracies?

I made a lot of phone calls tonight, and when I reached one student’s home who hadn’t been in for two weeks, her 23-year-old sister picked up. I asked for her guardian, and was told I was speaking to her. Oh. She sounded hopeless—what could she possibly do about 15 absences when her sister is only 6 years younger than her, and she has her own child to worry about? So I asked to talk to my student, and told her how much we miss her and how she has to do recovery work. She promised she’d be back tomorrow: “I give you my word, Ms. W.” She gave me her word at least twice in the call. It sounded so solemn, and I hope she keeps it, and that she gives me her work, too.