Never Give Up

         Like many teachers, my first year was just as much about trial and error and learning from my mistakes as it was about getting to know my many students (I had about 60 total that year).  One rookie mistake I made was waiting until the last possible minute to post my grades for the first quarter.  It's not that I didn't want to do it sooner (I knew all about the importance of providing "timely, efficient feedback" from my graduate classes, after all); I just couldn't find the time with everything else I was trying to take in.  I will never forget the day the progress reports came out and two of my senior girls stormed in demanding to know why they had received an F (another rookie mistake, I know).  The main reason was that they had spent so much of their class time chatting instead of getting their work done, as seniors are prone to do.  After they calmed down and we had a serious discussion, their behavior changed for the better.  The two girls, Kaiya and Amara, had spent most of their childhood living in a Kenyan refugee camp before moving to the US just a few years earlier. Like many refugee students, they had little to no formal schooling and suffered dramatically in reading.  But even though they were not my smartest students, they were definitely the hardest working.  From that day on, anytime they didn't understand something they kindly asked me to explain it to them again.  Anytime the class had to work collaboratively, they automatically took charge of their group, encouraging everyone to stay on task and get their work done.  Anytime they made anything less than a B, they had a conversation with me about what they could do better for the next time.  Anytime they had to write something, they asked me to spell words they weren't sure about or check to make sure the writing was correct.  At the end of the year, I asked my students to write an essay about their experiences traveling to the US, and the most touching of all was Kaiya's.  She truthfully described watching soldiers shoot her pregnant sister-in-law while the family was still living in war-torn Somalia, and the difficulties they faced as they tried to escape to the refugee camp in Kenya.

          Another student from my first year, Mikayla, also stands out to me, but for the opposite reasons as Kaiya and Amara.  To be honest, she was the kind of student that teachers dread seeing on their rosters at the beginning of the year.  A 17-year-old Hispanic infamous for her involvement in gangs, she rarely made an appearance.  When she did miraculously decide to come to class, she could manipulate almost anyone in the class--boys and girls alike--to abandon their classwork for the sake of pointless conversation.  She was also disrespectful, as she would consistently talk to friends when I was in the middle of teaching or giving instructions and then ignore me when I politely asked her to move seats.  It was almost as if she acted this way on purpose just to get under my skin--and get under my skin she did!  But what bothered me the most about Mikayla more than the skipping, the talking, the gang activity, or the disrespect, was the fact that I couldn't get her to do anything.  Zip.  Zilch.  Nada!  The most I ever achieved was for her to write her name at the top of her paper--and even then she didn't turn it in but left it crumpled under the desk for me to find when I cleaned up the classroom later.  An over-achiever who prided myself on getting even the most stubborn of students to participate in and enjoy class activities, it was hard for me not to take this personally.  I'll admit that another mistake I made as a first-year teacher (there were so many, I know!) was to sometimes let my emotions get the best of me rather than staying calm and patient.  On one such occasion, I turned to Mikayla and said, "Why are you even here?  If you're not going to do anything but distract my other students, what's the point?" It may have been true, it may have been necessary, but it felt hurtful and I immediately regretted it.  A few weeks later my words came true, as I learned that Mikayla dropped out of school on the day she turned 18.  My colleague assured me that she had this planned for a long time--even since she was a freshman--but I took her dropping out even more personally than I had her frustrating behaviors.

          In May, I attended graduation and sat with the other teachers for the first time.  Kaiya and Amara smiled from ear to ear as they received their diplomas and proudly walked across the stage--probably the first ones in their families to do so.  I thought about what a great accomplishment this was for them, and how hard they had worked to get here.  Then my thoughts quickly shifted to Mikayla, whose name should have also been mentioned aloud today but wasn't.  I wondered where she was, if she was safe, and if she was working somewhere or just hanging out with her gang buddies all day.  I also wondered if she would ever change her mind and finish her high school education.

          Yes, I made a lot of mistakes in my first year, and I learned a lot.  What I learned from all three of these girls was something I already knew, something all of us have heard over and over again but that sometimes we just need to be reminded of; I learned (or relearned) never to give up.  Kaiya and Amara had seen things little girl should never see, being exposed to war, violence, hunger, and separation from their family.  They were lucky to be alive, so education was probably the last thing on their minds.  Nevertheless, they overcame incredible odds to  speak English, learn to read,take classes that are difficult even for high-achieving Americans, maintain a level of passing in every class, and finally graduate from high school.  I don't know much about Mikayla's past.  Perhaps she, too, faced hunger, abuse, or other such traumas.  The difference is that she did not have anyone to push her and teach her and encourage her.  Though I and her other teachers certainly tried to do these things, she had already given up on herself--perhaps on her whole life.  The next time you are faced with a challenge, remember Kaiya and Amara and their dedication to graduation; remember Mikayla and her lack of effort; and remember these three simple words:  "Never give up!"

Wasp Woes

          Coming from situations where I sometimes had to teach inside a tiny broom closet, or where the principal had to create a classroom for me in a place that was never designed for one, I feel very fortunate that this year I actually have an entire portable. Of course, teaching in a portable is still not ideal, but at least it's a step up from the isolated, damp rooms with no windows. In the fall I battle the constant rain showers, in the winter the snow and ice (especially on the steps leading up to the portable), and in the spring the invasion of wasps; fat, flying wasps that freak my students out as easily as the abominable snowman probably would. Though my fellow portable colleagues and I constantly put in requests for someone to come and spray for the horrendous insects, they always seem to return a few weeks later, each time brining more and more family members with them.