Every day as a first year teacher brings new experiences, new trials, new achievements, and new emotions. Today was no exception.
One of my students (and his siblings) are moving to another state tomorrow. And while these children have all given various amounts of grief to our teachers and staff this year (and I'm ashamed to admit I felt a little bit of relief when I found out they'd be leaving), it wasn't until he was in my room today knocking chairs over and ripping up paper that I realized I didn't want him to go. How ironic.
And no, I don't just thrive off the excitement of a child attempting to destroy my room (which is unfortunate because it seems to happen fairly often sometimes because of outbursts, sometimes because of paint), but it was because I realized that this student in particular was not knocking over desks because he doesn't like my class. But most likely because he does.
Earlier in the class, as I was standing at the front of the room teaching a lesson, he'd yelled out to inform me that he would be moving tomorrow. Seeing that the polka dots and zig zag patterns we were talking about on my projector screen were clearly not at the top of his priority list, I told him I'd heard and asked him if he was excited to be moving. He gave me a thumbs down and told me that this morning he'd been given the option to stay home and pack or go to school. He'd chosen school (which in that moment hadn't seemed like an important detail but shortly after would). I told him he'd be missed and luckily a couple students gave their agreement and I got back to teaching the lesson.
Not long after, prompted by something that seemed so insignificant at the time that I can't even remember what it was now, he got upset very suddenly and knocked over a couple desks. They clattered entirely too loudly to the floor, scaring several other students. A minute later it was the metal trash can. I told him he was making poor, unsafe choices, and that he needed to take a deep breath and pick the stuff up that he'd knocked over. He'd stopped, so I walked away to let him calm down. Not even a minute later he was picking them up. He sat down in his chair for a minute before he jumped back up and the whole thing started over again. Knocked over one of the desks, picked it back up. Knocked over the other one, picked that one back up too. At some point he also ripped up his work and threw the pieces all over the floor. He left them there for only a few minutes until he also picked those up, without my having to ask. He laid on the floor, he sat at a desk, got back up, laid back down, stood with his face in a corner. So restless. More so than normal.
As it was happening I was aware that his outburst, though prompted by something inside my classroom, probably had little or nothing to do with my class, and everything to do with what was going on in his life. And I also had a flashback to walking around the school track with him as he told me that art and music were his favorite things about school. But because I had his behavior, the rest of the students to tend to, and at that point less than 20 minutes to get a project started, my brain was in "go" mode. Get the lesson taught, get the kids working, put out all the fires, get the class out, get the next class in. Go. Go. Go.
Now, at home in my PJ's, sitting on the couch, I finally have time to reflect on the day. And tears instantly pricked my eyes when I realized I didn't give him a hug. Or a high five. Or even a wave as he left my classroom today. I didn't tell him I'd (me, not the class as a whole) would miss him. I didn't assure him that (despite his outbursts) I still liked being his teacher. I didn't do any of the things that I'd want my teacher to do as I was walking out of their class for the last time. Now granted, there's always the chance that he'll be back, or even that the move won't happen tomorrow. Not to mention that we have some amazing teachers and administration and staff at my school and I know, without a doubt, that multiple people most likely wished him well and told him they'd miss him.
But I didn't.
I just hope that thanks to the last 5 months that I've been his teacher, he already knows I care. Not because I said it, but because I showed it. I hope that because of my persistence and inability to give up on him, he could just tell. And mostly, I hope that if he does end up moving, that the teachers at his next school fight for him and care for him as much as the teachers at my school do. Because he, like all of our kids, deserves that.
All of that is to say that I plan to be much more intentional with my students. I like to think I already am, but maybe not as often as I should be. And the next time (if or when) a challenging student who pushes all of my buttons leaves my school, I'll make sure, no matter what else is going on in my room, that I will tell them I'll miss them and wish them the very best. Because frankly, that is way, way more important than polka dots and zig zag patterns.
One of my students (and his siblings) are moving to another state tomorrow. And while these children have all given various amounts of grief to our teachers and staff this year (and I'm ashamed to admit I felt a little bit of relief when I found out they'd be leaving), it wasn't until he was in my room today knocking chairs over and ripping up paper that I realized I didn't want him to go. How ironic.
And no, I don't just thrive off the excitement of a child attempting to destroy my room (which is unfortunate because it seems to happen fairly often sometimes because of outbursts, sometimes because of paint), but it was because I realized that this student in particular was not knocking over desks because he doesn't like my class. But most likely because he does.
Earlier in the class, as I was standing at the front of the room teaching a lesson, he'd yelled out to inform me that he would be moving tomorrow. Seeing that the polka dots and zig zag patterns we were talking about on my projector screen were clearly not at the top of his priority list, I told him I'd heard and asked him if he was excited to be moving. He gave me a thumbs down and told me that this morning he'd been given the option to stay home and pack or go to school. He'd chosen school (which in that moment hadn't seemed like an important detail but shortly after would). I told him he'd be missed and luckily a couple students gave their agreement and I got back to teaching the lesson.
Not long after, prompted by something that seemed so insignificant at the time that I can't even remember what it was now, he got upset very suddenly and knocked over a couple desks. They clattered entirely too loudly to the floor, scaring several other students. A minute later it was the metal trash can. I told him he was making poor, unsafe choices, and that he needed to take a deep breath and pick the stuff up that he'd knocked over. He'd stopped, so I walked away to let him calm down. Not even a minute later he was picking them up. He sat down in his chair for a minute before he jumped back up and the whole thing started over again. Knocked over one of the desks, picked it back up. Knocked over the other one, picked that one back up too. At some point he also ripped up his work and threw the pieces all over the floor. He left them there for only a few minutes until he also picked those up, without my having to ask. He laid on the floor, he sat at a desk, got back up, laid back down, stood with his face in a corner. So restless. More so than normal.
As it was happening I was aware that his outburst, though prompted by something inside my classroom, probably had little or nothing to do with my class, and everything to do with what was going on in his life. And I also had a flashback to walking around the school track with him as he told me that art and music were his favorite things about school. But because I had his behavior, the rest of the students to tend to, and at that point less than 20 minutes to get a project started, my brain was in "go" mode. Get the lesson taught, get the kids working, put out all the fires, get the class out, get the next class in. Go. Go. Go.
Now, at home in my PJ's, sitting on the couch, I finally have time to reflect on the day. And tears instantly pricked my eyes when I realized I didn't give him a hug. Or a high five. Or even a wave as he left my classroom today. I didn't tell him I'd (me, not the class as a whole) would miss him. I didn't assure him that (despite his outbursts) I still liked being his teacher. I didn't do any of the things that I'd want my teacher to do as I was walking out of their class for the last time. Now granted, there's always the chance that he'll be back, or even that the move won't happen tomorrow. Not to mention that we have some amazing teachers and administration and staff at my school and I know, without a doubt, that multiple people most likely wished him well and told him they'd miss him.
But I didn't.
I just hope that thanks to the last 5 months that I've been his teacher, he already knows I care. Not because I said it, but because I showed it. I hope that because of my persistence and inability to give up on him, he could just tell. And mostly, I hope that if he does end up moving, that the teachers at his next school fight for him and care for him as much as the teachers at my school do. Because he, like all of our kids, deserves that.
All of that is to say that I plan to be much more intentional with my students. I like to think I already am, but maybe not as often as I should be. And the next time (if or when) a challenging student who pushes all of my buttons leaves my school, I'll make sure, no matter what else is going on in my room, that I will tell them I'll miss them and wish them the very best. Because frankly, that is way, way more important than polka dots and zig zag patterns.
(photo credit to Gerry-And-Me)
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