Exhaustion
I'm constantly told I have the good students. What a label. I find myself wanting to desperately fight that, and then I feel bad because my students are wonderful. In the end, when I stutter some sort of response to my accusers, they end up saying that I have it easy. Small classes, mostly motivated students, yeah - you know - paradise.
If all students were in classes of 10-15, with experiential learning at the core, we'd all have good students. The reality is they don't, I do.
So let's take the small number of students I have, around 33. Let's imagine the intense speed in which one would get to know her students compared to other teachers who are trying to learn their massive amounts of students. I've simply had more opportunity to bond with my kids.
Let's add into the mix the very real conversations we've had. My students' lives are no different than those of my coworkers. They are in gangs, interested in gangs, abused emotionally, living in poverty, and some are living a comfortable life filled with love.
This all brings me to this exhausting week. I didn't exactly know how to plan for production week, given the setup of my journalism program is so much different than RL*HS's.
On the verge of hitting the end of the week, we really had hardly anything in place. Last night we went through with our layout meeting despite massive numbers of students not showing up to help. The kids worked their butts off. We are so far from anything I consider intelligently well-crafted (that's half my fault for not envisioning this process better and planning for it). Amid the adrenaline of our first issue, comes the young lady who is hysterical in the hallway. I sit with her. She's threatening suicide. Reveals agonizing family history, the culmination of suppression is surfacing. Her family treats her like dirt.
The next morning, my fast favorite student - little bit of a born-into gang banger - rushes into my room with the most innocent expression. He was shot at several times last night. He smiles nervously. I can tell he's actually shaken. I try to shut up and listen to what he isn't saying, because that's how we communicate. It's why he gets along with me, I think. I can't help but to lose my stomach to nerves, as I wonder what the morning could've been like. How angry I would've been that his existence was destroyed.
Last, but not least, one of my most stand-up young men, finally came clean with me and just outwardly admitted his gang involvement. I had pointed out the scribbles on the back of his notebook to him here and there the last couple of weeks. I would just point at it and say things like, oh no, or you aren't doing anything stupid are you, or XX I'm always worried about you. He finally just came clean. He's one of the most fucking intelligent, with-it kids, I've ever met. He works hard in school, lives a drug free and healthy life. He treats everyone with respect. He has one of the most dynamic approaches to the complicated and difficult questions I ask in class. He has it all. This kid is going places.
I'm not sure what's going to happen next.
If all students were in classes of 10-15, with experiential learning at the core, we'd all have good students. The reality is they don't, I do.
So let's take the small number of students I have, around 33. Let's imagine the intense speed in which one would get to know her students compared to other teachers who are trying to learn their massive amounts of students. I've simply had more opportunity to bond with my kids.
Let's add into the mix the very real conversations we've had. My students' lives are no different than those of my coworkers. They are in gangs, interested in gangs, abused emotionally, living in poverty, and some are living a comfortable life filled with love.
This all brings me to this exhausting week. I didn't exactly know how to plan for production week, given the setup of my journalism program is so much different than RL*HS's.
On the verge of hitting the end of the week, we really had hardly anything in place. Last night we went through with our layout meeting despite massive numbers of students not showing up to help. The kids worked their butts off. We are so far from anything I consider intelligently well-crafted (that's half my fault for not envisioning this process better and planning for it). Amid the adrenaline of our first issue, comes the young lady who is hysterical in the hallway. I sit with her. She's threatening suicide. Reveals agonizing family history, the culmination of suppression is surfacing. Her family treats her like dirt.
The next morning, my fast favorite student - little bit of a born-into gang banger - rushes into my room with the most innocent expression. He was shot at several times last night. He smiles nervously. I can tell he's actually shaken. I try to shut up and listen to what he isn't saying, because that's how we communicate. It's why he gets along with me, I think. I can't help but to lose my stomach to nerves, as I wonder what the morning could've been like. How angry I would've been that his existence was destroyed.
Last, but not least, one of my most stand-up young men, finally came clean with me and just outwardly admitted his gang involvement. I had pointed out the scribbles on the back of his notebook to him here and there the last couple of weeks. I would just point at it and say things like, oh no, or you aren't doing anything stupid are you, or XX I'm always worried about you. He finally just came clean. He's one of the most fucking intelligent, with-it kids, I've ever met. He works hard in school, lives a drug free and healthy life. He treats everyone with respect. He has one of the most dynamic approaches to the complicated and difficult questions I ask in class. He has it all. This kid is going places.
I'm not sure what's going to happen next.
