My first year of teaching I had stars in my eyes, apples all over my shirt, and a lot of head knowledge that I had gained from my Master's Degree in education and teacher certification program. I walked in to my student teaching class in an inner city school and almost walked right out. I had 33 students staring at me (wasn’t the cap 28?), all different shapes, sizes, and ethnic backgrounds. It reminded me of a multicultural conference. I suddenly felt inadequate at best and could feel the fear of monumental failure in the near future. Everything this class threw at me I tried to shake through my narrow viewpoints and filters. I was astounded at the lack of parental involvement, lack of determination to succeed, apathy towards education, foul language, physical, sexual, and emotional abuse by their parents, homework never turned in, no shows at conferences, no responsibility taken for their actions..the list goes on. I foolishly thought that these students just haven’t been given enough motivation and correct instruction. If I gave them the self-discipline to finish assignments or the structure to do their best or enough penalties or rewards they would turn things around. I definitely thought my way is the right way, my students just had to see it really work.
One day, one of my students, a Hispanic male from a very low income home, was falling asleep in class. He did not have his homework turned in again but was really trying to work his way up to the next math level. I knew this child was smart maybe he just needed discipline! “Where was his homework? Why is he falling asleep? Maybe he should go to bed earlier and take pride in himself....blah, blah...” He looked up at me with these big, brown eyes and said words that will forever be etched into my heart, “Mrs. Lee I am sorry I did not turn in my homework. I wanted to make you proud of me today but last night I had to stay up and guard my mom so my dad wouldn’t beat her.” At that moment I knew I had it wrong. So very wrong. These students didn't need my way of learning or thinking. They needed me to see where they were coming from, how they lived, the obstacles they had to overcome just to get to school. They did not have the benefits of growing up white, upper middle class, educated, everybody has a house, a car, and a white picket fence. They were not expected to all go to college, make something of themselves, pursue the American dream, land a job making over $35,000 dollars a year. Most of these families struggled to survive, on minimum wage, working in the jobs where nobody in my world would ever go.
Over the next few years, my students taught me more on the power of resilience and the ability to overcome issues bigger than their age group should ever have to handle. When I started becoming involved in their cultures, getting to know the families, becoming invested in them as individuals, only then did I truly become the teacher I needed to be to meet their needs. I gave myself permission to let go of what I thought the “ideal” teacher should look like. It was okay to learn the Macarena Dance and look foolish if it helped me to connect. It was okay to try to eat the very different foods their parents brought in because that was their only way to say thank you. It was definitely okay to let them do homework at school if they had no place else to get it done.
I stayed “true to myself” by never pretending I knew where they were coming from. I didn’t. I never again assumed they would think like me. They wouldn’t. I never again looked at just the surface of what walked into my classroom. There was always a story behind every face. I also still set very high expectations for all my students regardless of where they came from but everybody had a different way to get there. And most of all when they failed or when I failed them, we never allowed ourselves to quit. Tomorrow was a new day. We started all over and painted the picture any way we wanted to even if it was only during school hours...so be it.
One day, one of my students, a Hispanic male from a very low income home, was falling asleep in class. He did not have his homework turned in again but was really trying to work his way up to the next math level. I knew this child was smart maybe he just needed discipline! “Where was his homework? Why is he falling asleep? Maybe he should go to bed earlier and take pride in himself....blah, blah...” He looked up at me with these big, brown eyes and said words that will forever be etched into my heart, “Mrs. Lee I am sorry I did not turn in my homework. I wanted to make you proud of me today but last night I had to stay up and guard my mom so my dad wouldn’t beat her.” At that moment I knew I had it wrong. So very wrong. These students didn't need my way of learning or thinking. They needed me to see where they were coming from, how they lived, the obstacles they had to overcome just to get to school. They did not have the benefits of growing up white, upper middle class, educated, everybody has a house, a car, and a white picket fence. They were not expected to all go to college, make something of themselves, pursue the American dream, land a job making over $35,000 dollars a year. Most of these families struggled to survive, on minimum wage, working in the jobs where nobody in my world would ever go.
Over the next few years, my students taught me more on the power of resilience and the ability to overcome issues bigger than their age group should ever have to handle. When I started becoming involved in their cultures, getting to know the families, becoming invested in them as individuals, only then did I truly become the teacher I needed to be to meet their needs. I gave myself permission to let go of what I thought the “ideal” teacher should look like. It was okay to learn the Macarena Dance and look foolish if it helped me to connect. It was okay to try to eat the very different foods their parents brought in because that was their only way to say thank you. It was definitely okay to let them do homework at school if they had no place else to get it done.
I stayed “true to myself” by never pretending I knew where they were coming from. I didn’t. I never again assumed they would think like me. They wouldn’t. I never again looked at just the surface of what walked into my classroom. There was always a story behind every face. I also still set very high expectations for all my students regardless of where they came from but everybody had a different way to get there. And most of all when they failed or when I failed them, we never allowed ourselves to quit. Tomorrow was a new day. We started all over and painted the picture any way we wanted to even if it was only during school hours...so be it.
