It's actually much harder than I thought...

Well, two full weeks later, and I have to say that I cannot believe how much has happened since the first days. I know all of my students' names, which is good, and I am still loving my school, where I live, my co-workers, etc. But I have come across many struggles in the first weeks, some of which still have my head spinning. I feel like I have covered a significant portion of the teaching-experience-gamut:

Last week, a student had an accident after I refused to let her go during a test, AND after I was informed that she had a bladder control problem. Her mother was not happy, but the principal defended me, saying that students are not allowed out of class unless they have a note explaining the situation. I have had 2 students steal things off my desk, I have sent 5 students to the office--1 of whom went 3 times. Two of the 5 were paddled, once in front of me, once within my hearing, and many parents promised me that the children would experience even more at home. The three-timer was paddled two of the times. I spent 15 minutes getting a tangled hairpiece off a little girl's head and sent a note home with another student explaining that I was the reason she was late for pick-up, all so that they could escape a paddling from their parents. I sent a child running to the office (I don't ever allow running from ANY student, not just my own) in order to prevent one little boy from wrongly getting the paddle; I had sent him with a written message to the principal, but he had misinterpreted the mission as one where he carried his own sentence, and had begun to fearfully confess all his perceived sins. I have come to both understand and hate the phrase that the principal or parent or teacher is "going to get" a student, but I have also sent students to the office with the full knowledge that a paddle was the likely consequence.

I have become an awkward combination of teaching qualities as a result. Students have sensed my dislike of corporal punishment, but they have also come to understand that I will not stop them from experiencing it if the situation warrants a trip to the office. A part of me has been hardened by the exposure, but I still am a softer presence than some of these children have ever experienced. I am not afraid to yell even though I hate it more than anything, and I have seen more elephant tears than any child should ever feel the need to create. Some of my children are so incredibly in need of affection that I have given up on maintaining any semblance of personal space: they determinedly steal my hugs, my hands, and my caresses. As my friends and roommates know, I have always clung to my personal space with iron resolve, but apparently even iron crumbles eventually. I have received more presents and love notes than I ever imagined possible; at the very beginning of school I had started to hang the cutesy drawings in my room as a reminder on bad days, but I abandoned the idea by the end of the week. I have no desire to vainly wallpaper my room with my students' mementos.

I struggle to penetrate the harsh reality of corporal punishment in schools; I have too many students who are afraid of no consequence except the paddle, and even that only temporarily. I can't control my frustration with the amount of hitting, kicking, and spitting that these children do to one another, and I resent the double standard of paddling a child for hitting another child. My roommate remarked last night that she wonders if anyone in the state education department has made the connection between Mississippi's consistent presence at the bottom of the nation's academic performance pile and the fact that our state is one of the last to still practice corporal punishment.

I personally notice a huge difference between my kids here and my kids in Houston, but I refuse to change my standards. Perhaps that is the essential problem: a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we only expect bottom barrel from these students, then that is what they will give us. I have pounded it into my students' heads that I will not settle for less than their best, and slowly they are beginning to show it. I have approached my principal, my TFA program director, and other teachers in my desperation to achieve better classroom management, and all of them remark that they are impressed with what I have already achieved thusfar with this truly challenging group. Some think it is good enough, but I know that these students are capable of more. I can't give up on them. I don't question the power of high standards.

I have a student who wouldn't complete any of my morning assignments because he could not read them. I get the feeling that other teachers have dismissed him as uncommitted to learning and a troublemaker, but I made him persist by sounding out letters in his reading. He is afraid to admit his weakness, so he would rather take the failing grade than tell me the truth that he does not understand. But yesterday during our silent reading block, he finally raised his hand to ask for help and he quickly sounded out the word without too much work from me. It would sound like something small to anyone else, but I saw then just how hard he might be willing to work. AND he wrote more for me yesterday than he ever has before...

After my first 12 days, I am now more mindful of the realities that I face here. A fairly large part of me comes home each night in despair, but I never was one to quickly cut my losses. I am doing the best that I can while also expecting the absolute best from my students. Even if my execution is flawed, I still have a little bit of faith in my expectations, which might help me to make up the difference. And when I look into my children's eyes, I cannot help but set aside my own personal struggles in order to wholeheartedly work to eradicate theirs.