The Bigger Picture

The time spent away from Mississippi and from my classroom was a welcome break and a necessary reprieve from my all-encompassing experience as a teacher. But what I did not realize is that Christmas break would also give me an opportunity to forget my expectations and my daily successes and failures, and to lose sight of the small details for the sake of the bigger picture. I was missing the proverbial forest for the trees, and this is my attempt to paint the entire landscape.

I have already celebrated my improvements, but I do not think I understood the extent until after I returned from break. My mentor wrote me the following note after observing my classroom last week: “It seems the new year is off to a great start. You seem so much more relaxed and less stressed. Your smile was simply radiant. I was so proud of the students. They were well-behaved and attentive. You see, all of your hard work is paying off.” I was beyond pleased with her vote of confidence: she is a distinguished teacher with 39 years of experience and a no-nonsense attitude. She had always been supportive and encouraging, but this was the first time that I felt I could legitimately agree with her judgment.

While practicing our spelling chant, I noticed with the greatest excitement that two of my lowest students and perpetual non-participators had finally warmed to the activity. One had always struggled to simultaneously manage both the beat (with stomping and clapping) and the spelling, so she had made a habit of tackling neither one. But as I walked about the classroom, she ignored the bodily percussion and concentrated all of her energy on the spelling list in front of her. Other students have similarly fumbled to both beat and spell, but they all made the opposite choice to keep the beat and abandon the spelling words. I was thrilled beyond words to see her bent in concentration, and I did not miss the opportunity to encourage her behavior (and thus discourage the others who found the beat more important). The second student would predictably stare off into space, and not just during the spelling words. But in this case, he was the loudest one of the bunch. And under any other circumstances, “loudest” would not be my first choice for praise!

I use Shurley English for teaching language, and it is largely an oral program, using a question and answer response for labeling the parts of speech in a given sentence. I didn’t care for it at first, since the learning curve for first introducing this style to students is intense. But having given it time to ruminate with my class, I would not choose any other system. When practicing the call and response, however, it is rather easy for students to not participate, especially when the enthusiastic ones can compensate for several voices at once. This was always the case for another of my low students, who came to me on a kindergarten reading level and saw no intrinsic value in the exercise. But now, he is the first to notice a mistake, and I cannot keep him in his seat for all of his excitement. He is a different child!

My students have largely been on their best behavior since our return, which certainly helped to ease the transition back. They have helped me remember why I am here, and they have encouraged my continued efforts. My parent-teacher conferences on Thursday is often the only time I get to see or talk with many of my parents, and I did not miss the opportunity to point out all the incredible gains their children have made. I walked away inspired and re-energized beyond anything that our two-week break could have done. And on the way home, I even contemplated—for the first time with any seriousness—the possibility of staying in this profession for longer than my two-year commitment. Shocking, I know.

But of course, such elation was short-lived, as I have since come to an impasse with one student whose attitude for one minute is enough to make me forget weeks of hard-earned progress and to convince me that teaching elementary school is the last place I want to be. She is disrespectful, rude, and aggressive. She is a bully to her fellow classmates and the epitome of under-achiever in her schoolwork. I frequently contemplate whether she might actually be truly evil (I know, do with that statement what you will). My co-teacher and I have decided that she is an 8-year-old with a high school attitude, which is quite challenging to address in this environment. What do you do to an unruly teenager? I honestly have no clue. Break her spirit? Be a friend? Call her mother? Send her to the office? I seriously will take your suggestions, should you have any. :) That situation is a work in progress, needless to say.

So how do I feel two weeks into the second semester? Difficult to say. Martin Luther King Day has made me especially aware of everything involving race in my community. I experience de facto segregation everyday; I live in the white community and teach in the black community. My landlord is a white Baptist church, which I resist attending because I find it “too white” (as I weirdly admitted to my mentor in a moment of embarrassingly impulsive and unfiltered honesty). My parents were initially skeptical (and some remain so) because I am the first white classroom teacher their children have ever had. I can never truly be a member of my chosen community—regardless of whether it is white or black—because I do not meet any of the appropriate criteria: I am white, I am educated, I am a Northerner, I am a feminist, I am liberal (or at least, relatively speaking), I do believe in integration and that these black students are capable of the same things as Northern black students or even Southern white students, and I refuse to give in to stereotypes. How many times must I hear a white person say, “Our [meaning Southern] blacks are different than your [meaning everywhere else] blacks,” or a black person say, “You’ve got to hit these black children. You can’t talk to them like you do white children.” How long can I resist such a bombardment?

Friday was the first day that I have heard even a murmur among my students about my race. One of my students chose Friday, of all days, to mention to me that some students complain about me among themselves, using the appellation, “She white. She white.” All attempts I made that day to talk about Martin Luther King and his incredible legacy fell completely flat. I have never managed to inspire one of those breakthrough, hot-button conversations about which all teachers, and especially TFA teachers, dream. And I have yet to see any of my students act with any degree of passion. And this, regardless of any other achievement, will be my biggest failing.

I am not without hope. I have only realized, in light of MLK Day, that the undertaking is far greater than I have ever really anticipated. Per my tradition, I will watch footage of “I Have a Dream” tomorrow. But for better and for worse, it will never be the same.