Teaching
Story Sampler: Students
Tonight, I attended a choir concert to see some of my students in action. Even though I was in the nose bleeds (who knew so many people came out to watch middle schoolers?!), I spotted most of my students and grinned as they awkwardly sang and swayed to the music. I said hi to a number of them afterward, and you know I’m going to bring it up tomorrow.
I also attended a baseball game on Saturday, just for the heck of it. While I was only able to watch an hour, I was reminded of the lives of students that I now miss due to me being a teacher, stuck in a room. It was fun to see how they cheer each other one and where their passions lie.
For all the heavy emotions and grief on this blog, I also want to let you know that there are so many lights throughout my day. Sometimes I gripe about students, but other times I just have to laugh at their antics. Here’s a sampling:
One morning, I decided to ask students as they trickled in if they liked the weather. It was overcast, sprinkling a little bit like it had been for the last week or so, and I was expecting everyone to complain about it. One by one, they went, “Oh, I kind of like the rain.” They talked about the sound of it on roofs and going outside to run around in it. Suddenly, it clicked for me: they love the cloudy skies because it reflects their mood, driven by those little angsty hormones.
In the last class of the day, I was sitting at my table, prepping for whatever I was going to do while my mentor teacher taught. I looked up, and one student was just perched on the table, balancing on the balls of his feet. “****,” I said, “What are you doing?” He looked surprised and said, “Oh yeah, I just kind of do this.” For the next few days, he intentionally perched on the table and grinned at me.
Two students without fail will always talk to me when they pass me in the hallways. I know logically that it is because these two students will talk anyone’s ear off, but it still delights me when one of them says, “Hi Ms. Johnson!” and then launches into whatever they are thinking about that day.
There was one day where they were working on their spoken word poems, my major project, when a student asked, “What can you do in 10 seconds,” as she wanted to show the frequencies of the occurrence of her topic. I bounced it out to the rest of the class, “Hey guys, what can you do in 10 seconds?” “Hold your breath,” someone calls out. “Hold your breath!” I cry, delighted by the answer. Three of the boys in front of me gulp air and look at me puzzled, and then they said, “Oh, we thought you telling us to hold our breath!” I had to stop I was laughing so hard.
A few days ago, a student came up to me and said, “Can we start a spoken word club?” I said, “If you want to organize it and get people together, I’ll supervise.” fully expecting that there would be no way she would want to do that. “Okay,” she agreed and then motored off to collect attendees. When three other girls showed up in my room the next day, I was surprised to say the least. They didn’t really get anything done, but they did some writing and the “founder” shared a strong poem with me. They were laughing and being silly and fooling around, and I felt so privileged to be in the room with them.
One student who I don’t know super well was God in the Easter chapel. One of the homerooms always does this chapel with a skit and a song, and all the homeroom kids act in it. This particular student is laid back, doesn’t really go out of his way to do much, but a generally nice guy. He came out in a referee costume, lip-synced words, and honestly acted his heart out. A few days ago, I had some students help me out by making a video to send to a job application. Afterwards during class, this student looked at me and said, “Did you get the job?”
We just finished reading Romeo and Juliet, and my mentor and I had restructured the assessment a bit. I pulled up a chair next to a student so I could be ready to jump in. This student before class had asked me why there were so many old people in the parking lot outside our window (they were picking up flowers for a fundraiser). At some point during the class, he turns to me and whispers, “See? Old people.” as if I’m not a teacher and not going to call him out for not paying attention.
Early on in the year, I brought an android toy to school, and I used it as a talking piece in a restorative justice circle for homeroom. I came to the first class of the day and saw that some students had broken off one of its arms (I learned a valuable lesson—never bring anything you care about to school). A student in my homeroom saw the robot on my desk and said, “Oh, I can fix that for you. I’ll bring in some glue.” He did, but the glue didn’t hold. It’s the thought that counts.
There’s also the innumerable little things: other staff members who intentionally include me in conversation (because apparently I’m really bad at lunch table small talk), students who ask me if I’m teaching that day and seem excited when I say yes, the different quirks of middle schoolers, a couple pictures that students have drawn of me, students who stay after a particularly awful class just to say that they still think I’m great, and the list goes on.
Overall, I love that I can walk through school and have a semblance of a connection with each student. I’ve graded (for all except one) some work of theirs, so I know them through that, but I see them from day to day and hear about all the things they talk about: face timing and movies and Instagram, but also who likes who and sports and classmates. It’s so fun to know these students and for them to at least be comfortable around me. That idea, that I get to do this relationship building and talking about literature and writing, for a job seems like I won the lottery. Other days I remember the drags of grading and logistics and the energy it takes to reframe student situations so you can see a fuller picture and consistently delivering engaging content, but for right now I’m seeing the love.
Am I sad to leave? Not really, because no matter how connected I feel, I’m still a visitor in this school. I knew the day was coming. I’m kind of excited because I know that this ending brings me closer to a terrifyingly new beginning where I’m the one planting the seeds for communities and relationships. Other student teachers have said this to me, and I think I’m ready to echo it too: I’m ready to have my own classroom and start to implement these visions that have been rattling in my head.
I also attended a baseball game on Saturday, just for the heck of it. While I was only able to watch an hour, I was reminded of the lives of students that I now miss due to me being a teacher, stuck in a room. It was fun to see how they cheer each other one and where their passions lie.
For all the heavy emotions and grief on this blog, I also want to let you know that there are so many lights throughout my day. Sometimes I gripe about students, but other times I just have to laugh at their antics. Here’s a sampling:
One morning, I decided to ask students as they trickled in if they liked the weather. It was overcast, sprinkling a little bit like it had been for the last week or so, and I was expecting everyone to complain about it. One by one, they went, “Oh, I kind of like the rain.” They talked about the sound of it on roofs and going outside to run around in it. Suddenly, it clicked for me: they love the cloudy skies because it reflects their mood, driven by those little angsty hormones.
In the last class of the day, I was sitting at my table, prepping for whatever I was going to do while my mentor teacher taught. I looked up, and one student was just perched on the table, balancing on the balls of his feet. “****,” I said, “What are you doing?” He looked surprised and said, “Oh yeah, I just kind of do this.” For the next few days, he intentionally perched on the table and grinned at me.
Two students without fail will always talk to me when they pass me in the hallways. I know logically that it is because these two students will talk anyone’s ear off, but it still delights me when one of them says, “Hi Ms. Johnson!” and then launches into whatever they are thinking about that day.
There was one day where they were working on their spoken word poems, my major project, when a student asked, “What can you do in 10 seconds,” as she wanted to show the frequencies of the occurrence of her topic. I bounced it out to the rest of the class, “Hey guys, what can you do in 10 seconds?” “Hold your breath,” someone calls out. “Hold your breath!” I cry, delighted by the answer. Three of the boys in front of me gulp air and look at me puzzled, and then they said, “Oh, we thought you telling us to hold our breath!” I had to stop I was laughing so hard.
A few days ago, a student came up to me and said, “Can we start a spoken word club?” I said, “If you want to organize it and get people together, I’ll supervise.” fully expecting that there would be no way she would want to do that. “Okay,” she agreed and then motored off to collect attendees. When three other girls showed up in my room the next day, I was surprised to say the least. They didn’t really get anything done, but they did some writing and the “founder” shared a strong poem with me. They were laughing and being silly and fooling around, and I felt so privileged to be in the room with them.
One student who I don’t know super well was God in the Easter chapel. One of the homerooms always does this chapel with a skit and a song, and all the homeroom kids act in it. This particular student is laid back, doesn’t really go out of his way to do much, but a generally nice guy. He came out in a referee costume, lip-synced words, and honestly acted his heart out. A few days ago, I had some students help me out by making a video to send to a job application. Afterwards during class, this student looked at me and said, “Did you get the job?”
We just finished reading Romeo and Juliet, and my mentor and I had restructured the assessment a bit. I pulled up a chair next to a student so I could be ready to jump in. This student before class had asked me why there were so many old people in the parking lot outside our window (they were picking up flowers for a fundraiser). At some point during the class, he turns to me and whispers, “See? Old people.” as if I’m not a teacher and not going to call him out for not paying attention.
Early on in the year, I brought an android toy to school, and I used it as a talking piece in a restorative justice circle for homeroom. I came to the first class of the day and saw that some students had broken off one of its arms (I learned a valuable lesson—never bring anything you care about to school). A student in my homeroom saw the robot on my desk and said, “Oh, I can fix that for you. I’ll bring in some glue.” He did, but the glue didn’t hold. It’s the thought that counts.
There’s also the innumerable little things: other staff members who intentionally include me in conversation (because apparently I’m really bad at lunch table small talk), students who ask me if I’m teaching that day and seem excited when I say yes, the different quirks of middle schoolers, a couple pictures that students have drawn of me, students who stay after a particularly awful class just to say that they still think I’m great, and the list goes on.
Overall, I love that I can walk through school and have a semblance of a connection with each student. I’ve graded (for all except one) some work of theirs, so I know them through that, but I see them from day to day and hear about all the things they talk about: face timing and movies and Instagram, but also who likes who and sports and classmates. It’s so fun to know these students and for them to at least be comfortable around me. That idea, that I get to do this relationship building and talking about literature and writing, for a job seems like I won the lottery. Other days I remember the drags of grading and logistics and the energy it takes to reframe student situations so you can see a fuller picture and consistently delivering engaging content, but for right now I’m seeing the love.
Am I sad to leave? Not really, because no matter how connected I feel, I’m still a visitor in this school. I knew the day was coming. I’m kind of excited because I know that this ending brings me closer to a terrifyingly new beginning where I’m the one planting the seeds for communities and relationships. Other student teachers have said this to me, and I think I’m ready to echo it too: I’m ready to have my own classroom and start to implement these visions that have been rattling in my head.
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