[what do you say to thank you?]
I am in the strangest sort of mood. Indescribable. This afternoon I had a student throw her arms around me, and whisper, "thank you for helping me, miz w. thank you, thank you, thank you."
She is struggling so hard in reading and has been so articulate about the struggle and what it feels like and what it looks like when she can't figure out a word, and it's so frustrating to her, because she tries all the things that we're working on and she. just. can't. read. And this whole thing is just killing me, because no child ever, ever, ever should ever be so down on themselves and take it to heart and as their own fault that they can't read well.
So I've been working on little, manageable strategies with her (both reading strategies and some self-talk -- I think her inner voice is relentless in its criticism of her and I am going to fucking combat that thing if its the last thing I do), and she's seen some success in the past two days. The biggest one is I said to her, "that's just one very, very small part of your brain. And? It's wrong." She looked at me like she wanted to believe me and I knelt down and looked her in the eye. "Imani. I've been a teacher for fifteen years. I am good at it.. And I know -- I know -- that that part of your brain is wrong. So, here's what you're going to do. Every time it says something like 'you can't do this' 'you're not good at reading' 'you can't figure out that word' 'you'll never learn how to read' -- you just take it out. You take it out and hold it in your hand and say, 'I hear you. But you're wrong.' And then you say it again. And then you come to me and I will say it. And I'll bet if you look around this classroom you could find ten other people who would tell you that it's wrong, too."
And we worked on that all morning. Not every second, because everyone needs time to breathe, but regularly. And she was having some success with it. And she used another strategy we'd practiced when she got stuck reading something and she figured it out.
So, she's a major verbal processor. Which I get, because so am I. And all the kids know that if there are things they need to talk to me about, Recess is a time I will listen and think and process things with them. So we spent about twelve minutes talking about reading experiences and questions and how reading is a process that we work on all our lives and I shared a reading thing that *I* was working on, and then we talked about how sometimes you take steps forward, and sometimes you take steps back, but that is learning.
And as we were winding down, that's when she did it. Threw her arms around me and thanked me like her heart was filling up her mouth. And I'm crying tears upon tears while typing this because I've been teaching for fifteen years and I've never, never had someone thank me with that level of ferocity and, I guess, understanding about the level of work I was doing with them. Because, this work. This work is so hard. And I get so many things out of it and it's the most amazing job, but the level of work I put into it sometimes just takes so much out of me and I get emotionally wrecked.
And one of the things about being a teacher of young children is that they're not in a level of self-awareness yet that kids are in a few years where they can, sort of, recognize the commitment that their teacher (or other equally amazing person) is putting in. So, as a teacher, I have children come back to visit, to help out, to deliver letters, and every bit of that are just amazing. But given that they knew me when they were six, they don't always know the level of support I gave them. The way I had their back in situations that they might not have been able to navigate, all those things. And I've never really missed it or thought about it until today.
I said to copilot that I think what's sort of making me so emotional about this experience is that it's brand new. New experiences are hard sometimes.
I'm just sort of overwhelmed, I think. And pissed off that we only have 2 more months of school. I'm so not ready for this year to be done.
so, okay. that's enough emotional spooge for one night. back to your regularly scheduled kaalee, already in progress...
She is struggling so hard in reading and has been so articulate about the struggle and what it feels like and what it looks like when she can't figure out a word, and it's so frustrating to her, because she tries all the things that we're working on and she. just. can't. read. And this whole thing is just killing me, because no child ever, ever, ever should ever be so down on themselves and take it to heart and as their own fault that they can't read well.
So I've been working on little, manageable strategies with her (both reading strategies and some self-talk -- I think her inner voice is relentless in its criticism of her and I am going to fucking combat that thing if its the last thing I do), and she's seen some success in the past two days. The biggest one is I said to her, "that's just one very, very small part of your brain. And? It's wrong." She looked at me like she wanted to believe me and I knelt down and looked her in the eye. "Imani. I've been a teacher for fifteen years. I am good at it.. And I know -- I know -- that that part of your brain is wrong. So, here's what you're going to do. Every time it says something like 'you can't do this' 'you're not good at reading' 'you can't figure out that word' 'you'll never learn how to read' -- you just take it out. You take it out and hold it in your hand and say, 'I hear you. But you're wrong.' And then you say it again. And then you come to me and I will say it. And I'll bet if you look around this classroom you could find ten other people who would tell you that it's wrong, too."
And we worked on that all morning. Not every second, because everyone needs time to breathe, but regularly. And she was having some success with it. And she used another strategy we'd practiced when she got stuck reading something and she figured it out.
So, she's a major verbal processor. Which I get, because so am I. And all the kids know that if there are things they need to talk to me about, Recess is a time I will listen and think and process things with them. So we spent about twelve minutes talking about reading experiences and questions and how reading is a process that we work on all our lives and I shared a reading thing that *I* was working on, and then we talked about how sometimes you take steps forward, and sometimes you take steps back, but that is learning.
And as we were winding down, that's when she did it. Threw her arms around me and thanked me like her heart was filling up her mouth. And I'm crying tears upon tears while typing this because I've been teaching for fifteen years and I've never, never had someone thank me with that level of ferocity and, I guess, understanding about the level of work I was doing with them. Because, this work. This work is so hard. And I get so many things out of it and it's the most amazing job, but the level of work I put into it sometimes just takes so much out of me and I get emotionally wrecked.
And one of the things about being a teacher of young children is that they're not in a level of self-awareness yet that kids are in a few years where they can, sort of, recognize the commitment that their teacher (or other equally amazing person) is putting in. So, as a teacher, I have children come back to visit, to help out, to deliver letters, and every bit of that are just amazing. But given that they knew me when they were six, they don't always know the level of support I gave them. The way I had their back in situations that they might not have been able to navigate, all those things. And I've never really missed it or thought about it until today.
I said to copilot that I think what's sort of making me so emotional about this experience is that it's brand new. New experiences are hard sometimes.
I'm just sort of overwhelmed, I think. And pissed off that we only have 2 more months of school. I'm so not ready for this year to be done.
so, okay. that's enough emotional spooge for one night. back to your regularly scheduled kaalee, already in progress...