(March 15, 2017. 12:10 - 1:45 PM)
I'm a little earlier than usual, only a few minutes, yet the usually bustling room is quietly almost empty. A student points at me and says amiably enough, "I claim you today. You'll be helping me." I'm slightly startled but happily consent. The student smiles and settles into her seat at the teacher's desk.
As Ms. S comes in, I ask her about the absences. She shrugs with a slight smile.
"They probably think I'm not here. I haven't been here the past two days."
She chuckles and begins to tell me how the substitute had struggled with the kids.
"I guess halfway through class all the students just up and left. They walked right out. The sub left a little bit later."
I'm a little shocked, but not wholly surprised. I love these kiddos, but if they don't respect you, you've lost them. The substitute must have learned this lesson in a very literal way.
The room has slowly been filling up, but today it won't have all the faces I usually see. The bell rings in the rather empty classroom and Ms. S asks the students how the last two days were. There are some vague comments about the substitute and about not much getting done. Ms. S goes into "Google classroom" (a very interesting, user-friendly, and useful resource! I plan to utilize it in the night class I teach once it's available for the public.) and looks for who has submitted the work from the last two days.
One student turned the assignment in on Google classroom. Only one other even opened the document. (As she opened Google classroom to check this, I quickly saw the assignment. It was clearly laid out in a number of steps and signed, "I miss you all. Love, Ms. S")
"Why didn't you do the assignment? You know we use Google classroom when I'm not here. I even did this from another country and you were in the classroom. Why didn't you do your work?" Ms. S asks the class. I think I hear tones of hurt and frustration hidden in her voice. She goes to her desk and picks up a sticky note pad. She rapidly passes out little yellow sticky notes to each student while explaining, "Write on this sticky note why you didn't do your work Monday and Tuesday. A tweet length explanation for each, 140 characters each, 280 total."
Students groan but comply.
Ms. S writes three warm-up problems on the board as students write. She collects the explanations as she tells the student to complete the problems on the board. (I don't know what she did with those little yellow sticky notes once the class turned them in.)
The students work on the problems. I wander around and help about half of the class, including the girl from before class. My kiddos came in late and they're not sitting organized like the other weeks, so it makes more sense to simply watch for those who may need help. Ms. S is going easy on them in light of the confusion, so there's not much need for me. The girl who claimed me (I never caught her name) is working on an online math class. She bookmarked some questions and so we work through those together, walking through how the problem is solved as a format or formula and then applying the format to that particular question. She understands quickly and appreciates it. She's sharp. The girl submits her assignment and a loading circle appears, replaced a moment later by her grade- 100. We high five and I resume roaming the classroom. Daylight savings in combination with it being the first week back from break leaves the class in the unforgiving grasp of lethargy.
I'm trying to be helpful but not overwhelming, so I watch for confused or stressed expressions and make sure the students know I'm here for them. They're in groups of their own making but they're working on the math (for the most part). It's important to let them do their own thing and flex their independence because that's how they'll stay engaged. I'm here, friendly and casual, and their questions and comfortable banter with me reflect that developing trust. It's exciting.
Ms. S notices what I'm doing, just watching "my half" of the classroom while two other tutors have the rest of the kiddos, and she asks me to go to where the other tutors are and help out a student (the same student who simply walked out during stretches in my last post).
"I know he needs help but I also know he won't ask. Will you go over and try to help him?"
"Of course!" I happily reply. I meander over to him and pull up a seat. "How's it going?"
He grunts.
"Do you have any questions or anything I can help you with?"
"No."
"You want me to look over any of your work?"
"No." He turns away from me.
"Let me know if you want or need anything!" I cheerfully offer with disappointment and concern hidden in my heart. I don't get a response.
Returning to Ms. S, I recount our disappointing exchange.
"I figured he would," she replies with a subtle sigh.
I wonder- if I had spent time with that side of the classroom, would I have had more success? My gut and heart suggest I would have, but that could be my naivety talking.
As I'm pondering these thoughts, Ms. S goes to the student. I don't want to interrupt or intrude, so I never find out how much success she has with him. One of my kiddos has a question, so I return to them. They have good questions about their math and good things about their day to share with me. It's exciting when my kiddos tell me how they're doing before I even ask. My heart is happy.
I'll help who I can and try not to be disheartened by those I can't yet reach. As the clock ticks close to the end of class and most students have abandoned their math, R starts to share pieces of her life story with me.
It's an honor to be invited into her life.
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