(April 12, 2017. 12:10 - 1:45 PM)
Another day of a more empty than full classroom, but with a twist- the entire room has been rearranged. Gone are the round tables, replaced by two rows of tables for two. Ms. S says it's to help the kids focus as we head into crunch time. Speaking of crunch time, where are all the students as we enter this intensity? Ms. S says there was a "brawl." But, in her words (said with a smirk and twinkle in her eye), "it was more funny than anything else."
As we're talking, R catches my eye. She tilts her head down, gives me a close look full of playfulness, and beckons me over. No hard feelings from last week, apparently. That's good. We sit down together as Ms. S directs the class to the board for some warm-up problems.
Polynomials. Not too bad. Or so I thought. The kids get hung up on the basic algebra (a skill that goes back to sixth grade). "Don't you know how to do this?" There's a note of despair in Ms. S's voice as she pleads. She goes through the basics again with the class. I take advantage of this time to check on the student who is taking the class online, but she's not interested in my help because, she says, "You won't give me the answers."
As polynomial problems plague the class, a new small disaster sudden unfolds. Three students stroll in, at least two of them high as a kite. The third student is Q. One of the other two is someone I don't recognize, partially because he's wearing giant sunglasses. Ms. S isn't having it. The other student, eyes squinted and red, an absent smirk on his face, sits in front of Ms. S. It's J. (This isn't the first time I've seen him high.) "How many of me are you seeing? Go clean yourself up," Ms. S sends him out, frustrated but obviously holding back laughter.
This disruption partially dispersed, we return to polynomials. I work slowly and carefully with R. She doesn't bring her phone out much today, which helps. Suddenly, a student in front of us stops working. "When are we even gonna use this?" he asks, exasperated. He's one that's usually on task and respectful, so I'm surprised by this sudden, but still mild, outburst.
Ms. S gives a curt and accurate but unsatisfactory answer. "Because the state of Georgia says so. You have to be able to do this in order to graduate."
"Hey," I say quietly. He turns to me. "Do you do work on any cars? Or do you plan on it? You can use this stuff when working on cars, for example."
"But I'm going to have a BMW and they're gonna do the work on it, so I don't need to know. Plus they've got this chart in the back that says what different things can be used for."
R laughs, stopping the BMW dream in its tracks.
I want them to be able to have hope in pursuing their dreams, but I know the way the cycle works and she's not likely wrong. Nonetheless, I intervene: "You don't know that! But we have to finish this stuff before we can get there."
We resume solving polynomials. I'm able to get R's effort for all but the last seven minutes. I can only push so much (and I have fought hard but gently for the last twenty minutes) and I accept this. These are long classes, after all. I don't let her loose me entirely though. We talk and she tells me about work. She works fifty hours a week. This sixteen year old works fifty hours a week.
"Wow. You're a strong young woman," I say with obvious admiration.
She glows at this. "Thanks!" The bell dismisses everyone and she happily leaves.
I talk with Ms. S when they leave and make plans to come back next year. I love these kids.
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