The Good Things

So, I can't teach 131 students in the cafeteria. Big deal. Some things are going right though. A former student, who was shunted out to pre-algebra, came to my class after school today. He never does anything in that pre-algebra class, and so he came to me for help. He smiles "I'm gonn be up in your class next year."

This leads to the theme of all the things that kids say in and about my class. "We don't do nothin up in here." "Girl, we don't never do nothin up in this classroom, he just be talkin'" "We ain't learned nothin up in here." "That man don't even teach." Today, I heard it from other kids, about every other algebra teacher. Kids are kids, and kids can complain like few other creatures on earth. I can't bother to take them very seriously.

One student's mother told me that he writes poetry, and that these people sent him a letter saying that they wanted to publish his poems. My first thought, of course, was poetry.com, who want to publish everyone's poem in a special, hardbound, coffee-table edition. Today, he brought be the poems, and the letters from, you guessed it, poetry.com. I guess I do have something in common with my students - I too submitted my early works filled with forced rhymes and the fleeting charm of feelings that seem, momentarily, eternal. The first poem that I submitted, was in fact entitled "Always." Today, as we were all preparing for the state test in what we called Academy One (unofficially: chaos in the cafeteria), he asked me if he would take me for algebra II next year. Not likely, I told him, since he was signed up for geometry, but I assured him that he could and should take both, especially if he hopes to satisfy his interest in architecture. Well then, if he does take it, could I especially request that he be in my class? Sure, I could do that.

Furthermore, in the cafeteria, my students made me proud. "I already know how to do this junk." "We been knowing how to do that." "When we learn this, back in August?" Even one of my most difficult students, and I have a few of those, called to me, across the caf, in that voice that can so often be a torment - MR. G, COME HERE. Oh no, god no. AIN'T YOU SO PROUD OF ME I DID THIS ONE ALL BY MYSELF. Yes, in fact, I am proud of you, very proud. Now do the rest.

Another happiness - the same student to whom I referred in an earlier blog, who claimed to have spent the night in the baseball dugout, showed up at the middle school to play soccer today. I throw out a casual invitation probably once every other week to any and all of my kids; I figure it would be good for all of them, and certainly better than whatever else they are doing. We threw him in goal for a while, then he came out and got his toe stomped on, but he soldiered on until the end, showing me later how purple it was.

I often forget that these kids are, well, kids. The guys, at least, often have the bodies of adults. Well, at least the seniors. The freshmen still appear as if they would fit in quite well in a middle school, but the two guys who came out today, if I saw them for the first time outside of school, I would judge to be between 20 and 22, rather than 17. One of them has two inches and at least 60 pounds on me. But they are kids, they need attention, they need to feel respected and listened to, and they need so much love. I can't do enough.