I cried twice on Thursday and it’s fairly rare I shed a tear.
It was pajama day (what could be better?). I walked into my classroom wearing my sock monkey robe and matching bright pink slippers. I had a full day of activities planned; it seemed as though it was going to be a typical fantastic day in second grade. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my first two years of teaching though, it’s that no day goes quite as you’ve planned and many stray far from it.
Reading groups are amazing at the end of the year because each child has come so far in their fluency, expression and passion for reading aloud. Today was slightly more fun because, well, we were all in our PJs! In fact, my adorable Jeanette commented, “Ms. Boyer, I feel like I’m at home right now!” I’m sure it was a mix of the end-of-the-year warm fuzzies, our close-knit community in room 18 and our comfy attire. All that aside, it was another great morning with my kiddos.
I may have been feeling particularly warmhearted when Trevor approached me with a question. Trevor is my most challenging student, but the main reason I get up and go to work everyday. He entered my class with a history of first-grade spitballs, major tendencies to scream, yell, hit, poke and find ways to express his impulsive nature. He started the year reading at a kindergarten level and was below basic in all other academic areas. It took me weeks, actually months to know how to calm him down and begin to understand his personal frustrations and home life. He has grown to know and trust me as a teacher and friend; I’m astonished to think about what it was like when he enrolled in October. Trevor has trouble with stuttering alongside a consistent tone of frustration. We’ve worked extremely hard getting him to slow down, smooth out his words and calmly ask questions with a respectful tone. On this particular Thursday morning, Trevor slowly walked up to me, held up the assignment he was working on, looked into my eyes and said, “Ms. Boyer, I don’t understand what this question is asking, can you help me?” Was this the same Trevor?! I responded. “I love the way you just asked me that question. I’d love to help you, but wouldn’t it be great if one of your friends showed you how they figured it out?” He nodded. “Why don’t you walk over to someone you trust and work well with and ask them for help? Ask them just the way you just asked me.” As I watched him walk up to one of his darling girl classmates and do just what I had suggested, an unexpected feeling came over me. It was a feeling of joy and pride in my dear student. My eyes welded up with tears as I watched the two cooperatively work together. These were obviously “good tears”, the type that catch you by surprise and help you realize you’re more passionate and invested in something than you even thought you could be.
The second set of tears was the other type. It was Thursday afternoon and my students had gone to music. Trevor (yes, both cries were in regards to him) has a tough time behaving for any other teacher or adult. Perhaps they don’t spend enough time with him to build up a relationship, but I’ve found most tend to give up on him within the first ten minutes of being exposed to his outlandish behavior, which screams, “Give me attention!” The music teacher is no exception. She generally writes me e-mails or leaves phone messages about how bad Trevor was each day she has him. I’ve given her ideas about how to handle his behavior, what motivates him, what escalates him etc. She continues to ignore the suggestions and expects him to fail before he enters into her classroom each week. Anyone would crumble under those expectations. On this particular day, she decided to discuss things in person with me. She proceeded to tell me how “bad” Trevor had been and how nothing she tried seemed to be working. I apologized for his behavior and tried to stay positive and encourage her to approach the situation in a different manner, but everything I said seemed to go in one ear and out the other. By the end of the conversation I must have been worn out, because the moment she walked out the door, a waterfall of emotion streamed down each cheek. I once again didn’t realize how passionately I felt about this student of mine, but the thought that another person was giving up on him and not giving him the chance he deserves, craves and needs ripped my heart right from my chest.
Working with these kids day in and day out gets you attached; they become your own family. In fact, I probably spend more time with most of them than they do their parents.
This particular Thursday was an emotional one. I realize now this is going to be one of those kiddos I’ll never be able to forget. Thank goodness for the Trevor’s each year. Without them, my days would be ordinary and my eyes would remain dry.
