One day at a time...

Today marks the end of my seventh week of teaching. I did less teaching than usual this week (since I had to basically do paperwork all day); however, I did get to do a little work with my social skills class because I needed to test their reading and writing levels.

Yesterday, some of the students decided they did not want to cooperate in that class. I walked back into the classroom with about 5 minutes left, and I saw one student pacing back and forward. I asked him to sit down, but he said that he could not sit down because he had to use the bathroom. I then told him that he needed to sit down and wait until the end of class.

Now, at this point, he was leaning over a desk and not looking at me while I was speaking to him. I said, repeatedly (about three times), “you need to sit down.” Finally, he jumps up at me as if he were going to hit me and yells, “MAN WHAT?!” The other students began to laugh.

I was not laughing. In fact, I looked at him, thinking to myself: “Calm down, Lumumba. Just calm down.” The students kept laughing until the saw my face. I asked him, rather slowly, “Are you out of your mind?” Then he tried to walk away. I called out to him to come back and told him that he needed to stay after class. The bell rang about 30 seconds later, and all the students began to leave. He started to walk out the door, saying that he was not going to stay. I looked at him sternly and said, “That is not a decision you want to make right now.”

Maybe it was something about the tone of my voice, or the glare in my eyes, or my body language—but somehow, he could really tell how serious – and furious – I was, so he came back. Meanwhile, one last girl was taking her time getting her stuff together until I agitatedly told her to hurry up and do whatever she needed to do later. I wanted all the students out except for him.

As soon as she left, I lowered my voice to an almost whisper, and said, “Don’t you ever do that again.” I repeated this about 10 times with my voice going up and down. I do not think I have ever been so visibly angry with a student. I told him that he was never to physically threaten a teacher like that again. He remarked, “Yeah.” And I shot back, “Now is not the time to say ‘yeah’ to me.” And he responded, “Yes Sir.” I told him to leave, and then I called his parents.

He saw me today, and made it clear that he was mad at me for “snitching” on him. I laughed and told him that it was my job to tell everything—the good and the bad.

On a different note, I really feel like I have been making a connection with the students. Specifically, I have enjoyed learning more about the students on my caseload and presenting myself as an advocate for them, as opposed to somebody who just wants to get them in trouble. Being able to work with students and their families on a more individual level is, I think, my favorite part of being a special education teacher. I see them for the kids they are during their moments of weakness, and I delight in their moments of strength as I marvel at their ability to persevere through incredible challenges. Put simply, they inspire me. I demand their best, and I can give them no less.

The student that jumped at me has also volunteered to read the affirmation in front of the class. The girl that I almost gave up on gave me a hug today in the hallway. A student who once threatened to “beat my a**” now asks for help regularly and greets me in the hallway.

There are ups and downs, but what must stay constant is my sense of purpose. I am not in the classroom to be a dictator. I am there to fight an enormous problem, the achievement gap, one student at a time—one word, one math problem, one smile, one tardy, one tutorial, one class, one parent conference, one progress report, one life at a time.

It is this sense of purpose that sustains me. When a kid jumps at me, I may get angry in the moment—but I know what this kid can be. Forgiveness, compassion, perseverance—all are necessary for this line of work. I love my job.