When a teacher learns about a student, the teaching process can really take off

I met a fourth-grader this week. It’s not very often I have the chance to work face to face with elementary age students, but this was a golden opportunity to work with a really neat girl. I’ll call her Maria. I don’t know about her home environment, her parents, her neighborhood or her educational background. But I can tell you about her teacher.

I met Maria while her teacher worked with a group of four students. I spied over their shoulders to see their writing, and I eavesdropped to hear their discussion. Three of the four students were keeping up. They had papers full of writing and were quickly answering the teacher’s questions. But one little girl, Maria, was quiet. She had a little less writing, a little more silence. The teacher tried desperately to invite her into the activities, but Maria finally lowered her head onto her folded arms. Any attempts of invitation were met with obvious avoidance of eye contact. She had become totally closed, totally withdrawn.

It’s hard to hide in a group of four students. Most often in my English classes of 30 students, one or two could hide their disengagement. A boy in the back could doze off if he strategically placed his head behind that of the student in front of him. A girl sitting on the far right could escape with a daydreaming doodle if she hid her paper behind her textbook. It was my job, my duty to try everything in my tool box to invite their participation, attention and learning. Sometimes, I could capture them all. Most times, however, I couldn’t.

It took me years to be OK with that. As a young teacher, I felt shameful if I lost a kid in a lesson. Shame for not planning more perfectly. Shame for not being more entertaining. Shame for teaching English and not PE or art or band where kids like to participate. Yeah, I used to own my students’ disengagement as a badge of dishonor.

Then, a colleague introduced me to the background of one of my students who seemed disconnected to my English class from the moment he entered my classroom. Very often he plopped himself into his desk and immediately rested his head on his desk, signaling his lack of interest in anything Whitman. His classwork was sub-par, and his interaction with me or his classmates was nil. Hearing his story, however, set my career on a different path.

Jarvis was the eldest of four boys. Momma was in jail; daddy was dead. The brothers were living with an elderly grandma who was annoyed at having to start all over raising kids. They lived in squalor and seldom had proper clothes on their backs. Jarvis worked at a local fast food restaurant to pay grandma room and board. This is the baggage Jarvis brought into my English class.

Some say ignorance is bliss, but in the case of the many faces that walk into our public schools, there is nothing blissful about ignorance. Regarding reaching and changing the lives of our children, knowledge is power, and once educators have a revelation, the real change can begin.

That’s what the interchange between teacher and Maria reminded me of – a relationship of awareness. Her teacher didn’t get frustrated, angry, or demanding. Maria never got annoyed or disrespectful at her teacher’s attempts to invite her into the lesson. No, the awareness was subtle. Only someone who has had a Jarvis would have recognized it

Maria’s teacher spoke to me after the lesson, bragging on how smart Maria is. She introduced her as the spelling bee winner and one of her most responsive, insightful students. She also mentioned Maria’s perfectionism and how she would shut down if she felt overwhelmed. Instead of blasting Maria, she defended her. Instead being frustrated, she showed compassion and pride. That’s where the keen awareness of a relationship-building teacher is at its best – when children struggle to find their way in their crazy, mixed-up world.

Maybe take a moment to see the Maria and Jarvis placed in your path today and consider showing them the same sort of compassion.

Sheryl Green is a secondary educator in Columbus, Georgia. To correspond with Sheryl, please email her at sherylgreen14@yahoo.com.