They were 5-7 year olds depending on the age they entered kindergarten and the time of year. I eventually became a diagnostic learning specialist, but for the majority of my career, my students were 6 years old.
Some were really tough kids. I know of several that went to prison in middle school. I can name at least 15 that ended up in an alternative school for extreme (violent) behaviors. I’m only saying this to point out that this wasn’t the cream of the crop. It is a very low-income area and I certainly faced all of the problems that come with that: hunger, anxiety, abuse, drug addiction, parental deaths, etc. I never called the police. I never called the principal. Heck, I never even yelled, and I’m a very tiny, soft-spoken chipmunk-sounding woman. They are babies. I would often look at their hands when they were learning to print and just wonder at how tiny they were. Even after 17 years.
Here’s what is missing in the understanding of a teacher or a school system that does this: I believed that these kids, no matter what baggage they came with, were MY kids when in my care. And it didn’t take long for them to realize that I wasn’t going anywhere. I meant what I said, ALWAYS. If I was unhappy with a behavior, I made it clear that it would change, because I wanted better for THEM. Because I loved them. And there was nothing that could be done that would erase that love. Oh, they tried. Foster kids can be especially hard to win over. They have learned that people give up on them easily. MY kids knew I wasn’t giving up. They respected me because I respected them. Without yelling, or threats, or police. With LOVE.
And PATIENCE.
Frankly, this makes me ill, because this girl will grow up to be afraid to go to a police officer who she may need. She will be expected to learn in a school where she does not feel safe, and learning does not happen in that atmosphere. What the hell were they trying to teach her? What life skill or social skill have they given her? I see nothing but horror, fear, distrust, hatred. My God, she’s 6 years old. My school was often the one safe place for my kids. They learned, in time, to leave the fear and insecurity at the door, and the attitudes were left there, too. Trust was picked up, and self-confidence. And learning happened. So did laughter, by the way, and yes, I hugged.
I know I’m rambling on, but years later, I had moved to another school with much older kids. 4 boys, all at least 6 feet tall got into a fight. There was one young (but much bigger) teacher there. She pointed out one of the kids and said he was too dangerous. She wasn’t getting involved. So I got in the middle, expecting to get punched, when this scary boy (who had been one of mine, when he was six) yelled, “Hold up!” He backed away. One of the other kids started taunting, “Oooh! You got owned by Little Miss Teacher Lady?” He said, “So what? She’s like my mom to me? Nobody hurts her. Got it?” I hugged him and I had a few tears. He asked if they were from happiness to see him or relief that I didn’t get decked. I admitted to a bit of both. He said, “That’s why I love you. You don’t front. You had my back when I was a small fry. Now you’re the small fry and I got yours.” I watched that kid graduate high school last year. And I cried like a baby.
This isn’t a game. These are lives. Teachers make all the difference in many lives. Let’s be sure it’s the right kind of difference we’re making.
= new reply since forum marked as read
