When times get rough...

Although I love to write about how great success feels in the classroom, some weeks do not run as smoothly as I would like.  Yes, I enjoy teaching.  Yes, I am certain this is what I am best at.  Yes, I am up for the challenge.  YES, this week sucked.

 A large element of being an effective teacher is being able to reflect on the happenings of the classroom.  It is really easy to get wrapped up in my expectations of students, get frustrated when they are not performing the way I expected them too, and in turn, feel unfit for the insurmountable challenge.  This leads me to one of the worst feelings that an urban educator can go through: weakness.

Although I have wonderful colleagues that can give me pep talks and cheer me up, the real inspiration lies in reflecting on the individuals in my classroom.  All I need to do is think for a minute about the circumstances of one child, and the flame can be reignited.

*Dillon is one of my hyperactive students.  He has light skin, curly brown hair, and a mischievous smile.  Dillon can be charming, quick-witted, and intellectual when he wants to be.  Other times, he can be stubborn, obnoxious, and destructive.

On the days where I have managed to get to the lowest of lows, thinking of Dillon is all I need to keep holding on.  He symbolizes everything I work towards.  I think back to the conversation I had with him this week about his homework: "Ms. Roush, I did my homework last night!  ...But I didn't get my color chart signed.  My stepdad said he'd help me with my homework--but he left the house to do something.  I waited for him, but he didn't come back."

The whole while that Dillon is talking to me, he has the biggest smile on his face because he actually remembered to do his homework.

Dillon's mom is in the military--left for Iraq in January.
The plumbing in his home does not work.
Dillon's only clothes are his school uniform and his pajamas.

When Dillon, or any of my students are giving me a hard time, it is easy to see everything at surface level.  What keeps me sane is pushing myself to look deeper.  My job is Dillon.  He needs me to show up every day.  What I've come to realize though, is that I need him just as much as he needs me.


***Name has been changed for privacy.

Am I Black?

It has been brought to my attention several times that a child's sense of color seems to fade as relationships are built.

On my first day last year, I was insulted almost as instantly as my students set eyes on me.  Shayla turned to me and said, "What happened to your hair?!" with a snarl on her face. She was testing me to see if she could hurt my feelings.

Without any emotion, I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I will respect you every single day, Shayla, and I expect the exact same from you."  That is all it took with her.  She became my right-hand woman in the classroom--knew how to run the place better than I did by the end of the year.

In my opinion, that interaction would have been completely different if I was a black woman.  (That's not to say it couldn't be interpreted  differently by others.)

I had to earn it with each and every one of my students.  I don't demand respect, I work for it.  I start watching the same cartoons as they do. I give them hugs when they are angry. I make them redo their work when they know it isn't their best. I treat them as human beings. I tell them I love them.

Towards the end of the year, I was listening to a conversation amongst a few of my kiddos.  One was saying to the other,

"Ms. Roush is not white. She can't be."

"Well she's not black."

"Yeah, she's half black."

This is when I interrupted saying, 

"I'm half black?"

"Yeah, you're half black."

"So you think one of my parents is white one is black?"

"No."

"Oh."

As our bonds grew stronger,  perceptions of color faded.  

Below is a picture Donald drew of me--prior to our conversation about skin color.

*Names have been changed.

Unpredictable Environment

The beginning of this school year was very difficult for me.  It was my first actual beginning of a school year and I started off with 11 more kids than I'd had the year before.  I've learned to love teaching first grade.  That being said, teaching first grade at the beginning of the school year is more like teaching an extension of kindergarten.

I spent the first few weeks of school in literal shock at all the changes.  I had a wild bunch of kiddies at the time, and I was still trying to figure out the best way to begin the year.  I cried many days after school.  I felt like I was trying everything I possibly could and I had real doubts as to whether or not I'd be able to get through to the little buggers.

Just when I was about to throw in the towel, I was called for Jury Duty.  I thought, Hell, a couple days to sit in a quiet room?  Sounded like a vacation to me.

Well, by the time I had graded all my papers, sitting in that quiet room lost its sparkle.  I was bored out of my mind.  I thought being called into a courtroom would be exciting--and it was, until the stuffy judge went over all the rules.

I shifted in my chair, wondering when I'd be able to go to recess.  Literally.

My point is, that having Jury Duty was a blessing for me.  I thought it would be an escape from my reality when in actuality, it was a sign that I was in the right profession.

I work in an unpredictable environment. Teachers know. Parents know.  You can never pinpoint exactly when a child is going to shoot milk out of his nose.  When the fire alarm is going to send everyone out of the building.  When the toilet is going to overflow on a bathroom break.  When a scholar is going to fart in the middle of a lesson--sending everyone (EVERYONE) into roaring laughter.  Sitting in that courtroom, breathing in the stuffy air, I missed my untamed first grade friends.

The lesson for me is, I want to be a teacher, not a judge, juror, defense lawyer, or anyone present in a courtroom...ever.  

Choosing a School

"Choosing" a teaching position can be a monumental task.  It's making a life change.  It's committing to a cause. It's deciding to be a part of a legacy.  I saying "choosing" a school is difficult because choice might not even seem like part of the equation.  For me, there was no choice my first year.

I heard about the development of my school when it was just in the making--years before it actually existed.  I believed in what it promised for students and I could relate to the urgency behind the cause.

I am a persistent individual, and once my mind gets set on something, I work to make it a reality.  That was the case with NP.  I finally secured a position in December of 2012 and I dropped everything to make teaching 1st grade fit into my life.