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.
*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.
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