I thought this year would be easier than my first year because I'd be teaching the same subject and could use some of the same lesson plans. Plus, I learned a lot from my mistakes last year, and I planned to start the year off on the right foot this time.
There was only one problem. Our students came to seventh grade reading at much lower levels than last year; our average student reads at the fourth-grade level, and some of them read at the second-grade level. It only took a few weeks to realize that last year's model was not serving our students. There is no point asking students who cannot read a passage questions about point of view, setting, and author's purpose.
What these students really need is time to actually read. As I've told them all year long, the only way to get better at reading is reading. But there are two problems with that: 1) The ones who need it most despise reading, and we can't force them to do it. They will use any diversionary tactic to avoid reading and to prevent their classmates from reading, too. 2) We are a middle school. We don't have books on the second- and third-grade level. [Our principal just now obtained funding to provide us with leveled libraries for our classrooms, as well as a consultant to help us implement a reading workshop approach. Hallelujah!]
For the last two weeks, I've devoted over half of my class time to silent reading--in theory. But a handful of students have made that time both unfruitful and highly stressful, at least for me. Wednesday was the low point. On the advice of an administrator who has been helping with my most challenging class, I sent every disruptive student to the office and set up parent conferences. Guess how many I sent out in one period? Six. Six! With all of that drama, only the most determined readers could have read anything.
That evening, I cried all the way from work to my hair salon, a one hour and seven minute commute due to flash flooding. I poured out all of my frustrations and disappointments to my Beloved. "I know that you are with me always. I know your plans for me are good. I know you work in all things for the good of those who love you. But I am just so tired of all of this. I don't want to do it any more." And then I repented for feeling sorry for myself. But I still felt sorry for myself.
Something about the weight of the world on my shoulders led me to a rash decision. As usual, my stylist asked, "So are we just going to trim it up again?"
"Hmm," I said, furrowing my brows as I grappled with the temptation to cut my hair really short. "I'm tired of this style, but I like the way I can just flat iron it every day. Can you recommend a short style that's easy to take care of?"
We studied photos of a dozen or so cuts on her phone. I took a deep breath and shuddered on a leftover sob. "Let's do this one," I said, pointing to a cut that was part bob, part pixie cut.
Here's how it turned out:
For the last week or two, I have started every class with an affirmation, written on the board in red and delivered in my most fervent voice. I started this habit on a day when I went off on my hardest class, but instead of yelling in anger, I shouted out all of the things I've been claiming for them in prayer. I drowned out my five hecklers with such declarations as: "I'm thankful that you are all eager learners, and you are learning to be so respectful. It's such a blessing that you treat others with kindness and compassion, and that you are learning to speak life. I don't care what I see with my eyes. That doesn't mean it isn't true. I'm speaking out what I see in my heart. I'm speaking it into existence. Everything I have prayed for you will come to pass. You will learn."
A third of the class yelled, "Preach it!" A third stared at me like I'd sprouted a second head. The last third, the hecklers, laughed uproariously.
"Go ahead and laugh," I said. "I know you think it's funny. But I'm absolutely serious. It's a blessing and a privilege to speak life to you."
They laughed harder, though their classmates were shushing them.
"Keep laughing," I said. "You can even make fun of me. It doesn't bother me. I don't care how disrespectful you are. It doesn't change the fact that I love you and want you to learn. Nothing you do will make me love you less.... However, be aware that my love for you does not excuse the fact that you kept me from doing my job. Tonight I will be calling the parents of every student who prevented me from teaching today."
I cannot describe to you the exhilaration of spouting love and truth against my enemy, who will try anything to keep my students in the darkness. Nor can I explain the joy of finally, finally being squeezed and having only goodness flow out of my heart and through my mouth. It felt so good that I decided to start the next class period with the same affirmations, but this time I did it while they were calm and able to receive my message.
Every day since then, I have asked God for one sentence to write on the board and speak over them. Yesterday's message was, "I want you to know that you are loved--just as you are."
When my challenging group came in, I expounded on that message. "I love you when you behave, and when you don't behave," I said, walking around the room and making eye contact with the frequent offenders. "I love you when you work hard and make me proud. And I love you when you don't work and I feel so disappointed. I even love you when you make me mad. I will always love every one of you. You don't have to do anything to earn my love."
"Now," I said, "I believe some of you wanted to know why I cut my hair. If you will listen, I'll tell you."
Two times, I was interrupted. "Never mind," I said. "It seems that you're not interested."
"Yes we are, miss!" they protested. They looked at the chatty girls. "Shh!!"
"Okayyy," one of the girls said, and pressed her lips together.
"So last night, I cried all the way from work to my hair appointment," I began.
"Why, miss?"
"I cried because I love you guys so much, but I have not been able to create an environment where you can learn. I felt so, so heavy."
"Like, fat?" one boy interrupted.
"Shh!!" the others hissed.
"No, not fat. I felt heavy in my heart, like-"
"Like depressed?" a girl asked.
"Yes, I felt depressed. So instead of just getting a trim, I decided to chop it all off--so I could leave the old, heavy me behind. Now I feel much lighter."
"It looks good," some of them said.
"We really like it."
"You've got sass," one of the hecklers said.
And then my rowdy class worked diligently and enthusiastically through the entire period. In pairs, they read Scholastic SCOPE magazines, talking about what they wondered and exclaiming over what they learned. For example, they shuddered over the idea of eating maggots, no matter how nutritious they might be. Several of the students who are often the laziest did an extra article and K-W-L chart (Know, Wonder, Learned). That evening, happy tears rolled down my cheeks on my drive home.
Today, something even better was waiting for me. But I will save that story for tomorrow. Truly, tomorrow. This story is just too beautiful to keep to myself.
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