The school year is coming to a close and my students are taking their last few exams. As the year ends all the teachers and students look forward to summer with anticipation, but I seriously think that the teachers are more excited than the students. But, before I set off on a plane bound for a much needed vacation I really needed and wanted to reflect on my first year as an educator.
"Your first year is the hardest," are the words of encouragement I received in undergraduate regarding my upcoming career. But, nothing that they had said could have prepared me for this year. The challenges that arose from my precious 7th graders are unlike anything I have ever imagined. Behavior management, which I used to think was my strength, I struggled with. Connecting literature to teaching the students how to be compassionate human beings was next to impossible. Teaching writing was a wreck. No one knew what a sentence was. Reading was a whole other catastrophe as I struggled to teach the kids to read with the only resources given to middle school teachers, which were novels way beyond their level. But, the curriculum wasn't the worst part. The blatant disrespect and misbehavior of the boys and the intense cyber bullying and social drama with the girls was what kept pushing me over the edge of sanity. How do you make a boy who has been told his whole life that he is better than everyone else listen to you or other adults? How do you stop a group of twenty-six girls from cyber bullying and excluding others when it is all happening in another language? How can you discipline a child who fears no punishment (expulsion, suspension, ect.)? And what do you do when children who are twelve years old think it is okay to punch, kick, and call the cops on teachers during school? Luckily, being a female I never was victim to the last situation. However, I watched on several occasions when teachers of the highest caliber were kicked or punched by students. And just last week when one student proceeded to call the cops on a fellow teacher for telling him he couldn't hit other boys. No narrative I write here could ever explain exactly what this year was like or what these students are like. Yet, you can imagine how discouraging it was as a new teacher. The entire time I kept thinking I am failing these kids, and I am failing in this job.
However, veteran teachers and professionals who have taught for many years all told me that they shared in my struggles as well. This knowledge made me feel somewhat hopeful. Hopeful because if these amazing teachers with experience struggled the same with these students then maybe I wasn't failing them. I realized that it good to doubt myself often and reflect on how I can do better for next year. And as I reflected I realized all the incredible things that these crazy kids have taught me and that maybe I managed to teach them a little something along the way.
They may still be a long way from grade level, but the fact that the average reading level for 7th grade was 3rd grade last year and now at the end of this year they are at 6th grade reading level, is a small accomplishment. They may struggle to write paragraphs but they can write sentences now. And they may not have become changed by it, but they now have the knowledge of the wrongs of racism and bullying planted in their heads. I didn't change any of these kids lives this year. And in five years when they graduate they may barely remember me. But, I learned from them so much and look forward to a new year where I can take my mistakes and tears from this year and turn them into something productive for next. And as hard as 90% of this school year was for me the other 10% really makes me sad to say goodbye to these ridiculous students. One student summed up what I am feeling when he told me "Miss you know when you have something you don't like it. And when it is gone then you miss it. We didn't like you, but now that you won't teach us again we are really sad to not have you. Please teach us next year!" While I don't anticipate teaching them again I will miss them when they are no longer 'my crazy kids.'
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