Students

 

I write a great deal of blogs in my head.  I don’t end up writing some because I read a blog on Facebook of exactly what I wanted to say and then I literally hit myself on the head and hate myself for not writing that. I know I need to blog more, but not even blog—just write. I'm writing this blog because I have to because my heart has been heavy lately for my students.  I yearn to know their story; however, when I find out I just ache for them.

 

I learn about my students mostly through their writing. They love to express themselves even though they put on a façade of hatred towards schoolwork. I try to have them write for pleasure as much as I do for academic purposes, but with time restraints it doesn’t always happen. I have them write “no-send letters.” This is their favorite because they write to a person with no intention of giving them that letter. Even with all the technology, they crave this activity and ask to do it all the time. They have a lot to say and writing helps them release that.

 

Recently, my students turned in a narrative essay. Narrative writing, in case you were wondering J, is when the writer tells a story where the reader learns a lesson or gains insight about the writer. I get to be the reader of these essays and I so enjoy it.  I read every.single.one. All 150. It takes me about a week, which seems like a lot, but when I am finished reading them I feel a mix of emotions. I feel happy, proud, sad, angry, hopeless, curious, empowered, weak and strong all at the same time. I feel happy because some of their stories are hilarious. I feel proud because of all the teachers that worked together to get them to this point of writing: their elementary teachers for teaching them letters, how to read, how to form sentences; for their middle school teachers for teaching them to write essays; and I feel proud of myself because they finished something, turned it in, and wanted me to read it. I feel sad, angry, and hopeless because some of their stories are h e a v y. These students have been through too much at their age and are maybe still living in a bad situation. I get angry at the thought that some children weren’t raised how I was and they just need love. I feel hopeless because I can do nothing about that situation. I feel curious because sometimes I want to know more. I feel empowered because I can be the hope this child needs. I feel weak because I’m tired of reading and grading, and I feel strong because I can face another day without being hungry, abused, tired, or lonely like some of my students.

Yesterday, I asked one student about his essay while it was just him and I in the room. I asked him if he was really bullied in elementary school because this kid is so vibrant, so extraverted, popular, funny, and kind.  He got serious and explained that he had. I asked him who bullied him and he responded with names that I am sure he will never forget. He told me story after story about what he had to go through each day he walked home.  One time, this group of older kids had a can of hair spray and a lighter and they burned some of his hair off. He was in second grade. I started crying because I have a child that old! He had pictures he showed me on his phone of when he was bald because of this incident. He told me that once he stood up to them, only to be beat up.  This whole time I can’t believe these things happened to him because of how he acts around everyone.  In his essay he explains that the principal actually took care of the situation because the parents had called. An educator-a silent hero- took action.  I am proud of the man this student is becoming and know he will go far in life and I was so glad he shared his story with me. (note: I asked him if I could write about him in my blog J)

 

This is just one reason my heart is heavy. I try to remember every day that my students carry weight with them.  You should all remember this, not just if you are a teacher, but with everyone you come into contact with. Everyone has a story and is dealing with something that is buried deep within their soul.  If you take the time to ask, you will know and understand that person better.  I do not ever regret asking a student about their story. Sometimes I don’t even have to ask—they will just confide in me.  The student/teacher relationship is often criticized in media, but you might not know about all of the positive aspects of this relationship.  One of my favorite things is when I hand back something like an essay, where they poured their heart into it and wanted me to know this tiny piece of their story, and our eyes meet. I smile—they smile—and we just have this understanding about what went down. I get them and they feel that and it is this unexplainable feeling of understanding that I wish I could put into words.