"I'm a dirty, little Mexican!" Words spoken by a child that broke my heart today. A child incredibly broken by the world. I ask myself, "Who tells him these things? Where does this sort of language come from?" My aide tells me, "His classmates." I'm speechless but not terribly surprised. He has a poor self-image and acts out as a result.
I have taken an interest in this boy. He struggles with doing the right thing; such things most children do automatically such as behaving in class, doing his school work and functioning in life. His teachers have written him off. Granted, he does make me a bit crazy most days. He slides his foot across the floor to make his shoes squeak. He acts like a "badass" despite the fact he's probably shorter than my 5'2". He talks tough like a "gangsta" yet, he lives in one of the more affluent suburbs. And yet, I see promise. He is funny and I believe, bright.
I spoke with him before spring break. I told him that I thought he could finish high school and get his diploma. And the truth is, I believe he can. None of his other teachers believe it, but I do. I have seen it done before. I used to have a class full of kiddos like him. All of them not only graduated but went on to have success in their life; whether it was a job, a trade school or community college. These were kids general education teachers would write off as "punks". Yes, this one is a "punk", too. But he's smart. Street smart and I believe, much brighter than he is given credit for. He has played the system for a long time -- and the system is failing him.
My class is the only class he is passing. I have a simple requirement; do your work. You can listen to your cell phone, use a calculator, use whatever means is necessary; but you must complete the task at hand. I'm the only teacher he will do work for; a miracle from God because for some reason, he relates to me. He is willing to do what I ask him to do. He is also willing to listen to my advice.
I have listened to conversations about this boy from counselors, special educators and general education teachers. The words are not kind. He is not a student they wish to be bothered with; and that bothers me. I understand that classes are large. In a classroom of thirty-five kids, he would be a major disruption. Yet, I also know that you should never give up on a child. I pick my battles; I can look at a child and see whether or not there is promise. I won't throw "good money after bad"; I need to save my strength for those that really need it and are willing to take the help I offer. However, I also do not judge a child until I have personally worked with them; and not just for a day or two. I'm talking a few months. It is then that I am able to determine who they are; if they are even accepting of praise. Some kids make me wonder, "Have they ever been praised? Or have they only been criticized and condemned?" I would say the majority in my special education classes have been the latter. It makes me sad.
Last night I cried. I cried for the way this boy has been treated. I cried because I feel his pain. I cried because I see the way others talk about him. I cried because God put him in my care. I also cried because he is now willing to come to my class after school and make up all the work he has missed. I cried out of frustration because despite his efforts, he may not pass his classes due to so many absences. I cried because I believe I am making a small difference in his life.
That's right ....the boy who has no interest in school, is now coming to my class and spending extra time to make up his work. He can do it -- he just needs it explained to him. It's a little extra help. He also just needs the reassurance that someone in that room cares and does not judge him.
I was told my first year of teaching that I care too much; that I would burn out if I continued to care as much as I did. As a result, I pulled back a bit. Yes, I am still passionate about these children but it is a job that can, at times, be overwhelming.
I don't share this story to praise myself ; rather, I do it to point the finger at our educational system and at the teachers who have become so jaded that they cannot see a child's eyes or heart. I point the finger at those who would rather just collect their salary and go home at the end of the day. Frankly, I would love to do that, too. But I have committed to staying late 2-3 days a week to help these kids in whatever way they need it. If I don't do it, who will? There are several like myself. Each has their own reason for staying late. I personally, just want a child to know that help is available. All they have to do is ask.
Granted, I have only been at this six years and not twenty-six years but I'd like to think that I will never give up on a child; especially one that needs someone in their corner. As special educators, we are told that we need to advocate for these children. Where are these advocates? Surely, I'm not the only one...if we don't stand up to the teachers who give up on these kids, then who will help them get through the system? Who will help them advocate for themselves?
I truly believe it is our responsibility to encourage these children. We don't know their home life, we don't know what they face in school all day; we only know what we see for that fifty minutes a day. When I look in the face of a child, I see a person. I see possibility. I see their future. Is it going to be jail? Unemployment? A life of misery? Or am I going to do my best to encourage a child through their struggles in life and offer them hope? A way to support themselves? Help them to understand that school is a means to an end? That school is their priority; their future.
I don't know how many educators will read this but I hope that it convicts those who have looked past a child because they do not conform to their world; that the Holy Spirit will nudge them into action. I am no saint; far from it. I am "only" a teacher. I offer an education. I offer encouragement. I offer children peace and hope. Can those of you that share in this profession say the same?
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