I Would Literally Rather Jump Off Of A Bridge…

From the moment that I decided to become a teacher, I have naturally been extremely excited for the moment that I would get to have my own classroom. I used to imagine it. Facilitating in-depth conversations based on a text, decorating my classroom, creating and facilitating innovative activities, and of course, being the cool teacher. But, the one thing that I was definitely not looking forward to was the parents. I had heard so many horror stories. “They’re awful. They’re just awful.”, “I’ve never met a parent who was willing to consider the fact that their child is capable of wrongdoing.”, “I swear to God, I think I saw a parent’s head turn around mid-conference.”, “Avoid them at all costs.”. After hearing these comments, I was understandably terrified of parents.

I had done the very best I could to avoid communication with parents. I would tell my CT things that I wish I could say to parents, and just hope that she would take the hint. And, she always did. I was afraid that eventually, she would push me to talk to parents. After all, I am the teacher. It only makes sense for me to communicate with the parents. But, if she was not going to force me to, I was not going to try to. But, I knew that the time for me to finally make my first contact with parents was quickly approaching.

There is a student in my class who refuses to participate. He would come to class every day with his hood on, and earphones in. Additionally, he would sleep the whole period despite constant nagging from my CT and I. My CT had reached out to his mother via email at the beginning of the year, but she never responded. After seeing me completely give up on getting him to participate, my CT decided it was time for me to reach out to his mother. She called me over to her desk after class had ended. She had a sweet, suspicious smile on her face. I knew she wanted something from me. Something I did not want to give. “Ashley,” she started, “I know you’ve been avoiding this the whole school year…” “Mrs. Johnson…”, I start. “Just hear me out…I think you need to call John’s parent.” “MRS. JOHNSON!” I reply. “I know! I know!” she replied, “I hate doing it too. But, you’re going to have to contact parents when you have your own classroom. There’s no better time to start than the present.” She passed me the student information sheet with his mother’s contact information and shooed me out of the class.

I walked out of the classroom into the privacy of the teacher’s lounge. I rehearsed what I was going to say in my head maybe thirty times. I mustered up just enough courage to dial her number. A wave of relief washed over me when the phone went to voicemail. Great, she did not answer. I’ll leave a brief voicemail explaining who I am, what I am calling about, and where she can reach me. In the middle of me reciting my memorized speech, my phone began ringing. I felt my stomach drop when I recognized the number as John’s mothers’ number. Dang. I thought I avoided this. I give myself the shortest, but strongest pep talk I could in a matter of seconds. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

Me: …Hello?

Mrs. Brown: Hi, is this Ms. Aaron?

Me: Yes it is, thank you for calling me back.

Mrs. Brown: No problem, thank you for reaching out. I listened to your voicemail, and I had no idea that this was something John was doing!

Me: (nervously) Yes ma’am. He refuses to participate, and because of this, he has a 42 in the class. I wanted-

Mrs. Brown: A 42?! He has a 42?!

My stomach dropped again. Here it comes. I knew it was coming. She is going to yell at me, and question my quality as a teacher. Oh God, here it comes.

Mrs. Brown: Why does he have a 42? I just asked him how he was doing and he said he was doing fine.

Me: He is actually missing several assignments. I always remind him that he can turn in the work to boost his grade, but I think it goes in one ear and out the other.

Mrs. Brown: You know what, I need to be honest with you. I work overnight, so I am not at home with his as often as I would like to in order to stay on top of him. And knowing John, he is probably staying up all night on his damn Play Station, which would explain his sleeping in class.

I breathed a sigh of relief. This was not going as bad as I thought it would. It is actually going pretty well.

Mrs. Brown: Ms. Aaron, I am so sorry about how John has been acting. Please know that I will speak to him today when I get home. You will not have any problems out of him.

Me: Thank you so much for speaking to me, and working with me. And, please keep in mind that if there is absolutely anything I can do to help out, please do not hesitate to give me a call.

We ended the conversation there. I breathed another sigh of relief. That was not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I walked back to Mrs. Johnson’s class with my head held high. I faced my fears. I talked to a parent about their child’s unacceptable behavior, and I did not combust. Who would have guessed? I learned that day that not all parents are going to be as pleasant as the one I spoke to. Yes, I will definitely get cursed out at some point in my career by a parent. Yes, a parent will probably bring into question my techniques and skills as a teacher. Yes, a parent will definitely hurt my feelings eventually. But, I also learned that not all parents are like that. The pleasant parents will far outweigh the meanies. And as long as I am appreciated by one parent, that makes all the encounters with non-pleasant parents worth it.

Furrowed Eyebrows

Furrowing eyebrows, placing my face into the depths of my palms, staring deeply at the computer that seems like it might start smoking any minute now, click-clacking joyfully at one point (in an almost rhythmic tune), then tapping the backspace button ever so slightly (more than a few times if we’re honest), dumping out the trash you can call my thoughts and realizing “oh, there was actually something valuable in there,” and then digging deep to find it again. Writing an essay, you say? Ha. I wish. No, in fact this is me for the past few weeks trying to come up with fun, engaging, modern-way-of thinking type lesson plans that, to my disappointment, never came falling out of the sky. “You’ll be happy that you did all of your work at the front of it,” they say. “It gets better with time,” they say, but does it really? I know it does. I just like being cynical every once in a while.

Actually, I’m quite proud of my accomplishments thus far. I’ve got a semi-cohesive unit plan in place, and to top it all off I can proudly say that it’s all my work, my thoughts, my effort. If you told me a year ago that I would be finding the perfect text for designing a meaningful student-centered unit that included truly unique lesson plans, you would be running away trying to get away from the crazy, hysterical lady.  But now that I’m nearing the end of getting every little detail of my unit plan all typed up, I think about where I was a year ago and ask myself, “What was I so worried about?” I’ve got this! It may not  be perfect, and I know there has got to be something I missed, but I think I can do it. I think I can do this whole being a teacher thing. I know there will be many challenges to come in the future, but I’ve got to remember that I have the chance to do something I love every day. Even if I do screw up, I know that I will get a second chance because my students love me and they know I love them and knowing that makes everything okay.

 

“Fully Involved”

I naively envisioned student teaching requiring maybe 25 hours a week of effort. Being only 23 years old, I pulled off meeting the needs of my internship, while being a furniture salesman. My newfound, livable wage of 40k/year transformed me into a real adult. I no longer existed in the ghetto of cramped student dormitories. I evolved into a man that had his pizza delivered to his house.

Unfortunately, working a second job is forbidden at Exorbitant Furniture. They own all of your time. I was on break one evening and had lesson plans scattered about the table for my American Lit Course. My boss, Ms. Illiteracy, walked in and noticed the paper trail:“What is this mess on my table? *Crumples folder* Teenagers are snowflakes. Which job is putting food on your table?”

She did not apologize or step down; it just became awkward.

I began filling downtime with designing my next unit and reading parent emails: “Lana came home thrilled about winning your essay contest. I did not know she was talented at something.”

I adore this career where I can make even neglectful parents see the value in their children. But why wait? I already had the job! I opened a Google Doc and began typing.

I hand-delivered my resignation letter, stamped with retribution, to Ms. Illiteracy: “I thought about your comments on being a teacher,” I said as I dropped it on her desk.

My students deserve 100% of my time. I now look myself in the mirror with honor.
-Mr. Harley.

Realization

When considering the different types of stories, I could tell the only one that comes to mind right away is when I thought I would never be able to become a teacher. When someone asked what I am going to school for the immediate reaction to my response is “really? Bless your heart!” Why is it such a terrible idea that I would want to spend my time educating and inspiring the future?

But this story starts a long time ago when I was still in high school. I attended a school that was fairly big and contained tons of clicks, but that’s typical for most high schools, right? Anyways, like most standard teenagers I was full of anxiety, stress, hormones, and boys. Everything occurring in your life during high school is over dramatic, but nobody really evaluates the situation at the time. I have come to notice that listening and getting to know my students over this few months.

Taking a look back at age 16 I was on the ‘correct path’ for college as my family and friends would say. I had a plan of what I was going to do for my bachelor’s degree, had a sport that was beneficial for my health, had friends that were supportive, and a boyfriend that was always ‘supportive’ of everything I did. So, what would I have to complain about that lead me down the path I’m taking today? Anxiety, depression, and most of all heartbreak.

The funny thing about being 16, is that anything can happen and you’ll think your world might be ending. But that is just the thing for me my world almost did end. With the constant stress of living the life everyone else wanted for me it caused terrible anxiety, which ultimately lead to depression. The worst part was how good I was at pretending though. Pretending I was happy, pretending that I wanted my life to be the way it was going, and pretending that everything would always end up fine. So, what broke inside of me that lead to the terrible decisions of almost not being here you might ask?

Realization.

Something school never prepared me for was actually growing up and realizing that it is okay to be who I want to be; not what another think’s is right for me. The worst part of this realization was how hard I crashed. When I took a step back to reevaluate my life I realized I didn’t want to be a pharmaceutical representative, I didn’t want to skip anymore meals, and most certainly didn’t see why I was with someone who treated me so badly. So, when everything crashed around me I thought my only way out was to eliminate myself completely from this world, but lucky for me it didn’t work.

It was when I came across a student in one of my classes that I saw the same struggles that brought me back to this time. We’ll call her Hannah for this purpose. Hannah showed the exact same signs that I had when I was her age. It was when she turned in a piece of writing that alarmed me, but to the normal eye no one would’ve noticed. Her simple words of unhappiness, and always looking down the side of caution and sadness. It was then I decided to walk around and push the students in conversations about an assignment dealing with characters. I could see her using the character of the story to represent herself. At this moment, I made sure to tell her how no matter how low someone might feel there is always a bright side that can be reached with determination. It won’t ever be easy but it is able to be accomplished. She gave me a small smile right away, but I could see the longing for help in her eyes; just like I had when I was her age. On the way of the class that day she stopped and thanked me for the discussion I had with her, and said “you have NO idea how much that helped me.”

Even though I disappointed a lot of people in my sudden change as a teenager I knew it was the right path for me take. As teachers, it is important to notice our surroundings and students. I can only imagine if I had a teacher that took the time to get to know me to notice the struggles I went through how different I could have been. This is part of the reason I knew I wanted to be a teacher (besides loving English). To be there and create safe spaces for my students, and make sure they understand how important they are in the world – and to teach them ELA of course!

 

 

 

Are Roosters Even Up This Early?

As I pry my eyes open in the distance, I hear the faint crying of my phone alarm. I am petrified! My eyes won’t open. All I see is black. My head frantically scans the room. Then finally it hits me. It’s six freaking AM. Who is up this early? For sure the birds are up. Not a tweet in hearing distance. I wiped the 4 hour sleep crud out of my eye and slung my feet out of my cocoon.

The morning routine takes at least an hour consisting of dragging to the sink to remove dragon breath from my mouth to shivering in a cold shower to make it through the morning. The water pierces my skin as I feel myself waking from my abysmal slumber. Grade 100,000,000 papers, department meeting, lesson plan for 1st block GODDDDDD I should have planned that last night! As I exit the shower, my mind runs through everything that MUST get done today.

Ecstatically, I skip to the kitchen and open the fridge. Left over ziti? Maybe just an orange. I need to loose weight for this cruise. Looks down. Okay maybe a cheerio. Ughhhhhhhhh. Fine week old pizza it is! The sun has yet to peak through the clouds. FREEAAAKKKK! I’m late! If I don’t leave now, Atlanta traffic will conspire against my on time arrival. I dash out the door! My frost bitten windows take a few moments to unthaw. Hurry Up! Hurry Up! .3 seconds from now I’m going to be late! I roll out of my parking lot. Goodness gracious! I forgot my coffee!!!!!!

I ease through the stench of day old sour armpits, crispy chicken biscuits from Chic-fil-a, and blossoming dreams as I walk down the hallway.

“Hey Ms. Right!”

“Hey Quinn!”

“You look nice today”

So do I look like death every other day. “Thank you so much!” The bags under my eyes feel like sledge hammers dragging every time I blink.

My community of students file into the room. Different shades of the rainbow fill my room eager to learn literature. Not! I pull up the discussion for the day. A blue screen flashes across their faces. Button Poetry appears suddenly and the students listen intently. Two women begin to speak about NCLB. Their eyes raise in amazement because this is their first time seeing themselves in a literature class. The video ends. I ask, “What does it mean to be left behind?” Hands shoot up!

Ariel screams, “The test are never made for us!”

Daniel exclaims, “They want us to fail!”

Jesus proclaims, “We are a society made to build machines not thinkers!”

Then suddenly I realize the rooster is generally the first animal on the farm to get up. They are the early bird to get the worm. They wake up every other living being letting them know it’s time to get their day started. They rise before the sun. I am the rooster of my classroom. I rise as the early bird to implant seeds of knowledge. I awaken student’s minds in order for them to learn. I rise before the sun to shine brightly, unconsciously given my students permission to do the same. I guess roosters are more than what they seem.

The show must go on!

I remember the very first time I attempted to do an open mic show. I had stumbled upon a flyer that was advertising an open mic event at a church venue a few miles away from my house, so I decided to call the number on the flyer for more information. The lady who picked up was so nice and gracious. She welcomed me to sign up for the show and so I did. Knowing that this was going to be my very first time performing my own original music on stage, I was extremely excited. I had to tell someone about it, so I told my younger sister.

“Nat, guess what?”

“What is it?”

“I’m doing an open mic next Saturday!”

“Oh my goodness! Really? That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, I know. It’s my first!”

I figured she would tell my other little sister, which I didn’t mind.

Saturday quickly approached and I went through every emotion known to man. I was filled with excitement, trepidation, and nausea all at the same time. Nonetheless, I forced myself to go through with it.

Once I finally reach the church venue, I anxiously go inside. Inside of the venue I find my sister Nat, along with my other little sister Mandy. I turn around and to my surprise, two cousins, one aunt, and one of my dad’s best friends are there too. My heart instantly plummets to the bottom of my chest. Who on earth invited them? This is a catastrophe! How am I supposed to get up there and perform now?

“Next up, we’ve got B Paul coming to the stage! Everybody give it up!”

I gulped in fear and walked onto the stage. I felt like a dear in headlights. Every eye in the room was on me. The room was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Suddenly, the instrumental began to play.

“(inaudible singing)…”

As I struggled through the song, I saw the audience squirm in their seats. One lady chugged back the drink that was in her hand and swiftly got up to get another. It was a nightmare. Every note that proceeded from my mouth was as flat as a pancake. I sounded like I had swallowed a frog. I was just so nervous! It also didn’t help that I had all these relatives staring me dead in the eye for my very first open mic gig. Again, who the heck invited them in the first place! To sum things up, it was utterly embarrassing.

Fast forward a few years from then and I now have quite a few open mic performances under my belt. Now when I perform, I’m much more confident, comfortable, and able to remain in the right key because I’m no longer crippled with fear. The nerves and trepidation aren’t completely gone, but they no longer possess the same amount of power that they did during that very first open mic gig. I’m able to function in the midst of the nerves, and quite frankly, I love performing open mic!

I know what you’re wondering. What does all of this have to do with education or your field experience?

I’m glad you asked. Going into this yearlong clinical experience (YCE), I remember feeling that same anxiety, trepidation, and nausea that I felt during my first open mic gig whenever I would get up in front of the students. Standing in front of the class, having to speak to the students, and seeing all of their beady little eyes dead-set on me while I spoke made me feel like I was the center of attention. I was experiencing stage fright all over again. But just as I learned to get over my stage fright when it came to doing open mic gigs, I learned to become more comfortable being in front of my students and interacting with them on a day-to-day basis. Fear and nerves only have power if you give it to them. You can push past your nerves, insecurities, self doubts, and timidity. It’s like the old saying goes…The show must go on! You’ve got this.

My Brain is Mush

            As I sit here writing, my melted brain matter is quickly leaking out of my fingers. I have only taught two classes, but that is enough to completely melt every inch of my brain. I must activate the engine far earlier than I would prefer—not giving it enough time to warm up before cranking it up and gunning it. Not only do I start it up, but I am having to use it at its highest capacity. After first block, sparks are flying, and my brain starts to catch fire. I fight through the flames for one more block, looking forward to the relief of a planning period where I may find my way out of the smoke in search of fresh air.

During my pit stop, I attempt to repair and reshape my mushy, melted brain with the caffeinated super-fuel. After a long-but-not-long-enough break, I attempt to crank up the ratty engine. It stutters, spits, and finally gives a low rumble. Perfect. This may get me through this last mile.

Finally, I tumble through the waving checkered flags at the 3:30 finish line. Rest. Breath. Let the lava that is my brain finally flow from its driver’s seat. The contents reside on my desk. It has spilled over the remaining essays that still need to be graded—all over my homework assignments that have yet to be looked at. How is this mushy substance supposed to produce anything greater than what it has already done so far today? Everything else I produce from now on will be the quality of the engine that is creating it: inconsistent and all over the place.

As exhausting as the race can be, I have discovered that at I am capable of overcoming more than I could have ever imagined. I have learned what it means to run on fumes. I know that even though I fumble over my words in class, misspell my name, and laugh at jokes that only a 7^th grader would laugh at, I still have the power and influence to shape the equally mushy minds that fill the desks in my classroom.

Sharting Inspiration

     “Don’t forget to shart the semester off right!” Not the typical inspirational message one would have displayed in their classroom, but for me, it’s exactly what I read everyday as I write out the agenda on the board for my kids. One of my students last semester left it as a parting message after December finals were taken. It reminds me to take things as they come – not everything always has to be perfect.

     Let’s go back to September 2017. It’s the last day before Fall Break. The last day where I am “co-piloting” class, under the careful planning of my collaborating teacher, Mrs. P. The final class before I begin my unit – one that I had been tirelessly planning for weeks in order to create an exciting and “fun” unit. You see, it’s hard to sell Shakespeare to a group of students, let alone seniors, who are just ready to graduate and move on. Everything had to be perfect. Or so I thought.

After the morning warm-up, as I was gathering papers to pass back to students, Mrs. P (my wonderful CT) was preparing to separate the class into two groups for two different Socratic circles. I overhear one of the students ask Mrs. P what we were doing upon return from Fall Break, to which she replies: “Well, Ms. J will be teaching her unit. We are going to shart Shakespeare.”

Wait. Did she just say what I think she said? It was as if time momentarily stopped… did she really just say we were going to “shart” Shakespeare? Is that legal? Can we say “shart” in front of students? I see Mrs. P just sort of standing there like a deer in headlights. Our students’ eyes are darting back and forth, between the two of us, waiting on some sort of reaction. It’s in that moment I absolutely LOSE it. I bust out in that bottom-of-the-belly, bent over, howling type of laughter. I can’t stop – I start to cry from laughing so hard. Soon, the entire class is laughing just as hard – some of the students don’t even understand why we’re laughing, they joined in just because (or perhaps because I looked hysterical, wiping tears from my eyes and at one point was on my knees laughing so hard).

Before that, I thought I needed to perfect. Always on my A game. Don’t blunder – they’ll never take you seriously. I was terrified to begin teaching on my own. What if I messed up? What if I say something completely wrong? Or stupid? Or what if I say “shart?” So what if I do? As a teacher, your students are never going to remember when the assignment is due or what a proper MLA style heading is – no matter how many times you may repeat yourself. But they WILL remember your blunders. And for that, they’ll appreciate you more. It breaks down that teacher/student barrier when they see you are human, just like they are. You instantly become more relatable. I took that into consideration and could not have been luckier to learn that lesson before I took full control of the class. After that, I encouraged my students to document my weird, off-the-wall, sometimes completely backwards comments – and boy, have I said some gems.

It’s okay to mess up. It’s okay to blunder. Embrace your faux pas. They are what make you real and relatable to your students.

Innocent Super Flowers

“AAAAAHHHH!!!!! MS. BLACK!!!!!”

I thought. Someone. Was DYING. A scream enters the room full speed, head first, into my left shoulder. BAM. A bright smile accompanied by an embrace of gratitude. I’ve been struck by a super punch of affection followed by a flow of voices that ask at least 5 different questions; bodies rush in waves through the door.

I often feel like this little boy when I open my eyes to face my focus class, 4B (as apposed to just 4th period, which I will happily complain about in a future post). The classroom pulses with a positivity that springs forth like the coming of May flowers. And sometimes, when I’m so lucky, the students of this class really make me feel like SuperWoman. Sure, I get made fun of as much as you would assume, but these comic obsessed sweeties are equally encouraging as they are loud and vibrant.

Sharing smiles and laughs with my innocent super flowers happens almost as often as debating a point about how a character from The Arrow represents Macbeth or complaining about how difficult it is to read, write, and converse for most of the class period. Which, by the way, sorry guys, but it’s English class; what else are we going to do? As often as my students make me so happy to listen to their thoughts, they also don’t always know how to make connections, hence the innocence. All 4B students show their personalities in at least one of the three following ways:

1. Flowering Super Story Fanatics: “Ms. Black, this is my second manga in the last two weeks”
2. Super Comparisons: “The Flash and Zoom are the best way to think of Banquo and Macbeth because, you know, one is evil and the other’s not and stuff”
3. Innocently Oblivious: “Ms. Black can you tell me exactly what we’re doing even though you just explained it in at least 3 different ways with visuals and even did a little dance so we would remember” (That may not be word for word, but you get the point)

Aside from the occasional blurp, the students of this class love to focus on the content at hand so long as their is some type of Netflix or Super-something involved. My kids and I are obsessed with Barry Allen, Stranger Things, the occasional Arrow, and now, Black Panther; these characters make my students excited to speak up in class, and quite frankly, I love listening to them get excited over something so dorky. I just want to look at them and say “okay, you guys know how nerdy you actually are, right?” I haven’t done that yet because I know it might break their innocent super flower hearts.

This class also has the tendency to show just as much negative spunk as they can the positive, which is something I would relate to ‘pruning’ in our flower analogy. Not only is this the last period of the day, but often, they aren’t the most academically focused, so it has been a challenge to find ways in which to keep their attention. So far, I have plucked out of the garden the freedom to choose their own places to sit, to choose partners within groups, and to stand before the bell rings. Taking away some of the energy of this class frightened me at first because they just have so much to offer! But some of their spunk was getting in the way of their learning:

Zae and Bria: BOY I KNOW YOU DIDN’T JUST….GIRL WHY CAN’T YOU…WHY IS IT EVERY YEAR YOU…finally Zae ends it with the ever-festering eff bomb…YEAH JUST SHUT THE $%^ UP.

The overlord of our class period had never been so furious. Like the great overarching Zeus in a room full of demigods at training, Coach (CT) rises from his chair in a defiant swoop that immediately sends a wave of cold through the room. An extravagant speech ensues, and after a while, class is back in session. I am forever learning different strategies from this man, but I am pretty sure I will never have quite the same overlord-effect as he can.

While we face difficulties in cultivating the best of our powers, my class has grown as speakers of truth in the face of an ever-changing, ever-stressing world. Even when we use our powers for evil, we can always turn it right back around and create a better, stronger garden of the most beautiful super flowers.

 

Students Who Teach Teachers

“I am a teacher. I’ve been studying English for years. I have knowledge. I know where commas go… I think. I am young, but still have an authority. These kids will love AND respect me. I am a teacher. I can do this.” This was the beginning of my pep talk as I get ready for the first day of school. I was ready. My dress was very professional, my shoes were comfortable, my hair looked good, and I didn’t look like a student (or so I told myself).

“I am not nervous, I already have one semester under my belt. I’ve already learned so much. They’re just kids, who are almost as ready to graduate as you are.” This was going to be a fantastic semester.

1st block was a joy, they were talkative, and weren’t afraid to pose questions. They weren’t quiet and awkward like most classes on the first day. They would be my favorite for sure.

2nd block was an even bigger joy… planning (JK).

3rd block was my focus class. They were pretty quiet, but they had some big personalities. It had the biggest roster for the entire day and I knew they would come around.

4th block was going to be a huge challenge, but I was ready. Well I thought I was ready anyway.

Get ready for numbers (which is a terrible thing to hear coming from an English major, but it’s simple math I promise)Let’s say we have 24 students in our class. We as in me, and the THREE OTHER ADULTS IN THE CLASS. Yes, I will be teaching alongside not only my Collaborating teacher, but also our Co -Teacher, and Sign Language Interpreter…

So that was a little intimidating to hear, but again… I was ready for a challenge. Well the challenge was in the roster… 8 general education, 8 deaf or hard of hearing, and 8 who fall on the special education roster due to their IEPs.

 

It would be interesting, but do – able. I began thinking of ways I could make my lessons more accessible to the students. I made sure that all my videos had closed captions, I made sure that I built in extra time into the schedule for extended class time, remediation and review. I made sure that I had a model or example for assignments. My directions have gotten clearer in explanation, and my classroom management skills had improved as well. YEAH, GO TEACHER STUFF. WOOO.

Well, I thought everything was clear, especially my directions until Tyler turned in his personal analysis of a story. This story was read aloud in class, and  every question I asked them to answer had been discussed as we read. I gave them the tools to succeed.

Everything on Tyler’s paper was perfect, he had great explanations and textual evidence to support his thoughts… until I got to Point of View.

The directions asked for the following: “Please specify the Point of View, and pronouns used in the short story.”

Tyler’s answer: “1st person, and yes, there were pronouns used.”

Okay Tyler… that’s true. You’re not wrong. I couldn’t help but laugh a little to myself. This is like one of those posts you see on Facebook where students answer the question “What ended in 1881?” with the response “1880.”

**Disclaimer: This child is a sweet angel. He is a complete joy. He is smart, and polite and has never been sarcastic towards me. So I knew that he wasn’t trying to make a joke. He wasn’t trying to be funny, I knew that something went wrong in my explanation of the directions. **

Now if I got this answer from Shane or TJ… nevermind.

I asked my Co-Teacher what went wrong, she explained to me that students who are deaf or hard of hearing process things differently. They are very logical, and straight forward, so abstract thinking and figurative language takes them a little longer to grasp. So, I needed to make my directions even clearer… But I thought they were clear enough…

So Tyler taught me something that ONLY Tyler could teach me. There are even more learners in the classroom than I thought. I had to learn to alter my directions in a way that left absolutely no gray area. If I thought there was even once question in my head, that means the kids had 12 more. So my directions slowly began improving even more.

**Update: 4th block is my favorite class. They are a challenge, but I get to see tiny little light bulbs go off everyday. I learn a new way to reach them, and teach them in every lesson. I couldn’t be more thankful for this group of kids. They make me smile, and they are so smart. These are the kids I want for the rest of my career.