Overview:
A first-year teacher from a different school recounts how building a warm but strong relationship with the so-called “bad kids” didn’t present itself as problems but as strong students failing because of a broken education system.
Every teacher knows the children in this subject.
Or, I should say, you know about them.
He is the only one on the list, who has chronic absenteeism. The one who interrupts your lesson with a few snarky comments that bring the whole class to a standstill. The one with the foul mouth and what seems to be every excuse in the world for not answering anything. Students who ask you last week to let them take out extra credit so they can’t drag their percentages kicking and screaming to the holy grail of 60% marks for a passing grade.
These are the “bad” kids.
When these kids disappear, when your bosses finally do something about their behavior, you know you shouldn’t see it as a victory, but it’s always a little bit of a relief.
In my first year of teaching, I got a job at a continuing education campus, and learned the answer to a question many teachers don’t realize they should be asking.
When the “bad” kids disappear, where do they go?
They came to me.
The hours leading up to my first day in class gave me anxiety I wasn’t used to. I’ve struggled with mental health my whole life, but I’ve always had more depression than anxiety. All of a sudden I was shaken by a mixture of insecurity and temporary excitement. I had access to my list, and dozens of job-building, confidence-building worksheets the substitute gave my students during the days my district work was still being processed.
I spent two hours comparing the answers on the worksheets to the words in my digital planner, eyes darting back and forth, trying to get a head start on memorizing the words and guessing their personalities. My interview made it clear that this campus operated very differently than a typical comprehensive school. The priority was building relationships with my students. Otherwise, I wouldn’t get anywhere by teaching them the content.
Instead of having a three-day welcome week to ease into that relationship, I threw myself into work (and cheated a little). When I came up with the example sentences for the second week, I built on the answers from the worksheets and from my first interaction with the students. I can list students by name and their desired jobs, hobbies, pets. Every time I was there I would ask each student a low ice breaker question, and try to memorize the answers.
Eventually my anxiety subsided, but every Sunday I seemed to come back angry and wreaking havoc on my necessary sleep schedule.
The kindest compliment I’ve ever received is that I seem to have the innate ability to make sincere, joyful connections with just about anyone. It’s a blessing and a curse to have this constant desire to talk to a stranger I meet. Some people find it too small, but I found that my students, many of whom felt that no teacher really cared to know, were taken by it. I have worked in customer service as much as possible since I was a senior in high school, and this tendency was very well shaped both at the Taco Bell drive through local college bar where I cleared tables and delivered food. The revolving door of employees in my food service jobs also equipped me well for the unusual quarter schedule that my alternative education campus operates. Every quarter, I got a new batch of students to work with. Some may have been with me a quarter before, others may be completely new to campus.
I also have a close family member who struggles with what might be called anger issues. Helping them in their growth, always coming back with forgiveness and the chance to start over, was something I talked about a lot in my interview, and I found out that it was not a mistake; words uttered in anger and frustration from the youth have no strength to pierce my thick skin.
I was surprised that it took me four quarters before I kicked any of my classmates. Looking back on my previous experience before starting my academic career however, I realize that it should not have scared me at all. The only reason those students left the room was because their behavior had become a threat to my relationship with the rest of the class, who had begun to express their desire to continue the lesson instead of listening to the disturbing side chatter that was increasing in volume. I remember folding my hands together so the two girls couldn’t see them move as I gave them two options, “one of you can move the seats or both of you go to the pastor.” I was very worried about destroying the relationship I had slowly built with one of the two students, and very worried about reversing the painful progress the other student had made with our campus intervention team.
I had nothing to worry about.
When I saw the first of the two students, with whom I had a strong relationship, she quickly apologized, and opened the door for me to check and make sure she was doing well. Later, I asked to have a pep talk with both girls to set expectations without causing more anxiety and conflict with either group. While the girls refused, the incidents of both girls’ behavior decreased significantly after I set a clear expectation. This was not my first lesson about the need for warm, but strong expectations, but it was very scary to read.
What I have seen from my students is that they have learned a difficult lesson about the education system that most of the high achievers don’t want to consider. Our education system is very divided on what education should be for. Are we making honest citizens who can actively participate in existing institutions? Are we imparting the knowledge needed to cultivate a rich life of wisdom? Are we teaching to pass standardized tests to protect the funding and safety of teachers and administrators? Are we cultivating reformers who will dream and shape a better world, as many schools of education claim to prepare their teachers to serve? Ask five teachers and you will get seven answers.
The result on many campuses is unpredictable results. Many schools have declining test scores, literacy and numeracy are declining, while graduation rates are only increasing. Without a guiding principle, schools do everything they can to maintain the current state of achievement in the form of graduation rates and grade inflation. Everyone knows kids are bad, no one feels confident enough to poke at the basic flaws that plague our systems, and my students were the ones who had the misfortune of learning it faster and harder than any of their peers.
But my students are not bad children.
My students come to class when they can, on our town’s subsidized public bus system, or on foot. Many drive illegally to get to college, fearing the lack of a diploma and the risk of being arrested for driving without a license.
My students come to class hungry because they couldn’t afford dinner, tired because they worked a closing shift, frustrated because their family lives paycheck to paycheck and that can put anyone in a bad situation.
Every time I find myself developing a negative attitude about my students’ abilities, I learn a new side of them that forces me to think about the importance of my position. My partner and I may be the only adults we can always consult with, who are safe and trustworthy. We are a rock in their river of white water, and we cannot allow ourselves to be swept away.
Because my children are not bad. Bad asses. And every day I love them a little more because of it.
