This year, more than ever before, I've found myself beaming with pride at my students' words and work. I think this is due, in large part, to my teaching the same groups of students for consecutive years. Because my own teaching assignments have changed from year to year, there are some students that I've taught for four straight years--sixth grade to ninth grade. This is quite a privilege for me, though I wish my students would be exposed to some other teaching styles. Regardless, I've seen my students grow a few inches and, more importantly, gain years of maturity. Two students in my Regents class come to mind today: Eli and Rosie. They both joined me at a pre-med conference on Saturday at the Cornell med school.
Eli (that's a nickname for a Hispanic girl, not a Yale man, so pronounce accordingly) has been very difficult to work with since the sixth grade. She's got a chip on her shoulder that comes from a belief that she is owed respect: if she doesn't feel like someone is respecting her, she won't respect that person--even a teacher. We've talked about this in the past month or so. But in prior years, she'd spent far too much of my class putting her head down on her desk, or talking while I talked, or arguing with me directly.
This year, she's carrying herself like a mature young lady. She has her moments--thus, the conversation about respect last month. In class, though, she makes an effort to participate, even if her grades aren't stellar. She so desperately wanted to go to this pre-med conference that, when her mother told her she had to stay home and clean for her grandmother's surprise birthday party, she did all her chores on Friday evening so that her mom would change her mind. Then, at the conference, she spoke up in a Problem-Based Learning class with the right ideas. Meanwhile, she seemed downright giddy for most of the day, laughing hysterically at silly situations--and I imagine it had a lot to do with the fact that she'd had the privilege of visiting Cornell. On the bus back to Inwood, she stopped singing the "Chicken Dance" song in Spanish long enough to say, "Seriously, thank you for taking us on this. No, seriously, thank you." And then, a moment later, "Yo no quiero ser un pollo..."
Rosie, on the other hand, has been sweet and earnest since the sixth grade. She never, ever talks out of turn or misbehaves. She says hello to me with a smile every day, even if she can tell that I'm in a rotten mood. She shows genuine care for her friends. In sixth grade, I remember telling her mom that she'd be a good teacher someday. Now, I think she'd be good at anything.
She has turned a corner this year by excelling academically in my Regents class. She had always fought to get a mere 80 in middle school history; now, despite the more difficult assignments, she's doing much better. On Saurday, after being completely attentive in morning panels and talks, she made me incredibly proud in the Problem-Based Learning class. Teachers weren't allowed into these classes, but Rosie told me how she'd stood up for herself. Another student was trying to dominate discussion and answer every question. After waiting patiently, hoping for intervention from the facilitator or for a pause, she just spoke out. I mean, she cut him off and started sharing her opinion. There's no way she was disrespectful about it: this is Rosie! And no matter how nice you want to be, there are times when you just need to speak up for what's right, even if it means interrupting someone. If Rosie can keep speaking up and pushing her grades up, she can be a teacher, a doctor, or whatever she wants to be. How can you stop a girl who's consistent and diligent, irrepressibly nice, and fearlessly assertive?
So, those are my students. Yeah, I'm proud.
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