Simple Successes

I am a teacher. I teach children with emotional problems. I have done this for fourteen years.  So many of my friends and fellow teachers have said to me that they don't know how I do it.  I tell them, I love it.  Those children are an enigma to me.  One summer during college, I worked at a summer camp for children with emotional problems. It was my first experience with that population.  I volunteered to be one of the people to ride a van that went to pick up the kids from their homes in the morning, to take them to the camp, and I rode it back with them when camp was done for the day.  During those rides, I sat and listened to their conversations, or watched their responses to what they saw out of the window.  I smiled at their enthusiastic waves good-bye until the morning.  I learned so much from just watching and listening. During the day, I was paired up with a girl, who at the time, was not much younger than I was.  We talked a lot. She had been in several foster homes, and for a 15 year old she had seen more tragedy and sadness than should be allowed, yet she was hopeful and positive in her thoughts, but her behaviors and actions reflected her skittishness toward trusting people.  She relied on her survival skills when she felt threatened or scared, and would have to be calmly talked to, in order for her to relax, and see the situation for what it was and not what she perceived it to be (some shadow version of a nightmare experience of hers).  I was hooked on helping those types of children when I was talking to her one day, and listening to her chatter on about the music she liked and where she would like to travel to, when it dawned on me--she and I had similar interests and, though my experiences were not nearly as horrible as hers, we did have the same fears and hopes.  So, why was I able to cope and she couldn't?  On this emotional tight rope that we all walk on, why was I able to stay walking while she was tumbling down? 

That question still remains elusive to me, today.  How can someone face tragedy after tragedy, and still glide through life with hope and high spirits, while another person has a bad hair day and it causes them to crash and burn?  The allotment of each person's inner strength is like Mary Poppins' bag; some people can keep pulling out endurance, and positive outlooks almost endlessly, while others can only manage a dusty Kleenex. 

The students I teach have all been like that.  Most have come from homes where their emotions have been neglected. Physical abuse is common, but emotional and mental abuse is more common.  Parents don't always realize how tragically a sarcastic comment or criticism can effect a young, trusting mind.

So, the school day in my classroom is not like a typical classroom.  What I feel is a smooth day, is chaos to someone else.  That happened, today.  A friend of mine (another teacher) wanted to work on something, and came into my room to work at this table I have in the corner.  I had a class going on. We were reading about Hammurabi and his code.  It took us 15 minutes to get everyone to say the name correctly.  It took us the rest of the class to talk about the laws he made, especially the 'eye for an eye' law.  Was it fair? Why? Why not?  It is a struggle to keep them focused (they were a sixth grade class).  There was a lot of talking and regrouping.  At the end of the day, she came up to me, gave me the sign of the cross (lol...it's a public school) and told me the usual, "I don't know how you do it."  Her next question, though, kind of threw me a little.  She said, "I couldn't do that.  I...wouldn't...how do you feel, or do you feel, that you accomplished anything at the end of the day?"  I smiled and laughed a little.  She said some more, not meaning to be mean (which she never is).  I told her I understood what she meant, but I answered that, yes, I did feel accomplished at the end of the day. Here's why:  I'm a big academics person, but it took me a while to realize that academics mean nothing if your emotions don't make it meaningful.  If you're hungry, hurt, feel afraid or nervous, adding fractions won't seem to have much value.  But, water those emotions, and an interest in learning seems to blossom.  That those students were focused enough to finally say, 'Hammurabi' correctly was a big plus.  That they know he developed fair laws is an even bigger plus. That they trust me enough, and  were able to express themselves openly without fear of being ridiculed, or yelled at was the biggest plus. 

Sometimes success is a simple thing.  I appreciate simple successes. A name said correctly, trust where there was none, and another day of sobriety here at home.