Teaching in the Trenches

   

Another good but emotionally-challenging day in the trenches of teaching at-risk youth. I overheard a student tell another teacher that his mother was an addict and used to put cocaine in his baby bottle.
On my planning period, I read through some pages of their autobiographies and took in an account of a drive-by shooting. The sweet, quiet girl in the back of the room has witnessed more bloodshed and bodies scattered on the floor than some cops I know. 
I did a writing blitz day where I kept my class writing, in various activities, for 90 minutes, and in one of the activities, I had these stations with writing prompts on them. The kids rotated and wrote for three minutes on each poster. The one about fighting was twice as full as the one about kissing. I commented on that, and a student said, "Guess there's a lot more violence than love." 

   One of the comments on the "Learning to Kiss" poster said, "Ask a whore." I said, "Did any of you learn to kiss by watching movies?" And one responded, "You mean like porn?" Uh.. no that's not what I meant. One student asked, "Which fight should I write about, the one yesterday or the one last week?" 

     Before class, I stopped "R," who I adore but who is extremely sarcastic and delights in trying to get me off task or rattle me. Yesterday, it was, "Miss! What'd you do to your hair? Have you lost weight? You look skinny. What's different about you? You look really pretty today--do you have a date after school?"  I looked him in the eyes and I said, "R", maybe you and I should start today's class with a hug. Whaddya think?" And he leaned in and said, "I think we should start EVERY class with a hug." I melted, threw my arm around that boy and hugged him. Class went smooth as glass. Now I know. Hug "R" every-single-day. 

For many high risk students, spring is a semester full of anxiety. They leave the security of a structured school day with mentors who pour into their lives and hold them accountable, two hot meals, friends, and support, and they have to live through an entire summer without some of those things. No structure, no schedule; for many of them, it's the law of the street. It's especially frightening for seniors. Graduation should be a time of liberation and independence, but for some kids, it's a sentence.  

If only a hug took care of all of them. I think of that starfish the boy in the story threw back. "It matters to that one," and I know that a hug, while it may not be much, mattered to that one, and for today, that's what I can do. Tomorrow is another day.