His name has already been mentioned with more than just a sigh and a shake of a head just three days into the school year by some of his former teachers and staff who have worked with him in an almost apologetic way that he is on my roster. Without asking for further clarification, without looking into his file, without speaking with the behavioralist about a plan or to put together a strategy, I dove into my relationship with this student blind.
Today we took a benchmark test, one we always do a few times throughout the year to monitor progress. While the students have taken the test in previous grades, the first time in the fall is understandably marked with a lot of indifference on the part of the student and a lot of cajoling on mine.
He struggled mightily to put in any amount of energy into focusing on this test. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t causing any disruption, he just could not have cared any less about this assessment or his efforts to show me what he has already learned.
So, I nudged. While the students were on their Chromebooks answering 34 questions about language arts, I was futzing with a book display and restocking papers and doing other assorted nonimportant classrooms tasks that allowed me to circulate the room without looking like I was hovering. And every time I passed by this student, I would simply touch his shoulder, or say, “Keep at it!” and notice that he was no futher than he had been the last time I had circled past his seat.
As others started to finish and he was still sitting, sometimes lightly typing on the keys without actually pressing them, I picked up a shelf that I was trying to peel the plastic protectant off of and sat down next to him. He looked at me and I stayed absorbed in my task. I noticed that he did a few more questions and then slunk down in his seat feeling defeated. I peeked over at his screen and said, “Look at you go! You’re almost halfway!” He looked at me and then looked around the room, noticing many others who were closing their Chromebooks, finished with the task. To the class at large I said, “Boy do I love those students who are taking their time and giving their best efforts on this!” While I knew that wasn’t what was really causing his snail’s pace, I noticed him sitting up a little straighter and focusing on the next question.
I got up and wandered once again, finished with the shelf for the moment. The next time I pass him by he had only nine questions to go and I leaned in and commented on his progress. “You’re getting there! Only nine more questions!”
It took twenty minutes for those nine questions and he was by far the last to finish the assessment, but when he finally closed his Chromebook, I walked past his seat, quietly placing a small notecard next to him that read, “I know this assessment isn’t any fun at all, but I really love the way you stuck with it and kept going!”
I have very little faith that his results will accurately demonstrate his full capabilities, but for now, completing the task feels like the hard task worth celebrating. I simply hope the note helps the motivation next time.
A short while later, the student raised his hand while the class was quietly working and I walked over to him to see what he needed. “Can I put this in my backpack?” he quietly asked me, holding my note. “I don’t want to lose it.”
“Absolutely!” I responded. “You earned that today!”
We sometimes lose sight of the small moments with students when their files indicate that they are full of very big feelings and very large moments in the classroom environment. As I work to build a relationship with this particular student, I hope he knows that I fully support him right where he is and I hope to help him gain the confidence this year to fully engage in his own learning journey.
Sometimes, actually, most times, it isn’t about the test scores in Room 16. It’s about the heart scores. I’m hoping this one was a tally in the win category.
Teaching at 3am 