tenth grade, yet again

a few days ago i broke up with tenth grade. not all of tenth grade, of course. just the part that arrives in my classroom slack-jawed and hollow eyed, whining, "do we really have to reeeeeeeeeeeeead?" and it felt pretty good. it wasn't a premeditated breakup, but it had been brewing a long time. since last year, really, when this particular part of tenth grade was in ninth grade and failing even then. they are uninterested in everything. no spark.

so the other day i looked up from the essay i was reading aloud (yes, i read aloud to them every day because they can't read it themselves) and i saw eleven people in the room. one was texting. three were sleeping. one appeared to be having a fight with himself. and the rest were staring off into different parts of space. this is not at all how the rest of my day goes, so i closed my book and said, "i quit." they looked at me a little. the texting girl raised an eyebrow. they registered that i was creating drama but also suggested by their slow glances that they weren't yet sure they would bother paying attention to it. i explained that a regular babysitter could do what i'm doing and then i could work with students who actually want my help. i told them they could go to regular tenth grade classes. "we'll fail!" one of them wailed. "so?" i said. "you're failing this class now. i don't care." i went on to explain it just wasn't working. that i didn't think i cared about them anymore because they didn't care about themselves. i told them i didn't want to be sad anymore. and i sat down. now, generally, if you're the sort of teacher who pulls this out rarely, you'll get a room full of scared, silent children who want more than anything for you to tell them you have faith in them. but not this part of tenth grade. these little angels got up and milled around, laughing, shouting, being jerks.

so i readied myself for an actual breakup. i began to look into the other tenth grade classes to see who i could put where. my heart felt light. my head felt clearer than it had in weeks. i had done more than my share to help this group and now it could be someone else's turn. they didn't believe we were really breaking up but i knew it was finally over for good. and i felt like i was free.

but when i walked in the next day, they asked why i was there. they saw the handwriting on the wall and knew things were really, truly over. i explained that things take time and i'd be in the room with them a while longer but that i certainly wasn't planning on teaching them anything. they would just read silently. i gave them the packet we'd been reading. stuff put together just for this particular curriculum, and told them to read the essay i'd tried reading the day before. i gave them an assignment related to persuasive arguments and began very aggressively to ignore them, hunched over words they didn't know. i wanted them to feel bad. i think i might have wanted them to feel a little stupid, too, because right now they won't believe they read at the same level as most fifth graders. they think they are doing everything right. and they worked the better part of the hour. i sat with one little boy who needed me to prompt him every paragraph to summarize and then move on to the next paragraph. everything else was silence. so i said, quietly, toward the end, "wow. you guys are working so hard right now i almost don't want to break up with you." and one of them said, "then don't." but i'm too smart for that and i told them it takes more than one good deed to win back someone like me and honestly i didn't think they could do it. "we're still broken up," i said. "i just want to let you know when you're smart."

today they came in with homework. to be fair, it was work they did mostly in class the day before and finished at home, but that sort of thing rarely happens. there were eleven again, out of seventeen, but eleven of them gave me work. and i asked them about the story. they admitted there were tons of words they couldn't pronounce or didn't know. "that happens to everyone sometimes," i explained, "but this story is written for high school students. a high school student should know all of these." one of the kids actually said wow. another asked if i was sure. i nodded. they finally knew who they were. kids who can't read. and we talked about how to go about fixing it because now maybe we might be able to start doing that. and then we spent most of an hour going through the two and a half pages of text, finding everything they didn't know. we learned to say the words and learned what they meant. some of them were very good words.

against my better judgment i let down my guard. i was having fun. and it sort of looked like they might be, too. they fought to share the most words and helped people sitting nearby who couldn't find a word we were exploring. they liked getting these words. i'd been telling them over and over how each new word is a gift, is power, is something nobody can ever take out of their heads, but maybe a little bit today they figured that out on their own. one boy, the one i'd been working with earlier, didn't have his reading packet, but he was awake (very rare) and facing me (unheard of) and he kept raising his hand and saying things. and the things made sense (unfathomable). after maybe the third or fourth time, i commented on his extreme awesomeness and reminded him i'd been telling him i knew his brain worked over and over for a year and a half because it was true,when the rest of the class burst into applause for him. and his face looked different from any other time i have ever seen it. it didn't quite know what to do with all that good for something he didn't think he had. it was the first time in months he spoke in class and it didn't result in me telling him to stop.

and you know i'm weak. so toward the end of it i asked them if they intended to be this wonderful and honest and smart ever again. "well," said a child i've been struggling to have removed from our school, "it depends. are you still going to break up with us?" and i wanted to say no, of course not. i will always be here for you because i like all you strange broken children. but i am learning. i want to give in but they are not yet where i want them to be just to start off. if they refuse to get there, we really will have to stay broken up. they are so far from the goal, any goal. and what i say instead is, "i don't know. i had a nice time today. let's see how things go tomorrow."