This afternoon I helped one of my young people choose some learning tasks to keep him busy tomorrow while he's suspended. I loathe suspension as a concept. Loathe it. I feel like a complete failure as a teacher. I question all of my choices: everything I did or didn't do that might have contributed to the situation. In some cases, it's really clear that none of my choices would have influenced the outcome at all. Other times, it's a little harder. Today it's harder. Don't get me wrong: rationally, I understand that the choices this young person made were not my choices. As a relational teacher though, I can't help but wonder where I could have made different choices that would have helped him make different choices. I'm not arrogant or naive enough to think I could have prevented this, but I do need to reflect on the choices I've made.
And I will reflect, but for now: I'm sad. I'm sad for the choices that this young person made that lead to this point; for the choice that we, as a school, had to make; that this is the only choice left to our school to protect the rights of the many (at, what some might say, the expense of the rights of one); but most of all for the fractured relationships left in the wake of this choice.
One of my young people has been struggling at school lately. Not with the academic content so much as the 'other stuff'. We've seen a constant stream of low level back chat, a never ending commentary on everyone's actions and a fairly persistent resistance to participation. Over the last couple of days we've had several chats about what I can/need to do to help and the consistent answer has been along the lines of:
"You don't want to help me! Whenever I ask for help you don't give me the help I want. You only ever help other people. You aren't helpful."
Wow. Ever been punched in the guts? That's pretty much how I've been feeling. I love this kid, in spite of their accompanying challenges. In fact it's possibly because of the their accompanying challenges that they have such a soft spot in my heart. These words stopped me in my tracks. After much soul-searching and reflection I realised that perhaps the individual relationships I have with my students is part of the problem. Or rather, not the relationships themselves, but the fact that my relationship with each child is so different and results in highly individualised treatment which isn't necessarily understood by everyone else in the class.
I had to do something and quickly.
I called everyone together in a circle and we had a brief discussion about the different relationships we all have with each other. Aside from a few small pockets of resistance to this idea, nearly everyone was accepting of this concept. I asked everyone to imagine that they'd injured themselves somehow. They shared their injury with the class while I dug around in the cupboard (making a big show of not listening). Each student was handed a bandaid (sticking plaster?) and asked to apply it to the back of their left hand to help fix their imaginary injury.
"But my injury is on my rib! How will this help?"
"And mine is a smashed leg! This won't do anything!"
"That's the point guys. If she gives us all the same treatment none of us get what we need."
Indeed. The class went on to articulate that because I didn't know what kind of help or where they needed help I wasn't actually able to help them AND that treating them all the same wasn't remotely helpful. The connection to each of them having different learning needs was seamless, and from there the individualised relationships were not a particularly big leap.
Shortly after, my troubled student sidled up to me and whispered:
"I think I know why I've been acting so silly in class, calling out and all that. Can I talk to you about it after school?"
You betcha! The outcome: some general stress about stuff going on at home and a desire to feel 'equal'. I queried this word.
"Equal is the wrong word. I want to be important, but you said we're all important so I have to trust you that I am. I guess I need to remember that if you treat me different to someone else it's 'cos I am."
Yes it is. Yes. It. Is. If that wasn't the best way to end the week, we went on to talk about the idea that sometimes the help that we want isn't the help we need AND that I've worked really hard to be in a position to know what and how to offer the needed help so trusting me is a good thing. Holy moly.
This relates to the following Australian Professional Standards for Teachers... Standard 1 Know students and how they learn Standard 4 Create and maintain supportive and safe learning environments
One of my professional development goals this year is to establish and maintain better communication and relationships between school and home. Don't get me wrong, we developed great home/school relationships last year. It happened organically though. I'm confident that it would probably happen again this year but I want to be more proactive.
I've planned to hold one social event and one learning event for our extended VRP family each term. Last night my family and I hosted the first ever VRP Family BBQ. For anyone new to the blog: VRP is the name my class goes by.
The story goes a little like this: our school has a single gender program alongside the mixed gender classes. In our year 6/7 unit last year there was a boys class, a girls class and then two mixed classes. I taught one of the mixed classes. Very quickly the children noticed that two of the classes had strong identities simply based on their single gender nature but the two mixed classes? Well not so much. Someone noticed that RP (I'm Mrs RP) sounds a lot like IP which through a bit of mental gymnastics lead to us becoming the VRPs.
Yesterday was - in the words of most of the VRPs - stinking hot. Even with the air conditioner on, our learning space was 27C after lunch. I was a bit nervous about the number of people who might pull out because of the heat but, having bought several kilos of sausages and pre-cooked several kilos of onions (by which I mean my husband did them), I wasn't about to cancel.
I'm so pleased I didn't. Families of about a quarter of the class came. Nearly 40 people in the extended VRP family came together in our learning space to share a meal. My husband cooked the bbq, and everyone else brought salads to share. The adults enjoyed getting to know each other, and the young people relaxed and had a few laughs.
Before everyone arrived I pinned up the 'working papers' of a maths activity that the VRPs have been working on this week.
Using at least one of (+, -, x, /) and "5" exactly 4 times make 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 & 10.
Each of 0, 1, 2 etc. have their own sheet of butchers' paper on which we've been recording number sentences as we discover them. I thought it would prompt some interesting discussions between the students and their parents. It sure did. Discussions, a wee bit of confusion, and competition! It also prompted some rich conversations about how the VRPs learn: the different entry points for learners at different points on their journey; the places of mental discomfort for all; the open ended nature of the problem; the ambiguous nature of the problem; the obvious collaboration and discussion. Parents asked questions and our young people proudly demonstrated 'wisdom' as they explained their thinking and the benefits of our learning program.
It was a fantastic experience. The feedback on our Facebook group has been wonderful:
"Thank you so much for your efforts, time and food prep tonight. I really enjoyed being able to chat with some other parents, being a working Mum I haven't had much of an opportunity to do that."
"Thankyou for a lovely evening. Really nice to meet other parents, children and you (not as a teacher) and your family. Thankyou for your time and organizing this event."
"Thanks for a great BBQ Markeeta and your assistant Geoff. Good night now to go geocaching." (We had a long discussion about geocaching, and how we might get involved as a class, and possibly hold a geocaching event as our next social gathering.)
"Thank you Markeeta for a wonderful evening. We thoroughly enjoyed talking, & laughing, with other parents & students as well as you, your husband and your children. I was sooooo glad all the cakes were eaten (as our household is on a "health-kick" & dont need the temptation in the house hehe). The kids had a ball! Jackson & Amber had so much fun playing chasey with a heap of kids whilst Max liked 'chillin' with the older tweens/teens in the "Oasis". Thank you again. " (I wrote about our oasis here.)
There was actually very little planning involved, and the benefits far outweigh the costs. I can't wait for next term's event. (Did I mention that I love my class? And that their parents are a pretty awesome bunch? Well, if I didn't... I do. And they are.)
This relates to the following Australian Professional Standards for Teachers... Standard 1 Know students and how they learn Standard 3 Plan for and implement effective teaching and learning Standard 7 Engage professionally with colleagues, parents/carers and the community
We hired a pile of DVDs this weekend - with the intention of kicking back and relaxing in quasi-Valentines Day style. One of the picks was Detachment starring Adrien Brody. Have you seen this movie? Here's the preview:
I'll freely admit I'm the kind of tragic who usually enjoys 'teacher' movies. Not this one. Detachment is overwhelmingly confronting. It focuses attention on, funnily enough, detachment in our schools and society in general. It is in your face, brutal, honest and powerful. We sat in stunned silence for several minutes after the credits finished.
The problem with detachment, as a concept, for me is not that I'm detached. It's that I teach in and through relationships. I don't detach. (And I worry about that too, but I'll come to that later.) I watched this movie feeling like parts of it were in a foreign language. Then teachers would talk about community and I would understand again. The notion of detachment in schools puzzles me. And yet, there are huge segments of our industry that advocate, even require, detachment.
We've known for a long time that learning is a social activity (think about Bandura for example); and we know that learning only happens when children feel safe (think about the neuroscience of trauma) and supported. So why is there a growth in detached teachers and communities, and in advocacy for it?
Is it too dangerous? Detachment certainly reduces the likelihood of vicarious trauma, and of being accused of being attached. Is it too hard to manage? Detached relationships are more likely to follow straight paths and flow charts. Is it too personal? Detached relationships don't blur the line between school and community. Is it too scary? Detachment removes the risk of being hurt. You know what? I don't buy it.
Detachment is hurting our children. It's hurting our community, and it's hurting us as individuals. I can't do what I do and be detached from my kiddos. They're a huge part of my life: I spent HOURS with them most days of the week. I don't want to spend that sort of time with people from whom I'm detached.
This movie disturbed me because I see detachment happening around me. Not in my school. Not at all. But around me. In other schools and in our communities. I see children slipping through the cracks because the adults with agency are so detached from the realities of these kids' lives that they don't see what's happening. I see families disintegrating because every member is detached from the others that no one notices. I see schools taking such a hands off approach that kids are going hungry. I don't want to see it anymore. If everyone, and I mean everyone from the youngest of children to the oldest of grannies, could just reach out and 're-attach' think of the change we'd see.
We all know that I'm an early career teacher, and an overly-principled one at that. I realise that what I've written today is highly idealistic and naive. That doesn't leave it without merit though. Think about what you can do to reach out this week.
On a totally side note: I do sometimes worry that I haven't learnt the art of professional detachment. You know the one they tell us about while we're training? I don't worry a lot, because I have strategies in place to deal with vicarious trauma, exhaustion etc., but I do worry. I guess the point of my post is that I don't see huge value in detaching more than I do now, but... Self-care is important. Ideas?
This relates to the following Australian Professional Standards for Teachers... Standard 1 Know the students and how they learn Standard 4 Create and maintain supportive and safe learning environments
Standard 7 Engage professionally with colleagues, parents/carers and the community
