After "teaching" at school all day, my Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights are spent tutoring elementary school children. I realized just how often I am surrounded by children. I wish I could say that my patience has grown ten-fold, but sadly, I cannot. However, my understanding on just why patience is such a virtue has expanded exponentially.
Any time I've exercised even the tiniest bit of patience towards my students, I've been rewarded greatly. And they never cease to amaze me with their warmth and affection, regardless of their premature world-weary guise. Most kids it seems, just want a bit of love, and most kids it seems, will more than gladly return that love.
One student of mine, a rambunctious, mouthy and insecure fifth-grade tomboy, has been an especially difficult test in my patience. But one particular conversation plays itself over and over again in my mind. When I tried to scare her into studying a bit more, I mentioned that once she got to middle school, English would be that much harder to learn. In an effort to help her understand that I was on her side, I said, "You know, if you have any questions on your English homework either now or when you're in middle school, you know you can ask me, right?"
She looked at me as she usually does, with disdain, and replied "I bet you won't be here in two years." There was the challenge snaking its way between her disbelieving words. I didn't answer for a minute and only looked at her round little face and sharp, discerning eyes. She has dark, flashing eyes and they can be piercing at times, but this time I caught something different. Her vulnerability showed itself for less than half a second and I had caught it. The classic case. Holding people at bay for fearing of rejection and abandonment.
"I'll be here when you're in middle school," I said.
And so now, pondering my next steps, this conversation weighs heavily on my mind. When is it okay to break a promise?
Any time I've exercised even the tiniest bit of patience towards my students, I've been rewarded greatly. And they never cease to amaze me with their warmth and affection, regardless of their premature world-weary guise. Most kids it seems, just want a bit of love, and most kids it seems, will more than gladly return that love.
One student of mine, a rambunctious, mouthy and insecure fifth-grade tomboy, has been an especially difficult test in my patience. But one particular conversation plays itself over and over again in my mind. When I tried to scare her into studying a bit more, I mentioned that once she got to middle school, English would be that much harder to learn. In an effort to help her understand that I was on her side, I said, "You know, if you have any questions on your English homework either now or when you're in middle school, you know you can ask me, right?"
She looked at me as she usually does, with disdain, and replied "I bet you won't be here in two years." There was the challenge snaking its way between her disbelieving words. I didn't answer for a minute and only looked at her round little face and sharp, discerning eyes. She has dark, flashing eyes and they can be piercing at times, but this time I caught something different. Her vulnerability showed itself for less than half a second and I had caught it. The classic case. Holding people at bay for fearing of rejection and abandonment.
"I'll be here when you're in middle school," I said.
And so now, pondering my next steps, this conversation weighs heavily on my mind. When is it okay to break a promise?
2 comments:
you can always go back and tell her... no matter where i am, you can reach me over email or phone?
we shouldnt break promises... its foundation of justice.
i really do miss your kids~
it was a great atmosphere, i am envious...
Her discerning eyes will check to see if you're still there when she's in middle school.
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