running on sunshine.

Everyone I've talked to in the past month has warned me that student teaching during summer school is a grab bag of misadventures in education. My words, not theirs. Theirs were often far more blunt. This week I began my assignment at a middle school in the Bronx, and this afternoon when my FA asked me for three adjectives to describe how I was feeling, the first one that came to mind, and the only one that seemed important, was "heartbroken."

No anecdotes or advice could have prepared me for the reality of the situation in which my field training has placed me. Factually, my class is what I was anticipating. I have 24 students who have passed their eighth grade exit exam and have been accepted into high school but failed multiple courses this past school year. Essentially, their summer school course is meant to give them seat time so they can be passed onto the next grade. Many of my students can't do simple multiplication. Several have moderate to severe behavioral problems. In general the class is rowdy and gets out of control regularly, though of course the factors contributing to the problem come from every direction and I can't even begin to disentangle them. In other areas, my class has fewer challenges. As far as I can tell, all of my students speak, read and write English fluently and we only have one student with an IEP (which gives a special ed designation).

What I wasn't prepared for was the look of sheer defeat that so many of my kids exhibit. They have so much working against them, how can I judge them? In my time with them so far, I have seen them screamed at, embarrassed, taunted, called stupid and in general been taught that the people berating them, their teachers, think that they're worthless. And while it's happening, while I'm stuck not knowing what to do, feeling powerless to undo all the damage that's already been done to these bright, energetic people, all I can think is the world has failed these kids.

On my first day, I sat in the back and observed. I immediately identified which kids needed which types of attention - the movers, the talkers, the ones set on mentally detaching themselves from the situation. I paid special attention to a boy in the class who spent the entire period on his cell phone, mostly texting and watching videos but sometimes blatantly talking on it, too. When he wasn't talking he sat very quietly, hunched over in his chair. He didn't often engage with the kids around him, he didn't do any of his work, and he looked miserable. The next day I moved around the room and helped them on group assignments, so I made frequent trips to his group. Every few minutes I came by to check that they were in fact working, and asked if they needed any help. Reluctantly, and very quietly, he began asking questions. He sometimes struggled to articulate what he needed to ask, sometimes just pointing at a problem and saying "I just don't.." and then shrugging his shoulders. I would help him through a few steps and then leave him to work while I walked around the room, and I would always return a few minutes later to check his progress. He not only finished his work, but he did so sooner than many of his classmates. Near the end of the day, as I was walking past his desk he sheepishly waved at me and once he had my attention muttered a "thank you." It was only two days into my week, but I was already mentally and physically exhausted. I was also dealing with more of an emotional weight than I had been expecting upon entering my classroom and seeing the conditions there. So for a lot of reasons, when my student thanked me I quickly excused myself from the room under the guise of taking a bathroom break. The truth was that I couldn't let my kids see me tearing up. Instead of going to the bathroom, I took a walk down the hall and calmed myself down. When I told this story to my girlfriend, who's also a teacher, she replied, "you have to understand... some of these kids, they've never really been taught. They don't know what that is." In the grand scheme of things, I can't really rank what the saddest part of all of this is. It all meshes together and the tangible result is that I have 13 year olds in my class whose math skills are on the second grade level, and they're being passed on to high school because there's no room for them in the middle school.

That's not to say I haven't had any hits this week, because I have. I taught my first full lesson this morning and despite the behavioral problems it was still productive and I genuinely enjoy working with my kids. In fact, despite my exhaustion I feel energized when I'm working with them and I'm hopeful that by the end of the month, I'll have taught them something they'll bring with them to high school. When I left my class this morning, I told my kids goodbye and thanked them for doing a good job today. They all waved brightly and chirped "Oh, Ms. R, will we see you Monday?! Oh, have a good weekend! Thank you! Bye bye!"

I think that was the best part of my day, knowing that even though they act out and a lot of times their issues seem beyond my reach, I guess I did something right. They actually seemed excited to have me come back next week and though I have a lot to learn when it comes to teaching them, and I often feel frustrated, sometimes almost defeated, by the challenges I face with them, I'm excited to see them again too.