|
This year, more than any other I find myself being present. Maybe it's because I teach 8th graders, and the way they shout, "Ms. St. Jean!" leaves me with no choice but to notice and note. I used to rush through the years waiting for the next thing. When I was 12, I couldn't wait to be 13; when I was in college I couldn't wait to be in grad school. When I was in grad school, I couldn't wait for it to be over.
This past Friday, after a meeting, tourists stopped me to ask for directions. As I was about to leave them, I felt prompted to ask where they were visiting from. They answered Tuscany, Italy, Lucca to be exact. "Sono abitato a Italia," I exclaimed. I studied in Florence, Italy which is about an hour and half away, and went to Lucca several times. We began to speak excitedly, and the four of us went an grabbed coffee and babka at a local bakery. Why do I share this? I share it because if I hadn't stopped to ask a simple question, I would have missed out on meeting three people from a place I love. When I studied abroad in Italy all those years ago, it was my first lesson in not rushing. I slowed down, and enjoyed every moment of every day. I would stroll through Florence, spend hours at the Uffizi, walk by the Arno, and got to know the owners of the cafe located down my block. I was able to see, hear, and understand more when I unintentionally slowed down to match the pace of the people and the country around me. This weekend being present allowed me to help tourists feel welcome in a city where they had not been made to feel at home. I was able to start new relationships because I decided to pay attention. I would have never started a conversation, and break bread. And no one knows how to fully enjoy their surroundings like the beautiful people of Toscana, Italia. I'm excited to go visit my new friends in the near future!
0 Comments
I co-teach 8th grade Social Studies. Our current unit is on the Holocaust. My goal in teaching history is not to accumulate facts, but for students to learn about humanity. Johan van Hulst, didn't just teach students something - he bore witness. He was a living testimony of what it means to teach, and risked his life to save others. Now, that's what I call teaching.
I recently received an email from a well-known teacher blogger asking me to take part in a short poll, and share feedback on whether I am for or against arming teachers in the classroom. The recent shooting in Parkland, Florida, the eighth shooting to have resulted in death or injury in a school this year, has people across the United States talking about how we can protect our schools.
As a teacher of middle school students, I am flatly against arming teachers. There are no ifs, ands, or buts. Like Nancy Reagan, let's "just say no." I am flabbergasted at the suggestion. I am reminded of the nonviolence policies held by Martin Luther King Jr. He spoke about whether or not we would as individuals seek to establish chaos or community. If we choose to arm teachers, we are aiding and abetting the dissemination and politics of fear. One carries a weapon for security. To think that our students will be safer with armed teachers speaks of a loss of control, and a loss of belief in the humanity of our young people. If we lose belief in our young people, we lose belief in their futures. I work to give my students the tools of an education based on the faith that humanity will make choices that build rather than destroy. Let's work towards a humanizing pedagogy. Here's what I "know" for sure - that nothing is sure. This is one job where no two days are alike. I'm kept on my toes, and sometimes I feel like a graceful ballet dancer, but most days I feel like a player fumbling the football. I am grateful for the grace of my students, who let me flail and fail. #lovethiswork Today, as I was speaking to a good friend I began talking about my kids or my students. I told her about the young man with the vivacious personality who unexpectedly walked up to me and started talking to me about "coping mechanisms for stress" (his words!). The affable 13 year-old begins his statement with, "Ms. St. Jean, I notice you're stressed," and continues with the advice, "There are some things you can do for that, like prayer, yoga, meditation. You can exercise, go for a run, you know those are all good things to help you relax."
I told my friend about the student who unexpectedly told me, "Ms. St. Jean, when you're upset you blink a lot. That's how we know." As I spoke about my students, I noticed that they do not just notice, they truly see and perceive. They notice what I wear asking, "Do you not like pants? I notice you only wear dresses." "Yeah," chimes in another, "But we really like the way you dress." "Why don't you wear jeans," inquires another. The string of questions and comments leads me to conclude that my students are teaching me how to do something I had long forgotten, to be present, to notice, to see the things that are not obvious. In noticing that I don't wear pants often they were activating a very logical and mathematical skill - they were recognizing a pattern and coming to a conclusion. Middle schoolers pay attention. This may seem counterintuitive to what may appear to many to be the self-absorption of the pre-teen and teenage years. I have discovered in my students young men and women who are very present. Their insightful comments, which at times take me by surprise, their awareness of themselves, and my astonishment at their noticing of me, makes me cognizant of how as an adult I often forget to be present in the moment. It leads me to question, "When did tomorrow become more important than today," and "Am I paying attention to today, or to this moment, if I am so focused on tomorrow?" The answer is I am missing out on the joy and grandeur of today if I am always thinking about tomorrow or what comes next. My students ability to be present, to feel everything, to see everything, and sometimes (to my chagrin) express everything serve as a reminder that today my job is to just focus on today. Tomorrow is waiting in a space that is not today, in a space that is not in the given moment. If I am not intentional, I will miss seeing and gathering the gifts that today hold. I will miss those magical moments where thoughts, and ideas are being communicated not only through words but actions. I will miss the learning that is taking place in the space of now. I will miss what the kids are teaching me. Every day an educator has been given a gift, a unique opportunity to write a new story, add to an old, and edit. Educators are also presented with the narratives that have been told over and over again; these are the stories anchored in deficit; they are the stories of the problems, challenges, and disabilities of students. Educators are also presented with a choice of which stories to discard, which to keep, and which to tell again. There is power in a story well told, and new teachers, as they learn the craft of storytelling through the lives of their students can either build capacity and competency, or destabilize and destroy.
This year I am relearning the power of my words, I am again finding my voice. I am learning the capacity that I have to build or burn bridges. This is a hard task. I have made many mistakes. I can only move forward by forgiving myself and providing a wide margin for error. I think I learn this lesson a lot through my relationship with fellow teachers, especially in a co-teaching environment. Co-teaching is not for the faint of heart. It's also not for the man or woman who isn't willing to have someone watch for a better part of the day the story he or she is telling, and have it interpreted. It's not for the person who is trying to hide parts of themselves, because what is hidden will eventually be revealed. It's for the woman, it's for the man who is willing to put her or himself on the line and be okay with being read like a book. The New York City Department of Education's official website, encapsulates the idea of building capacity within trust in the following manner, “We affirm that relationships between all members of the school community— including administrators, educators, students and families—are based on social respect, personal regard, and integrity” (2016). The implications are that in order to help students be their best selves, teachers must first develop their strengths and work on their weaknesses. One thing I know concerning developing of myself, and the helping students on their journey is that there needs to be trust. Trust is often built upon the stories we tell one another - through actions, words, and the space in between. As a co-teacher I find that the space in between - the silences, the shared thoughts, an unexpected sequence of events are where the trust is built. How do I think about the men and women I work with? Do I want their best as much as I want the best for the children who I am charged with teaching, and moving forward? As I examine these past few months, and look forward to the future, I think, "Am I living a trustworthy story; is my life telling a trustworthy story?" I do my best to live with integrity, acknowledging those places that need work. When you work closely with others your true self cannot always be hidden. This year has been a reshaping. There have been a lot of internal and external happenings that have caused me to rethink how I see myself and others. I pray that I continue to grow, because growth = success as a teacher. So my goal is to grow - to grow stronger, and kinder, and to be more encouraging - to myself and others. Teachers are storytellers. As a teacher, as a woman, as a teacher who is a woman of color, who is also a descendent of Haitian immigrants, I think of the stories I tell. What story am I telling my students, my colleagues, my admin? What stories are being told based on my femininity, my blackness, my Caribbean-ness, my Martha-ness, which is distinct from my being Ms. St. Jean? What parts of myself am I carrying into the role, the classroom, and conversations? What parts do I purposefully, and many times unintentionally truncate? Now, as a co-teacher, I am seeing myself through another lens, I try to imagine myself through the eyes of another. I try to see myself through someone who may not share any other aspect of my identity except that person is also a teacher, and our common ground is the classroom.
This person becomes a mirror. A mirror of the good, bad, and ugly. There is no escaping. My words weigh more heavily. My flaws are magnified (at least in my mind!!!). Issues I did not know I had are bought to bear. Co-teaching, dear reader, is not for the faint of heart. What has helped me this year is something someone once said during a class at Teachers College, Columbia University. There is this idea about the difference between noticing and judging. As I reflected on that, I could not help but think of relationships such as co-teaching. When you are with someone many hours of the day - you will notice many things, what you do with what you notice is your choice. Will I judge? Or will I work to make a connection? Judging cuts one off from connection. I am not saying it is never right to judge. No, not at all. We should have standards in society. I believe that there is right and there is wrong. There exists the moral and the immoral. There are times when you and I must make a judgement, this is different from judging a person, because I am calling out an action. When I notice without judging, or when someone notices me without judging I am more likely to be myself. This also allows me to recognize my limitations and areas that need improvement without self or other condemnation. This awareness then allows me to change, because I do not feel judged for who I am, bringing me to a new level of not only consciousness but trust. And this trust dear reader, is the solid foundation of any good relationship. As a new teacher, I have this tendency to doubt myself. I am constantly wondering if I am doing enough, doing too much, or just doing stuff that doesn't matter. That third thought is the scariest; the thought that what I'm doing just doesn't matter.
We all want to be significant. We all want to matter. It's an innate human need. That need gets satisfied when we know that what we are doing while we have time on this earth matters. If you ever want to doubt yourself - teach. If you ever want to doubt your capabilities - work with children. But doubt is incongruent to my teaching because I need to impart wisdom, and build up the character of the next generation of leaders. So yes, I take myself and my work very seriously, because I have been called to teach. Teaching isn't something you fall into. It requires passionate people. And passionate people, like me, sometimes we doubt ourselves, because we so badly don't want to mess up a life. As I grow as a teacher, I am doing my best to cast my doubt aside. The doubt is complete obscured in the waxing love of the students I have the sheer joy of meeting each day in the classroom. In those moments - those precious moments of teaching, I am fully alive, I am fully known, and all fears, failures, and doubts are cast aside in the presence of the gifts that are my students. Does the way I think, and therefore speak to myself affect my dialogue with my students? Absolutely. As a teacher it is easy to feel discouraged, and defeated. In grad school you don't learn how to stop the waves of emotions that hit you when a student seems to just not get it, no matter how much you differentiate. You are not prepared for the hurt and heartbreak that children face, that fall in waves. A bad day is unusually bad. But somehow in the midst of it all comes this unspeakable strength to stand.
My students teach me. Teaching at the middle school level has made my consider the ways in which educators engage in dialogue. I have several middle schoolers who will speak to me, and share their hearts, re-teaching me things I have long forgotten.
When students sit with me, I make sure to listen. I ask simple questions, like, "Why do you say that," "What makes you feel that way," "Can you clarify what you mean," "I'm not sure I understand what you mean, could you say it again?" These questions teach me what it means to listen and learn, not to teach, but to facilitate conversation. I don't provide an opinion, I don't provide advice, I give students the space to express. This is something that I didn't often receive as a child --- the opportunity to be heard. My old school Haitian-American background precluded the ability to always voice my opinion. It was more "be seen, not heard." I want my students to always have a voice. In class, when silence is needed, especially when explaining new material, I tell my students, "I never want to silence you, but I do need the quiet in order for you to understand this material." Dialogue often involves silence. Dialogue does not happen without listening. Balancing the hearing, the talking, and the being heard is difficult at not only the middle school level, but even as an adult. |
Ms. St. JeanNative New Yorker teaching and living the middle school life, using this site to keep it 100. My students are the embodiment of joy. Archives
June 2020
|
RSS Feed
