sheer joy

My blog is quickly becoming one about teaching experiences. Rather than fight it, I'm embracing this need to appreciate my interactions with children. It seems to fit for the present moment, so I'm going with it.

In this particular instance, I felt inspired to write when a new friend/ fellow grad student started a blog after a conversation about how much we enjoy writing (though I'm not conceited enough to believe the convo was her only inspiration :). It made me think about a student in my fourth grade class in Arizona.

Now, I know that I often talk about how every kid is my favorite, everything "teach-related" is rose-colored, blah blah blah... but this particular fourth grade class was really not my favorite. I quickly discovered that moving from teaching kids at the end of sixth grade to kiddos in the beginning of fourth was a HUGE transition for a teacher. Junior high to preschool, it felt like! Luckily, I discovered a writing program called Six Traits (totally old hat now, but back then cutting edge) and started implementing the traits into our language arts work. I was amazed at how the students, who collectively hated math and reading (no, really, they did- and they didn't even have me for math!!), took to the Six Traits like fish to water. I was impressed when one little girl wrote about her experiences growing up on a mesa on the Hopi reservation, like finding clay for her grandmother's pottery or playing near an abandoned hogan. Another boy had a knack for writing fantasy stories about space that seemed completely novel. But it was Willie who blew me away.

When Willie arrived to our class about halfway through the year, I was mildly alarmed. At 9, he was wearing the typical chollo outfit (baggy low slung pants and a plaid shirt, buttoned only at the collar), with a shaved head except for the little nub of hair at the front. He had a gruff demeanor, stared at the ground, and rarely made eye contact or spoke. He told me bluntly on the first day that he didn't know how to read and his spelling was bad. So, of course, began the crusade to help him find his particular strengths! I tried everything I could think of... but nothing was working. For months, he'd sit quietly, defeated and slumped over his desk; it broke my heart. No fourth grader should be giving up already, I thought.

It was a children's book filled with strange, photo collage which held the key to Willie's heart. The school librarian handed me the book and suggested I challenge the students to write stories about the pictures found there. During writing time, I gave students the choice of writing a story about one such surreal picture of an odd looking man with a crown atop his head, or a topic of their own creation. Willie seized upon the book, taking it to his desk and staring at the picture, seemingly in a trance. Then, he began to write. He wrote though the writing time, and kept on writing when we moved on to science. I didn't interfere, seeing his determination, and only once did he get up to look something up in the dictionary (a miracle in itself!). He wanted to keep writing when the lunch bell rang, but was finally convinced to leave it when told he could work the next morning on the same piece if he chose.

The next day, he set to work on his writing almost immediately after the bell rang, his head bent close to his paper in intense concentration. Finally, at writing time, he approached me as I conferenced with a student on her writing. He politely asked if he could see me when we were done. I smiled and agreed, then watched him go back to his seat and stare off, waiting. Finally, it was his turn and he timidly extended his writing book to me. On the page, I saw only about two paragraphs, and at first glance I wondered what could have taken him so long to write such a small passage. Looking again, though, I saw the intense amount of erasures, where he'd written a word or phrase then gone back to find a better way to phrase something. I took a moment to read what I can honestly say was quality writing. He'd written a little masterpiece about a king who had once had it all but lost his family and was now a sad, broken man. I know it's over the top, but I teared up and pulled him over to whisper, "This is good writing, Willie. Keep it up." He literally beamed with pleasure... and I had never even seen him crack a smile before. I asked if I could share the piece with the class- anonymously, as we always did. He agreed, and when the class applied the Six Traits scales, they also gave the piece high marks.

For the rest of that year, Willie wrote creative, fanciful stories with emotion that seemed too deep for a fourth grader. I have no idea what has happened to him since; I hope that the writing made an impact on his development. I know that Willie won't ever be forgotten, though, because he's the person I think of whenever I think of the sheer joy of writing.