The adventures of Room 17

Well it's official. We're 5 1/2 months into the school year, and I'm almost through with my first year of teaching.

Let me start by saying this: I love teaching and I love first grade. Everything about it is a blessing from God. I have 23 little people in my care for 7 hours a day. I help them get set up to eat their breakfast in the mornings, I teach them all the skills they'll need to be successful in the future (or at least that's the goal!), and I hug them goodbye in the afternoons. I get to dry their tears and wipe the snot off their faces. Alright...so it's not all glamorous.

But teaching is a gift.

I remember this past summer when I first got the keys to my classroom and I would just sit in there and be still. I would thank God for giving me the opportunity to follow my passion and be a part of these kids educations. I put up posters and bulletin boards. I planned where they would put their work when they finished it and how I would deal with no name papers. I got a homework system figured out and thought up different ways I would communicate with parents throughout the year. But what's funny is I never really thought about the kids that would come through that space. I didn't think about the grueling IEP processes or the endless RTI meetings. I didn't think about what the geographic location of the school would mean. I honestly never thought about how I would take care of the kids' needs aside from the academic ones. So when I had my first day with the kids, I realized nothing would actually go the way I had planned. I had students flipping desks over and flipping each other off. Others would glue papers to their desks and slap their friends. And still others wouldn't use their voices at all; and still won't to this day. I realized very quickly that almost none of my "cookie cutter teacher things" were going to work here.

What was I going to do with these kids?

To this day I'm asking myself this question. Am I doing everything I can to support them? Am I taking good enough care? I'm trying to teach them how to read, and all they can focus on is where their next meal will come from. How can I expect them to focus on Ben and his dog named Duke when their mom is missing and they haven't had a home cooked meal in weeks? How can I expect them to respect others when they've never seen their role models show respect to anyone? How can I, in my Orange County-raised white skinned ignorance, try to understand them? I can't!

But what I can do is this: Look at them through the lens of Jesus. I can recognize that they are precious, intelligent, sweet children that need to be shown some love. I can hug them more and criticize them less. I can be more understanding and less demanding. I can value them more. Love them more. Appreciate them more. Laugh with them more.

So in the midst of all this thought, an interesting scenario took place: As we were walking back to class after lunch on this sunny Thursday afternoon, I observed my kids from the back of the line. Usually walking in line respectfully and quietly (yes...that's a humble brag!) they were off the wall crazy today. But instead of shouting out at them to "Straighten up! That's not a line...it's a blob!" I watched them...In their natural state. Joyfully skipping through the halls and talking to a friend. Grabbing the poles and swinging around them in order to catapult into the person walking in front of them. Tickling each other. And I thought: "They are a bunch of goofballs." But you know what? They're MY goofballs. And I wouldn't trade them for the world.

It's not much. Just a thought. But what could I do in the lives of these kids if I could take that thought and turn it into a new style of teaching? What could we accomplish in Room 17 if I stopped harping on reading levels and started doing emotional check-ins with each student? What kind of influence could I have in their life if I stopped worrying so much about their understanding of stupid number bonds and instead focused on how to make the learning tangible and useful?

So in the next weeks, months and years I hope to build on that thought: instead of looking at them only from the stance of an educator, what would happen if I let the lens of Jesus show me my students?

I love these goofballs, they're MY  goofballs.