Friday, First Period #SOLC26 14/31

The bell has rung, but attendance is sparse on this last day before our March Break. The students who have made it to class on time occupy two ends of a spectrum: they either have their head down on the desk and appear to be asleep or they have a serious case of the sillies and are taking up a lot of space. This is more or less normal: First Period is Reading class, and not all of the students are entirely enthusiastic about starting their school day learning how to read – whether or not the next week is a holiday.

After the anthem, we go through the usual rigamarole: Phones away, take your earbuds out. No, really, the phone needs to be away. I know that you still have your earbuds in under that hoodie. Wake up. Waking up means sitting up. Seriously, put the phones away… and begin our daily routine:  CNN10 to increase our background knowledge, develop our vocabulary, and support our ability to read. One student remembers he’s supposed to be on a field trip and dashes out of the room. We wake another one up for the third time.

Holidays loom over this group. Some of the students are looking forward to time off; others definitely are not. As a result, we need a balance between routine and understanding today. People are unsettled; we want to set them up for calm as best as we can. Today is not a day where we can expect a lot of reading practice – because learning to read is exhausting. So after the news, we play a few word games then switch to our CNN10 vocabulary Kahoot. Our students can now reliably read and define words like surreal, innovative, feline and replicate and my colleague and I are extremely proud of them. Plus, it’s fun.

As the students log in, one – no seriously, I know you are listening to music – tries for the millionth time to convince us that he doesn’t need to play. Today, with the small class and the extra time, I am able to take a chance. “Hey,” I say, “let’s take a walk.” My colleague nods; she can handle the classroom. He ducks his head, embarrassed, but agrees.

Walking with students is a teacher trick. There’s something about being on the move, side by side, that lets people talk in ways they might not in a classroom. In this case, I lead with one of my favourite questions, “So, tell me about not playing Kahoot. What’s up with that?”

He doesn’t know, of course, except that he doesn’t like it. It’s stupid and it’s too easy and the words are too hard or too weird or too useless. He also requires quite a bit of daily cajoling to watch the news – and the vocabulary comes from there – so, since we’re walking, I ask about that, too. He doesn’t know why he hates it. He doesn’t know why he hates it all. He wanted to be in this class, and he knows we fought to get him in, but now… We walk and talk, talk and walk. 

In one stairwell, four boys are letting the recycle bins they just emptied slide down the stairs with a satisfying (nearly deafening) clatter and bump. I stand still, watching, until they see me, blush and leave. The student I’ve been talking with snickers a little. In a hallway, we encounter a student who we just saw in another hallway. There, he told us he was going to class. That class is not here. I tell him I’ll check his classroom in a few minutes to make sure he’s made it, but for now I’m focused on the child next to me, so I don’t have time to chase a different one.

This child, the one I’m walking with, is deeply uncertain about why he’s unwilling to participate in so many of our reading activities. After 15 minutes of walking, he still can’t quite articulate his concerns, but it’s somewhere between really wanting to learn to read and being horrified that “everyone” knows he’s in a class for people who can’t read. I tell him – not for the first time – that even the parts of the class that aren’t actively reading (like watching the news) will still help him with learning to read. He nods, but I know he’s not convinced. Nevertheless, he agrees that, for today, he will try the Kahoot with the hard vocabulary. 

I drop him back in the classroom, head back to check on the wandering student, and get back to class in time to watch the last – triumphant – round of Kahoot. When the bell goes, the kids tear out of the room, saying over their shoulders, “Have a good break! See you in a week!” and my colleague and I share a quick conversation before the next class comes in. 

Nothing has been solved. Nothing has changed. Still, the walk was a start; next time, in a few weeks maybe, my colleague will walk with him. Step by step, we’ll figure things out together. But now it’s time for a different class.