Two Little Stars in a Sea of Circles

Jim (not his real name) was late handing in his math homework. I had graded the other students' homework and most did very well. As I began to grade Jim's paper, I did what I normally do: I circled the incorrect answers. My heart sank as I circled and circled and circled--the first 12 problems were incorrect. I kept on grading and, suddenly, I saw a correct answer. It gave me such an emotional jolt that I quickly made a star next to the answer. To my amazement, the next answer was correct as well. Another star. Normally, I don't star each correct answer, but I did this time. It turned out that those two stars were the only stars in a sea of circles. I looked over the many incorrect problems to see why he had missed them and realized he was quite confused about the topic. I'd need to work with him and I was not looking forward to him seeing all the circles. There was so much we needed to cover. Where would I begin? How could I build his confidence? The two little stars seemed to call out to me: begin with us, they told me. And so I did. When Jim and I sat down to work together, I began with the stars. "You did a great job with #15--tell me what you did to get the answer." As he talked me through his process, which was mathematically solid, I had the impression that we were constructing a foundation--something solid we could build on. We both saw that he had done some competent math, and so it became comfortable to bring up the problems he did incorrectly. We talked about how the incorrect problems were different to him and were able to pinpoint areas of confusion. His attitude seemed open and hopeful. I felt the time we worked together was helping both of us to move forward. Thank you, little stars.

Living with Frustration, Heartbreak, and Injustice

William Ayers talks about "working the gap"--trying to teach in that space between hard reality and the ideal classroom. Now that we are in real classrooms, we know what he is talking about! I felt it the other day in my middle school math classroom. I was having one of those days of feeling both elated and sad. The elation was about helping and really connecting with some of the math students. The sadness was about all the kids I knew needed help, but weren't getting it due to time constraints or their reluctance to ask for help. There were other sad issues as well: knowing some of the students wouldn't achieve their potential due to homelessness, violence at home, or lack of self-esteem. It's frustrating, it's heartbreaking, and it's not fair! And how could I ever feel good about this job, knowing there would always be a sense of things being undone and imperfect? My friend and colleague, Deb, came to the rescue! She listened and then said something so simple, yet so inspiring. She reminded me that I could only help one child at a time and that was profoundly better than helping none at all. It reminded me of one of my favorite quotes: "The greatest tragedy is to do nothing because we know we can do so little." (Edmund Burke). If not us, then who?? The fact that the gap exists is the reason we need to step in. If there were ever a place where big hearts and big minds need to go, it's in the classroom. Rather than focus on the gap between the ideal and the real, I'm going to shift my focus to the gaps between yesterday and today: what changes and improvements--even tiny ones--have we made since yesterday and how can we make more changes tomorrow? Wouldn't it be great to teach in classrooms filled with kids who live in loving households with plenty to eat, situated in schools dedicated to real learning and whole-child development, located in societies that support teachers as professionals and reject simplistic high-stakes testing? Sure, it would, but meanwhile, I'm going to use my whole heart and soul to help make small steady improvements, one child at time.