Lessons from a middle school classroom
When I left journalism in 2008 for teaching, I was excited to be growing into a new career. I would blend my love of reading and writing into one happy classroom. I will admit my first job subbing for a gifted classroom was fun. The kids were creative, self-motivated, and enthusiastic, too. During those months, while their regular teacher was on leave, I taught The Lightning Thief, and we read Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, placing cardboard tombstones on the walls for each character that died.
Discipline was minimal, and my energy, along with my eagerness, was high.
Next, I entered my first full-time teaching job. Armed with a Master’s Degree in reading, I started teaching high school students struggling to pass the state test. The pain and frustration they endured was palpable. They would sometimes yell at me, and as a result, I used strategies. When one student cussed at me and left my class, I smiled, called the dean’s office, and wrote a referral. Then, when termites flooded my 9th grade English I class, we fled for the safety of a corridor.
I worked late hours, planning and grading, and I attempted to show compassion, all while hiding my own feelings of inadequacy, worry, and growing frustration.
Less than two years later, I returned to middle school, the age group I longed to teach because I felt there I could help the most. It wasn’t easy to understand middle school students who are going through the second-greatest change in their lives, but the fact is, I could relate. My years in sixth to eighth grade were filled with angst, insecurity, panic attacks, and anxiety, so I figured I would get it.
Each child that has entered my classroom, whether brick and mortar or now virtual, has taught me something about the human spirit and the struggles that kids and their families go through.
There are students I still think and wonder about, hoping they are safe, happy, and healthy. Those students impacted me more than I impacted them during their brief time in my classroom. Here are the top eight lessons my students have taught me:
Always ask why: We tried a strategy when solving problems at a school where I once worked. It was almost like peeling back the layers of an onion. You would start with the problem. Then, you would ask why, but you don’t done that just once. Or twice. You ask why five times. It took this repeated question because solutions aren’t always on the surface. Most of the time, they are much deeper than that, and nothing taught me that better than trying to solve a problem in my classroom. Often, there are reasons for student behavior, and the factors are more than you can count on one hand. Rarely are situations what they appear to be at first. You have to be curious and patient to find the answer.
People aren’t lazy, and neither are students. This stance won’t be popular with some, but I will say it anyway. Students. Are. Not. Lazy. Much like adults, they face hurdles and barriers they can’t overcome. The result or symptom might be procrastination, but how would you feel if someone chimed in about your utter laziness every time you procrastinated? No. We need to stop calling inaction laziness. It isn’t, and solving a problem of inaction doesn’t require chastising someone and reminding them of the consequences. It requires doing exactly what I said in my first point. Ask why. Why are they not doing it? More often than not, the answer is fear. Now, the next question: What are they afraid of? When we find ourselves in inaction, there usually is a reason. What are you afraid of, and why is that stopping you?
Writing, reading, and math induce large amounts of fear: Assign an essay to a room of middle schoolers; the groans are almost instantaneous. The wide-eyed expressions are a given combined with a couple of pleas. Recently, a student asked if he could write a sentence and turn it in rather than his five-paragraph essay. I answered, “No, and don’t let the fear of doing it stop you.” Math and English teachers everywhere see students face their true fears and writhe in pain from the thought of enduring one more math problem or one more paragraph. This pain is real, and so is the avoidance. Students, just like us, find many things to do instead of facing those fears. Believe me. Your fears didn’t start when you became an adult and started paying bills. It started in the classroom. I see it every day.
We all have imposter syndrome: This point takes me back to point No. 2 where I talked about laziness. Students don’t write the essay, not because they are lazy, but because they don’t see themselves as a writer at all. Students assume just because they aren’t good at something today means they will never be good at it tomorrow. If this were true, we wouldn’t have inventions and smart phones and technology. I am reminded of Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000-hour rule where he states “you need to have practiced, to have apprenticed, for 10,000 hours before you get good.” In other words, it isn’t 100% talent. It’s also hard work and believing in yourself.
Neurodivergence matters: This one is huge. Until I entered the classroom and observed so many learning styles and ways of greatness and creativity, I did not see this or get this. I even think about the mistakes I made early in my career writing referrals instead of honoring some of my student’s out of the box thinking. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. I did. I was “managing” my classroom as I understood it. Neurodivergence doesn’t need managing. Students, and people for that matter, with ADHD or with Autism Spectrum Disorder do not solve problems like everyone else. Nor do they process information the same. These differences in processing information could be an entire blog on its own, but suffice it to say that we need to know neurodivergence matters.
Negative thought patterns are learned: Negative self-talk is an incessant refrain in the middle school classroom, and that rubs off on the teachers in that middle school classroom. I have watched as the mood of a perfectly happy class as it gently morphed into an unpleasant storm of angst and frustration. In some cases, it only takes one negative student to impact an entire room of nearly 25 students. It is time we stop downplaying the role of negative thoughts in our stagnation, and start realizing the more often we say we can, then the more often we actually do.
Kindness works better than discipline: There’s an ole adage in teaching: “Don’t smile before Christmas,” or something like that. Veteran teachers would occasionally warn of being too nice. “Classes will walk all over you” was the steady refrain. After years in the classroom, I have learned that kindness and fairness works best, much like it does in life. The grumpiest of people can be impacted with a kind word, and if you fight that battle someone is trying to wage, you give away your power and strength. I remember a student in particular who was always so negative. He was like Bartleby the Scrivener stating “I would prefer not to,” but he did so with a lot less kindness. I responded to his surliness with a smile and word of encouragement. He would scoff or roll his eyes. I would ignore it. Sometimes he did the work. Other times he didn’t. I later learned that everything around him impacted him a lot more than people realized. The following year, after he left my classroom, I heard he struggled and was constantly in trouble. I wondered and worried. Was anyone giving him a kind word? I feared the answer was no. Most people would see his tough exterior and consider him a problem. Kind words, for him, were a lifeline. He didn’t hear them often, and I am reminded that many children who often get in trouble at school don’t. Psychologist and author William W. Dodson, MD, estimates that by age 12, children who have ADHD receive 20,000 more negative messages from parents, teachers, and other adults than those children who do not have ADHD. Think about the impact of all those negative words. Kindness does matter.
Assumptions are damning: Years ago, a mentor of mine uttered words that would forever impact the way I see things. She always talked about the importance of communication between school leadership and staff, and honestly, communication, or lack of it, can cause culture problems in any organization or business. Secrecy is not helpful because my mentor always stated, “What people don’t know, they make up.” Fact is, people have amazing imaginations that can invent horror stories much worse than reality, causing anxiety to wedge its way into the culture. Instead of letting people make up their own ion of reality, why not be straightforward. Whether it’s in the classroom, an organization, or a family, clear communication is priceless, and people will respect you all the more for it.
Years of watching the dynamics in a classroom has taught me all of these lessons and so much more, and it isn’t only teaching that provides these lessons. It’s also life’s heartaches and life’s victories. Nothing happens as you want in teaching. Sometimes, an improvised change can make the greatest result, and other times it might flop like an overcooked noodle. If you become more flexible, however, adjusting as you learn and grow, the rewards might help you stave off burnout and stress, and isn’t that what we all want?
