This Job is Deceptive...

This job is deceptive. It is what appears to be an easy one on the outside. What teacher doesn’t want four days a week, up to 10 kids in your caseload, no take-home work, planning, and no grading? I am a tutor, a glorified, must be a certified teacher with knowledge in many subjects, tutor. What no-one tells you is that these kids, though they may be few in number,

are plentiful in problems. These are the tough kids. These are the been around the block, been suspended or expelled, have behavior problems, may be using drugs, issues with authority, little motivation, and possibly issues with anxiety and depression kids. My classroom is an end-of-the-road kind of place.  These are the kind of kids that wonder why in the world they should like you or respect you, because in their world adults come and go like leaves on the wind. Each kid is unique in his/her own brand of problems, and the students may change on a weekly or semester-based basis, yet they are similar in the guarded countenance with which they carry themselves. These kids are the high-risk, at-risk teens you read about. 

My classroom (funny how it has suddenly become that in my head-though I have yet to become “officially assigned”) is far removed from the rest of the building. A small room, with poorly functioning heat, bare walls and away from the rest of modern civilization, is jokingly referred to as “the dungeon”.   I have been here 1 week, and I have experienced rule-breaking, attitude and lack of motivation.  I have heard these kids referred to as “the throw-away kids”, and I am here to say they are anything but. This week I have been back and forth about whether I should even submit my paperwork for the job, or if I too, should walk away, “ditch them” as the other teachers have.  Is this what I was meant to do, or had in mind while earning my teaching license and my shiny Master’s degree? I am sure that I, like many before me, imagined the sparkling new classroom and the bright, happy faces of students that were all willing to listen. The funny thing is that in a way, I had just that-in my years at East Linn, but left anyway.  When we imagine things, we imagine them perfect in every way, but real life is never perfect. Real life is scarred, gritty, and has many shades of grey. Real life involves falling often and hard, and pulling yourself up again and again. Real life is teens from broken homes with hidden dreams, dreams they are afraid to share, because then they too, may fall apart. 

This classroom does not look like a dungeon to me. I look at it and see the possibilities, the chance to decorate, the art on the walls, the flowers that could be planted on the walkway right outside. These kids are growing on me. Perhaps it was through establishing authority, boundaries, and letting these kids know that I am on top of things and expect them to be as well. Maybe it was the shared laughs, and the tentative hopes that the kids have begun to share with me. Or, maybe it was the high fives shared after an assignment was submitted, and they scored well. Maybe it was the stories that have been shared and the realization that my reaction was not always to side with the adult, but instead an inner voice saying, “How dare they treat my kid that way?”-a thought that stopped me cold in my tracks.  I am sure it was all of it, molding me and my thoughts.  This, I know, is subject to change.  I may not be here in a few weeks if I am not chosen, and next year? Well, that is dependent on many things.  Next week brings new kids and new situations, uncertainty galore, but for now I say-I am not sure when this became my classroom, but at some point it did.