The Tears of a Child
Sunday, September 13, 2009
I am going to forgo the narrative of our trip to Peru for now. It has been a challenging week.
I have been having some difficulty with several of my students since the beginning of the year. Although school policy is that students will speak English at all times, I have been challenged to make this a reality in my classroom. There are four boys in particular who seem to be immune to the rules. They are very bright, but mischief makers (much like myself at the same age).
I have been working on ways to encourage them to do the right thing. Wednesday night I didn’t sleep very well for thinking of incentives for them. I was tired on Thursday morning when I went to work, but thought I had come across some ways to make it all work. When we got to work, I was greeted with the news that the father of one of my students died in a motorcycle crash the night before. He was forty-one.
Suddenly everything on my mind became infinitesimally small. The student (I’ll call her Julie) is a beautiful little girl; extremely bright, always cheerful, and eager to please. I had her sister in my class two years ago. The mom was my room mother and we have always had a good relationship. I knew dad by his first name. I had, in fact, had a few drinks with him on occasion.
Thursday took on a whole new twist. I had to figure out how to work with my kids to come to an understanding of these events. I was struggling with this puzzle when Julie showed up for class. She was in tears as were many of my students. Suddenly I had to confront even more issues. We cried together for about an hour, then I read a story. We played some games, sang some songs, and watched a movie (complete with popcorn!). Julie kept her composure for the most part, which is more than I can say for myself.
I made it through the day and ventured off to the Wake. Friday Julie was back with a smile and I attempted some normality. Now I am left with an eight year old who has lost her father. As the year progresses, I am sure there will be a great deal of tears. As a general rule, I don’t deal well with tears; mine or anyone else’s. I guess this will be a lesson for both of us.
I can’t help but feel parallels to past events in my life. Today I am on the other end of lost parents, wondering how to comfort a small girl when I find it so difficult to find comfort in myself.
MJR
I am going to forgo the narrative of our trip to Peru for now. It has been a challenging week.
I have been having some difficulty with several of my students since the beginning of the year. Although school policy is that students will speak English at all times, I have been challenged to make this a reality in my classroom. There are four boys in particular who seem to be immune to the rules. They are very bright, but mischief makers (much like myself at the same age).
I have been working on ways to encourage them to do the right thing. Wednesday night I didn’t sleep very well for thinking of incentives for them. I was tired on Thursday morning when I went to work, but thought I had come across some ways to make it all work. When we got to work, I was greeted with the news that the father of one of my students died in a motorcycle crash the night before. He was forty-one.
Suddenly everything on my mind became infinitesimally small. The student (I’ll call her Julie) is a beautiful little girl; extremely bright, always cheerful, and eager to please. I had her sister in my class two years ago. The mom was my room mother and we have always had a good relationship. I knew dad by his first name. I had, in fact, had a few drinks with him on occasion.
Thursday took on a whole new twist. I had to figure out how to work with my kids to come to an understanding of these events. I was struggling with this puzzle when Julie showed up for class. She was in tears as were many of my students. Suddenly I had to confront even more issues. We cried together for about an hour, then I read a story. We played some games, sang some songs, and watched a movie (complete with popcorn!). Julie kept her composure for the most part, which is more than I can say for myself.
I made it through the day and ventured off to the Wake. Friday Julie was back with a smile and I attempted some normality. Now I am left with an eight year old who has lost her father. As the year progresses, I am sure there will be a great deal of tears. As a general rule, I don’t deal well with tears; mine or anyone else’s. I guess this will be a lesson for both of us.
I can’t help but feel parallels to past events in my life. Today I am on the other end of lost parents, wondering how to comfort a small girl when I find it so difficult to find comfort in myself.
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 2:02 AM
1 Comments:
I have faith in you, Mark. I think you will be a source of strength for that little girl. Big hugs, Sonya.
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