One of my Imaginative Writing classes is over 30 students, all of which represent a totally different class of student. I've got the rich kids, the poor kids, the kids with no parents, the kids with no friends, the emo kids, the preppy kids, the flirters, the writers, the thinkers....I've got everyone.
During the first week I had the class, I decided to have them write personal narratives...like short memoirs over a specific event in their life. This was when I began to know Deandre. In reading his list of 15 events, I began to see just how much he'd lost in his life by such a young age. Some days, he'd come in and write nonstop. Other days, he wouldn't say much at all. I will say, though, that he always was the first student to volunteer to read aloud, which made me appreciate him from the start.
Deandre lost his mother at an early age, and his grandmother assumed the responsibility. You can tell she did a great job raising Deandre. He has the manners, the school intellect, and the street smarts.His grandmother unfortunately passed as well, creating an even larger void. Deandre hardly had anyone to serve as a woman figure. Naturally, he began putting that emphasis on the girls he dated.
I'll never forget the day Deandre came to see me after school. We'd had a pep rally that day, and students are allowed to leave school right after the pep rally. Soon after I made my way back to my room, I heard a familiar voice coming down the hall. It was Deandre, accompanied by another fellow classmate and a nice looking young lady. When I asked if this was his girlfriend, he replied with a very shy, but proud "yea."
I was flattered! He wanted me to meet her! In addition, they both hung around for a good 15 minutes, just talking with me. It was nice to see him like that, and it helped me see him outside of just the side of him participating in class. From then on, I felt we were both a step closer in understanding each other.
One day, Deandre came into class as serious as can be. This was the second time I'd ever seen him like this. The first time, he was snotty and quiet. He'd shut down and refused to write. The first time, I hardly managed to get through to him at all, so when I saw his entrance this day, I decided I wasnt going to let him go unnoticed. I walked over to his desk when the class began their morning writing prompt. With every question I asked, I only got a shoulder response. He clearly wasnt in the mood to talk, so I offered the alternative of him writing out whatever his frustration was, in replace of the initial prompt for the day. It took some time, but after about 15 minutes, I saw Deandre get up, grab a computer, and then begin typing. Honestly, I thought he was doing the assignment, not the venting. It wasn't until he walked over and placed the computer down on my desk and said "READ," that I realized what he was doing.
After reading over a page of his frustrations, I felt a sinking feeling of sadness. I wasnt sure what else to do, so I grabbed his arm and brought him into the hallway. I went into mentor mode. I talked to him in the hallway for 30 minutes. We talked about everything from girls, to friends, to school, the finding new hobbies to occupy his mind a bit more. Sometimes, I forget about the frustrations that come along with high school. the drama...the relationships...the daily ups and downs. It's exhausting! After a solid 30 minutes had passed, Deandre and I hugged it out real quick, before going back inside. For the remainder of the period, Deandre sat quietly, typing away on his computer. By the end of the class, he'd typed over 800 words of frustrations, and felt much better.
That night, I decided I was going to get Deandre a journal of his own. My sister and I found a black leather bound journal, complete with light brown accents and gold rimmed pages. I knew instantly it was perfect!
The next day, all teachers were to have their advisory classes for about 45 minutes. I looked up Deandre's advisory teacher and asked her to send him down my way for a hot minute. Upon his arrival, I simply extended my hand with the journal. His eyes got huge. He could hardly believe it was for him. The extreme sense of excitement was one of the most sincere things I'd seen, and I felt immediate satisifaction. Furthermore, Deandre returned to my room about halfway through the day. He'd already written 4 whole pages in it, and he wanted me to read them.
My relationship with Deandre has continued to grow ever since. Some days, he still comes in, quiet as ever. He sits in the back and writes in his journal. Other days, he struts in, ready to have a good day, and practically stands in the front of the class, ready to share his voice. Regardless of his days, good or bad, Deandre knows I'm here to support him, and sometimes, that's more than most kids can ever rely on.
During the first week I had the class, I decided to have them write personal narratives...like short memoirs over a specific event in their life. This was when I began to know Deandre. In reading his list of 15 events, I began to see just how much he'd lost in his life by such a young age. Some days, he'd come in and write nonstop. Other days, he wouldn't say much at all. I will say, though, that he always was the first student to volunteer to read aloud, which made me appreciate him from the start.
Deandre lost his mother at an early age, and his grandmother assumed the responsibility. You can tell she did a great job raising Deandre. He has the manners, the school intellect, and the street smarts.His grandmother unfortunately passed as well, creating an even larger void. Deandre hardly had anyone to serve as a woman figure. Naturally, he began putting that emphasis on the girls he dated.
I'll never forget the day Deandre came to see me after school. We'd had a pep rally that day, and students are allowed to leave school right after the pep rally. Soon after I made my way back to my room, I heard a familiar voice coming down the hall. It was Deandre, accompanied by another fellow classmate and a nice looking young lady. When I asked if this was his girlfriend, he replied with a very shy, but proud "yea."
I was flattered! He wanted me to meet her! In addition, they both hung around for a good 15 minutes, just talking with me. It was nice to see him like that, and it helped me see him outside of just the side of him participating in class. From then on, I felt we were both a step closer in understanding each other.
One day, Deandre came into class as serious as can be. This was the second time I'd ever seen him like this. The first time, he was snotty and quiet. He'd shut down and refused to write. The first time, I hardly managed to get through to him at all, so when I saw his entrance this day, I decided I wasnt going to let him go unnoticed. I walked over to his desk when the class began their morning writing prompt. With every question I asked, I only got a shoulder response. He clearly wasnt in the mood to talk, so I offered the alternative of him writing out whatever his frustration was, in replace of the initial prompt for the day. It took some time, but after about 15 minutes, I saw Deandre get up, grab a computer, and then begin typing. Honestly, I thought he was doing the assignment, not the venting. It wasn't until he walked over and placed the computer down on my desk and said "READ," that I realized what he was doing.
After reading over a page of his frustrations, I felt a sinking feeling of sadness. I wasnt sure what else to do, so I grabbed his arm and brought him into the hallway. I went into mentor mode. I talked to him in the hallway for 30 minutes. We talked about everything from girls, to friends, to school, the finding new hobbies to occupy his mind a bit more. Sometimes, I forget about the frustrations that come along with high school. the drama...the relationships...the daily ups and downs. It's exhausting! After a solid 30 minutes had passed, Deandre and I hugged it out real quick, before going back inside. For the remainder of the period, Deandre sat quietly, typing away on his computer. By the end of the class, he'd typed over 800 words of frustrations, and felt much better.
That night, I decided I was going to get Deandre a journal of his own. My sister and I found a black leather bound journal, complete with light brown accents and gold rimmed pages. I knew instantly it was perfect!
The next day, all teachers were to have their advisory classes for about 45 minutes. I looked up Deandre's advisory teacher and asked her to send him down my way for a hot minute. Upon his arrival, I simply extended my hand with the journal. His eyes got huge. He could hardly believe it was for him. The extreme sense of excitement was one of the most sincere things I'd seen, and I felt immediate satisifaction. Furthermore, Deandre returned to my room about halfway through the day. He'd already written 4 whole pages in it, and he wanted me to read them.
My relationship with Deandre has continued to grow ever since. Some days, he still comes in, quiet as ever. He sits in the back and writes in his journal. Other days, he struts in, ready to have a good day, and practically stands in the front of the class, ready to share his voice. Regardless of his days, good or bad, Deandre knows I'm here to support him, and sometimes, that's more than most kids can ever rely on.
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