I've been initiated encore. It seems there is no end to the initiation rites here in Congo. I've weathered my first middle school conferences and I can say they left me feeling worlds away from elementary school. I usually spend the year with my 5th graders prepping them for the hectic and perhaps impersonal world of middle school. I tell my parents that this is the last year of the "mother hen" syndrome where one teacher can coach and coddle and gently ease the student into independence. I rage on about the horrors of homework piling up from multiple classes and try to instill all sorts of organizational habits in my young fledglings.
But the truth is, I have been elementary teacher for most of my years and so I am only half way sure if my rantings are true. But now I walk away with the proof. Partial proof to be fair. In elementary we have the luxury of being concerned with the whole child. Examining background and previous experiences helps us to determine learning styles, areas of strength and potential challenges. Being the teacher of all subjects allows us to pull in strengths from other disciplines and make connections for the child so he or she can see how one subject might be similar to another (yes! bring those math skills into learning how to count in French - 80 is really just 4 twenties.)
But in middle school compartmentalization begins. One class requires a completely different set of skills and behavior patterns than another. The student is left on their own to make comparisons and draw conclusions of similarity. Which probably works out all right for most. But hasn't the new swing of education brought us away form reaching "most" of the children and tailoring our instruction to meet all children? I know these are the troubles that plague me into the night. Not the majority of my class, but that one student. What am I going to do to make things accessible for him or her? How am I going to turn this material into something he or she can grab onto and find meaning in?
The report card was average. It was not a surprise to me. I know we (parent and child) are working on some things. Some of them rather serious deficits. So I planned to approach the conferences in terms of finding out what specific skills we could improve upon that would make a difference overall. I also planned to have a chance to explain some of the background difficulties that we are facing.
French was our first stop. The worst grade and the most important skill needed. Because in our life, I have witnessed a tragedy. My son is coming from a childhood where French was the second language and continues to be a prominent language in his family of non English speakers. Somewhere along the way he lost both his maternal tongue and his small bit of French, leaving it virtually impossible for him to communicate with his biological mother and family. I see he is now left with only his incomplete and often hazardous English. He uses words like "thingy" a lot. Expressing himself is a challenge compounded by other delays and physical impairments suffered in childhood. In infancy he suffered head trauma and I have always believed this affected the area of language. Add that to the tumultuous teenage years when appearance is everything and we end up with a quiet boy who thinks a lot and speaks out tentatively. But in middle school they didn't seem very interested in hearing about this. It wasn't about the whole child and how we could help to compensate for some very real challenges. In my class we memorize.
After passing a weekend where I had begun to overhear more French phrases and attempt to communicate with his uncle and younger brothers in French, I was feeling pretty encouraged. I was ready to applaud his effort and look at some real strategies for improving upon this. What I found was in stark and startling contrast to this. We were told he puts out no effort and doesn't try. He just needs to memorize. I attempted to point out that memorizing was definitely not a strong point. I attempted to explain some of the language difficulties that I have noticed for years. My pleas fell on deaf ears. And more than that I was told I was not doing my job as a parent to teach him these things at home. Because, after all, the teacher had done her job in the classroom and all the other kids could do it.
I attempted to point out that not all children learn the same and are not coming from the same physiological or experiential backgrounds.
We continued our debate getting nowhere. There was some definite miscommunication. I wasn't asking for different expectations but a different approach to learning. I was asking for my child to be seen as an individual and treated as such in the classroom. To be noticed for his strengths and encouraged in his efforts. I wanted his fears recognized and allayed. I wanted the classroom to be a safe learning environment. And above all, I didn't want this to turn into one of those experiences that drives a child to hate an idea simply because he was not supported in his learning. This is one area that is too important. In recognition of the futility of our conversation, I was left with these parting words, "Madame, laisse moi tranquille."
I feel good in saying that the rest of my conferences did not go this way at all. With tears of frustration I made my way around the room talking to other teachers, hearing his strengths and making plans for improvement. I am happy to say he was able to hear that he is smart, has great ideas, has shown more effort and should strive to be a "B" student or even an "A." I heard encouragement and support. I even heard a couple of mother and father hens offering their time and acceptance of questions. We talked strategy and uncovered hidden feelings that were preventing full participation. From the rest of those conferences, we left with insight and a clear direction.
But into the evening, I still realize the sting of being told I am not doing my job. I didn't try enough, wasn't involved enough. And I wonder how my child can sit in a classroom like that each day, afraid to ask a question or try a new word for fear of doing it wrong or being called out for his lack of proficiency.
We talked a lot afterward, he and I, about our own personal goals for French. About the connection to family and culture. I tried to rejuvenate his desire and let him know the effort I had seen at home. I try to tell myself that one small portion of his day can be weathered and overcome by what we do at home. I suppose I can view it as one glimpse into the harsh world to come......but do I really have to? Surely it can be a different way. We made our plans and set our own goals and I will try to hold onto these as I watch him grow, a child without a complete language to call his own.
