Smile If You Love Me, Baby

I've been at a new school for the past 1.5 years, with a network that I didn't think I'd ever work for. One of the most surprising pieces of this puzzle was that I originally came on-board as a Middle School teacher. I had sworn that I would never teach middle school because it would bring up too many painful memories.

Middle School /midl skool/ (n.): that time in a person's life that they try very hard to wipe out of their memory, as it is too hard to imagine someone loving them through it due to the painful level of awkward and uncomfortable.

It was an amazing year in the classroom, where I learned to embrace all the awkward and be extra embarrassing for kids. This year I'm now overseeing a program that has elementary and middle school aged students. While the elementary students are definitely more adorable than the middle schoolers, I do have a special place in my heart for them and their dramatics.

I would like to formally apologize to all my teachers, and especially my parents, for all that I put them through during my teen years. Thank you for loving me through such a horrendous life phase. When I was in middle school, I was your typical, insecure, hypersensitive, blossoming tween. (If you think I'm dramatic now, multiply that by 10 and add a dash of delusional and you've got 13-year-old Ms. Walker.) I was at my wonderful, tiny school, where I was 1 of 5 girls in my grade. In the entire middle school, we had 23 girls total, out of 70(ish) students. A small audience for my endless dramatic performance titled "Puberty: The (Seemingly) Never Ending Train Wreck"

I feel as though everyone has at least 1 vivid memory (if not many) from their developing years, where they were at their most awkward. Tweens not only have changing bodies and hormones, but they aren't even considered full teenagers yet, so the confusion around "growing up" is amplified by the fact that you're supposed to still act like a young child. This often results in painful attempts at flirting. C'mon, I know you have a memory tucked away some where of the first time you thought you were being slick and flirtatious but you really looked like you were suffering from severe constipation and a personality disorder. No? Just me?

It was the second week of 7th grade, and this was the time for the annual Middle School Camping Trip. I had loved it the year before, and had wonderful memories of completing ropes courses, hiking, and playing fun campfire games. So, naturally, I thought I was the bomb-diggity walking up in that cabin as an experienced 7th grader. To top it off, I had just gotten myself some boobs (oh, puberty) and a straightening iron, so I pretty much believed my Grandpa when he said I looked like Brooke Shields (mind you, he called me that because of my dark and well defined eyebrows, NOT my itty-bitty-boobies and frizzy straight hair). This confidence was also inflated by the 7th and 8th grade boys hormone levels, which caused them to say nice things to me and talk to my breasts instead of my face. This may have also been due to the fact that I was 5'8" in 7th grade, and most of the boys were 5'5" or below... you do the math on where their eyes lined up.

After a long day of hiking, ropes courses, trust falls, and dinner, it was time for us to do our campfire games. The entire middle school (all 70 of us) sat in a big circle with our teachers lining the edge of the dining hall. We played games, sang songs, and told stories. One of the games we played was a new game, and I knew I liked it from the moment I heard the name of it: "Smile if you love me, baby." I have always been a pretty jovial person, and with my banging' new tween bod I was feeling more smiley than usual. How the game goes is that the first person goes in the middle, picks someone that they think will "smile". They then walk over to that person and say, "Smile if you love me, baby." Following this, the person has to reply, "I love you, baby, but I just can't smile" with a straight face. If they smile while responding, they are then in the middle. If they don't, the "asker" must go find another person and repeat the quote until they can get someone to smile. I couldn't WAIT to see who would come up to me. I was a natural target, because I smiled and laughed ALL the time, and was looking forward to walking right up to one of the 8th grade boys. 

My moment came when my friend CB walked up to me and said, "Smile if you love me, baby!" in a very dramatic tone while laying on the floor in front of me. I burst out laughing, partly because it was actually funny and partly because I was so nervous. Either way, I obviously ended up in the middle. I then fake-looked around for who I was going to pick, because I couldn't act so obvious that I was going to walk up to this 8th grade boy that I was crushing on... Then, after 3 full turns, I couldn't contain myself and nearly bolted over to him. I kneeled down, leaned forward, and with my best Playboy Bunny impression said very smoothly, "Smile if you love me... baby...." 

That's when he looked right back at me, and with a slight tone of disgust said, "I love you, baby, but I just can't smile..." Then looked at his friend (also cute) and shook his head.

Ok, the reality of what happened (according to a friend who was sitting nearby), was that I pretty much twirled around in the middle a few times looking like I was trying to morph into Captain Planet, and then ran over to The Boy, slid onto my knees, made a face that resembled someone who got kneed in the balls, and sounded like Minnie Mouse when I spoke.

My heart was crushed. However, we ended up dating briefly a few years later, after I had survived my tweens. 

Why I'm Running

This article was written 2 years ago, but somehow missed the publish button.
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There are many reasons why I don't run. First, I have never been a distance runner. Even when I played sports, I managed to figure out how to sprint and rest, sprint and rest. It wasn't really necessary for me to run long distances. In elementary school, when we had to run the mile, I didn't care about my time and decided walked with my friend who had Cystic Fibrosis (bigger issue: why was she still required to complete the mile??).

Secondly, thanks to a pretty nasty bout of Lyme's Disease when I was in high school, I got early onset arthritis in a few joints. Unfortunately, that means I have arthritis in both of my hips. You can imagine that running is a bit difficult with your hip joints are regularly inflamed and in pain. I could go on with the many reasons, which most of them include the physical pain that happens when I attempt running, but that's boring, so I won't. Hopefully you get the picture. Me running is not pretty.

Naturally, this has caused me to decide that I'm going to run a half-marathon before this year is out. I'm in week 2 of training, and I am mostly just surprised that I've stuck with it for more than 1 workout. I can't run for more than 2 minutes without feeling like I'm suffocating, and my hips were fine until the third workout. (I had trouble walking for two days after that one.) Drinking water doesn't seem to come naturally to me, so I've been getting dehydration headaches some days. It's been a rough two weeks.

I wasn't sure why I chose this as my goal. It wasn't about losing weight, although that will be a nice bonus. It wasn't about proving that I could do it, since I'm honestly not sure if I can. It wasn't about just trying something hard, because there are many other (less painful) options I could have chosen.

Today I realized why I chose this goal. I'm running to get rid of my gut. 

M decided that we needed to do a Circle, where we would all talk about bullying and how we've been impacted by it. My first period is a goofy bunch, all students with either Intellectual Disabilities or Autism Spectrum Disorder. One student has been diagnosed with a Specific Learning Disability, but I'm skeptical of that diagnosis. On a good day they're a bunch of goofballs and giggle their way through class, usually laughing at me. On a bad day, there can be a lot of confusing interactions because they struggle to appropriately express themselves. So when M requested that we do a Circle to talk about bullying, I was a bit nervous about how it was going to go.

As anticipated, it was a bit of a tough start, but after about 15 minutes we got the ball rolling and most of the class was communicating their feelings. Some giggling occurred, and students were checking each other to make sure everyone was remaining respectful. While it wasn't perfect, it was going well overall. The biggest struggle was that A was posturing and was saying comments to try and get a rise out of me. Since I wasn't reacting, he continued to go down the rabbit hole of trying to make me upset. With 2 minutes left in class, he finally cut through enough layers and hit the jugular:

"You come for your paycheck, what do you care? Teachers don't care. They just want to get that check."

Now, let me be clear, I do not take this comment personally. I know that I show up to work every day because I absolutely love working with my students. I know that I care immensely about my students, their education, and their well being. So if that is the case, why is this so upsetting? 

A has been lashing out all year and has unfortunately missed out on a lot of learning time because of his massive amount of behavior concerns. He is rarely in a classroom, and almost never in a seat, primarily due to him being hyperactive. With a  bit of a Napoleon complex, adorable cheeks, and a smile born for a camera, A is theoretically adorable. Unfortunately, he curses like a sailor, and often feels a need to insult you before you could do anything that will make him feel something other than happy. He was placed in my class because he was causing a lot of disruptions in his other first period. Not only was he not learning, but other students' education was being negatively impacted. The transition to my class was difficult, since I'm "just a SPED teacher," and he does not enjoy change in routine.

After months of telling him, "Good morning sunshine! It's so good to see you today!" and "We need to do this because your education is important and a priority. I care about you and your education, you need to as well." and "Please don't treat me disrespectfully, as I treat you with respect every day." I thought I made it clear that I care about him, despite the terrible treatment I received from him. I have been a part of several meetings with other teachers, both formal and informal, brainstorming around how to best serve this student. I have given up a planning period so that I can support him in his reading class, where he already has 2 teachers for the 7 students that are in there. 

All of this has happened because this is a student who has clearly had something happen to him outside of the school building. While I have absolutely no hard evidence, my gut tells me that something is very wrong. I expressed my concern to the social workers, behavior intervention staff, teachers, administrators, etc. The problem is, I can't (in good conscience) file a report based on my gut. However, his behavior patterns scream that something is going on. A is a wonderful kid, and when he chooses to do work, he is an excellent student. He picks up concepts quickly, has a great intuition, and has been a phenomenal leader for students who have more severe disabilities. He feels a need to take them under his wing and ensure that they are also successful. But when it comes to someone caring about it, he cannot allow it, and must shut it down.

With all this in mind, I hope it is clearer why it was so devastating to hear A say that teachers, especially myself, show up for the paycheck, and not because we love and care for our students. Because we could love and care for him. When he said this statement, I became overwhelmingly sad, and was at a loss for words. He tossed the Talking Piece (a stuffed animal) back at me, and I said I didn't want to speak, as I had no words. All the students realized I was very sad, and immediately asked if I was ok, if I was going to cry, or if I was mad. I explained I didn't want to talk, and I was sad that A felt that way.

I might as well have said "I HATE YOU! YOU ARE THE WORST STUDENT EVER!" because that is what he heard. A didn't know how to deal with me being sad. What was decided in his mind, was that I was obviously mad at him. He proceeded to target me the rest of the day. If I walked into a room, or he walking into a room I was in, he would yell comments like, "Why the fuck is she in here?!" and "Get away from me!" and "I don't like you. Get out of my face."

I gave him space, because that was all I could do, but when we have 4 out of 8 classes together every day, it's a bit hard to avoid each other. Other staff tried to intervene, tried to explain to him that I'm there because I care about him, because I want to make sure he learns, etc. It only made it worse. A couldn't handle that I was sad about something he said.

The entire day, my gut ached. I ate my lunch, and immediately regretted it. The idea that a child could not accept that someone loved and cared about him made my gut nearly explode. This child, just like every other child, deserves to be loved and cared about by his school, and he clearly doesn't feel that way, despite the school's best efforts.

Today, all I wanted to do was run. I wanted to run from the sadness of the reality, the pain that is the truth, and the frustration that is my lack of ability to help this student. But I can't run; at least not for more than 2 minutes without taking a break. So instead I went through my day. I did my very best not to look sad, and just held my gut. 

The Rose in the Sidewalk

A few summers ago, AR decided to get another tattoo. He was extremely proud of it, as it had a lot more meaning than his other ones. On his shoulder and arm, the artist drew a beautiful rose coming out of a sidewalk. It's in black ink, with minimal shading, and well done.

Of course, when I saw new ink on his arm, I began drilling him about it. The usual questions of "Is that new?", "Why did you need ANOTHER?", and "Can it be covered by a shirt?" all came firing out of my mouth. After I calmed down, and he calmly answered all of my annoying parent questions, I finally decided to ask, "So... what does it mean?"

"It's me. I'm the rose in the sidewalk. I am a beautiful thing that came out of an impossible place."

I must admit, I got a bit teary. He was absolutely right. AR grew up in Southeast DC, went to (statistically) one of the worst high schools in the country, and had a criminal record by the age of 15. He wasn't supposed to graduate high school, he wasn't supposed to go to college, and in many ways he wasn't supposed to survive.

But here he was, alive, admitted into college, and not just surviving, but thriving. A truly beautiful rose coming out of a cracked and littered sidewalk.

His radiance can make it difficult sometimes to remember that his rose is growing out of a sidewalk. Now that he's about to graduate from college, I sometimes forget the environment that he is surrounded by when he's at home. When he's at school, he's surrounded by academics, like himself, and accomplished athletes, like himself, and kids who are focused on being successful, like himself. When he's home, he is surrounded by people who have trouble holding a job, have criminal records, are in and out of jail, and few who have gone to college. He has wonderful people in his life, but they aren't on the same trajectory as he is, and that's when you realize he's not in a garden, but a sidewalk.

The most painful times I'm reminded of this is when him and I are disagreeing on life decisions. He calls for advice, or I call to ask a myriad of parent-esque questions, and when he doesn't really like what I'm saying it results in him telling me I don't understand. I didn't grow up on a harsh sidewalk, but in the middle of a well-manicured garden bed. Someone was constantly looking after me, ensuring I was in just the right place at just the right time, getting fed regularly and enough space to grow. He's right, I didn't grow up in the same fashion that he did. I am no rose in a sidewalk.

However, this does not discredit me from giving advice. While there are certain things I can't relate to, I had to make many of the life decisions that he's about to make. Upon graduation, I had to make sure my grades were in order, that I was in the process of getting a job (which I mostly can recommend what NOT to do), securing housing after graduation, and trying to make meaning of the 4 years that I was about to complete. Your last semester of college is arguably one of the scariest of your life, and in my overbearing way I want to make sure it's not as scary for him. But that's not fair. It's a right of passage to have to figure it out, to walk on your own, to make big life decisions.

Ultimately, the rose grew in harsher conditions than senior year of college, so I'm sure he's going to be just fine. More importantly, I need to stop acting like it's my job to replant the rose - he can do that all on his own.