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| By Maureen Purcell
Today I watched a 7th grader make “white cake supreme” in his family and consumer education class. He held his own with a complicated recipe that required five egg whites, involving the treacherous process of separating eggs and the equally dangerous process of using a hand-held mixer multiple times. Other students made brownies from scratch, strawberry smoothies, and pumpkin bars, but this gentleman tackled one of the most complicated recipes one can make in a 7th-grade FACE class. I was amazed by his nonchalance as he moved gracefully from measuring dry to wet ingredients, always using correct kitchen techniques (I never use a knife to level off measured flour. Is that why my cookies are always so crispy?). I was proud of how respectful the class acted as his audience — it could be that they were as awestruck as I was that one of their own was making anything with egg whites. Did I mention that he showcased his technique in front of 23 other 7th graders on the Friday before summer break? Watching him demonstrate how to measure flour correctly made me wonder what prompted him to demonstrate to his peers that he could make a supremely difficult white cake? Watching this complicated student make this complicated cake made me think about how deep and amazing all students are, and how little we really get to know them as we teach them throughout the year. Every year that I teach, I always reach May and get the feeling that I’ve been cheated out of really knowing my students. I find myself saying in my head, “What!? They’re leaving in a month? But I just met them!” As a middle school regular education teacher for four years, May becomes my “Fight the Power” month where I silently rail against the system that whisks students in and out of my room every 45 minutes for 9 months, and then out of my door forever that second week of June. This year as an ESL teacher I relished the out-of-class time getting to know my students and the in-class time I spent helping them. I thought I would miss the feeling of teaching a large class, something I equate at times with herding elephants with short attention spans and at other times with waking up lions to teach them ballet (at least that’s how it feels to teach middle school; most teachers probably have equally bizarre metaphors for their grade levels). I talked with friends who switched from regular education to special education who also wondered if they would miss teaching big classes. Most said they didn’t. They enjoyed the deeper relationships they could form with their students. So far, my experience has been the same. I’ve gotten to know my students really well and have learned much from them this year too. I’ve also gotten to know my students’ teachers and classmates too. It’s rewarding when I can share what I know about my students - their backgrounds or cultures - which I learned in a one-on-one lesson, so their teacher has another insight into their behavior and what makes them tick. During my first year teaching at a Catholic school, the principal gave teachers tiny glass angels to remind us that all of our students are treasured, fragile, beautiful little people to their parents. Granted, kids don’t act angelic all the time, she conceded, but in the end all kids are the most precious gifts, and in our low, dark moments, we should remind ourselves of that. Feeling thankful for the chance to meet so many fascinating people is hard to remember at times in the bustle of teaching, but sometimes that realization sneaks up on you, like when you’re watching a lanky, serious-faced 7th grader make a white cake for his classmates. Posted August 23, 2007 |
