Sometimes, it can take a lot of work to convince people that you can’t
do anything. Still more, if you want
them to think you know even less. “I
don’t get it.” “I don’t
understand.” “This is too hard.” “This is boring.” “I don’t care.”
I don’t care. I don’t care is
very misleading. What a kid really means
to say is, “I can’t afford to care.” To
care means being set up for bigger failure and greater frustration. Not caring lowers the bar, the buy-in, and the
brunt of the anguish. And if you’re in
eighth grade, this anguish has been your burden for a long time now. Many of those struggling at this stage,
probably had that moment of realization in third or fourth grade that they
weren’t swimming. They were
sinking. Treading water is tiring
business, so you surrender and sink.
It’s a form of relief. And, if a
teacher thinks that this is just a reading battle, then they are sorely off
base. For some of these kids, reading
doesn’t even make the top three. Reading
was just an unintended casualty. It’s
all uphill against poverty or parenting.
Abuse or neglect, maybe. Learning
disability gone undetected.
Marcella was all about not knowing.
To help build that buffer, Marcella would almost brag about what she
didn’t know.
“I don’t know none of that,” she says with a touch of sarcasm for comic
affect. Tease yourself to render the
teasing of others’ ineffectual. I did
the same thing as a kid for being short.
The notable difference here is that being short eventually becomes
pretty unimportant and the self-deprecating jokes unnecessary. Knowing how to read and write well never
becomes less important, and that self-imposed bar can stay low for a lifetime. It can reach across generations. So, she’s at it again with this sarcastic
routine of not knowing.
It’s the anniversary of the attack on The World Trade Center. We start with pictures. Small videos.
A few news clips. Our reading is
a retelling of the day from a fire fighter’s perspective. The purpose for reading is to make
connections to the article. How does any
of the information or emotions from the reading connect to you? Right away, Marcella’s hand goes up. She doesn’t wait to be called on. This is just our ritual, so she skips a step
ahead.
“I can’t do this,” she blurts out.
“I ain’t got nothing in common with no fire fighters.”
“Well, the fire fighters feel responsible for the people around
them. Have you ever felt responsible for
somebody else? Have you ever
babysat?” She’s the oldest of
several. I feel certain there is a link
here. It’s probably one she won’t cop
to, but always worth a shot.
Surprisingly, she nods and actually answers.
“I felt responsible for my mom last year.” Immediately, my mind goes to illness. I feel certain that Marcella has cared for a
sick or dying parent. I don’t want to, but I ask.
“How so?”
“One time I threatened to call social services on her ass, and she told
me that if I didn’t make the call then I could be in charge for a week.” Couple of things here. No parent I know takes that threat
seriously. That bluff must be called
immediately. I know parents that dial
the number and hand over the phone.
That’s a balance of power moment, and it must be squashed. Unless, of course, you’re a parent with
something to hide. This sounds more like
a “something-to-hide” scenario. I
thought I had stumbled onto a tough moment when I thought she had cared for her
dying mother. But this may be worse. This is the unknown. Could be far worse, in fact. My father was a cop for years and talked
about all the hidden dangers in a domestic dispute. Sometimes more dangerous than what’s out on
the streets. And much harder to read.
So, I brace myself for what could be some very ugly business. For the second time, I ask a question where I
am not sure I want to hear the answer.
“So what happened?” Marcella
clears her throat.
“Well, I said okay and I got to be in charge.”
“What did you do while you were in charge?” I think back to my own childhood and my mind
instantly fills with all the ice cream and inappropriate movies I would have
demanded that week. Not really a fair
comparison though, on account of me actually having a childhood worth
remembering.
“I set all new rules. My mom
wasn’t allowed to go out at night. She
had to stay home all week. She had to do
the laundry. She had to fix us dinner. And, she had to read to my little sister
every night to get her ready for school.”
You could hear Marcella secretly trying to raise the bar for her little
sister with the books. “We even went to
the library one night,” she adds.
Didn’t hear anything about ice cream and violent movies. Just heard the basics. A little comfort, and time. A little stability. I did hear loud and clearly why Marcella
cannot afford to care about what goes on in my classroom, or in any classroom
for that matter. Pretty effective
communication skills when you can show somebody your whole world in just a few
sentences. For a few moments, Marcella
seems to enjoy the attention. It’s
attention that borders on positive, and it’s not how she has mastered getting
her share of the spotlight. She seems to
like it, though. She rides that wave for
about fifteen full minutes, reads part of the article and takes a few notes. But, it is fleeting. Even Marcella, I am sure, knows that it is
all very fleeting and tomorrow we will be right back to the art of not knowing
anything.
If you're enjoying the blog, here's a book I recommend. "Our Kids: Building Relationships in the Classroom," is available at Amazon.
