Thursday, December 9, 2010

A Story in Your Pocket

A Story in Your Pocket...
An Excerpt from A Pocketful of Stories
by Tomasen M. Carey


The Jokes on You

“Humor, like hope, permits one to focus upon and to bear what is too terrible to bear," Harvard psychiatrist George Vaillant, writes in "The Wisdom of the Ego."

“Why did the cookie go to the doctor’s office?”
“Because she was feeling crummy!”
“Do you get it?”
My 4 year old daughter, Emma loved to tell this joke when she found herself in new strange situations. Humor is one of those incredible gifts that we all have for making human connections. This was her way of taking some kind of control over her illness and she loved to tell this joke over and over. The delight in her eyes in seeing who “got it” was sheer heaven, thinking she was so clever and loving the joke over and over herself. There was something in this joke she could see that made her enjoy it every time she told it. She “got” it and was always sure to ask, “Do you get it?”
The getting it is like the secret that she is privy to; the delight is making sure that everyone is able to enjoy the magic of the punch line in the same way as the teller. And there is an art to telling a good joke and the feedback is instant…did you get a laugh or not? You can always tell those who get it as an expression of knowing crosses their faces, and then there are those that laugh to be polite and those who are laughing as they are still trying to figure it out. We have all been there, at one end or the other and of course the worst place to be is to be the jokester that gets no laughs at all. It is a tough lesson, but one that you can do something about right away.

In the classroom one part of our morning meeting was joke telling. There were some rules surrounding the telling. First the joke had to be appropriate for school. Yes, of course there were those who pushed the limit, but for the most part kids were able to discriminate between those that would be acceptable and those that would not. Just trusting them allowed them the freedom and the responsibility to make good choices. The other rule was that you had to practice the joke at least three times and that you had to get a laugh at least one or two of those times before volunteering for morning meeting. This was for two reasons; one was to work on the delivery and to work on making it funny. We would talk about what made a good joke and what didn’t. We talked about the emphasis being on the punch line and how to deliver an effective punch line. These could be classified in our reading curriculum under reading with expression, the importance of audience and comprehension studies. (How is that for meeting standards?) It was a clear test of whether the child understood the joke or not based on the reaction of the audience. If it was not funny we worked together as a group to think about what could be done with the joke to make it funnier. This is revision in real life. Then the child would take his or her newly revised joke out into the world and wait until it was funny enough to bring it back to the class. Everyone had ownership of the joke by then and often there would be many versions of the same joke told over and over again. This gave us time to talk about the fact that authors do this all the time. Once someone has a great idea then other authors try to take the basic idea and make it their own. We talked about how this often happened with jokes and that jokes changed regularly in their details because joke-telling is typically an oral form of literacy that is passed on from person to person. The game of telephone is a great way to show how things change based on the oral telling and that people all hear things differently. Telephone is when you start at the beginning of the circle with a silly phrase or riddle and then have the kids whisper it from person to person until the end of the circle. By the end it has usually changed completely from where it began.

I would always begin the year telling a joke to model how to tell a joke. I would overemphasize the telling in order to be able to point out to the class just what it was I was doing and that there are things that you can do to tell a good joke. The joke I told was about a chicken that goes into the library to get a book. He goes up to the librarian and says, “Book, book book”. This is said like a chicken saying bok, bok, bok with a high voice. (This is hard to put into writing!) The chicken takes the book and returns within 10 minutes shouting the same thing to the librarian, “Book, book, book”. The librarian thinks this is strange but gives the chicken another book. Sure enough if you have heard enough jokes you know that this chicken is going to be back in no time. This structure allows us to look at it closely and see there is predictability in jokes and that if you wanted to make up your own joke then like fairy tales, the magic number of 3 often appears. Well, the chicken magically does show up again but this time the librarian wants to know what is going on, knowing the chicken could not have read either of those books so quickly. She gets on her coat and decides, after giving the chicken yet another book, to find out what is going on by following the chicken. The chicken leaves the library, heads up a big hill, out into a field and through the forest to a clearing. (Again here is a way a leading the audience into what we know is going to be the punch line. I talk about slowing down here and that when I do the audience almost leans in waiting, waiting, waiting and thinking get to the punch line already!) At the edge of the clearing is a pond. The chicken walks over to the edge of the pond where a frog is sitting. The chicken pulls out the book and shows it to the frog. The frog looks at it and promptly replies, “READ IT. READ IT”. Of course this is said like a frog instead of ribbit it is read it. These slight changes in voice are very important because without them the joke is just not funny! So, okay you are thinking this is a dumb joke, and it is. It is also, however an excellent model for kids because it is clean and it contains so many elements of a good joke. This gets kids thinking about their own jokes and jokes they have heard in the past. Often one of the hardest things to do is to just remember the joke. I tell the kids that having one or two good jokes in your pocket is a great way to be in a new crowd. Everyone loves a good joke. But is has to be a GOOD joke. A bad joke won’t get you very far. This also encourages kids to think about themselves in social settings and to think about when it is appropriate to tell a joke and when it is not.

“Jokes compact the elements of storytelling into bite-sized mini-narratives. They are not just funny. For writers and editors, they are models that can help teach storytelling” Chip Scanlon, the Poynter Institute.


Joke telling is a form of storytelling; something that we can use to help our young readers and writer’s to see the elements of a story in a very compact version. To tell a good joke the teller must prepare the reader by setting the stage introducing main characters and setting, the chicken, the librarian and the library.

Next is to provide some kind of background for the reader, in knowing the structure of many jokes, one is sure that the chicken will be coming back at least a couple more times. Also using the voices allows for the characters to know more about them. She is a female chicken with a high voice; the librarian is suspicious about a reading chicken from the beginning.

The joke relies heavily on creating scenes that the reader can follow. The chicken comes and goes, comes and goes and does these actions very quickly, leading the librarian to become even more suspicious.

A good joke creates suspense, engaging the reader as they sit and listen, leaning in to find out what in the world is going to happen next and often this is done through conflict. The conflict here is for the librarian who is miffed that this chicken keeps on coming back without having read a book!

Next it builds to a climax and a clear resolution. We know that when the chicken leaves and the librarian follows that we are going with her and that we will find out instantly just what the chicken is up to.

Finally, is that wonderful element of surprise, the “aha” moment where we wonder how we didn’t get it all along. It is funny that the chicken is trying to get the frog a new book and so we laugh with this quick resolution and twist that we can visualize as being very funny.


Derek was a small fourth grader who had a hard time fitting in. Not only was he smaller than all of his classmates, but also he was somewhat goofy looking and gangly. He had a hard time finding his place in the world and was often seen getting into it with kids. If there was trouble, then Derek was in the middle of it. In the classroom he struggled. As a reader he struggled the most. For Derek, this opportunity to tell jokes, this place where being the class clown was encouraged was his place to shine. By the end of the year he had found every joke book in his local area. I will never forget the day he showed up with a book the size of Webster’s heaved up under his arm. It was titles “A Million and One Jokes.” Derek would sit for hours pouring over this book in search of the perfect joke. It was a ridiculous book for him as it was laden with jokes that were so out there that I didn’t get a lot of them. Many of them politically motivated from cultures all over the world. The schema one would have to have for many of these jokes would put Google to shame! The print was as small as anyone could imagine, but he continued to read over it, searching for that one joke that he did get! And he would know when he would get it. You want to talk about serious monitoring for meaning. He was getting to know himself as a reader through this insurmountable task he had set for himself. He would carry that book everywhere…and did I mention it must have weighed 25 pounds??
At first he would tell jokes that none of us got. Eventually, though he was able to work on finding a good one, practice it and in no time Derek became one of the classes favorite joke tellers. This was his forte’. This was his place to find comfort and acceptance for who he was. This also gave him a very real reason to read and to read for meaning. It also gave him a real reason to write as he then went on to write his own jokes. At morning meeting it would be Derek that everyone wanted to tell a joke. Each day we had time for three jokes. On days when nobody else would volunteer, they would all chant Derek’s name and he would get up and do his own version of a Leno monologue telling joke after joke. He was good. I don’t know where Derek is today, but I have a hunch that someday I may see him on stage at the Laugh Factory!

We need to value children, for who they are, not who we want them to be. We need to look at each child and find the strength inside of him. Derek could also easily have dropped out of school. It was not a place that he “typically” succeeded and joke telling allowed him to have a place in our classroom community for who he was. Don’t get me wrong. This was not that all magical cure and Derek continued to struggle each and every day in the classroom and on the playground, but offering this as an option allowed for Derek and other kids to use their humor in an effective and constructive way. It also allowed Derek to take some of the painful anger in his life and poke fun at that as well. Doris Kearns Goodwin writes in Team of Rivals, a study of Abraham Lincoln where she focused on “the vital role humor and storytelling played in Lincoln’s melancholy personality.” , “He laughed, so he did not weep. He saw laughter as the ‘joyous, universal evergreen of life.’ His stories were intended ‘to whistle off sadness.’”

Where there is laughter there is community, and where there is community, there are safe learning environments. We should each laugh as many times in the day as we can. I remember reading somewhere that we use so many more facial muscles to frown than to laugh…therefore frowning causes more lines in the wrinkles of life. So heck, let’s laugh or in the end…the joke is on you!!

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In my work I find that I am talking more about programs and what we are all "doing" and not talking about "kids" anymore. I want to do both!! I challenge you to try to leave school each day with a story about a child tucked into your pocket. Who will you go home thinking about and why? In this next entry please blog about one of those stories. You will probably want to write this on a word processor first and then cut and paste as they may be longer entries and I don't want anyone to risk losing it! Looking forward to getting to know some of your kids!! The stories can be ANYthing!! This post is due before our first class in January where we will start class talking about kids!

12 comments:

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  2. I just wanted to make sure before I began.

    There is one child in particular that I have always been preoccupied with since I began at Hilltop back in 2003. I don't feel comfortable saying which year I had him. It would be too easy to figure out. This little boy came to school each day excited to learn and to socialize with his friends even with the great burdens that he carried in first grade. He often came hungry, dirty, tired and unprepared for school. But he was excited to be at Hilltop and came in with a great smile each day.

    He was too young to reaize how bad he had it. In first grade children don't always "know any better". Mom's boyfriend treated him poorly. He barely had enough to eat. He didn't have his own bed to sleep in and often slept where there was space. But, he had a mom. And he loved mom and felt loved by mom as well. He spoke highly of her in first grade.

    He didn't know and he didn't need to know that Ms. Cofferen made Christmas possible for him that year. She also made a birthday party possible. Mom had called panicking. They had macaroni and cheese but, no milk or butter. They also didn't have a birthday cake for this very important 7th birthday. Ms. Cofferen saved his birthday like she has so many other children.

    I would leave for Christmas, February, and April vacation sick to my stomach, hoping that this child would be fed and safe. Summer worried me greatly. I knew he would be in summer school for five weeks and would be fed for 3 days out of seven for those five weeks.

    He made many gains in first grade. He was reading well and enjoying books. They were his "go to". He struggled with math but enjoyed being challenged intellectually with books, social studies and science.

    He comes back to visit occasionally. He truly has a sad story and he is currently on the losing end. He has shared his opinion of his mother having more children. He is not impressed and his views have changed drastically. I have watched this child go from thinking that life was great, loving his mom and that being the most important thing in the world, to "figuring it out". He started to "figure it out" in second grade. He saw children around him that had it "good". This made him become more angry about his situation. He fell further behind in school and cared less. He got into more trouble. I think he felt defeated and didn't care because other people important in his life didn't care. He was always supported by his teachers. He had a special relationship with Ms. Cofferen and Ms. Biron-Brooks who started working with him in first grade in Reading Recovery. He was loved in our small Hilltop community. Unfortunately, leaving Hilltop can mean going to a larger school and not getting the same kind of love and attention that is needed for some of our students. This is by no means for lack of trying.

    This little boy is not doing well now and I hope life changes for him. It saddens me. I have my own little boy who gets every ounce of love and affection that I have to give. Having a child is a blessing and I thank God every day. I wish all of our children could be loved and cherished this way. It paves the road to success for them.

    I am sorry to tell this sad story. He is the one child that I always think about. Noreen spoke of waking up at 2 and thinking of her child. I think of mine on numerous occasions. I think about him during fun family gatherings, during grocery shopping, while I'm reading to my son or just relaxing and trying to "shrug off" my day.

    I will always wish him well.

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  3. There is one particular girl who will always stick out in my mind. A child, wise beyond her years, in a place where she isn’t given the love she deserves. She is smart, witty, sarcastic and all in all an absolute love. While it is a bad habit to have favorites… She will always be at the top of my list. A child I’ll never forget, nor would I want to.

    Back when I had this young lady, things were okay, but not great. Dad was married, she saw mom periodically and her stepmother was a breath of fresh air. There was a new baby who clearly distracted everyone from how awful things really were. Behavior had always been an issue, but it was not anything like I’d been told. I’d like to believe that the reason I didn’t see all the behaviors others had seen, was because she knew without a shadow of a doubt that I loved her with all of my heart. There was nothing this little girl could do that would convince me that she wasn’t precious, worth it and just a dear sweet little girl.

    Things slowly fell apart for this young lady. Her mom went back to jail, her father and his wife split up and she lost the only real mother she ever had. Her father retreated in what I can only imagine to be a depression, leaving this vulnerable 9 year-old to fend for her self. She too, withdrew from the real world, taking a liking to the computer and online friends. She knows things about sex that many adults don’t know and it’s because there is no one looking out for her.

    She is no longer at Hilltop, but I think of her almost daily. She had the most potential; she is smart, funny and very articulate. She could easily go on to make something wonderful of herself, but it will only happen if someone steps in. I’ve tried on more than one occasion to be that someone, but all of my pleas to her father have fallen on deaf ears.

    I, like everyone around me, spend so much time trying to teach these children that they can make something of themselves. They can be amazing individuals who do great things, but clearly one year isn’t enough to convince them that they can over come their lives, be better than their parents or go on to have jobs, educations and futures.

    I don’t think I will forget this little girl for as long as I live and while it is sad, I pray every night that I won’t hear on the news that she was found dead after running off with one of the creeps that she found online….at 10 years old!

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  4. Along with my colleagues, I spend a lot of time thinking about our students. Each year, there is at least one child who touches my heart so much that I wish I could bring him or her into my home. I just know that I could provide more safety, nurturing, and family experiences than he or she is getting right now. We all know it is probably not considered ethical or professional. But, since I am a sensitive human being, I can’t help but wish. I never mean it seriously because I know that it isn’t realistic. I must speak very passionate though, because my husband occasionally reminds me to speak with him before adopting a child.

    I had intended to choose a child whose academic abilities puzzled me. I thought I should write about something “different.” But, as soon as I started writing, the image of one former student popped into my mind. This was the child I wanted to take home last year. In fact, I joked with my husband about how much our dog really needed a boy to play with.

    I had the opportunity to work with this child every day during the literacy block, three times a week in a small group, and 1:1 for a few months. He had moved here partway through the year. I heard that he had been in a behavior program in his old school. He was a struggling reader and an avoidant writer. Independently, he distracted easily and didn’t produce much writing. As soon as an adult intervened, they had his undivided attention. He aimed to please and charmed us with his smile. He sought out praise for making good decisions and doing his best work.

    I worked and worked to help improve this boy’s reading ability. Every day, we practiced sight words, reading, and some writing. He melted my heart when he asked his classroom teacher to borrow a copy of the same book that I had been reading with him. The child was so proud to be reading it on his own and he didn’t want to wait until our next session to read on. Even this year, he stops me in the hallway to give me a hug and tell me what book he is reading.

    I worry about this child. I know that he doesn’t have much time left to be a sweet innocent boy. Last year, we worked to pull him into the Hilltop community. With the praise for positive choices and performance, he seemed to enjoy being at school. He was absent less and he wasn’t getting into trouble very often on the playground. I felt like things were going really well for him. Then, I realized that his home life would make it very difficult for him to lead a trouble-free life.

    There are stories of dirty clothes and getting kicked off of the bus. His mother refused to send him to school until his suspension was over. What really got to me was a discussion that we had during one of our 1:1 sessions. We had been reading a Nate The Great book. He wanted to take one home, but hadn’t returned at least one book he had borrowed from his classroom. So, I suggested that he visit the library. They were bound to have some of those books. The child’s response was that his family wasn’t allowed to take out books anymore. His little sister broke a video and his mom asked him to wait until she picked out a new movie, before he put the video in the return bin. The child said that they didn’t want the librarian to know that it was broken until after they had signed out a new movie. After hearing that story, I felt like I was in the ocean swimming against the tide. It breaks my heart that these are the values he was learning. I had to face the cold truth. My voice of reason is not going to last very long in the minds of these children.

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  5. This is from Ted!
    I cannot just pick one because there are two many to count after 21 years of teaching, but I will force myself. She cries everytime her father comes to town and doesn't spend time with her. She gets wind that he is coming and tries to contact him. He lets her down time after time.
    She is lucky though because she has a step dad and his family provide a great deal of support. Her mom is in the picture but I get the feeling not as much as her step dad. This little girl is brilliant. She is dynamic and creative. Sadly I believe she will always be waiting for her father. I think she may waste her talents on a little girls hope that her father will share his love with her and recognize the amazing person she is.
    This little girl sent me an e-card to check on me over Thanksgiving. I replied but have not heard back from her since.
    I know she has big dreams and ambitions, but will she be able to move forward? How can a parent let their child down and leave them in such emotional turmoil?

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  6. To a little boy who taught me more than I ever taught him.
    All names have been changed:

    When Peter comes to us, he already has a notorious reputation. “He’s the one who made the front page of Foster’s, you know. He was the kindergarten kid kicked off the bus last spring. He’s from the projects. He’ll be a problem for sure...”Cheryl, my supervising teacher mentions this to me as I help her peel last year’s tape off the window sills. I nod but say nothing. We are readying the classroom for today’s open house. The children will arrive in less than an hour.

    It has been almost two years since I have left my job as a primary teacher at a private Montessori school in Stratham, New Hampshire. While I enjoyed my job, I had become uneasy. The school was becoming more selective about the children we were admitting. After our preschool committee denied entry to a little boy with suspected PDD, I just decided to quit. When I gave my notice, I gave vague, disguised reasons to my boss-- that I wanted to try something different , you know, seek new challenges. She laughed. Maybe it was a mid-life crisis. I held my tongue. I didn’t tell her the real reason I was leaving: I had faced the truth. Teaching there made me a living paradox -- a liberal segregationist.
    I applied at the University of New Hampshire graduate program in early childhood and somehow got accepted. The classes I now take challenge me to think about my personal values and dare me to speak out against unjust practices in the classroom. The readings and discussions make me yearn to create an educational environment that reflects my own moral standards and beliefs.
    And so I begin to form my educational philosophy. At night, stricken with early waking insomnia (the hardest to cure, my doctor cheerfully tells me!), I think about my teaching practice at my old school. As a Montessori teacher, I was forever preoccupied with getting the children to “work”. Day in. Day out. I would make up little baskets of sewing and place puzzles on white, plastic trays. Neat and clean, they were designed for one child. Montessori directresses believe very young children concentrate and work better on individual activities. At our school, all the primary teachers called these activities “ one person work”.

    It is three o’clock. We have met barely half of the new children and their parents. Out of eighteen students, only ten families show up. I am surprised. At my former school’s open houses, I would be surprised when more than two families did not attend. Peter and his family do not show up. When I ask about it, Cheryl explains, “Yeah, most of the families from Addison don’t show. Look...Marks, Vega. Henry.....
    all D-sixers.”
    “D-sixers?” I don’t have clue.
    “The bus that goes to the projects,” she explains.

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  7. I continue to think about my philosophical classroom -- my virtual classroom. I study the theories of Vygotsky and Bruner. They add a missing puzzle piece. While children do learn and develop from the continuing feedback they receive from their environment, and they do construct knowledge through constant and repeated experiences, this learning does not happen in a sterile classroom bubble filled with objects. Parents and peers have great influence. Each child brings into the classroom his family’s culture, his own socio-historical background, his own personal context which will impact greatly on his learning.

    It is the first day of school. The children fill the room with excited chatter. Cheryl asks that the children to find their name tags and take their seats. I meet Peter for the first time. He is tiny boy, whose face is hard to see as he has his baseball cap pulled down, covering his eyes. Cheryl walks by, and pulls the cap off. “Hats off,” she says cheerfully, and then glancing at his name tag “ and hello to you, Peter. Please find your seat.”

    He does not take his seat. Instead, he goes to the library area, and nervously rummages through a book bin. “Hello, Peter” I say, “would you like me to show you where your seat is?” I gently place my hand on his arm.
    “Don’t you ever touch me!” he shouts, shaking my hand off......

    Many of my classes present teaching strategies from preschools which are located in a town in northern Italy known as Reggio Emelia. I am asked to think about the teacher’s role in a child’s learning. The teachers of Reggio take on many different roles and responsibilities as they actively collaborate with children to promote intellectual, social and affective growth. A true partnership can be possible. The late educator Loris Malaguzzi coined a beautiful metaphor of teachers “catching the ball and tossing it back” to the children.
    One professor urges me to create an image of childhood. Instead I steal one. In her words about her own childhood, Ann Dillard inspires me: “It’s about a child’s vigior and originality and eagerness and mastery and joy. It’s about waking up. A child wakes up over and over again, and notices that she’s living. She dreams along, loving the exuberant life of the senses, in love with beauty and power, oblivious of herself, and then suddenly, bingo, she wakes up and feels herself alive....and she notices that she is set down here, mysteriously in a going world.”

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  8. I write in my journal about Peter: He is a warrior child who is extremely intelligent and fiercely strong minded. It is hard for him to sit still for any length of time. He loves to explore and wander the classroom during free time. He can be kind and empathetic and has developed a nice relationship with Kit, a little boy who has self-select mutism. Peter quickly picked up on Kit’s reticence to speak, and often tries to entice him into conversation: “This is fun to do, huh Kit? Are you having hot or cold lunch? You can tell me, okay Kit? Mrs. Brennick! Kit just whispered “okay” to me!” Cheryl tells Peter to keep his voice down.

    As I start my internship year, I write a list of goals I want to accomplish. I don’t want children to keep their voices down. I want to allow their personalities to sing out loud and clear. I want to get to know those children who are the hardest to get to know.
    Those that dare me to like them, to love who they are.

    I discover Peter is a talented artist. He draws an amazing picture of our school with a giant face embodied into its front entrance. He draws himself as a tiny figure looking up into the school’s “eyes”. “It looks like the school is going to eat you,” I say.
    “No,” he replies, “it is a nice school.”

    Reflecting on my role as an advocate for children, I write in my journal: A teacher must be persistent, tenacious perhaps, in her resolve to speak out for the rights of all children regardless of race, socio-economic status and physical, emotional and cognitive abilities. I believe if a teacher has a mind toward advocacy, it must be present in the atmosphere of her classroom -- a flexible, child-centered curriculum that welcomes both diversity and the spirit of democracy.

    Cheryl uses a paper plate stoplight sign as a mediator for the students’ behavior. On the green circle, there are eighteen clothes pins, each with a student name written on it. If a child follows the classroom rules, his or her name will remain in the green. If a child breaks a rule, the clothes pin moves to yellow-- a warning. If yet another rule is broken, the child’s clothes pin moves to red. At the end of the day, everyone in the green or yellow receives a sticker. A clothes pin in the red means no sticker. By September’s end, Peter has received only three stickers.

    It is October. It becomes hard for me to sleep at night. Everyday things happen in my practice that conflict with my values about teaching children. The class lessons seem to be too long. Children receive many time outs for not being able to sit still. Time out. A punishment when you have to sit still for not sitting still. But these days, punishments are called consequences. A few children regularly miss recess and go to the planning room where they work with aides and copy a letter of apology to the party whom they have offended. It’s the same children every week and the ones who need recess the most. – those tricky, angry but endearing “D-sixers”.

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  9. The stoplight bothers me. It is not working for Peter. His quick temper and restlessness move him into the red before morning snack and then he’s in for recess. I talk to Cheryl. Politely, I tell her I don’t think the behavior stoplight is working for Peter. “The children notice he is in the red everyday. And he doesn’t seem to care whether he gets a sticker or not.” To my surprise, she quickly agrees with me. “He needs a stronger program. I’ll speak to Miss June about it.” Miss June is our behavior specialist.
    Peter is in again at recess for punching a child while they were standing in line. I come over and watch him draw a captivating picture of a frog in mid-leap. “See Mrs. Brennick? I am the best draw-er when it comes to frogs!”

    A few days later, I get to work with Miss-June-the-behavioral-specialist. She places our whole class on a contingency based behavior plan. Every child in the class gets an envelope with three red tickets. If a child breaks a rule, they lose a ticket. If all three tickets are gone before recess: no recess. There is a reward for the children who keep all their tickets. Miss June will come in unannounced and choose four “good” three-ticket children to come and play special games with her. During the first week, late in the day, she breezes in and chooses four lucky ticket holders. She scoops them off circle and congratulates them for following the rules. I notice that the quartet of children she picks are the class paragons of obedience.

    My intern supervisor observes my classroom for the first time. Cheryl presents a
    calendar lesson. Peter is agitated and pokes a child. He is asked to go to the time out chair. He folds his arms and shakes his head. Cheryl asks him to leave three times, raising her voice each time. Furious, she then presses the buzzer and has the office secretary come and remove him. She announces to the secretary that Peter is no longer welcome in the classroom for the rest of the morning.

    During my Thursday night internship seminar, near tears, I reveal all the frustration I feel to my fellow grad students. My supervisor expresses shock at the way Peter is being treated. Together, the class and the instructor try to think up more appropriate strategies to help Cheryl better handle Peter when he misbehaves or becomes stubborn. I will volunteer to take him for a walk. I will suggest alternative activities for Peter during long class meetings. I will offer more positive activities --classroom chores and errands-- when he becomes restless. It is agreed that I will try to advocate for Peter on my own for now.

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  10. It is silent reading time. All the children have made their selections and are at their seats -- except for Peter. He is sprawled out on his tummy, perusing a book about
    bats that is way above his reading level. Cheryl has a set in stone rule-- children must choose a book that they can read with independence during SSR. Today Peter is already in the yellow for cutting up Kit’s eraser and he only has but one red ticket left. Cheryl seems to not have noticed the infraction, so I quickly go to him. “Peter,” I whisper, “ you need to be in your seat. I’ll help you pick a book you can read. How about Dan the Flying Man?”
    Peter looks at me with narrow- eyed defiance, “No way, Jose.”
    “Mrs. Brennick, it’s okay, leave him there.” Cheryl calls from across the room.
    “Today we’ll pick our battles.”

    By mid October, the atmosphere in our classroom changes like the leaves on the crabapple tree outside our window. It is noisier, as the children work in groups more often: “Now they can handle it!” Cheryl observes proudly. We have stopped using the ticket system because Miss June never has time to come in to check on the class and deliver on the fun and games promise. “A lot of work for nothing. The support people here have big ideas but never deliver the goods,” Cheryl confides to me.
    I have been able to assume more responsibility in planning class activities. The children experiment with color, sponging and splashing color on thick pieces of tag board to make their personal statement on the mercurial New England season. Peter’s work is free, sloppy and in its own way, breathtaking. To paraphrase Picasso, “Oh, to paint as the child!”

    Peter has left his seat and is busy watching our new class turtle swim about in our makeshift aquarium. I look over his shoulder. Peter is humming quietly and lost in the joy of watching our pet motor around its tiny island.
    “Hey, Peter. Would you like to feed him?
    Peter pauses a moment and breaks into one of his rare, sad smiles.
    “Sure, you’ll let me?”
    “Why not? I don’t think he’s been fed today,” I lie.
    Peter carefully pinches a tiny amount of dried bloodworms and gently sprinkles them over the water. The turtle eagerly paddles over and snaps the floating specks up.
    “You know, we haven’t named him. You got any good ideas?” I ask.
    Barely a moment passes, only enough time for Peter’s smile to turn sly.
    “Yeah, let’s name him Jaws.”
    “Peter, that’s a great name!” I forget where I am and shout it.
    A moment later, Cheryl calls from across the room.
    “Mrs. Brennick, help Peter back to his seat, would you please?” She says it kindly.

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  11. Later Cheryl and I discuss my concerns about Peter. To my great surprise, she agrees with a lot I have to say. I admit to her that I haven’t had a lot of experience working with children from deprived backgrounds.
    “Well, he clearly likes you. He’s yours. He’s been driving me nuts and you seem to enjoy working with him.”

    So that is how working with Peter became my project. Over time, he became easier to manage and was less unhappy. During my teaching times, I introduced activities that I thought would interest him the most. I figured if it captivated Peter, the biggest school work critic in class, then the rest of the class would follow. Cheryl would compliment me often. “You’re so creative. How did you think of that?”
    “I only have Peter to thank….” I’d say and to this day, when I get a creative aha! I still think of Peter and his sly little smile.

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  12. There are many children over the years whom I would have liked to take home in my pocket. One who holds a special place in my heart more recently is the sibling of a student already written about in this blog (Hilltop is, indeed, a small community). K is a beautiful child, tall and slender with big brown eyes, wavy hair,and a lovely (while somewhat toothless at the moment) smile. I began working with K midway through her first grade year. She was most definitely a challenge. Engaging her was a not easy; keeping her engaged was almost impossible at times. While she loved to snuggle next to me and listen to and talk about a story, I had to use every trick I knew to try to get her to actually look at print for herself. There were days when she would refuse to do anything I asked, cry, or put her head down on the table, but the hardest thing for me to deal with was when she would talk about her mom, randomly making a connection with whatever we were working on or talking about with "my mom..." and getting completely off task. I knew that her mom was unreliable at best, more likely and more often neglectful. K was in at least 3 different schools in first grade and had been in who knows how many different living situations. What really tore at my heartstrings was when K would call me "Mommy".
    K was supposed to have gone to summer school this past summer, where she would have, at least, experienced some structure, received some love and care, and been given a meal, but she never came. She did end up showing back up at Hilltop at the beginning of this school year, although we (and she) often didn't know with whom she would be staying on any given night. At one point she was placed with a foster family. I have never seen her happier than during that brief time. But that didn't last. She now lives with grandparents who (along with mom, who is granted visits with her) blame her for having been taken away from mom in the first place. She, after all, was the one who bore the marks which brought the abuse to the school's atention and then she had the nerve to prefer a foster mom.
    It is very hard to get past K's emotional issues and help her to learn. She spends a great deal of time in the bathroom or laying on the floor by the classroom door. She crawls on the floor or hides under tables. We, her teachers, are working very hard to hold her accountable for her learning, while understanding why it's the last thing she's interested in doing. We realize that we are not doing her any favors by letting her refuse to try and to perpetuate her belief that she is stupid and incapable. It's hard to have a lot of hope for K's future, but I feel tremendous responsibility for teaching her as best I can to love to learn and to have confidence in herself, and along with that, hope is all we have.

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