hum

I want to write about my experience in New Orleans, but I don’t feel ready yet.  I woke up this morning realizing that I owe my host teacher an apology; there were a couple of moments when I lost my patience with a few of the boys in the class.  And it felt like there were a *lot* of boys in the class!  Then this morning I went up to East Harlem and met with a 6th-grade class that’s been studying Bird; the fabulous teacher, who’s one of the best managers I’ve ever seen, spent at least half of the 90 minutes dealing with three boys who just couldn’t get it together.  Two wanted to write, but couldn’t focus; one just refused to do anything except distract the other students in his group.  Then there were the girls, working quietly and cooperatively, and there were all the *other* boys in the class who needed a little guidance but were otherwise just fine.  When the class ended I asked the teacher how she found the patience to work with those particular boys; she clearly had strategies—pair the loud one with a quieter child and let their opposite temperaments balance each other out; isolate the one who’s easily distracted and have him sit at a desk by himself; try to figure out the child’s emotional state so she can figure out why he’s refusing to work.  But ultimately, she just refuses to give up; she meets them head on day after day after day.  And the 7th grade teacher in New Orleans was just the same—no yelling, no slamming kids into lockers as I’ve seen other male teachers do.  Just a quiet, steady vigilance.  I’m sorry to keep going on about boys; I used to be so invested in educating girls, and now I find I’m constantly wondering what to do about boys!  They aren’t all the same, so one solution won’t work; yet all the kids are in one classroom, in one school…and as obnoxious as their behavior can sometimes be, their stories and poems are amazing!!  After my workshop ended this morning, one of the more challenging boys came up and gave me a silly band—you can see it’s a hummingbird…and his story outline looked amazing: a boy who wants to learn how to dance meets Michael Jackson; “The Glove” will show readers the importance of passing on knowledge.  There was one boy in New Orleans—smaller than the others, but louder, too—and he clearly had some trouble with gangs and drug dealers in his neighborhood, but when we did our “You Don’t Even Know Me” poems, he blew us all away…he knows he’s more than the “type” others perceive; he’s super smart, and yet if he can’t respond to authority and the structure of school, where’s he going to end up? (there’s a photo of him with President Obama on the school website).  I wish I could go back.  I miss working with students over time and being able to track their development.  And I wonder if my writing about boys truly reflects their complexity—the diversity among boys.  I told the kids in East Harlem about what’s next on my list of things to write—a story about two boys, one 11 and one 14—who initially come together because the younger one’s a top student and is assigned to tutor the older boy (who got “left back”).  When the younger boy is attacked by the creatures that live beneath Prospect Park, the older boy becomes his protector…ok, I’ll try to do a proper post about New Orleans tomorrow.  Everyone at the school was so kind, and the food…the jazz!  There’s lots to tell.