It really is
a beautiful space--not majestic or palatial, but beautiful--to me,
anyway.
The ceilings are high, and except for the intermittent hum of
the wonderfully functioning air conditioning, it's quiet.
The acoustics
are great.
I like being there.
The sunlight coming through the large
windows in the morning is stunning. The books are new, and there's
state-of-the-art equipment.
When I walk in each day, I say to myself,
"Who wouldn't appreciate a place like this?"
Then I remember that some
things must be taught--early and often.
Some of the children respect the
space and what it represents, and offers, because they respect
themselves. (Home training really DOES go a long way.)
Some see it as a
quiet place to study, read, research, and listen to stories, and poetry.
I can always tell which classes have been encouraged to pay attention
and be on their best behavior.
I appreciate the educational aides who
remain in the library with the class to which they have been assigned,
and monitor student behavior.
Others, however, haven't been told a thing it seems, except maybe, "Go
in and run amok".
Some students have run in and out so much, that one of
the entrance doors is difficult to open, and makes a harsh banging noise
when it finally yields to several attempts to get it open.
Some of the
kids use the library as a hiding place from security guards, and a short
cut from the office back to their classrooms.
It WOULD be a short cut
IF going through the library actually took less time.
Some of them draw
obscene pictures on the tables, go behind the desk and enter the space
usually reserved for the librarian, rummage through cabinets, scream and
yell, play on the phone, fight, bring in food and drinks, turn over
chairs, throw things, run around, bounce basketballs and throw
footballs, break shelves, and leave papers and trash strewn about.
There's something savage and wild about the way some of them
enter--prowling about, loud talking, refusing to take seats, bothering
things that don't belong to them, and immediately creating disorder.
Attempt to correct their behavior and THEY have the nerve to be
offended!
The proximity to the main office and security desks would seem to be a
deterrent to rebellious behavior, but no. They come in and sit on TOP of
the tables or the carts, and put their feet in the chairs. Some don't
come in AT ALL and choose to roam the halls, but think they will be
allowed to reappear minutes before their session is scheduled to end.
"Come in and have a seat" is like a foreign concept. It's as if some
demon has possessed them and is compelling them to see just how far into
The Land of Wrongness they can go in word and deed.
Every day since I accepted the assignment, there have been at least 2
classes that force me to seek divine intervention, but I press on. I just cannot
abide a disrespectful, defiant little kid. The sad part is that it's not
all of the children who are out of control, but it's enough of them to
potentially derail any attempt at teaching and learning. They are rude,
demanding, and equipped with attitudes that make me very afraid for
them. They're going to mouth off at THE wrong person one day--someone
who has no fear of child protective services, or the police. They seem
to have no fear of consequences, and delight in their disruptive actions.
I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard,
"I don't care.",
"You
don't tell me what to do.", or
"I don't wanna".
Yes. They are children,
but a line has to be drawn somewhere. It's true. You get what you ALLOW.
Maybe they're just showing off for their friends.
Maybe they do it at home. Maybe they're just testing adults to see whether they'll follow through.
I don't know.
Whatever the reason, some of the actions I see each day are simply unacceptable.
When I think of the children who would LOVE to learn in such a beautiful
library, it makes me even sadder. What is it about something nice and
neat that brings out the destructiveness in some people? It's as if they
can't stand a clean, orderly place and HAVE to mess it up. Perhaps they
don't think they deserve it.
Perhaps they've never been taught that
there are rules of behavior that apply in certain spaces; that there's a
time and a place for everything.
It's hard to ignore when chaos is all around.
You feel you have to
address it; correct it.
You can't let it go on, can you?
You can't honestly say you care if you just let some things slide, can you?
Yesterday, a
little boy tapped me on the knee as I was trying my best to get through
a story, and pleaded, "Miss Williams, ignore them. They do that all the time in our class.
Just ignore them, okay? Keep reading. WE want to hear the story. WE'RE
listening."
It was true. About 8 students were in a semi-circle at my
feet. I hadn't even realized they'd inched so close to me. They all had
the same expression on their faces. They were desperate to hear, even
in the midst of other students who were determined to make sure that
they didn't.
I had SO much respect for them, and they actually encouraged me.
So, I keep going back to the space each day; I take the good with the
bad, even though the bad will make you want to get your things and never
return--or do like other substitute teachers do, and go out of their own neighborhoods, and serve kids across town—or emphatically refuse to
accept assignments at certain schools.
I keep trying to "brighten the
corner" where I am;
I keep in mind the things that Sharon Bell Mathis did in the library at Patricia Roberts Harris Educational Center. I think about the mammoth task that was her Read-A-Thon.
Another teacher said it best the other day: "Teachers definitely don't get the respect the profession deserves, but what's
going to happen to them if we all give up? Someone has to teach our
kids."
I keep trying to leave it better than I found it, ( even though, in any situation, I
detest cleaning up behind able bodied people who seem oblivious to,
and/or are fans of filth and messiness ).
I respect the space most of all because I LOVED the library
as a child. I know what a wonderful, wealthy place it is, and know of the places
it can take a child.
How I appreciate Mrs. Reamer, the librarian at my
elementary school, and the librarian at the old Washington Highlands
library! They taught us what a sacred, magical, and important place the library is.
I
reject the "That was a different time" argument. Good manners never grow
old, nor does teaching them.
Each day I make a point to thank students for being
cooperative and respectful. I'm compelled to do it, because I think they
need to hear it.
A disproportionate amount of time is spent dealing with disruptive students each day. It’s been normalized.
The well-mannered children are caught in the waiting game--waiting for some kid to either get it together, or waiting while a teacher interrupts the lesson to write an incident report, or hunt down a security officer or administrator--because one can't just put a student out of the classroom.
Some of the children who used to behave themselves have decided
to join the disruptive band, because it seems to be the only way to get
noticed.
I'd hate to see some of the children abandon their good manners, so I heeded the little boy's pleading, continued reading, and
finished the story.
If they can ignore the distractions, so can I.
I owe
it to them--for the next few days-- to keep trying.
It may seem like it, but
school is not over yet. Maybe standardized assessments should take place in June. ( I'm just sayin' )
Today I got the news that my first two classes would be going on a field trip to the
National Zoo.
Even though they have been consistently delightful, I can't say I was disappointed.
Frankly, I think it's good for the children to have experiences outside of their own neighborhood, and the quietness of the library is downright therapeutic.
The break gave me a chance to
do something I really hadn't planned.
I spent the day rescuing several boxes of books
from being discarded. I know we’re in a digital age, but why would anyone destroy books?
Some of the books merely had torn dust jackets, so I took
them off completely, found some archival quality paper, and made new
liners for the inside covers. Others just needed marks erased off of them, while they all needed to be freed from the dust that had collected on them.
Armed with a can of Lysol, I cleaned them
up, and inserted new book marks in each of them.
I read some of the
titles and couldn't believe they were destined for the trash: "Black
Beauty",
"The Little Red Hen", "Aesop's Fables", "Thumbelina",
"Pippi Longstocking"
and several books in Beverly Cleary's "Ramona" series.
The look on the
kid's faces when I told them they could pick a book and keep it, made me
smile. “I can take it home?” When I opened the book and wrote their name after “This book belongs to…”, they were so appreciative. “Now, you can start your own library”.
I'll finish going through them tomorrow. For now, they're all clean, out of the dusty boxes, and on the rolling cart. All they needed was a little
TLC—and I suppose that's what some of the kids could use as well.
Maybe
then they wouldn't be so angry, and vent that anger by taking it out
on their own teachers, school, and classmates--and ultimately derailing
their own academic achievement.
There's a lot to bemoan, but then there are many bright spots too.
At
the end of the day, as I straighten up before I leave the school, I always find adorable, nameless doodles that were left behind.
Who knows if there are future illustrators walking through those banging doors each day...: )