Peace, mutual respect, discipline, manners, kindness, courtesy, and order, mean a lot to me.
I worked hard to maintain order in my classroom, when I was a teacher at Patricia Roberts Harris Educational Center, in far SE Washington, DC.
I was happy to be teaching in my own neighborhood, and the area in which I'd grown up and attended elementary, and junior high school.
I wanted to change the negative narrative, feel safe and secure, and I wanted the same for my students.
If they felt safe nowhere else, I wanted them to know that in my classroom, I had their backs.
Bullies wouldn't be tolerated.
I wouldn't turn a deaf ear to their problems-- no matter how silly they seemed.
I was there to help, not to hurt.
I, also, would not put up with foolishness of any kind, and I made that perfectly clear.
I detest arguments and fighting. Maybe it wasn't realistic, but I was determined to have peaceful days, in an environment where the maximum amount of learning could take place.
Classroom decorum and management was critical. All that you learn in chaos, is that chaos impedes learning.
I firmly believe that a classroom can be filled with the most expensive, state-of-the-art equipment that money can buy, and be facilitated by the most educated instructor, but without order, positive learning cannot and will not take place.
I firmly believe that a classroom can be filled with the most expensive, state-of-the-art equipment that money can buy, and be facilitated by the most educated instructor, but without order, positive learning cannot and will not take place.
There were many days when some disruptive little darling made me wonder if, when deciding to be a teacher, I had literally bumped my head.
There were days when reasoning with a child did little good, and the only alternative was to remove a child from the room.
Stubborn children, who were laboring under the misapprehension that they were in charge, and could do and say whatever they pleased, got on my every available nerve.
All I could draw upon was how I was raised, and what was expected of me as a student. Had I done or said what some of my students did and said, I wouldn't be alive to type this blog entry.
Disrespectful, rude little children who were determined to waste valuable time, and hinder other children from learning, made me positively livid. Repeat offenders drained every ounce of my patience--especially when I learned that their behavior wasn't new, or exclusive to my classroom.
On those days, all I wanted to see was the back of the rude little kid's head, as they left the building with their parents--and their parents would be carrying suspension or expulsion papers.
On those days, when compassion refused to kick in, I was very glad that one Mr. William Brockenberry, Jr. was sitting at his desk at the top of the stairs.
On those days, when compassion refused to kick in, I was very glad that one Mr. William Brockenberry, Jr. was sitting at his desk at the top of the stairs.
I wouldn't even have to say a word.
"Don't worry about it Ms. Williams. I got 'em", he'd say.
He DID have them. To them, he was a giant, and when they came back, they had a brand new attitude, and even a sincere apology to me and their classmates.
Mr. Brockenberry was so much more than a security guard.
He was a coach, mentor, and friend to the children, in the manner that friendship with children counts.
He wasted no time chastening them if they needed it.
Many things he did, on his own time and dime, to help students and their families, will never be known. He didn't have to demand respect, because he gave it.
Many often complained that he seemed to have better control over the children than others did. Many wondered how it was that the kids would comply to his wishes, when everything else failed.
He wasn't playing with them; he was a father figure, but he did show them that he could laugh and have fun.
When they needed an encouraging word, he gave it with the same intensity as he did when they needed their behavior checked.
The kids wanted his approval and they listened to him.
It had nothing to do with his size. Yes, he was a big guy--a towering 6 feet 5, give or take an inch, and his voice would stop hallway runners and class skippers in their tracks, but his stature didn't hide his big heart.
He cared for the children. He called them "My kids".
He wanted them to succeed. He gave of his time, energy and personal resources. His no-nonsense approach, meant that I could go back downstairs and do what I was there to do-- teach.
He would create opportunities for the children to display their talents. When the auditorium's sound system failed to work, he'd bring his own, stand at the edge of the stage, and run it himself if he had to. There were fashion shows, and talent shows, field trips, sports practices and games to play--and he was right there-- often long after everyone else was gone--working with the children, indoors and out.
He was still a relatively young man---only 45 years old---but he filled his life with service to his family and others.
I'm praying for the comfort of his loved ones, and applauding his efforts, sacrifice, commitment, and sincere concern for children. Some people merely say, "Children First". Mr. Brockenberry believed and demonstrated it.
The school is closed now, and many of the children I knew and taught are all grown up--some with children of their own--but we know, "Once a Falcon, Always a Falcon".
The school is closed now, and many of the children I knew and taught are all grown up--some with children of their own--but we know, "Once a Falcon, Always a Falcon".
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