It's All Up to the Raffle

Some classrooms at my school have three children, others have up to eight. Our classroom has twelve children. It really is all up to the raffle.

During our curriculum sessions, some folks share stories about their students. "They never act up!" some say. "They never talk!" say others. My classroom has the opposite issue.

Again--it's all in the raffle.

So we have twelve children, each with baggage, needs for attention, and a story. This blog is going to focus on one child, Lanisha, whose name has been changed here for protection.

Lanisha sticks out in classroom 315 like a sore thumb. She's about one foot taller than me, and due to height, is the largest person in our classroom. She is a beautiful child in her own way, awkward for her own reasons like all of us are. She rarely looks people in the eyes. Sometimes Lanisha has attitude, but it isn't attitude so much as it is insecurity. She is incredibly bright, but she has never been told that before.

This week, Lanisha was consistently late to school. We have math/literacy hour in the morning, where we break into small groups to meet individual student's needs. Lanisha would come in, sit down, and immediately get to work. On Wednesday, she wandered into our classroom almost an hour late, dripping with angst. When I had her for writing class that day after lunch, she continuously put her head down, and in return, I would continuously tell her (verbally and non-verbally) to pick her head up. None of these children can afford to fall asleep in class. Literally in two seconds, when I had turned to write on the board and turned back, Lanisha was asleep. I put my arm on her shoulder and she jumped up. The entire class broke into laughter.

"Lanisha, your name is going on the board," I said. "If you continue to put your head down, you will have to stay after school. Remember-if your behavior improves, I can always erase your name."

She ended up staying after school for 15 minutes. While she didn't act up again in my class, her day's angst resurfaced in the class after mine. Here we were after school, me with the timer, Lanisha still trying to fall asleep.

With a few minutes of her 15 left, I pulled up a chair next to her. "Lanisha, what happened today? Why did you have to stay 15 minutes after class?"

"I fell asleep in your class, because I was tired."

"Why were you tired?" I asked.

"Because my dad had friends over that were botherin' me 'till 4 a.m."

I told Lanisha that if she was tired during my class, she should raise her hand so that I could have her erase the board or pass out papers to get out of her seat and help her wake up. Then I said something she had either never heard or never believed:

"Lanisha," for the first time, she looked me in the eyes. "You are so smart." Tears began to stream down her face. "It is important that you stay awake in class so that you can learn even more and help me teach the other kids." She nodded, more tears streaming down her face, and I handed her a tissue. She gathered her stuff and went home.

The next morning, she came in late again. Instead of angst, she had brought attitude to school. She acted out the entire morning, which meant she had to sit silently by herself at lunch. I have her after lunch. When my students lined up to re-enter my classroom silently, I looked away for two seconds and Lanisha was gone. She had left the school building.

To follow procedure, I had to notify my faculty advisor, who notified the principal, who notified the police department. Lanisha was missing. Her mother left work to go home and look for her. Her siblings were worried sick. And as for me, I was so sick to my stomach that I don't know how I remained calm throughout my class period.

When an hour-and-a-half had passed, the phone in my classroom rang. Lanisha was home safe. After class, several students came up to me to tell me what happened. All of their stories matched up: a few kids in class had been making fun of Lanisha for the holes in her pants. Their words were so hurtful that Lanisha had been crying on the way to my class after lunch. That is what stung the most: she didn't leave school because she was mad and defiant. She left school because she was humiliated and didn't feel safe.

I wasn't sure I would ever see Lanisha again. But halfway through math/literacy hour on Friday, she came into class. I greeted her and said, "I'm so happy that you are here." I had made everyone writing folders for our class this week, and on Thursday I wrote each student a note on a post-it that they would see when they first opened their folder. Lanisha's said, "I really missed you in class today. Can we talk during writer's workshop?"

We talked in the hallway. "Lanisha, I missed you so much yesterday," I said, "and it's not just that I missed you. I was worried sick about you. What happened?"

"They were makin' fun the way back from lunch 'cause I had holes in my pants," she said.

"Did that hurt your feelings?" I asked. She nodded "yes". "I know that I have to be strict in class to make sure everyone learns, but I hope you know how much I really care about you, Lanisha. You are one of our smartest students, and class just wasn't the same without you." She began to cry. "I hope you know that I would never let that happen to you in my class. And if anything goes on outside of the classroom, whether it is at home or at school, that you need to talk about, please know you can come to me."

Lanisha was crying hard at this point, so I handed her a tissue. "So what are you going to do if this happens again?"

She looked straight into my eyes, tears still coming out of hers, and said, "I will come to you, Ms. Block, because you actually care about me." We waited a couple of seconds for her to collect herself, and then we re-entered the classroom.

On Friday afternoons, the two other teachers in my classroom and I draw a raffle ticket out of the basket for a prize. Students earn their raffle tickets with good behavior. This time, it was my turn to choose the raffle ticket...

"And the winner is...." I said, the classroom bursting with excitement, "Lanisha!"

I had drawn Lanisha's ticket. For a second, the class was silent. Then everyone jumped out of their chairs cheering for her. "Lanisha! You got it, girl!" Lanisha stoically rose from her chair, posing for the gun show. We handed her her prize bag, and she peeked in, careful to not expose it to the rest of the class. When the class was silent again, they lined up to go home.

Lanisha looked at me as she left the classroom, and smiled like I had never seen her smile before. It all really is up to the raffle, whether it's what students are in your class or whether they win a prize.

I couldn't be happier that Lanisha won the raffle, in both senses.