Appreciation

The past few months have flown by, leaving me exhausted--and to a large extent--speechless. It's amazing how so much can happen in such little time.

One year ago, I was gearing up for college graduation. My largest concerns were my David Hume final (I still don't know how I pulled that one off), and whether my graduation sash would arrive on time. Looking back, those things seem so futile.

I would say that my experience in Philadelphia, as both a teacher and a person, has given me perspective. But even that is an understatement...I'm not really sure how to describe it, but one particular parent meeting gave me more insight than should be possible in twenty minutes.

Last week was Teacher Appreciation Week, which is kind of a mixture of Valentine's Day and the 12 Days of Christmas--depending on how you look at it. Teachers were showered with kudos, cards, gifts, and food. While these gestures were nice, they merely brushed the surface. It wasn't until a CSAP meeting for a first grader that I was reminded of how important this work really is.

Shakera is a kind-hearted first grader, outgoing enough to hug me when I walk into the room, but shy enough to hide that she can't read. Her mother enrolled her in tutoring, so I have been working with her twice a week since October, to little avail. Then a month or so ago, I had her break down words and realized the root of her problem: she decodes words backwards.

Her classroom teacher and I referred her to CSAP--the Comprehensive Student Assistance Program--to ensure she was getting the extra support she needed. Even these interventions did not help much. We decided to take her to the next tier-recommending her for special education. Some might look at this as giving up, but the truth is, this is too important for pride. Shakera needs as much support as possible to ensure she does not get even farther behind.

To recommend students for special education, a meeting with the teachers, parents, school counselor and special education coordinator must take place (this is commonly referred to as the "Permission to Evaluate meeting"). Shakera's mother came in, and we discussed the interventions we have had throughout the year. After we had finished, her mother was completely silent. Then she tried to speak, but couldn't.

A few moments passed, and she said, "Shakera is me as a child. I never learned how to read. I spent my entire life feeling stupid and like a waste, and I never wanted my children to go through that..." Tears started streaming down her cheeks. "I don't know if you know this, but I'm a high school dropout. Ninth grade and I still couldn't read. I'm trying to go back for my GED now, but it's hard...My daughter in kindergarten has been helping me at home. It doesn't make Shakera feel any better."

She took a few moments to wipe her tears, then she said, "Thank you. Thank you all of you. It is so nice to hear that you love my daughter enough to help her get the gift of reading...A gift that I never got as a kid."

It might be easier to read this story than it was to be in that room, to see Shakera's mother sitting at a table of educators, representing (without choice) the system that failed her. I wish I could eloquently state how these moments expose reality, how--though seemingly small--they change and effect my life in ways I never knew was possible. But it would just come out as calculated, and merely measured for effect.

The closest I can come to this is a William B. Yates quote: "Tread softly, because you tread upon my dreams." We cannot take our paths lightly, no matter what profession we choose. We never know whose dreams may be tread upon, or simply overlooked.