Educating Esmé (3 page)

I put up another bulletin board that said, “Solving Conflicts: 1. Tell person what you didn't like. 2. Tell person how it made you feel. 3. Tell person what you want in the future. 4. Person responds with what they can do. Congratulations! You are a Confident Conflict Conqueror!” I didn't make this up. I learned it from a Jewish guy my age I observed teaching at a Good News Christian private school. We are going to have
conflict resolution meetings every Friday, to be mediated eventually by the kids. I also put up a smiley-faced mobile of “Kind Words.”

The third bulletin board I made was a cutout of King Kong on top of an aluminum-foil Empire State Building, with the caption “King Kong Says Reach for the Top!” and on the floors of the Empire State it says, “Listen,” “Think,” Work carefully,” and “Check your work.” I left space to hang their best papers.

I made a “clothesline” with four articles of fake clothing made of poster board covered with ribbons and sequins and stuff, hung on a rope with clothespins. Each article of clothing has a pocket in back that holds either a fun puzzle or artwork activity or an at-your-desk game. Across the clothes is written “If . . . you . . . finish . . . early.”

There is a spelling center with spelling games, a typewriter, an electric wiggle pen, a box of cornmeal and sponge letters with tempera paint for kids to practice their spelling words. There is also an art center with bins of new, juicy markers, craft books and real art books with pictures of naked people (isn't it nice to have books where the penises and breasts are
already drawn in!), and goodies such as glitter, old wrapping paper, colored glues.

My
pièce de résistance
is my 3D papier mâché poster with five multiethnic kids' heads sticking out that says, “Welcome to Cool School.” One of the kids is wearing a real pair of purple sunglasses. I like the girl with steel-wool red hair. I had to make the kids' heads out of wire first. It took a lot of work to make, but it is gorgeous, if I do say so myself. If I was a kid and saw this, I would just die.

The older teachers shook their heads and told me my room looked overstimulating, which means they are totally jealous because I have the most insanely beautiful classroom ever, of all time. Oh, God! I have beautiful portraits of explorers over the chalkboard, the cloakroom has a cutout panorama of an international open-air market, and there's a learning center with flags of all nations. I'm sorry, this room is so fun it's sickening. I feel sorry for any kid who is not in this room.

S
O, FIRST DAY
.
As they entered, they each took a numbered apple off of the bulletin board and matched it
to the numbered apples taped to the desks. This is how they were seated temporarily. I passed out my list of necessary supplies, in English and Spanish. Of the thirty kids, all were black except for about five Mexican kids and one girl who is from Pakistan and one from the Philippines. Then I looked them over and thought,
This is my destiny, to have this group of children before me. As they were growing, aging to be fifth graders, I was training, and now we meet, in this unique place and time.
The moment felt holy.

I gave them my speech about how mean I was and how I've taught football players and cowboys and dinosaurs and Martians, so a few fifth graders aren't
too
challenging, but I need the money, so I'd give it a shot. I told them that they were going to work harder than they ever have in their whole lives, so if they want extra credit, they should get a head start on sweating. I told them if they didn't have their supplies by Monday, they already will have earned a check on their report card for preparedness. I showed them my one Golden Rule: “Treat others the way you would like to be treated,” written out in gold glitter.

Then I gave them red and white paper and showed
them how to make a little book that looks like a window. Inside they each wrote and illustrated a little composition, “Old School, New School,” about how they liked where they came from and how they felt coming here. Then I hung their work on the big red schoolhouse cutout on the bulletin board, so now the school had little windows you could open and read.

Here are two of my favorites:

“I was so scare I hide under the bed [drawing of two eyes under the bed]. And then I meet nice teacher [drawing of me with curly hair and pearls, smiling ear to ear—after all the trouble I went to to be nasty!].”

“My name is Samantha. And I like my old school because I liked old teachers from 0-4. When I first started school she was mean. But then when I got to know she was nice. And all the other teacher I thought was mean. But once got to know them they were nice. And now I's the New School with a new teacher. And she says she's the meanest teacher in the west but I know she's not. I think just saying that to make us good, kind.”

I took a cassette-recorded sample of each of the children's oral reading abilities. Some of them don't have a real grasp of phonetics. They can't really comprehend what they're reading because they are preoccupied with guessing the sound each letter is supposed to make. It was sometimes painful to see these big kids struggling, reading from books they chose, books they felt good about. So I told them we are making an alphabet museum . . . for the kindergartners. Each day the kids are assigned a letter, and the following day they bring in interesting things they find beginning with that letter. Then we go through each letter as the children present their items. We go through the sounds, “rehearsing” for the little kids. We are learning an alphabet song by Carole King, “Alligators All Around,” which they are going to present. We are going to make displays for each letter on twenty-six desks, using the stuff the kids bring in. A kid will be behind each desk, and two kids will greet the children at the door, and two kids will be reading ABC books to visitors who finish viewing the displays, so everyone
will have a job. The best part is, my fifth graders are getting their needed alphabet practice without having to feel ashamed. After all, it's not their fault.

Vanessa, who can barely read or write, really likes learning the sign-language alphabet. She is very proud that she can spell her name with it. I told her she could teach the deaf someday.

I set up a classroom library. We don't use the reading textbook. What for? Grown-ups don't read textbooks unless they're forced. I told them we could read real books so long as they don't steal any. I make a big show of counting the books at the end of the day. The kids sigh audibly when they're all there. They look beautiful, like a bookstore, facing out in a big wooden display my uncle made for me. Plus, it covers the bullet-riddled window that never was repaired.

We don't call the subjects the old-fashioned names in Room 211. Math is “Puzzling,” science is “Mad Scientist Time,” social studies is “T.T.W.E.,” which stands for “Time Travel and World Exploring,” language arts
is “Art of Language,” and reading is “Free Reading Time.” I did this because I figured kids at this age come to me with preconceived notions of what they are good at. This way, a kid who thinks she's no good in math might turn out to be good at Puzzling, and so on.

In the morning, three things happen religiously. I say good morning, real chipper, to every single child and make sure they say good morning back. Then I collect “troubles” in a “Trouble Basket,” a big green basket into which the children pantomime unburdening their home worries so they can concentrate on school. Sometimes a kid has no troubles. Sometimes a kid piles it in, and I in turn pantomime bearing the burden. This way, too, I can see what disposition the child is in when he or she enters. Finally, before they can come in, they must give me a word, which I print on a piece of tagboard and they keep in an envelope. It can be any word, but preferably one that they heard and don't really know or one that is personally meaningful. A lot of times the kids ask for
Mississippi
, just to make me spell it. We go over the words when we do our private reading conferences. I learned this from
reading
Teacher
by Sylvia Ashton-Warner, who taught underprivileged Maori children in New Zealand. She says language should be an organic experience. I love her approach.

It takes a long time to get in the door this way, but by the time we are in, I know every kid has had and given a kind greeting, has had an opportunity to learn something, and has tried to leave his or her worries on the doorstep. Some kids from other classrooms sneak into our line to use the Trouble Basket or to get a word card.

Then the national anthem blares over the intercom. The kids sing with more gusto now that we shout “Play ball!” at the end. We do Puzzling until 10:30, then we alternate Mad Sciencing with T.T.W.E., lunch, reading aloud, Free Reading and journaling, and Art of Language.

At the end of the day, as the kids exit, they fill in the blanks as I call out, “See you in the ________ [morning!].” “Watch out for the _________ [cars!].” “Don't say _________ [shut up!].” “I love _________ [you!].” This is a game I played with my father at bedtime growing up. It gives the day a nice closure.

W
E HAD OUR
first conflict resolution meeting. I explained that I would mediate only the first two meetings, then it was their time, and that I would not interfere unless there was an emergency. I explained some ground rules: Only the mediators and people involved in the conflict could speak. The rest were there for support. We do not argue about what happened in the past but discuss what we desire for the future. We will follow the steps on the bulletin board. After conflicts are resolved, we will go around and give affirmations, that is, say something nice we noticed about each other. Ozzie raised his hand to have a conflict resolved with Ashworth.

“What happened that you didn't like?”

“He . . .”

“No, we're not telling on people. Tell him, ‘I didn't like it when you . . .”

Ozzie nodded. “Ashworth, I didn't like it when you tried to kiss me.”

Laughter. I tried to model composure. The class collected itself.

“And how did this make you feel?”

“It made me feel gay.”

Off to a running start.

After lunch each day I read aloud to them. We push the desks out of the way, pull down the shades, and turn off all the lights, except for an antique Victorian desk lamp I have. It is a very cozy time.

I was reading them
The Hundred Dresses
by Eleanor Estes, about a Polish immigrant girl who is so poor that she wears the same dress to school every day but insists that she has a hundred dresses lined up in her closet. The girls tease her mercilessly until she moves away. Her antagonists discover that she really did have a hundred dresses . . . a hundred beautiful
drawings
of dresses. Oh, God, it took everything not to cry when I closed the book! I especially like that the story is told from the teaser's point of view.

Well, everything was quiet at the end, but then Ash-worth asked if he could whisper something in my ear. He whispered, “I have to tell the class something,” and
discreetly showed me that he was missing half of a finger. It was a very macabre moment, but I didn't flinch.

I faced him toward the class and put my hands on his shoulders. He was trembling terribly. “Ashworth has something personal to share with you. I hope you will keep in mind
The Hundred Dresses
when he tells you.”

“I . . . I only have nine and a half fingers,” he choked. “Please don't tease me about it.” He held up his hands.

The class hummed, impressed, then was silent as Ashworth shifted on his feet. Finally, Billy called out, “I'll kick the ass of anyone who makes fun of you!”

“Yeah, me too!” said Kirk.

“Yeah, Ash! You just tell us if anyone from another class messes with you, we'll beat their ass up and down!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah! The class became united in the spirit of ass-kicking. Ashworth sighed and smiled at me. The power of literature!

New girl, Esther, from Haiti. Dark, eyes darting, frightened. “She's got a record of fighting from her other school,” Ms. Coil explained. Who asked her?

“
Salut, mon amie!
” I welcomed her. Her shoulders dropped, relaxed. Her smile is beautiful and full of mischief.

T
HE KIDS LIKE
something new I made: the Thinking Cap. It's an oversized hat made of prismatic gold paper, with a long prismatic paper tree coming out about two feet off of the top. It says
THINKING CAP
in black press-on letters across the front. Kids who need more time to give a good answer use it. The kids have become very thoughtful since it's been introduced.

Shira is Filipino and speaks mostly Tagalog. Sometimes she goes into fetal position under her desk. She has four brothers, named Vincent I, Vincent II, Vincent III, and Vincent IV.

Today Shira was crying because she felt Twanette took her pen. Twanette said no, it was her pen, she got it for 10¢ at Walgreen's. The pen looked more expensive than that, so I didn't really believe it. Plus, I know those kind are sold in sets. And finally, Shira had work in her notebook in that pink ink.

After school, Shira's stepfather came in and told me that Shira complained that Twanette took Shira's menstrual pad out of the garbage in the bathroom and showed it to other girls.

Twanette also chews big wads of gum and took neon green glue she was not supposed to use and gooped up a whole table, almost ruining some expensive books.

So when I saw Twanette's mom had come to pick her up after school, I asked to talk with her. I started by telling her that Twanette has really been improving in completing her work and that I was proud of her efforts. Then I told her the rest, explaining that I hadn't actually seen the menstrual pad thing but that the father complained and we had to be extra sensitive because Shira had been in the country only a couple of months and had trouble speaking up for herself.