The Girl Who Doesn't Speak

P reminds me a little of Mei (or "Cho Ji" in the Cantonese version) - they are both a little on the whiny and volatile side, but sweet and pure child-like whimsy at the same time.
I can't express how thankful I am that I can continue to blog about education after this week. That I can still look forward to being in the classroom (just not THAT classroom), teaching, learning, having fun, enjoying the work that some consider to be the only profession nobler than medicine. There are definitely people out there who think I'm a loser teacher. But my cohortmates and friends have been overwhelmingly supportive and sympathetic - a couple of whom thinks I should file grievances against the university/teaching school for not advocating for me enough. I don't think I'll do it, just because I'm not the type of person to be all rampage-y like that for myself and also because I accept some of the blame. But it does tie into what I wrote about yesterday on the system on education and the education of pre-service teachers that is fundamentally not right, even if it isn't outrightly wrong.

But this entry isn't about that. It's about the joy of teaching. Yay! I can write about the joy of teaching again! Around this time last year, during phase I, I tutored a second grade girl, P, in reading for my literacy course. P is very special because, due to some tragic and traumatizing event in her young life, she has selectively chosen to be mute.

You can imagine the challenge it was for me, a greener than grass teacher, to get this kid to read when she doesn't even speak. On top of that, P missed a lot of days of school, including our tutoring days, regularly. I think I only met with her a total of five times during a twelve week semester (which meant I tutored two other students at the same time).

P loves Spongebob, particularly the squirrel. We had whiteboards and dry erase markers to write with during our tutoring sessions and she would constantly draw the characters from Spongebob on it as I read aloud to her. I never really understood what went on in her mind, because she didn't even write in conventional English. She had her own system of writing using a lot of o's, u's, m's, n's, e's, s's, and not much else so we couldn't even communicate in writing.

Anyway, today when I went into class at J.S., she apparently shot out of a classroom and ran in after me, sticking right on my back so that I didn't actually see her until I turned around fully. She had grown a good four inches since I last saw her close up a year ago, and she was just as shy as ever, hiding her face in her hands and hood. But she "talked" to me, which basically meant I asked yes or no questions and she nodded or shook her head with occasional hand gestures.

I found out that she wasn't particularly liking third grade. That she had been hanging out, outside the UTEC classroom on campus every day for awhile now, gearing up the courage to come in, I think, which she did today. She was sleepy this morning, but also felt good. And happy. She noticed I had a dry nose and had brought a box of tissues. I told her I was a sick. She touched a finger lightly to my collar bone. I looked down. She flicked her finger up at my face, careful to not poke me too hard. I laughed and repeated the joke back at her. She then proceeded to perform the same joke to all the other adults in the room that she was familiar with.

Then it was time for her to go to class. She hid behind my back, gripping the back of my shirt tentatively, gave me a hug, and ran off.

Would it be stretching it too much to take this as a sign that I'm still meant for this profession? Because I've been doubting myself, long before being withdrawn from my placement. Am I really a good teacher? Was the success I had last semester just a dream and now it's a nightmare? Would I join the statistics and become the one out of three teachers who quit after the first three years? Not even that, would I quit even before my career has even started?

Right now, I don't think so. And it took a third grade girl who doesn't speak to tell me that. I actually forgot all about her for the rest of the day because my head was so wrapped up in my own concerns. But when I pulled out my planner tonight, I saw this little sticker on the cover. It was a cartoon snake hissing out the word, "Sssuper!" I recalled that she was looking over my books and things that morning; she must have stuck the sticker on without me seeing it.

I may never see her again, since next week is our last class, but thank you P, from the bottom of my heart. You may never know how much you cheered up a teacher that only taught you for five days a full year ago. May you live a healthy and happy life.