Luis as a Second Language

I'd been warned about Luis.  His third grade teacher, Millie, lowered her eyelids and shook her head sadly as she handed me his “cume” records in June.  Enough said, since his reputation was already mythic, the stuff of school lore.  He had a rattail, an appendage not at odds with his general demeanor and impression.  He was thin, wiry, and hunched.  He scurried.  He reeked of cigarette smoke from a gritty home life and careless hygiene.  He was trouble – he teased and bullied, fought with adults, ran wild through the halls.  On the first day, when I called the kids to the meeting area, he refused to come.  First day, and I was ready for a showdown. I glowered at Luis.

Then I remembered my principal’s words from the opening day faculty conference the day before.  “Our parents are not keeping their best at home – they all send us their best.”

Teaching -- especially in a diverse classroom-- has always been, for me, a deeply, mutually transformative act.  What a heady honor it is, first, to be entrusted with the intellectual, creative, social, moral, personal, interpersonal and civic development of young people as individuals.  As teachers, we are charged with no less than supporting the creation of a thoughtful citizenry that believes in democratic ideals and is willing and able to participate intelligently and productively in the civic life of the nation-state.  How careful we need to be, then, in conveying the foundations of all of this as we see it and find it self-evidently truthful and universal – the intellectual values and habits, the social, cultural and political bricks and mortar that will help shape the people our students become.  With our every word and expression and interaction in the classroom, we serve as models for our students, for better or worse, consciously or unwittingly, thoughtfully or carelessly.  What a joy it is when our students leave us loving learning, celebrating themselves and respecting each other, instead of enduring, doubting and fearing.  This is the enormity of our assignment, should we choose to accept it.

Even with Luis.

This membrane through which we indoctrinate is best when there is some mutual permeability.  Children are not blank slates -- they come with interests, insights, needs, values, family, culture.  If we recognize and honor their identities, not only will they be more likely to accept willingly the huge load we hand over to them, but we can package it and tie it up to make it a better fit, an easier handle. When parents are wary of entrusting their child to an institution, a group of sometimes hostile-seeming strangers, we can have them in to help us out, to bring in a slice of home, to teach us something about their side of the wall, to begin to bring down the walls that separate home and school.  And it’s not just for their benefit. We can learn from them.  Learn about them as individuals -- about their thoughts and ideas and fears -- and as members of a group, with fully supportive customs and patterns, language and food.   Enrich our teaching and lives in the process.

And so, with my principal perched on my shoulder, her words an invitation to the better angels of my nature, I wiped the showdown expression off my face.  I explained to Luis how much I loved bringing my babies near to me as I read or taught.  I apologized for calling them babies, but explained that I am a mom, and my kids will always be my “babies.” I asked him if he might humor me, said that the students usually wound up enjoying the coziness of meeting time.  I lit our story time candle and invited him to join us when he felt ready.  He inched over imperceptibly in his chair until he was finally in the circle.  I smiled subtly, and no one complained about the chair. 

Luis was not done testing, yet, of course.  But I would take him out in the hallway, send him “I” messages, pick my battles.  I discovered and ballyhooed his creativity as a writer and his fabulous vocabulary – he described his father’s armpit (!) as “an untamed forest.”  His mother was bright and discombobulated, began to confide, girlfriend-like, in me, and made a mean flan for our Harvest Festival.  By early spring, Luis and I had fallen hard for each other.  He was still a spitfire, but he was a much more confident, sociable and engaged spitfire.  And he made each day so much richer and more fun for us all in 4-225.

When I first contemplated a sabbatical from my present position as a literacy staff developer, I knew I would want and be required to take a course of study.  Too burnt and mired in the busyness of the year, I had little idea or even interest in what that would be at first.  My current principal, nicely enough, was reluctant to see me go, and I wanted to repay her patience with something that might help the school.  We are a mighty diverse community, with almost a quarter of students speaking English as a second language – the firsts being Bengali, Spanish, Chinese, and others. Our school -- every New York City school -- is always in great need of licensed ESL teachers. 

I thought of getting my certification in Teaching English as a Second Language.  The heavens huzzahed. 

I remembered my one ESL professor at Hunter, Carmen Mercado, who taught one of our classes in Spanish for 15 minutes without prior explanation, just to have us walk the walk of our second language learners.  Who had us reading and discussing fascinating studies of teachers who’d spent time fully immersed in the communities where they taught, and learned how whole they already were, without our pedagogical noblesse oblige.  Who opened my eyes and heart to what it meant to teach and live and love in a diverse culture. I ate it all up gratefully at the time, absorbed lessons I would put to use later, without knowing quite where I’d found the impulse.

Isn’t that our dearest hope for our students?

On my sabbatical, I will be studying Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages at City College. 

Soy feliz y entusiasmado.  Y agradecido.