The news was difficult for my boss. I get it. It's hard to lose a teacher in the middle of a semester. It's hard to find teachers out here. I had to point out that I needed to bow out now, before it developed into an emergency. I couldn't risk the scissors jumping out of my hands again, but this time hitting a student. I couldn't risk being overtaken by a surge of pain and losing my temper all over these sweet 1st and 2nd graders. I couldn't risk my career just as it was beginning. My husband was disappointed too. This year's teaching salary was finally going to pay off my undergraduate loans. My son was disappointed; I was teaching his class and so he got the fun of being with peers AND extra mommy time. Now, he was back to his miserable "I hate school" attitude. Sorry guys, I seem to let you down whether I teach or not. Hopes that had built up crashed down around me. I love teaching. I had already created a lesson plan for the entire year ensuring all 1st and 2nd grade academic standards were met. I created a classroom management plan that Wong & Wong would be proud of. I researched what I need to do to get a teaching license, found a grad school I could afford, and enrolled. I received a glowing midterm review. I was doing this! Now, I was tempted to give up on everything. What was the point? If my body is going to get in the way... I spent a couple of weeks rolling through the emotions of another situation which had all the outer appearances of "won't" but truly was a "can't". I'm tired of feeling like a victim of my own anatomy. I love teaching. I am good at teaching. I am also good at being a student. What do I want? I want to teach. Why? I have so much to share, not just academically. I am driven to empower children to identify how they learn, to speak up when they have something to share, to stand up when injustice is being done, to show up even when they don't want to. I want to impact my son's generation so that when they look at what life has dealt them, they don't crumble and ask, "What do we do?" but rather they assess, make a plan, and tell the world "This is how we are going to get through this". How are we going to get through this? I may tire and have to rest 5 minutes for every two I spend on house chores, but my mind is sharp, and online classes are not physically demanding. I can attend grad school online. I can learn the theories and prepare the curriculum and develop my own pedagogy. I can show by example that taking a step back for health is a wise choice and does not signify "giving up". Even if I am restricted from the classroom at this time, I can teach my children that circumstances can be overcome, and we shouldn't shrink from our goals just because they are hard or we can't see how they might work out. Every person has the capability and responsibility to make a positive impact on the people and world around them. My body may limit me, but my mind and my choices define me. The more I accomplish despite my limitations, the more I can be an example and encouragement for others.

Bringing Ben into Class I could see the boy was floating. "Benji, come join the class. We are reading right now." "NO!!!" he whined and continued bashing the blocks into each other and his desk. "Benji doesn't have to do what we do," a student offered. "Why not?" I enquired. "He's just different so he gets to just play." Benji showed no signs of understanding where he was- but I would hazard that he knew exactly what expectation had been set up to this point. I spoke to the special education director for the rural school where my combined first and second grade class yielded a total of thirteen students. "The previous two teachers of this class believed special education wasn't their responsibility. We are a small district. You have two students who cannot read, another with a hearing device, but Benji is the only one with special services. He will be pulled out several times a day for special services, but otherwise here are his accommodations. He has no modifications. He is expected to learn what every other student is learning, just with lower expectations for amount of proof/practice. You really should be making accommodations for all your students based on their learning needs." Boom. A fifteen-minute conversation confirmed my suspicions. When you live in the boonies, "regular" teachers are the "special ed" teachers; and Benji would need to be brought into the class. Sure, his body was present, but his mind was obviously not engaged in the room. Where he was seemed to be of no consequence to how he behaved. "Benji's actually stupid!" The student's emphatic statement wasn't made maliciously. "Why do you say that?" I asked. "He doesn't know nothing! He's stupid!" It took a moment to crystallize the thought and another to decide how to word it. "Class, Benji is just as smart as every one of you. The difference is, each of you have been treated like you are smart. Do you agree?" Twelve little heads nodded. "Benji hasn't been treated like he was smart, and so now no one seems to think he's smart...Including him. From now on, we are all going to treat him like he is smart. First, his dad wants us to call him Benjamin, or Ben. No more Benji, no more baby talk." It took a couple of days, but the class made the adjustment. I wouldn't say that Ben responded so much as reacted to the classroom changes in the next week or two. I knew that several habits needed to be broken immediately in order to bring Ben into the room with us. First, no toys, no computer time, and no whining. Ben was accustomed to disrupting the class, spending hours on end playing computer games, and crying when he didn't get his way. While I understood his father's request that no "baby talk" was used with him, I also understood the effectiveness of “caveman talk” on an over-stimulated limbic system. In order for him to see us, Ben needed to know that he was seen- and held accountable. "Want Chromebook!!!" He wailed as we started reading. "Ben. All done. No Cry." I said firmly. "But Want Chromebook!" he wailed again through tears the size of corn kernels. "Reading now. No fuss. It's time to read." It wasn't long until a simple "All done." was sufficient for Ben to know that his tantrum was not acceptable. By my sixth week in the class, Ben's scores were on par with other students of his grade in the subjects of math, listening comprehension, science, and social studies. Ben now would greet me as he arrived at school and say goodbye as he left. He could now correctly answer questions in class when provided with two options for answers. With only three weeks until Summer Break, I knew that Ben was on the right track, but I was concerned for what back-sliding might occur over the summer. The new school year started in August. I had spent the summer developing a curriculum, preparing the classroom, and strategizing how to meet the various needs of my students. My (now) second graders were behind in nearly all subjects. I had two second graders on level for reading and half of my incoming first graders were at level. Ben bounced right in the first week, "Good Morning, Mrs. Sanders!" His speech had improved over the summer. I was ecstatic that the routines and expectations I had put in place in my nine weeks with the class the previous spring had remained engrained into his and his classmates' memories. We were off to a great start. Within a couple of weeks, Ben would ask questions in class. "Mrs. Sanders Mad?!" was a common one. "Everyone Quiet! Mrs. Sanders Mad!" It wasn't anger on my face, merely the stern visage of a primary teacher navigating twelve willful and undisciplined students through an admittedly boring lesson. I would expect only an exceptional second grader to decipher the nuance between "stern" and "angry". As it was, I was impressed with Ben's ability to not only see my expression, but to assign value, infer the cause, and use his own voice to affect and persuade the behaviors of his classmates. Is this not the definition of what Professor Harold Bloom meant by "I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence." In pondering this very recent and very personal experience in teaching, it became quite clear that the task of bringing students to awareness of themselves and how they can impact the world around them rests monumentally on first, letting students know they are seen, second, showing students they are valued and capable, and third, holding students to a consistent standard of behavior regardless of perceived intelligence or ability. What makes me passionate about teaching (special education or otherwise) is that the students are what make education special. The students offer their class and their teachers the most precious commodity on Earth- themselves. The rewards that are to be had seeing students grow make every tough day, annoying habit, and piece of red tape worth the struggle. The joy of seeing students make connections, gain confidence, understand their worth, and share their opinions is motivation enough to keep showing up, keep working hard, and keep fighting to make every student know they are seen. What greater privilege than to be present to see how kindness can ripple from one person to many? What greater confirmation of time well spent than witnessing students present the best of themselves and bring out the best in others?

Through childhood and up until recently, my worth was tied to my usefulness. I was taught that if I were mistreated, it must somehow be my fault. I bore the pain of other people's wounds- passed from generation on down. I caught myself inadvertently continuing the cycle- so I chose to break it. Two words resonate in my head as I develop my classroom pedagogy- What If? What if I could teach young children what I wished I had known sooner? What if I could infuse each lesson with a methodology on how to show respect and command respect? What if my students could trust that their value in my classroom was based on their existence- not their performance. What if I had an entire hour a day; if every teacher had an hour a day; to teach students the privilege and responsibility that comes from existing as a human. I could then take the tenets from that dedicated class and create a construct through which students could practice in every other subject. Imagine a generation of humans who understand their intrinsic worth, respect the worth of others, and easily navigate what is and is Not theirs to own. Imagine if every student was taught how they impact their peers. Imagine every child knowing from an early age that their voice matters and they deserve to be seen and heard. Imagine young people empowered with the confidence to advocate for themselves in a respectful and effective manner. We would teach that human connection is essential for us to thrive as individuals. We could teach not just what we should do, but HOW to do it. Instead of the offhanded "don't be rude" of today's classrooms we would teach "this is how you choose kindness when someone else is unkind." Instead of "keep your hands off of each other" we would teach "these are the consequences of violating the space and bodies of other beings". Instead of students getting the message that they deserve mistreatment, we send the message "No one deserves to be mistreated, abused, disrespected. The pain of others is not a reflection of your worth." Can you imagine what the world would look like then? Can you imagine the acceptance of self and others? Can you imagine the reduction in mother-wounds and father-wounds? Can you imagine the culture shift to building one another up? Can you imagine the connections students will be able to make with prior and future generations, thus preserving valuable skills, healing generational trauma, and reconnecting what has been lost in the age of technology? For some, school is the only place where children feel seen and important. One class could give students hope, direction, and life tools. One class could shift focus from intangible false narratives to deep, truthful human connection. One class could teach a generation how to stop violence in schools and in the greater world. Students would know how to connect, respect, and affect through kindness, compassion, and self-confidence.