Finding a way forward

I approached them in the middle of class and said, “I’ve lost you.” Though there were 23 other students around us, the moment was bleak. It was an admission of self-defeat. I felt helpless.

For weeks, I’ve observed them go through the motions. Other than their joyous reunion each morning with friends, their body language tells me they have little interest in learning. While everyone snakes their way through the problems on the whiteboards, their attention wanders. They are alert but politely disengaged.

After school, a colleague asked me what I was going to do. How do I move forward with a student who has let go?

I didn’t have a good answer, but I knew I couldn’t leave them behind. Having taught them last year, the only way forward is with them.

The next day, with my colleague’s question echoing in my head, I went to the student’s friends. After class, I explained my disappointment and constructed a plea for their help in the middle of the hallway. I didn’t know what else I could do. I needed to keep this student on our moving train.

The friends promised to do their part to support me and keep the student engaged. I was humbled by their compassion. I got the feeling these students saw their teacher—the one who always had the answers—with a problem he couldn’t solve.

Finding a way forward with this student feels symbolic. Of course, the focus is on their continued learning of mathematics, but it’s also so much more. It’s about evoking a feeling that our class can be more than a daily meet-up with friends. It’s about being a senior and finding meaning at a time when there is little to be found. It’s about tending to a student and offering them the respect they have earned.

In the months ahead, I may have to abandon my hopes of repairing their relationship with my curriculum. Despite my efforts and those of their friends, their relationship with mathematics — and our relationship — may become something I’m not proud of. As winter turns into spring and graduation draws near, we may go through the motions as teacher and student.

If that is the case, I need to resist bitterness. Swept over with helplessness and self-defeat, I can still greet them warmly, ask about their day, and find ways to share a smile. I can throw support at their future plans and help them find productive ways to use class time, while we still have it. While Algebra 2 may not be a priority for them anymore, I can still save a seat for them on our train each day. I will need to find new ways to serve them that exist outside of my curriculum map and lesson plans.

This is the way forward.

bp