The day that makes all the rest worthwhile

[Editor’s Note: Brianna Mitchell is a pseudonym for a Brooklyn special ed math teacher in District 75.]

I looked AJ in the face and smiled as I put the graded test face down on his desk, noticing the vulnerable look in his eyes for the first time since I met him last year when he walked into my math class. I felt this test would determine whether this student with emotional disturbances would ever do work again.

AJ, who is 18, was the student that all teachers dread. He had lost faith in himself a long time ago and had been told so many times what he couldn’t do; he stopped trying to do anything. As I passed out the other students’ tests, I watched AJ bite on his bottom lip and tap his fingers on the desk, while he nervously eyed his test paper. I couldn’t even imagine how much he had put on the line for this test; he had actually tried.

I had spent the whole week working with him on his multiplication tables and teaching him how to use them to solve the algebraic equations the test would cover, so I knew how hard he had tried. I was the one who sat with him day after day in class, going over each problem time and time again until he understood the problem, drawing his attention back when he would get distracted, even giving up my prep period to work with him on the material.

It was worth it though. Little by little I could see him making progress, and with every step he would get right, I could almost see his confidence growing like the smile that was beginning to appear on his face.

In fact, half way through the week I was amazed when he came walking in first period to show me the homework, yes homework, that he had done the night before and got right. It amazed me how big a difference it had made that I’d just sat there as support while he did the problems.

I glanced back at AJ, whose fingers were now drumming on the desk next to the test he was waiting to turn over. I knew how he felt. It was the same way I felt when I sat down to grade his test. I remembered taking a deep breath and thinking how this test was one of those life-turning moments. If he passed the test, it would be easy to encourage him to continue doing work; he would see the payoff and see that he could do it.

After I put the last student’s test face down on his desk, I calmly walked to the front of the class, and with my eyes glued to AJ told the students to turn over their papers. I slowly began hearing the students’ comments of “oh man,” and “yes!” filling the room, yet AJ had yet to turn over his paper. He looked up at me, and I smiled and nodded some encouragement his way, watching as he slowly turned the paper over.

He looked stunned for a moment, and then a huge smile began to creep across his face as the 93 that was on top of his paper sank in. I didn’t think I could smile anymore as I handed out the students’ school portfolios so they could file their tests. When I was done handing them out, AJ raised his hands and called me over to his desk. When I walked over and leaned down, he opened his portfolio, put his paper in, and whispered, “Ms., it isn’t empty anymore.”

This day is the day that makes me forget all the bad days, and forget the problems with the administration. When AJ told me that his portfolio wasn’t empty anymore, and seeing the look of accomplishment on his face, I knew I was doing what I needed to be doing and I realized that all it takes is a little bit of effort on my part to be that teacher who mattered.

 Print