A different kind of Joy

I got a new student while I was out on maternity leave. Her name is spelled with an apostrophe and the substitute told me she'd be a "piece of work." All the kids tell me, "Just wait until you meet her." I tried to prepare myself, but nothing could prepare me for the minute I met this little girl.

She's a tiny African American child with purple glasses and a smile as big as her entire face. Her hair is scraggly and sticks out everywhere. Her pants are too short. Her shoes have holes in them. Her desk has been placed directly next to mine, while the other kids sit in clean, organized groups.

She opens her pencil box. It's full of dirt, trash, two inch pencils, and dried out markers. While I truly have the sweetest class in the school, the kids know Joi's different. They are cordial to her but would never pick her for a game, project, or to play with at recess.

I introduce myself in my teacher voice. "Hi. You must be new. I'm Mrs. Knowles, and I'm going to be your teacher. I'm so glad you're in my class."

She looks at me, smiles, and replies, "I love you Mrs. Knowles." Her speech is so unclear that it sounds like she's deaf. I truly can't understand her.

As I watch her throughout the day, I realize she can't read. She's in the 4th grade and can only recognize letters and some sight words. This frustrates me beyond belief. While she does have a disabiliy, I feel like the system has failed her. Why can't this little girl read while her peers are analyzing advanced text? Better yet, how can I teach her when I have 22 other students not remotely close to her? Why do they "dump" her in my room, when she is unable to do anything close to what we're doing?

As I teach, during the first week I'm back, I notice she's drawing on her whiteboard, coloring pictures, and "pretend reading" a book about butterflies with "cool pictures."

I get so upset, because I'm stopping my class every few minutes to find something for her to do or tell her to stop doing something else.

I talked to Will about how much this disrupts my class and how I wish she wasn't in there, especially come TCAP time. And I prayed about her since that was all I knew to do.

At lunch the next day, I asked her where she lives. She lives in a hotel with her mom. She said quietly,"I used to live with my Nana, but she died." I began to realize...maybe this year wasn't going to be about bringing her to a 4th grade reading level and teaching fractions. Maybe this year would be about loving this little girl with purple glasses fiercely and doing it with joy.

Instead of leaving her in the corner to do independent work all day, I've been working with her even if it inconveniences me. Even if I know she won't pass the test that my country judges my effectiveness on, I still know her need of love is greater than anything else. While school is for educating, I am reminded that I am not simply a teacher. But I am a mother, caregiver, provider, and lover. Yes, I will continue to work on word study, reading comprehension, and math. But I won't get frustrated with the little girl who still smiles when she's completely lost. I'll take a breath, and congratulate her on what she did do right.

I pray I make a difference in this little girl's life. My test scores won't show that. My colleagues won't see that. But if this girl feels valued and truly loved, then I've done my job.