I wanted so badly to teach them the difference between the “Long A” sound and the “Short A.” We're teaching Phonics this year, which overwhelms me as a teacher because I both love it and fear it.
– MISS MEG! SHOULD I SAY (the answer)???
– Wait, please wait your turn. I’m asking Sveta how to pronounce the word “apple,” not you.
– MISS MEG! MAY I .... Kareli durse gnal?
– Only if you say it in English, Grigor.
– MAY I .... GOWAT? (may I go out – as in, go to the bathroom)
– Yes okay. Be quick.
– Now, sound out the word “apple,” Sveta. GOHAR (my counterpart)!
– MISS MEG!
– GRIGOR!
– SVETA! APPLE!
– GOHAR!
Headache. We didn’t even get to vowel number two: The dreaded “E.”
Gohar and I used a Phonics method that really only works on older kids anyway, or kids who have a longer attention span than these little squirts had. But the lesson plan wasn’t even the problem. It was my allegiance to that lesson plan that was the issue.
I was so hung up on accomplishing my mission with this class that I rapidly began to lose my patience and get very stern anytime they distracted me or made too much noise. I was overly focused on my agenda. By the end of the lesson, I marched out of the room feeling irritated with all of them, exhausted, and guilty for not helping them distinguish between two seemingly simple sounds.
Today, after class with the same group of kids, I feel energized and confident. Why?
Peace Corps has jostled, shattered, and reformed all my priorities this year. Whenever I get irritated or feel inadequate here, I remember that my first priority is to build relationships, and another is to live in total acceptance. By giving priority to these two values I acknowledge their supreme importance and snap them back into focus whenever I begin to drift.
So my attitude change toward today’s lesson was simple. I planned to value my relationship to my students and to my counterpart more than I value discipline, total silence, or the structure of my lesson plan.
I planned to accept not only the undesirable incidents that might occur throughout the class, but also to accept my own imperfection as well.
There will be mistakes in each lesson. There will be some students who don’t get things. I have a whole year to work with these kids, and I need to be cherishing the small victories. I planned to sing a song with them, and have some fun. Kids need to move and sing and laugh and play.
Smiles were ubiquitous as we sang the “Barney Song,” and our fast-paced, fun-packed Phonics lesson left the kids wanting to learn more, to read more.
Also, I talked out an issue with my main trouble-maker dude, and told him that I loved him. I took him out of the class and said, among other things “I love you but I need you to stop giving me headaches. I know that you want to be good, so tell me how I can better meet your needs.” We shook hands afterwards and pursuant to this he behaved angelically.
Sometimes we just have to accept our inability to be superheroes, abandon rigidity, show a little love, and sing a little Barney. Maybe it’s something about the lyrics that we sing, but the Barney song can really change things.
Weekly Grape: Can I shift my focus to turn failure into fun?
