It’s really difficult to narrow down a singular image that will stick with me from this tutoring experience. The experience has meant a great deal to me and I’ve learned a lot through the hours I’ve spent working with the fourth-graders. I suppose the first thing that comes to mind is my time spent with Allie, the girl I’ve worked one-on-one with the most. As I’ve documented throughout these blog posts, Allie learns differently than the other students in the class. She’s super smart, but she has a hard time focusing her attention. She loves reading books, but she is bored by math and even the online reading activities. To be forced to choose one experience… well, it should be one when Allie is at her best, when Allie is reading.

A few weeks ago, three students, including Allie, came to the back table to participate in a reading activity focused on fluency. Logan, Ms. McLaughlin, and I were all helping out. The task was for the students to read as many words of a story as they could in one minute. Initially, we three adults each worked with one student, and the kids were all timed at the same time. We soon realized this wouldn’t work. Instead of reading the story at her own speed, Allie would read a sentence here and there in tandem with her neighbor. The rest she muttered to herself. She clearly didn’t understand (or want to do) the activity. Ms. McLaughlin recognized this and Allie and I moved to a set of comfy chairs outside the classroom.

“Ok, Allie. Do you remember what we’re supposed to do?” I asked. (I don’t know why, but when I’m working with the 4th-graders, I often use “we” instead of “you.”) Allie leaned her head against the cushy side of the chair and moved her eyes to look at me. Uh oh, I thought. This is not going to go well… Although she wasn’t furiously drawing pictures of vampire princesses, talking about ghosts, or actively hitting me (all things she has done), I knew this tired Allie wasn’t going to be much easier to work with. Well, I might as well try to see what’s up with her, I thought. “Are you okay, Allie?” Again, she turned her eyes to me, sinking deeper into the chair. “I’m so tired,” she replied. I asked if she had gotten enough sleep. She sighed, I don’t think she said anything else. Was she actually tired? Or was she pretending to be tired to get out of doing this activity? I wasn’t sure. “Well, Allie, I think you’re going to like this activity because you like reading. And you’re good at it.” She sat up, putting her hands on either side of the paper. Ok, I thought, maybe she’s not so tired after all! I asked her to read the story on the paper to me for one minute, and said go. It took her a few seconds to start reading, but when she started to read I sighed a breath of relief. She was so good at this. The story had dialogue and narration and she distinguished between the different voices and types of sentences beautifully. Although I was supposed to stop her after a minute, I chose not to, realizing she probably wouldn’t understand. I made a mental note of the number of words she read in the minute to come back to after the story was over.

When she had read both sides of the paper, she stopped and looked at me. I smiled and said something like, “Allie, that was great. You sound like a real narrator! You’re so expressive and such a good reader!” She looked me in the eyes, placed her hands against each other, and pressed them to her heart. “That warms my heart… ” she gently sighed. Allie isn’t the kind of girl that says things she doesn’t mean, and I was struck by her comment. Although it came from my compliment, her reaction felt personal to me — I did something that made her happy, and that seems to be rare for Allie in the classroom.

This event showed me the influence the teacher or the older person (or MKO) has on the student. My words positively impacted Allie, but I could have just as likely not given her the praise, or said something negative, especially when she wasn’t cooperating. I gave Allie more time to do the lesson than the other students probably had. I didn’t get made at her when she was sulking. I encouraged her and I rewarded her and that led to a positive development. The theme of careful, gentle teaching is one that I have learned, but not necessarily because of Ms. McLaughlin — she has too many students to patiently sit with and encourage all of them. However, the responsibility I was given to work with students independently or in small groups let me teach the students slowly and kindly. I think this helped the students learn, or at least helped them enjoy the learning process. I do not think that slow, kind learning is possible in most public elementary (or other) schools, though. There are too many students for each teacher.

The students I worked with independently were often the students with some kind of learning disability (I’m unaware of what, exactly). Because of this, I saw the benefit of taking lots of time for the lessons and of being extra kind. However, I would guess a student like the super-smart Ben would not need this kind, slow learning environment. Yes, kind, but Ben could probably learn in a more “aggressive” environment than these other students. It makes me so sad that all these kids, who have different knowledges and curiosities and struggles are required to learn from a singular teaching method. It doesn’t work, and it doesn’t work for the kids who are already behind. Furthermore, the classroom I tutored in was predominately white, so I can imagine that a more diverse classroom would provide a more complex environment for the learning/teaching discrepancy.

The first week or two of this class, I thought I was going to be convinced to become a teacher. I don’t think so anymore. I have gained more and more respect for teachers, but I have also become more jaded about the school structure and how teachers are being required to teach.