They want me to take Joshua back. (They never sent him a few weeks ago because he's too low academically...so I only got Elvis back).
His new teacher hates him, tells him he's ruining the class, tells me he's retarded and will never make any progress.
He comes to me everyday at lunch and we read, do math, or simply talk about life. Lately he's been cutting out coloring pages because I took away his scissors (he was cutting up his worksheets into confetti and screaming "Happy New Year!" in the middle of class). I made a deal with him that he could use his scissors during lunch if he was having a good day - problem solved.
I love this child.
His new teacher does not, nor does she want to put any effort in to teaching him, but I do not teach his grade, I'm already teaching 2 curriculums, and diffentiating down to his level would require TONS of effort. It would basically require making a 3rd lesson plan for each subject everyday.
And he's not supposed to be on my roster. He's supposed to be on hers. And somebody needs to make her do her job.
But he's my kid. Even though he's on her roster, he's my kid.
We had a meeting about him today. Me, my principal, and my lit coach, who sees him come in my room for the entire lunch hour everyday.
"I know you're TFA, and I'm not asking you to answer this, please don't answer this, but I know lots of TFA people leave after 2 years to pursue other things, and this is your second year. Please, if this is your last year with us, please let Joshua spend it with you. He needs to spend it with you."
I cried. I tried to hold back the tears, but I cried.
I cried because I'm exhausted. I cried because I want him but it's not the best thing for the rest of my kids...or really, for him either. I cried because the system is failing him....and me....and all of us, and because his new teacher gets paid over $70,000 and is getting away with not doing her job while I am scrambling to keep my head above water because I love these kids.
I do not know if I'm coming back next year.
I do not know if I should take Joshua back.
I know my heart wants him back.
And I know that, most of the time, I teach with my heart. But my heart is pulled in a million different directions and it can only take so much before it breaks.
6 comments:
Hi -- I've been reading your blog and I have to tell you that I'm so impressed by you and what you do. You're right that you need to do what's best for you and all your kids, including Joshua. Maybe the best thing you can do for him is to keep doing what you're doing -- giving him that extra attention and support during lunchtime. Or maybe you can work out some kind of deal where he comes to you for lessons that you might be more easily able to differentiate for him? Whatever you decide, I wish you the best of luck.
Wow girl. I'm hoping for the best for this situation.
I think I'm with R on this one... keep up the support at lunchtime, tie it to his behavior in the new teacher's classroom... but don't compromise your own classroom and sanity... we all have to have boundaries.
wow.... you are doing what no other person may be doing for Joshua, loving him. Continue what you are doing... work with him- love him- show him what he needs to be successful. He will love you forever.
Apparently, I don't have boundaries right now, because I think you should take him. If you don't, and you leave after this year, you'll never forget not taking him.
Everyday people tell me I'm crazy for doing the things I do for my kids: using my lunch to call parents, going to extensive meetings outside of school hours about kids, agreeing to meet with CFS about kids, using my prep to go to resource hour to help kids...they call me crazy, tell me I won't be able to keep up with this pace forever - and they are right. But why not do it now, before we have our own kids? Why not do it now, when I am capable and I have the energy? Even thougth I often ask myself - why are you doing this? I need to tell myself that it is for the kids, because if I don't do it, no one else will.
((((Miss G)))) oh, miss g ((((Miss G)))). I feel your pain. I want to tell you to take him; but I can't. . . its so hard to be a teacher now days.
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