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No Time For Christopher

Susan F. Burns
West Lee Elementary School
Hartsville, SC

Christopher sat in the back of the room, not because I didn't want him with our group, but because he bothered the other students around him. He was more interested in playing and fighting than in learning. So, there he sat, in the back of the room in his torn shirt and a pair of pants that were too big and had to be held together with a safety pin. He was so proud the day he showed me his new shoes. They were plain, but new, and I rejoiced with him. It was such a simple thing to do, but he strutted like a peacock because his teacher liked his shoes.

I tried hard to ignore him back there, all by himself. Not him exactly, but his behavior. I would get so tired of fussing at him to sit upright. Christopher liked lying across his desk, his head hanging over the front, balancing himself with his knees in the chair and hooking his feet over the back. I wonder what he saw and what he thought about while hanging there. If Christopher wasn't hanging, he was out of his chair or asleep.

I met Christopher's mother one day in the cafeteria when she was washing dishes. She was a wordless woman with contempt in her eyes. She listened to my complaints but never commented. I asked her to send Christopher's homework back and to please listen to him read. Her expression never changed. Did she see me? Did she understand me? In days that followed, nothing happened. Homework was still not returned, nothing was studied, and stories were not practiced.

I thought maybe a partner could help Christopher. A few students reluctantly volunteered. I tried one after another, but no one wanted to work with him for long. Christopher operated on the emotional level of a three year old. He would lie on his desk; he would lie on his partner's desk. Christopher would play, cheat, or copy, but he would not work.

One morning, after struggling through small group time with Christopher and a few others like him, I found myself faced with five minutes of free time. I sent the others away and I gave that five minutes to Christopher. We worked on three spelling words. Just Christopher and me. We read them. We spelled them. We wrote them. We worked during that five minutes of my precious time.

At recess later that day, I called him over. I handed him a stick and asked him to write his spelling words in the sand. In later years, I may forget the faces and names of my students, but I will always remember the picture of Christopher, crouching before me, trying so hard to scratch three words into the sand with a stick for his teacher. One day, I gave Christopher five minutes of my time, and he gave me a perfect grade on his spelling test . . . and the resolve to give more of my time.