The Nature of the Reward

Elizabeth O'Toole
Boltz Junior High School
Fort Collins, CO

It was very important to me as a student teacher to create a classroom environment that was welcoming and warm, respectful and inviting. I was very sensitive to the interactions between students during my first week observing the sophomore English class I was to take over. Very quickly, I noticed two young women who had effectively isolated themselves from the rest of the class. They rarely spoke to other students and did not make eye contact with or look at the teacher. Though they handed in assignments, they never volunteered in class and responded with "I don't know" or silence when called on. When I took over the class, I took the two students aside and, calling on my very best "Environment Development" strategies, asked them what they needed to be successful in my classroom. They looked at me as if I'd asked them what they wanted for dinner. They didn't know how to respond to either my abstract question or this strange and maniacally enthusiastic woman who had appeared before them not long before. When they left (with no answer to my query) I felt the first inklings of unpreparedness. Which education textbook had the answer to this situation? Despite hours of research, I couldn't find it anywhere. Uh-oh.

The two students and I developed a wary relationship. They did not interact with me, nor did they speak up in class. Tempers sometimes flared between them and other students. Though I could put out these fires, I didn't feel I'd really accomplished anything of substance. Where was the blossoming troubled student/insightful teacher relationship I'd seen on every TV show from "Little House on the Prairie" to "Welcome Back, Kotter"? I was warm! I was accessible! I was "cool" (whatever that means). I don't know why it was so important to me to make a connection. I just hated seeing them so isolated. However, I no longer held much hope for forming a relationship with these two.

One day I had the class in the library researching places that a certain chaos-wrecking character we'd been reading about could be found in their world. The two students were seated alone at a table. Rather than doing research, they'd chosen to look through clothing catalogues. Instead of immediately chastising them—my first inclination, I'll admit—I sat down with them at their table. Seeing a binder of compact disks, I asked one of them if I could look at her CD's. As I looked through the music, I noticed the girls watching me out of the corners of their eyes. Occasionally, I'd ask a question. Occasionally, they'd provide a comment. Finally, as I neared the end of the book, I encountered a couple of Tupac Shakur's rap CD's. One of the girls, a mischievous look on her face, asked, "How do you pronounce his name?" Thinking "I'm hipper than they realize," I answered, "Tupac," pronouncing the last vowel like that in "cat." They both giggled and jabbed at each other. The quickly informed me that Tupac himself has a song that makes fun of people [like me] that pronounce his name that way, i.e., incorrectly. "It's Tupac" [last syllable like "cot"], they said, elaborately prolonging the final vowel sound to ensure my understanding. Taking advantage of their good humor, I hustled them over to the computers to begin their research. One of them pulled up articles on gangster rappers, one of which highlighted Shakur in its title. "Now how do you pronounce this?" they asked. "Tupac," I answered correctly. They smiled smugly.

I didn't think much about the exchange until the next day when I discovered I had two new students in my class. They participated! They made eye contact! Most remarkably, they came in for help writing their college application essays. I was floored. My cooperating teacher couldn't believe the change in attitude.

What had I done? I tried quickly to assess the change so that I would remember it in the future. I realized I needed to give students time to come to their own conclusions about me—not to force myself on them and not to give up on them too quickly. I learned that sometimes, in order to "enfranchise" certain students, I need to find a way to connect with them at a level beyond the scope of the classroom.

Reflecting on this situation, I sit back at my computer and think, "Ah, yes." This was the first time I realized the incredible and unpredictable rewards of teaching. Those rewards are priceless—not, as promised, "monetary" at all.