If I were to die tomorrow (get hit by a car as I sleepily cross the street without looking – as I’m prone to do every morning), I would want my kids and colleagues to remember that I tried.
“At least she tried.”
It’s a little sad, but I think trying goes a long way. I was chatting with a teacher friend this weekend and she said the difference between us is that maybe I care too much.
I wonder if this “care” is misplaced. I wonder if I’m just being a tiger-mom to 49 kids rather than demonstrating that I care in, feel-y ways. One comment I noticed often from some of my boys is, “Wow, she’s smiling!” or “Ms. Kim actually smiled!” Maybe I should smile more. Maybe in these little ways, I can … let my kids know that I care.
Except, what if, that’s not the reason for the barrage of all these behavioral, mental, verbal, physical outbursts? Then I guess that brings me to square one.
At least she tried.
So, I’m arming myself with a new book I bought because two kids asked for the sequel (My internal monologue: why do you assume just because you ask, I can/should get it for you? Because it’s a book? So I should just.. get it?). I’m figuring out a differentiated writing exercise for the kids who were fooling around during class time when we were supposed to be writing rough drafts, and now have nothing for our peer-edit times. I’m highlighting individual progress reports so that students can figure out what they need to work on.
At least, I’m trying.