Reading Between the Lines

Before I was a first grade teacher, I experienced several different roles in education. One of them was a paraprofessional in a kindergarten classroom. It was full of unexpected chaos, expected chaos, laughter, and tears. It was memorable. 

One year, there was a large kindergarten class with a lot of personalities. I remember one little boy that was confident but also very supportive of kids who did not have a lot of confidence. He rooted for the underdog but would also be thoroughly annoyed if the underdog did not take initiative to help themselves. He had some great boundaries at such a young age.

I got to be his teacher in first grade. He was a kid that I could trust to help other students by teaching them, and I knew he wouldn’t just give the answers. He was also a kid who could control his emotions, but not his facial expressions. Sound familiar? (I’m talking to you, JoAnn 😉)

Johnny’s face showed everything. And I loved it. I could tell if another student was being honest by pretending I didn’t see Johnny eavesdropping and watching his face when the student was telling me their version of a “recess situation.” (The Recess Chronicles can be read starting with this one). Johnny had no idea how much I relied on his facial expressions to manage my classroom. It’s a good thing he had great attendance!

The one thing I couldn’t gauge was if Johnny felt like he was an important part of our classroom community. He may not have needed to feel that way as much as I thought because he had an incredibly supportive, close family. The kids were respectful of him as he was of them. He wasn’t a hugger so he always politely declined my suggestion. He would occasionally high-five me if I asked or respectfully tell me, “No thanks.” Maybe, because I so thoroughly appreciated those facial expressions, I was the one who needed to know that he knew how much of a positive impact on the class he had.

I got the validation I needed at Christmas time. Johnny brought in a Christmas gift for me. It was the last week of school before our break and he walked in, gift bag in hand, and card. As usual, I was hoping I’d get a hug but instead, “Here you go, Mrs. Duwe. This is from me, mostly. My parents bought the chocolate but I picked it out because I know what you like. I made the card.” I thanked him so much and asked if I should open it now with him or later on. He said, “Eh, whenever,” and walked off to be with his friends. 

Johnny wasn’t rude. He was direct, matter-of-fact, and even though he showed his emotions through his facial expressions, he wasn’t the type of kid to be vulnerable with feelings. I smiled to myself and knew that his effort in the card and letting his parents know what chocolate I liked was his way of showing his appreciation and enjoyment in my class.

I didn’t get to open Johnny’s gift until the end of the school day. I even forgot which student gave me the gift until I read the card. “Mrs. Duwe, I like your style. Merry Christmas!” 

Most of the hand-made cards I get from students have the wonderful stick figures of the student and I holding hands, playing on the playground, or enjoying chips and dip together. There are usually hearts or Minecraft images drawn all over the card, too. Johnny’s card was direct and to the point: a Christmas tree with a smiling star on top and his message on the inside. “I like your style.”

In his own way, Johnny had just reassured me how much he enjoyed being in my class. Every December, I hang his card up by my desk as a reminder that kids will be honest with their feelings in their own time, and it’s just a matter of reading between the lines.