What a 7 year old Taught Me about Showing Up

The other Friday morning I woke up counting down the hours until 3:30 when my weekend started. I was trying not to focus on the struggle of teaching during a pandemic. As the day went on, it felt like a typical Friday—overwhelming, suffocating in my mask (I wonder if I sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher), wishing I had another cup of coffee, and thinking about that neon light at the end of the tunnel. A student of mine came to class late that day. I was in the middle of teaching & was subtly trying to check in to see if he ate, practiced good hygiene that morning, was feeling ok—the usual things. No red flags came from our conversation so I kept doing my thing until there was a little break. 

I went up to him & told him I was happy he showed up today & asked where he was that morning. He said an alarm wasn’t set & they overslept that morning. I told him I was glad he came even if it was late & assumed the conversation was over. He said, “Mrs. Duwe, I came to school today because I wanted my brain & heart to keep growing.” Shocked by his comment but also really touched, I told him that was amazing & I was really proud of him. He continued to tell me that he “respectfully asserted” himself this morning. (Assertion is one of our community words that we work on all year to “help our hearts grow”—that’s how I teach building character to the kids). 

Now I was curious so I asked to tell me more. He said, “We woke up late &  I asked my mom if I could still go to school. She said yes but that my friend (who spent the night at my house) would also have to go to school. My friend was mad & I told him that his brain & heart needed to grow too & the only way to make that happen was to go to school.” I was almost speechless. Teaching in a pandemic is beyond different than anything teachers/parents/administration/kids ever expected. But this student was still excited to be here. All the re-directions throughout the day, all the arguing, all the excuses, all the struggles, all the tears he shed & he still saw the importance in showing up—even if it was showing up late—but showing up every day. 

He continued, “Sometimes you really annoy me when you challenge my brain. I don’t like sounding out words to write when you sit there looking at me, & you know how to spell them. And I hate it when you make me fix my writing. I think it’s perfect but then you always find another way to challenge my brain. That’s really annoying. But I liked when you played football at recess with us, fell, & hurt your ankle for that touchdown. I think I felt empathy for you then (we’d been working on empathy in class) & didn’t know how to feel watching you go to the nurse’s office but I also thought it was kinda funny you might miss school for a sprained ankle in school instead of COVID. I also wondered what the principal would think of a teacher being in the nurse’s office.” I laughed & showed him that my ankle was still bruised. “I also think sometimes you act crazier than us kids and I think that’s funny. You make me mad sometimes but you also make me laugh.” 

This kid—who I have had the pleasure of teaching for 29 days, been enrolled in school for less than 200 days, face to face around 100/125 days, finished Kindergarten working his butt off learning online, heard reminders from staff about crying, yelling, being in line, wearing his mask, controlling his emotions—was excited to show up for school. Not only excited but saw the value in it enough to ask to come in—late. 

Thanks to his Kindergarten teacher & all the other staff that greatly supported him, he completely understood everything all of us were trying to teach him. In 29 days, this child knows all the names of my pets, my husband, my first & middle name, how I got my first name, my favorite snack, where I grew up, my brother & his fiancé’s name, that I love true crime shows, podcasts, and books. He knows I have one blue eye & one part blue part brown eye. He knows what I had for dinner last night & breakfast that morning, & how I drink my coffee. And he knows that about other staff too! 

All the times I constantly was re-directing him but also doing everything I could to build a relationship with him. He was actually listening. He heard everything we said through his tears & through his yelling. He was always listening. 

That morning, I had counted down the hours until I could be home again. He did everything he could to rush to see me in the morning. It was a reminder to me that while all of us working hard worrying about kids’ health, safety, learning, standards, masks, and social-distancing, I had a classroom of kids that were showing up and noticing all the hard work—from all of the staff. I had laid in bed the night before cussing out Apple for not putting that little hook on the q so that when kids typed in their passwords they could easily differentiate between the p and the q. It sounds silly but it is a BIG deal with teaching technology to 7 year olds & makes my job a hell of a lot harder. Or why the capital I has to also look like a lowercase l. I seriously think “what the fuck, Apple,” multiple times a day. 

Anyways, that kid went to bed excited to be at school tomorrow even if it meant I make him re-do his work. I made a mental note to be a little bit more patient with Steve Jobs but also thought about googling a way to change the default font in several different programs. 

And after those spiraling thoughts passed, I tried to think of the good things that the pandemic brought. Masks aren’t fun, especially when I have to make a room full of kids wear them. But I remembered that it hides their loose teeth. Found my silver lining!! First grade is one long year of loose teeth—they wiggle, dangle, grind their teeth, constantly pulling on them till they bleed. I can handle a lot of disgusting things in life but I can’t handle teeth/chewing/grinding/mouth-breathing…gross. They are bones dangling from your mouth breaking off—what the hell! It’s so disgusting. 

And they’re really proud when they have a loose tooth that they constantly show it to me—every 5 seconds—yup, still loose, close your mouth please. Ok so maybe that wasn’t a great silver lining, because I still have to stop them from pulling down their masks to show me their teeth. And now that their smiles are hidden, it’s even more tempting for them to show it off—it’s been 5 minutes since Mrs. Duwe has seen my loose tooth, I should show her again! Sick….I’d have to think of another silver lining.

I thought about how that one kid feels and how maybe other kids feel that way. I guess I never really asked them. In the middle of all of this, I was checking in on all the rules & guidelines to follow that I forgot about the most important thing to me—how the kids feel. That boy went to bed Thursday night excited to learn and try his best—even if it was exhausting. Tonight, I go to bed thinking of the same thing—I wonder what he’s excited to learn tomorrow & what I can do to help his heart grow.