Jerome
From the desk of Karen…
“When I think back to our anchor classroom and others like it, it’s this same kind of spirit that permeates the very air. Children seem to breathe in, “I/We can do this” and breathe out, “Here’s how.” They see themselves and each other as kids with purpose; they see themselves as the kind of kids who can figure things out. These children sense that they have the capacity to roll up their sleeves, take action, and get things done. And wouldn’t you know – the teacher sees herself, and them, that way, too? We see it in their faces. We witness it in their actions, their work, and their words. Peter Johnston (2004) might say that these children have developed a sense of “agency.”
Teaching With Intention, Debbie Miller, p. 46
As I read Miller’s words above, Jerome’s story rolled through my head. Jerome came to my southern, 5th-grade classroom from New York City. The last school listed on his record had burned to the ground. The names of schools he’d attended filled both sides of an index card. Yet, despite his 10 years, Jerome could not read. His grandmother brought him to the south to get a fresh start.
After listening to Jerome read, I assessed his level to be that of a first grader. I sighed when I came face to face with his failure to read. I felt bad for him. He would be a group of one. Felt bad for me. How was I going to take on a student who couldn’t read? Felt bad for the rest of the kids. It was the mid October, the schedule finally running smoothly, the students grouped, and now this. Would I steal the time from them?
I looked at Jerome: head down, eyes diverted, aware of his failure. I remembered the index card and tried to picture all he must have been through. From evidence both real and imagined, I could see this child was in need. It wasn’t about me. This was about Jerome.
I decided to teach him to read by having him write. Turns out, he loved jokes. So, I asked him to write a joke down every day. When he was out of the room, I appealed to my class to give Jerome their support. The last few minutes of class, he read to all of us. Of course, being kids, armed with reason and explanation, they did every thing in their power to make Jerome feel welcome.
Jerome progressed. He read jokes, shared jokes, and wrote the best ones in his notebook. The technology teacher showed Jerome how to type the jokes into a real book. Every afternoon, he read a joke, haltingly at first. He really did make us laugh. It made for fine endings to often-hectic days. Soon, his reading became more fluent. Later, he selected harder books to read.
And then came that day in April.
I heard a knock. Surprised, I meandered through the kids’ desks teaching on my way to the door. There, in the hallway, stood an older woman. All I remember about her now is that she was wearing a long brown coat and hat and her eyes were slightly turned down. She asked quietly if I was Mrs. Haag. When I said I was, she took my hand and looked up. “I came down here,” she said, “to meet the teacher who taught my grandson to read. Thank you.”
But, reflecting now, I realize I didn’t “teach” Jerome to read. I gave him time to recover and grow: he chose his topic (in this case, the jokes), others responded, and he belonged to a community. We all worked on different projects; his was one of many. I don’t think he felt singled out.
Jerome saw himself as a kid with a purpose. He breathed in, “I can do this” and breathed out, “Here’s how.” I saw it in his face, his words, and his actions. I believe Jerome had a sense of agency – that he could roll up his sleeves and get things done – as Peter Johnston teaches and Debbie Miller reminds us.
Karen Haag is is a teacher, a researcher, and a coach. She is the owner of LikeToWrite. She maintains 3 websites: www.facebook.com/LikeToWrite, www.liketoread.com, and www.liketowrite.com and is co-author of Thinking Out Loud on Paper (Heinemann, 2008). Karen would love to hear your comments.