Acknowledging Patience

Last week I learned a valuable lesson about acknowledging patience and effort in students.

I taught a lesson about the myth of Daedalus and Icarus. The class was split into groups and each group was tasked with creating a one minute skit depicting one scene of the story. Groups needed to work together to decide on two actors, two narrators, and how they would use their bodies and voices to share the story.

Every group worked together so differently. Some had themselves organized into well-oiled rehearsal machines, while others struggled to make decisions and understand each other. One particular group I noticed especially was struggling to agree and move forward in plans. One student in particular was right on the verge of bursting out in frustration. They managed to hold it together and instead came to me, stuttering and shaking because they were so frustrated with their team, desperate for help and guidance from me. I helped a little, and then tried to back off and let them figure more out by themselves.

By the time each group was ready to present, most groups were ready and did well. However, this particular group awkwardly presented a scene to the class that was difficult to understand because they all had different ideas in their heads about what the plan for acting and narrating was. At the end, I noticed the kid who had come to me frustrated early looked especially disappointed in themself and their team. The team had not presented what the student thought they were capable of, the student's ideas were unheard and overlooked, and as a result, the student had stood in place at the front of the class, unsure of what to do because the cues they were expecting for their acting never came. They had been embarrassed in front of peers. The team sat back down at their desks, and I noticed the child was shaking.

I immediately felt very guilty. As the teacher, I knew was responsible for the group's failure. I should have provided more scaffolding to bridge the gap between what they were able to individually and what they were capable of as a team. I should have guided them through the decision-making process more clearly. I shouldn't have let a child become so frustrated that they sat back down at their desk, shaking from embarrassment. In a last-ditch effort to apologize, I approached the student after class and told them I had noticed it was difficult for them to work in a group, but I was impressed by their effort to be patient and try their best even when it was very hard. I left class that day feeling very guilty for the failure I had caused the student and the social/emotional tragedy it had appeared to be for them.

The next week, I spent extra time preparing a lesson where I knew all students would be successful because team decisions were much more guided by me. As I was walking to the classroom to begin setting up for my lesson, I passed all my students on the playground. The child who had been so frustrated the week before saw me. I thought, "Oh good. This is their time to relax and prepare for what they are afraid will happen in drama class again." But to my surprise, the student did a double-take, looked at me again, and then threw the basketball back to their friends and stopped playing their game while they turned to face me. They looked straight at me, walked towards me and smiled, nervously. "Hello Mrs. Buttars" they said pleasantly. In their tone of voice and facial expression, I could tell they were very excited to see me. They almost felt a special connection to me, and they knew I valued them. I was shocked. Why would they be excited to see a teacher who set them up for failure?

That's when I realized the value in acknowledging when students try. Even though last week did not go as planned, I had acknowledged the child's effort and patience, which communicated I was proud of them, rather than disappointed. And the child had remembered.

Students may not remember every lesson, but they do remember how we as teachers make them feel.