You Can
Teaching is who I am
what I have always been
maybe it’s just my destiny.
Drawn to kids who don’t fit their skin,
haven’t found their voice,
think they don’t have a choice
can’t see life beyond today.
Prickly babes, Seasoned survivors
they mutter mysterious mumblings, sulk behind shadowed lids.
School is not their friend,
I will be a good whisperer to them.
My class a conglomerate of misfits,
looking forward to reigning supreme in my domain,
looking furtively for the hidey holes in this new terrain,
wanting only to be invisible again,
an oasis of pain.
Slouching in his seat,
tappity-tap-tap-tap, tappity-tap-tapptiy
pencil drums his desk.
Long legs stretch out in front
tappity-tap-tap-tap, tappity-tap-tapptiy
shoes, laces dangling, gently bounce.
His dark blond hair is uncombed.
He smiles easily and often.
He works hard, tries his best,
but he can’t read.
Shame peeks from his eyes.
I keep whispering
Dreaded Sustained silent reading.
Some eyes gobble up words,
Books magnetically pull them in.
Creative avoiders suffer.
They can’t find their book, finished their book,
don’t have a book, lost their book, need a book.
I try all my teacher tricks.
I’m plagued by motorcycles, fast cars and football.
He wears his shame cloaked in belligerence.
I keep whispering.
An idea….
Infectious enthusiasm for an
Extreme camping adventure.
Low expectations but nothing to lose.
Let the experiment begin.
A book, a chair, and some headphones.
Miraculous trash.
A day to celebrate.
No more cajoling.
You CAN read!
Whisper, shout, whisper.
I will keep whispering.
No comments:
Post a Comment