To know them is to love them: Understanding your students

One by one, the young students file into my classroom excitedly, chatting with one another. A couple of giggling girls rush in, at the last moment. They head for the front of the room and fight over the first seat. The heavier of the two wins out and the other girl sits down behind her.

"As slivers of dawn burst forth on the horizon,
I stand in the cool, wet sand."

"Class, my name is on the blackboard. I have written a couple of lines of poetry on there. I would like each one of you to come up, add another line to that poem and put your first name beside it, so I know who you are. On the way back to your seats, pick up the course outline from my desk."

I only know one student in the entire class. Freddie is a skinny young man, with a brush cut. He lives with his mom, just down the street. He looks at me as if to say, "Please, don't center me out."

I smile and nod at him. I should be counting fifteen students, but I can only count fourteen. Someone is missing.

"By the way, this is Creative Writing 101, just in case you are not in the right class."

Beth: "With one foot sinking."

A tall, slender girl adds another line to the poem. She looks like a New York fashion model, complete with huge, dark sunglasses and a silk shawl wrapped over her skimpy top. She puts her name beside her line of poetry and returns to her seat. I love her matching purse and sandals, but I am not happy about the way that she jangles her car keys.

Bob: "Help! I cry aloud, but no one hears."

That tall, well dressed, young man, with a slick Mohawk haircut, does not look like he needs help, but maybe he does. I am not certain that I like his tattoos or the huge ring in his nose. He has a black Zorrow mask, in his left, shirt pocket.

The back door opens quietly and a heavy girl with bright red and green streaks in her hair tries to sneak in, unnoticed. She takes a seat at the back of the room. The girl beside her whispers to her and she nods her head.

A hush descends over the room, as someone's cell phone begins to play the first couple of bars from a hit song. Someone laughs. I hear a young man talking quietly, but I have no idea who has the cell phone.

Cindy: :"There is only silence."

Cindy looks so stern that she could be a police officer, in spite of her red and green streaks. I realize that what I might have said, she written on the blackboard.

A short, chubby boy waddles up to the front of the room, carrying his cell phone.

"I am sorry," he says quietly. "My dad is a bush pilot and he has been missing for three days. My mom says they just found his plane."

"I am so sorry," I reply. "I hope that he is all right. Keep me posted. Use the vibrations setting on your phone. If it vibrates, go out in the hall to answer it, so it does not disturb the rest of the class. All right?"

He nods his head and heads for the blackboard.

Randy: "I still believe in hope."

"I do too," I decide, as I watch him writing on the board. He is scared. He picks up the course outline and heads back to his desk.

Suddenly, a loud crash comes from the far side of the room. A smartly dressed girl, in a blue jean outfit, hastily re-packs her belongings into her backpack. She is embarrassed by what the others have seen. I did not see what it was.

"The only things that you need on your desk are a pen and piece of paper," I state quietly and wait while everyone in the room clears their desks. "Put everything else under your seats in your backpacks, please. Oh, and write this poem down."

A heavy set young man with huge, bulging pockets moves towards the blackboard. I wonder what he has in his pockets. "Should I be concerned?" I wonder. He could be carrying anything.

Tim: "I am a gentle soul."

Amazed, I sense no cause for alarm. It is as if he has just read my mind and put me at ease by what he has just written. He pulls a water bottle out of his pocket and takes a sip. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Mindy: "A tiny hummingbird hovers overhead, momentarily."

I look to see who just wrote that. It is a very beautiful girl, with lovely long blonde hair, who is dressed in a well coordinated, burgundy outfit. I sense that she is shy. I like what she wrote and she knows it.

Franklin: "Another step and now, both feet are sinking."

I sense a cry for help, from this young man, too. He may need to see an eye specialist. He wears huge, thick glasses. He stumbles and almost falls, as he returns to his seat.

"Sorry," he says to the young man beside him.

"You ought to be!" he gets as a response, much to his dismay.

"I said I am sorry!"

Gregg: "Deeper and deeper, all the time."

This young man, badly in need of a haircut, wearing britches over his t-shirt and torn jeans, looks dirty and unkempt. He has forgotten to tie his shoelaces. He has some kind of cigars in his shirt pocket and literally reeks of something rancid.

Brittany: "I will help you."

This is carefully written by a tall, skinny girl with freckles and long pigtails. She smiles at me. "Welcome to our high school!" she whispers to me, as she bends over my desk to pick up a course outline. "I hope you enjoy teaching here. Maybe you can come over for supper sometime?"

"Thank you," I reply. "I appreciate the invitation and I may take you up on it."

The young man with the cell phone quietly leaves the room. He is receiving another telephone call. I am hoping that this is going to be good news and wonder if I should go out into the hallway to be with him. I decide to wait.

Leslie: "Grab this rope and hold on tight!"

This is the last thing that I expect to read from this girl, whose dark hair almost hides her face. Her purse hangs open and I am concerned about what I see inside. She quickly closes it and seems to be embarrassed, as well she should be.

Grant: "I've got it."

This young man is too heavy for his years. I decide that he will be going to see the health nurse, on a regular basis. He is dripping with perspiration, but I realize that it is still hot for September. He is over-dressed for this kind of weather.

Young Chi: "You should not have risked your life trying to rescue me."

This petite, Oriental girl stands straight and tall. She is almost as straight as her long black hair. "What a lovely girl!"

Freddie: "Thank you. I was sinking fast."

The young man from down the street pretends that he does not know me. That is all right. I understand. I have decided not to single him out in front of everyone.

Tamara: "The light of dawn shimmers on the ripples, like flickering stars."

This is the girl who did not get the front seat. I think I may just have found a creative writer, perhaps the only one in this class? Time will tell.

Gerald: "Put your hand in mine and we'll be together forever."

"A romantic," I smile and say to myself. "I wonder who he is in love with!"

"They found him!" Randy hollers to me excitedly, as he re-enters the room. Then he gets embarrassed. "Sorry!"

"Wonderful!" I reply. No one but Randy and I know the drama of the moment.

The bell rings.

"That was excellent work, class. Thank you! I will see you all again tomorrow and we will discuss this piece of poetry, then."

I watch them pick up their backpacks, leave the room and head down the hallway for their next class.

"How will I ever be able to understand all of them?" I wonder.

Randy waits until the room is empty. "He has a broken leg, but he is fine otherwise."

I quickly give him a hug.

To know them is to love them.