Forget running the NYC Half-Marathon, forget moving to Honduras, and forget graduating magna cum laude from NYU – because yesterday at 7:15 a.m., as that first bell rang at the start of the school day, the smallest of gestures suddenly triumphed everything I’d previously upheld as the defining moments of 2011. Nothing else mattered except for the generosity and gratitude of a very special 10-year-old boy.
Over the past 4 months, however, this same very special 10-year-old boy has tested my patience, pushed me to my limits, and caused me to experience frustration like I have never known before. The thing about this kid is that he is smart. VERY smart. He is deep, philosophical, and introspective in a way that only the most intelligent of people in society are. He is curious, brilliant, and interested, but unfortunately, most of the time he is discouraged in class and fighting with his classmates. To make matters worse, when he gets frustrated, he shuts down and will not do anything for the rest of the day.
From the start, I have wanted so badly to work with him and get him to a place where he could feel safe, confident, and capable in the classroom. Creating a space like this has meant not holding him to the same expectations as the others in the class; it has meant slowly counting to 3 instead of having him move his clip; it has meant picking my battles; it has meant developing a relationship with him outside of school; it has meant developing an extreme threshold for patience; it has meant asking, “What’s wrong? Why are we having a bad day?” instead of giving him the punishment he’s seeking; it has meant refusing to give him negative attention and instead only recognizing the positive; and it has meant working endlessly to try and break down the many walls he has built around him.
The worst has been watching him do his weekly multiplication quizzes. Once other kids started mastering their facts, he got frustrated and shut down. Week after week he sat there during timed quizzes not even trying to answer the problems. He slipped down to my lowest kid in Math, when he should have been my highest. Fully aware of how insecure he was about Math, I debated how to approach the topic of after-school tutoring, knowing he wouldn’t want to do it. So, I thought about what he would want to do. I knew he loved baseball, so I thought about how we could make math into a baseball game. I casually asked him one day if he would like to play baseball and do some math games. He immediately accepted the idea.
Tuesday was our first day of “after-school tutoring”. We started with our 4′s times tables. Making up the game as I went along, I had him throw the baseball back and forth as we counted and practiced our facts. The afternoon was full of math baseball and math hop-scotch, and as our time was ending, it was clear that in less than 45 minutes he had mastered all his 4′s tables. I had never seen him so happy. He learned that day that if he put in the work, he could do it.
We were drawing with chalk while waiting for his dad to come, when all of a sudden he let down one of his guards and told me why he felt so insecure about math. It was a beautiful moment watching him put aside his fears and misconceptions, willing to start anew with what he calls “the math monster”. He asked if we could play “these games” every day after school. Tuesdays and Thursdays are now our math baseball and hop-scotch days. When his dad arrived, he asked if I could tell his dad how good of a job he did. Seeing him take pride in his work – something he had never done in the classroom – was wonderful.
Which brings us to yesterday. The first bell rang, and my little baseball master told me he wanted to tell me something in private outside. He nervously stood with his hands in his pockets, got a big grin on his face, and quietly said, “I just wanted to thank you for staying after with me yesterday. And —” Slowly, he started pulling something out of his pocket. It was a small stuffed animal he wanted to give to me as a way of saying “thank you”. I was overwhelmed with so many feelings I can’t even explain them all. This boy who had caused me so much grief and frustration had just warmed my heart with so much joy. I felt love for a boy who had come so far, gratitude for the smallest of gifts, and relief that I must have done something right. He told me to hide the toy in my jacket and to put it immediately into my backpack once I got into class so nobody would see. I told him I would keep it our little secret.
At 7:15 yesterday morning, I learned that the happiest of moments can come from the smallest of gifts. This boy is one of our becado students, which means he attends our school on scholarship. He lives in a small concrete house far from the center of town. Financially he comes from very little. I knew this small toy had not been bought a store specially for me, but had most likely come from his own room, from his own belongings, and handed over to me as a gift. He had sacrificed something of his own in a meaningful gesture I will always remember, no matter how the rest of the year plays out. He went on to have the best day he’d had in the classroom this year (and today was a repeat of all these wonderful things!). Other students even came up to me and told me they were very impressed with how hard he’d been working, and I had these students give him the compliments directly. And yesterday on his multiplication quiz, he got 75 out of 77 correct … the highest percentage he has ever scored.
What I will take away from this week, however, will be neither a math grade nor a behavior change, but the gratitude and selflessness of a little boy with a big heart – and an even bigger potential.
