One of my new students (we'll call him Burt) was described to me last year as a boy who "cries whenever it's time to write." Of course, I asked to have him placed in my class this year. There's just something about those little struggling guys that pulls at my heart!
And he is definitely a struggler. Sweet boy, very willing to work, but has a difficult time organizing his thoughts into meaningful sentences and paragraphs. Assignments have to be given to him in pieces, or he appears quickly overwhelmed.
This week, we have been doing some pattern writing with the mentor texts "My Name" from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros and Where I'm From by George Ella Lyon. I found this particular activity on the EC Ning, and probably should have tested it out a little more thoroughly before jumping into it with my students! It's a great activity, but there is a template the kids use to complete their poem that is slightly disorganized. This sent quite a few of my guys into a tailspin.
Naturally, I was worried about Burt. I checked in on him, and though he was definitely moving along at a slower pace than the norm, he was happily moving forward. We sat together for awhile and talked about his word choice, and since this writing is mostly about yourself and your family, we shared a little about both our families. Satisfied that Armageddon was not right around the corner, I left him to work.
A few days later, and several breakdowns from students struggling to fit into this God-forsaken template (honestly, why did I not see this problem before I taught the lesson??), Burt came up to me, wrinkled paper in hand, toothy grin plastered across his face. He held the treasure up to me, his eyes wide.
"You did it!" I beamed, reading his words out loud and giving him a hug.
"I did," he said quietly, "I finished it."
No tears, no fuss, but a little pride bubbling through his shell. A little taste of success in what I hope is just the beginning.
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