Cardi B. at 3 am

I never know if 3 am is late at night or early in the morning. I just got done reading about Cardi B on Wikipedia. I didn’t realize she was so established. In my defense, I don’t listen to a lot of rap, but my students are obsessed and one of the reasons I cannot sleep, is because I am trying to reach them.

I only have fifteen students, but only seven students who consistently are on task. Overall, skills are far below grade level and there is a lot of behavior. A lot of trauma. In my experience of trauma, my instinct is to smooth things over, not rock the boat, work on fixing everything and everybody. But my students are the trauma survivors who fight. They are edgy and alert and hit first and ask questions later. I walk around the room trying to get them to read about Rosa Parks, or the phases of the moon. They ask me what kind of Takis I like best and what I grub on when I get my food stamps. I tell them that I don’t need food stamps and I can tell that some of them are confused by that statement.

One of the things my class does is argue over which one of them is my favorite student. I always tell them I don’t have a favorite, that I like them all. And that’s the truth. Sort of. There are some girls who never give me a bit of trouble and I love that they do everything I ask and get started on their work and are so nice and freaking quiet. I have a boy who is so bright and asks questions and is always thinking. I have another boy who is like a giant St. Bernard puppy, big and happy and always into everything, but so cheerful and positive. Then I have another boy who might be destined for a life of crime, He is street-smart and tough and thinks he runs the room. He makes my life hell sometimes, but he gets people and reads emotions and is a survivor and I freaking love him, no matter how much sleep I have lost over him.

This week one of my students asked me if her clothes matched. She told me that she thought she was ugly and she hated her body. This kid is adorable and I told her that I thought she was beautiful. She shrugged and said, “If you say so, Miss.” She gave me a quick hug at the end of the day and said, “Thanks for being my school mom.” And it almost made me cry, because I know how much this kid works at everything. And I hate that she is another girl in the world with a poor self-image. And then I lost sleep overthinking about her. Because really she is sorta my favorite.

Even though I have been teaching a long time, I have never had my own classroom before. I have always taught in situations that brought kids in and out of my room all day. Over time and through art and writing and listening to their conversations, I’d get to know them. Along the way, I have had students who have carved their way into my heart and I will run into them or get an email or a friend request on social media, and it is awesome to see how they have grown up. This year being a classroom teacher has brought more challenges than I can possibly name, but I have really learned why teachers say, “my kids.”

Every day, I wake up and say, “Give me the strength to get through today. ” And I look for jobs to take me back to art. I crave creativity. My soul NEEDS it. I spend a lot of time thinking about what it would be like to just write for a living. My computer. My cats. The radio in the background.

March is the time of year when the end of the school is near. The promise of summer is so close, and the thought of fall so far away. I don’t really know what took me to this rough bunch of kids on the East side. And I don’t know what comes next. But I do know that I have learned and stretched myself in ways that I never knew possible. No matter what comes next, these kids will be forever etched into my heart.