Boxes Left Behind

Christine Frost

I entered the school with an anticipation of visible changes that just might ignite a spark of excitement and rejuvenation within me. The halls, while absent of energetic middle school students and colleagues I’d grown to care deeply about, were crowded with dilapidated desks, broken chairs, scattered boxes, and an array of miscellaneous items, once tucked away in the closets and shelves of rooms. Over thirty years of teaching and learning occurred within the darkened corridors of the cold building. It no longer felt like my school, the place I’d first embarked upon my journey as a teacher. The life of the school left with the 700 students and teachers as they eagerly moved into a new space with the hopes of rejuvenating their spirits around teaching and learning. What remained was a lifeless structure.

“Hello,” I called out, hoping to find a member of the crew of workers responsible for renovations. The echo was chilling. I began to wonder how the building would be transformed into a welcoming place for students and staff within the next few months. I walked tentatively down the hall toward room 2, my old room. Arriving at the door, I quickly noticed the markings and graffiti etched into the peeling green paint, reminiscent of cryptic gang correspondence more commonly seen decorating urban life. Having been absent from this space for less than one year, I was stunned as I surveyed the abandoned classroom. While I had no other evidence of the kind of learning that had taken place during my sabbatical, my senses were heightened by the unfamiliar zone I had entered.

I had assumed that all important artifacts and tools to engage students in critical thinking had been packed carefully for the journey to the new building. However, lined along the orange laminate counter at the far end of the classroom were boxes of books. The weight of the boxes caused the counter to lean toward the floor, mimicking the other dilapidated corners of the school. A note, barely legible having bled due to the leaky ceiling as a result of the frequent drops of water forcing their way through the stained ceiling tiles above, read, “Please hold these books for Christine Frost.” Thankfully, the books had not been discarded, was my initial thought. That thinking quickly turned into sadness as I began to scan the stories carelessly tossed into the boxes. What lay in front of me were countless memories of discussions with students around the impacts of intolerance, memories of student writing and presentations, memories of dancing until the sky darkened with my students as we raised money for relief efforts in Darfur, Sudan. The boxes held over 100 choices for students as they explored what it feels like to have empathy, how the word “perspective” plays a role in understanding a text, and what we can learn from the past in order to have a positive impact on the present and future. The books had been a window for students to wander in and out of in an attempt to unpack what it means to advocate for a citizenry and make individual and collaborative contributions to a democracy. And yet, they had been left behind.

Revisiting the school forced me to reflect upon my experiences with students and teachers prior to my sabbatical, perhaps in an effort to justify, or find value in, my approaches to teaching. More importantly, the boxes, which had been purposefully left behind, caused me to consider the impacts of my lessons on student thinking and writing, and carefully examine needs for improvement. This is some of what we did together in room 2 as we exercised our minds and hearts learning about empathy through reading and writing together…

Some teachers yearn for opportunities to seize teachable moments that may arise at unexpected times in the school day/year. Witnessing the transformation of students as they deepen their understanding through heightened engagement with a particular subject or lesson is perhaps the most fulfilling part of the job. Last year, I grew increasingly excited about my student’s interest as we studied the Holocaust and other acts of intolerance throughout history, and as we scanned our communities, nation, and the world. Focused on the word empathy, we explored texts and engaged in a variety of writing assignments, projects, and discussions in order to have multiple experiences with stepping into someone else’s shoes. The lessons were morphing in ways that excited me, causing me to watch closely, to listen more acutely. It seemed that many of my students were really getting it… “It” being the bigger picture, our connection to others around the world.

During the literature study portion of the unit, students in my class chose books to read from a list of over one hundred titles, all with common themes of intolerance and violations of human rights, both past and present. A diverse collection of multiple genres had emerged and most students far exceeded the required three books within the initial time frame. Students continued to check books in and sign them out from me on a regular basis, each at his/her own pace. This enabled me the opportunity to check in with students and have a sense of their preferred genre. I was able to nudge some when appropriate, and make safe suggestions to others in order to keep their interest levels high. What surprised me was the on-going request for books. Students seemed to have a continuous dialogue about books of interest, would put in reservation requests with me frequently, and the book collection deadline was delayed on several occasions. In addition, the "active" reading strategies that students were using in all content areas heightened the quality of discussions taking place in the classroom. Students were noticing things, making connections, and asking critical questions on a regular basis. They were transferring their new learning to other subject areas, and, most importantly, to their lives. Slowly, they were beginning to examine who they were, in their own shoes, and take risks considering the soles of others.

The enthusiasm and interest for the subject continued to deepen. I was particularly pleased when it was brought to my attention that several students were strongly advocating for a worthy cause, a focus for the upcoming dance marathon. Students asked me to borrow several of my posters, a DVD capturing the violence in the region, and articles all relating to the violations of human rights occurring in Darfur, a serious topic that was explored in my classroom. Students took the initiative by addressing the Student Council at scheduled meetings, and pushed the teacher advisor to listen to their pleas. There was genuine interest in raising money to provide relief to the victims of Darfur. Throughout their efforts, I proceeded with lesson planning and the daily routine of my workday, aware of very little of their efforts, focused more on the sprouting intrigue and ways I could nurture their learning.

It wasn’t until the teacher advisor approached me that I had a clear picture of what my students were up to. The teacher, walking into my classroom and interrupting my conference with a student, informed me of the students’ consistent efforts, seemingly with feelings of harsh disapproval or resentment. She did not have the time to watch the DVD they had asked her to watch about the current state of Darfur. She was returning the posters displaying the unimaginable conditions of the area. She had not read the articles. “The Student Council was heading in a different direction,” she shared in a sharp tone. “They,” meaning the students under her supervision, were strongly considering raising money for “things” for the new middle school being built, such as a telescope. She did assure me that our concerns about the genocide taking place would be added to the long list of ideas for the fundraiser.

Looking back, my defensive response to her frustration mimicked the kinds of emotional responses and misunderstandings that lead to larger conflicts, as revealed in countless ways everyday as we scan human nature around the globe. What had I done, or not done, to model a culture of collaboration with my colleagues in a common effort to engage students in critical thinking? Had the structure of the school and time constraints caused me to close my classroom door? Our students, however, despite the absence of models within the school, grew passionate enough to take risks and advocate for something they viewed as really important. They broke through the metaphoric walls that divided our competitive, rather than collaborative, staff.

While I was not an integral force in the Darfur fundraiser efforts initially, I grew more and more passionate about the cause my students had carefully considered. They ignited a new focus for our classroom studies and we proceeded, as a team, to consider ways we could make a difference and act on our new understandings about intolerance. Brainstorming was done in all classes, and students grew increasingly interested in the word ACTION. They generated ideas that would impact people close to home, as well as around the world. Overall, the majority of students returned to the realities of Darfur and continued to prod others to consider the relevancy and immediacy of this need. Ultimately, they used their persuasive skills to earn a place at the upcoming fundraiser. Close to four thousand dollars was sent to the SAVE DARFUR COALITION as a result of their sincere, heartfelt efforts.

Meanwhile, the reading and writing continued. Students continued to refine their literary analysis essays and many continued to check out books relating to intolerance. I seemed to be caught between that pervasive feeling of needing to move on in order to get through the curriculum and seizing the teachable moment - going with the flow of student inquiry. I abandoned the curriculum ship and found a different way to fulfill my professional obligations, proceeding with the moment, which was fueled by student intrigue and a desire to learn. I made several modifications to an empathy project I had designed years prior and engaged students in discussions about different ways to fulfill the project requirements. The goal was to find a unique way to reveal an understanding of empathy.

The results far exceeded my expectations. Students were shown models of projects from past years, but found creative ways to go beyond the models. Each student presented his/her project to the class while the class gave written feedback, asked questions, and showed sincere respect for the person presenting. One student presented a photography project about homelessness, sharing powerful images of people living in extreme poverty, while he read thoughtful and moving passages that revealed his perspective and personal connections to those photographed.

Another student shared a collection of poems she’d written in response to her readings about the events of the Holocaust. She brought a sand colored manila folder grimly decorated to represent one file of a victim of the Holocaust to the front of the room. As she prepared to share her poems, she discussed her reasoning for the design of the project. The folder looked tattered and worn with dark brown and black colors, symbolizing the bleak conditions of the time. She talked about how the folder represented one life that was tragically lost as a result of extreme intolerance and reminded students of the millions of other lives that tragically came to an end. Poems, written by the student, were tucked inside the folder representing the stories of those who perished. Each life had a story to tell. She tried to reveal those stories through her poems. Perhaps the most moving piece of her presentation was the silence that followed her final poem. I never realized she was such a gifted poet, and the year was almost at an end.

Students shared essays, songs, reactions to images of intolerance, poems, stories, and letters, all in unique ways. They revealed their understandings of intolerance and many were able to share a growing sense of empathy as a result of their reading and writing throughout the unit. While one student wrote a check to support the efforts in Darfur, another presented her project about Darfur to the entire school in the gymnasium in order to raise awareness. Students were finding many different ways to show their concern for others.

The teachable moments continued on, even after their culminating empathy projects and literary analysis essays were completed. Recognizing the growing interest in the subject of the Holocaust, I began making phone calls and sending e-mails to Holocaust survivors who reside in Maine. The director of the Maine Holocaust and Human Rights Center had several contacts in mind and works with survivors as they share their painful memories with students.

My students submitted letters of interest in order to participate in a discussion with a survivor. Students of all ability levels showed a strong desire to be a part of the special day. Community members and teachers participated. What struck me was the intense focus of the students as Julia, a survivor of the Holocaust, shared her stories. Their bodies were completely still and their eyes revealed their appreciation for her willingness to tell her story. My nervousness about the question/answer period was put to rest as students engaged in meaningful conversations with Julia. Those viewed as “struggling students” asked the most powerful and thought provoking questions. Julia commented about the respectfulness and focus of the group following the discussion, even pointing out to me students she recalled who never took their eyes off of her. The few pictures I have of that day capture only a small fraction of the power of the lesson/experience.

As a final reflection on the “unit”, students wrote to me about their learning, their experience. Those who participated wrote letters to Julia, the Holocaust survivor, which were sent to her in appreciation, along with a donation to the Maine Holocaust and Human Rights Center. The thoughtful written reflections revealed new understandings about intolerance, along with new questions. For many, it seemed the unit would never end. The cycle of inquiry had been ignited.

One of the most challenging aspects of working with middle school students for me is centered on the word empathy. How do I push my students to really get what it feels like to walk in somebody else’s shoes in order to consider life outside of their own experiences? Can empathy be taught, or is it embedded in the teachings from home, or perhaps a developmental milestone that even some adults never internalize.

When my school embarked on an exciting literacy initiative last year, all teachers were provided posters with strategies that good readers use in order to uncover meaning within texts. A word was missing…empathy. Doesn’t a good reader remain engaged with a text as h/she empathizes with characters or human beings in situations vastly different from his/her own? Isn’t empathy an important part of being considered a proficient reader…an educated person? What good is it to gain knowledge, without careful consideration of how that knowledge might impact others?

While I was struck by the growth in my students overall last year, there remain students who were not impacted by the unit. I worry about those students. I continue to feel a sense of frustration about the students who are not visibly affected by my teaching. I often wonder what it would be like if conditions were changed, class sizes were smaller, and I was able to work one-on-one with those students more often if it would impact their learning. If those students could work in an environment where teachers team-taught and modeled reflective teaching on a regular basis, differentiated instruction, and met with students regularly to provide individualized support, would those students feel connected to their own learning? Would they feel a part of the school? Or, is intrinsic motivation to learn something that cannot be modeled or fostered in schools? I wonder about the impacts of the school’s structure on our students’ abilities to have empathy. I wonder this as I watch the news displaying yet another explosive attack on innocent people at Virginia Tech.

These final reflections continue to spark new questions for me. What I can conclude is that I was moved by the multiple paths my students embarked on through this unit and by letting go of the planned instructional path, I was able to embrace the teachable moments and let the majority of my students proceed with their rising interests. Engaging them in discussions about their needs as learners was a powerful way to teach/learn. While different teachers might glean different things after reflecting on the events that unfold in classrooms, I have found three important things for further consideration: 1. Extending curriculum to meet the needs of students led to deepened understanding through a heightened awareness of global issues around intolerance. 2. There is a need for a community of learners to be modeled for our students. Collaborating with colleagues is critical in schools, not just as a way of professional development through learning communities, but also as a way to expose our students to the kind of professional nurturing that leads to deeper understanding. 3. Asking students to think critically in response to reading, discussing, writing by engaging them in meaningful learning with one another is a necessary ingredient if we are seeking to ignite critical inquiry and help students develop beliefs in themselves.

I will return to those dark halls next year in order to support our district’s plans to create a bridge between the middle and high schools, hoping to ease the transition for students. I am preparing for my return with an energy and excitement to unpack the boxes of books and begin again on a journey with my students to dig deep and uncover personal meaning as we read and write together. My plans are beginning to take shape with a new understanding of the need for flexibility. With resources at hand, I need to be ready to adapt my instruction to support my students’ inquiries.

Engaging the other teachers who will be accompanying me on this journey in conversations is necessary if we are going to model democratic ideals, working towards the common good. We, as teachers, are often in our own boxes and need to help each other unpack them, sort them out, and share what we have with one another as we work to engage students in lessons that spark critical inquiry. Looking back over samples of student work produced in an effort to share a sense of empathy, my students’ writing reveals as much to me about the need to revise future lessons in order to strengthen their potential to reach students, as much as they reveal a need to unpack the boxes, even if the titles do not align to the traditional curriculum.

Discussion Questions

How can we, as educators, encourage our students to really get what it feels like to walk in somebody else’s shoes in order to consider life outside of their own experiences? (empathy)
How might authentic learning experiences contribute to student understanding of democracy and their potential roles in a democratic society?
How can these students' experiences be used formatively in order to reflect on and improve pedagogy?

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