We've been working on poetry for a couple of weeks, and they turned in their first original work on Thursday. I offered them the opportunity to share their poems with the class. The first to volunteer? One of the honest-to-goodness thugs. I was seriously expecting some kind of freestyle rap about how damn, it feels good 2 b a gangsta.*
Instead, he recites a poem that he wrote to his mother, telling her how sorry he is for all the things he has done, how he's sorry she had to raise him without a father, and how he's sorry she has to put up with him. As he reads, his hands begin shaking. Did I mention he's doing this in front of the entire class? In front of all his tough-guy friends?
There are moments, people. Very redeeming moments.
*I guess the Geto Boys beat him to it. They're also from Houston. Excuse me, H-town.
5 comments:
As a person about to enter the world of public school teaching, I needed to hear that.
@ superfantastic: Really? Did you have your fill of the snitchety spying co-worker? And will you be staying in the land of frigid cold?
Those all-too-rare moments are what keep us coming back to the world of teaching. If those moments didn't exist we'd all have run screaming long ago. Hang in there - it's almost summer!!
Sweet! Maybe he'll let you join the gang now?
You and I must talk. We are experiencing very similar lives right now...except you teach thugs and I teach spoiled brats. I'm really not sure who is worse off.
--Cathy
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