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A Narrative in Three Voices by Rebecca Akin
Voice 1: The
heat is oppressive, literally pouring dollars out wide open windows
which are poised directly above the blasting vents. These openings to
the outside let in the smell of exhaust and the sound of traffic, but
not fresh air, which loses the atmospheric fight with the heat. I
remember back to November, days without end of wearing long underwear,
kids bundled in layers of clothing. Lethargic and shivering, trying to
stay warm; lethargic and headachy, conserving movement to stay cool.
All of this an annoying but barely perceptible backdrop to the more
pressing reality of our purposes there. It's as if this climate
situation is a metaphor for our many internal struggles. The embodiment
of metaphors of contradiction engulf me this year, so blatantly
manifested in the physical that I close off part of my mind to ignore
them, to the extent that ignoring them is possible: the heat and cold,
the physical violence among the six year olds of our classroom
community, the psychological and emotional needs of my individual
children expressed within the confines of standardized education, the
feminine intertwined with the masculine, even research data conflicting
with themselves---the appearance of one thing amid the official reality
of another. Struggling within the chaos, immediacy, and isolation of it
all, unable to stop and think, I see only irreconcilable dichotomies.
Voice 2: I
was able to identify most of my students as I picked them up out in the
yard on the first day of school. Many I had a vague connection to from
their kindergarten year. Others I was able to place by the language
designation and gender listed on my enrollment forms. One child,
African-American, standing stock still in line, clutching herself,
eluded me. Long braids falling over her face, she did the best she
could to hide and I responded by not immediately approaching her,
unable anyway to figure out which of the names on my list might be
hers. When I finally asked her name, she drew even further inside
herself, whispering something I couldn't make out. I asked again, but
not knowing what I was listening for I still couldn't understand.
Nothing corresponding seemed to be on my list. Out of a group of
mothers standing on the periphery, one spoke up, offering that his name
was Nadji. His eyes met mine, momentarily locking, as I fought with my
perceptions. Scared and nervous there alone by himself, my confusion
must have spoken volumes to him.
Voice 1: Gathered
at the carpet eagerly awaiting our daily presentation of small group
projects, the class sits oddly attentive. On my lap is an eclectic pile
of work, some teacher directed and similar in form, other pieces
developed in various student-selected formats. Although unknown to me
until I come upon it in sharing, in the mix is a hand-made book
authored by this child, who by that September day of his first grade
year had demonstrated that he could barely hold a pencil. So shy, he
rarely uttered a word other than to echo someone else's idea or
opinion. In a class where boys out number girls two to one, and
aggressiveness from both genders is a dominant feature needing constant
intervention, Nadji rarely attracted my much sought-after
attention---nor did he try.
Voice 2: His
classmates didn't quite know what to make of him, they let him know
that, and then left him more or less alone. Small, soft-spoken, gentle,
caring, he negotiated his way through the chaos and violence of our new
community somewhere on the margins. One of those human beings a teacher
will never forget, it's a wonder to me now how at that point I had
barely taken notice of him beyond my own first curious impressions.
Voice 1: In
the beginning of the year most of my expectations for my students focus
on ability to follow routines and successfully produce a product or
complete an assignment. Happily, academic achievement at that point
takes a back seat to effort. Partially for these reasons, and because
of what I thought I knew about Nadji, I reacted with astonishment to
his work this day. He had been at a center where rubber stamps,
stencils, markers, scissors, and tape had uniformly been rendering very
standard work: stamped and stenciled drawings colored with markers
taped to other stamped and stenciled drawings, colored with markers.
Occasionally a child would cut out one of the pictures and place it
somewhere else, creating some variation in this pattern of work. When I
came upon Nadji's book then, a taped together assemblage of pages, each
of which contained text describing a different illustration of his own
invention, incorporating images from school and home, titled, in every
way complete, I overflowed with praise. This was remarkable work, I
raved, outstanding, interesting, creative, unique, brilliant. Where had
he gotten that idea? Had he ever authored other books like that? Would
he teach people who wanted to learn how to do this? My excitement
spilled over to his classmates and Nadji was the center of much
excitement. His immediate response was one of complete jubilation---he
bubbled over. But it was what ensued in the following days and weeks
that was nothing short of phenomenal---I began to notice that he was
talking. Although I noted this change, I am not aware of the point at
which the transformation of my perception of him embedded itself in my
consciousness.
Voice 2: Among
the information that followed Nadji from his kindergarten year was a
copy of a referral to the speech therapist. Having taught kindergarten
myself, I know how rare it is in this cash-strapped district to secure
a referral for a five year old. Ostensibly “too young” to test, support
services are provided only in the most extreme cases. Asking his mother
about this, I learn his teacher observed that he rarely ever spoke.
Voice 3: Disorder,
the unexpected, disequilibrium, struggle, conflict---all characterize
my classroom this year. What is constant is the elevation of my blood
pressure as I sit poised in front of my nineteen students at the
carpet, fighting to maintain a vision of order that exists in my mind.
Although it is now already December, it could easily be the first week
in September---so few consistently follow the routine.
Voice 2: Jeffrey
is facing backwards, pawing Emir, who alternates between playing and
crying out angrily at these sporadic but aggressive advances.
Voice 1: Michael is on his stomach, making sounds that can only be described in vulgar terms.
Voice 3: Sergio and Brian are having a private conversation in the back.
Voice 2: Jesus repeatedly screams at Arthur to “stop that,” but can't name what “that” is.
Voice 3: Jerry,
though on topic, runs on at the mouth so that his shrill, piercing
voice is the background against which my perceptions of chaos play
themselves out.
Voice 1:
For the third time in our short assembly there I remind the students to
sit with their legs crossed, hands near their bodies, mouths closed,
and eyes on me. It's not that I let things get this way out of lenience
or inattention. I'm stern and demanding. And even though outbursts of
disorder last only briefly, these many moments color my perceptions so
darkly that I allow myself to be blinded by them. Angry, frustrated,
unbelieving that my calls to order are this time largely ignored, I
lash out at the one who at that very moment is unfortunate enough to be
in my gaze. Although I'm vaguely aware that Nadji's body has been busy
throughout the entire disruptive interlude, he had not yet caught my
direct attention because of his silence. Unluckily, he voices his loud
disgust at Michael's symphony of bodily sounds the moment after I call
for silence. I don't hear the logic of his comment, only his voice
embedded in what is now my knowledge of him as someone who typically
talks at every occasion.As I
fiercely lay into him for blatantly disregarding my need for order, I
realize that I've never before reprimanded this child. The horror on
his face in response to my anger cuts into me. I feel like I've lost
track of these children as individuals and I'm instantly conscious,
once again, that I hate the person I have let myself become in this
environment. If only for it's ability to pull me out of this
self-absorbed loathing, it is my research that saved me this year.
Video taping students in discussion has allowed me to step away from
the immediacy of the environment and see through different eyes.
Voice 3: I
chose four children to be the focus of my study of students' use of
language in the context of academic discussion. One of the reasons
Nadji was among this group was because he challenged me. Nothing about
him was predictable, and few of the things I perceived about him were
reconcilable with each other.
Voice 2: He couldn't keep still.
Voice 1 : He always got his work done.
Voice 3: He had few friends.
Voice 2: He was kind and caring.
Voice 3: He talked incessantly.
Voice 1: He spoke with crystal clarity.
Voice 3: He hummed as he withdrew inside himself.
Voice 2: His gender expression was non-comforming.
Voice 1: He listened intently.
Voice 3: He often didn't know what question was being asked.
Voice 1: He had original ideas.
Voice 2: The work space around him was always in disarray.
Voice 1: His work was fluid.
Voice 2: His work was often indecipherable to all but him.
Voice 3: Jerome
Bruner reminds us that one can love and hate at the same moment and not
find it a contradiction. Although I certainly have only ever felt love
for Nadji, it was what Bruner was getting at---the co-existence of
seemingly contrary characteristics---that Nadji so visibly embodied.
Voice 1: We
sit in our small discussion group, video camera on. Nadji lifts his
gaze to speak, meeting my eyes with tilted head. The sun illuminates
the right side of this delicate face, while the other half falls into
shadow. His braided hair, loose from days of wind and play, draws the
morning rays like a halo. Had Vermeer painted angels they might have
looked like Nadji at this moment of responding. Yet just as the light
and shadow played themselves off his face, so too does his
participation play itself off the poles of my understanding. One moment
speaking to us all singularly focused and still, he displays a presence
rare in such a young child.
Voice 3: The
next moment he flies off into what I perceive as fits of disengagement,
into a detached world of physicality. His actions cycle through waves.
First his hand writes circles on the desk in front of him, head swaying
in motion with the movement of his fluid strokes. Then he drums
violently, hands in fists banging on the table in unison four or five
times. Those same fists then find themselves on his eyes, rolling
gently around his sockets, growing to include his cheekbones, then
temples. That motion expands to include his whole face, one hand
dropping and the other opening to stroke first his forehead, then
cheek, chin, cheek and back up to his forehead again, around and
around, head moving in gentle rhythm with his touch, followed
conversely with quick, slapping motions. A brief still interlude
foreshadows the severe jutting out of his chin, the mouthing of sharp
words, the jerking back of his shoulders---the visible manifestation of
a private drama playing itself out in his head.
Voice 1: Just
as quickly as he falls into these actions, back out he comes, gaze
again intent upon the speaker or drawn himself back into focused
conversation.
Voice 2: Within
my various data sources I find I've described Nadji thus: engaged,
disconnected, silent, articulate, expressive, calm, unable to keep
still, mature, off task, brilliant, lost, intuitive, deep, invisible.
Voice 1: Watching
over and over again the various video clips of him in conversation, I
begin to notice the many connections Nadji makes to others; finishing
sentences for the speaker, clarifying thoughts others had expressed,
interjecting an observation that built upon the idea voiced by a
classmate---all bridges between himself and the speaker that initially
got buried by my preoccupation with what I interpreted as his
solipsistic detachment. The data show that he was often engaged at a
deep level.
Voice 3: Watching
over and over again the various video clips of him in conversation, I
count the numerous instances where I drew Nadji out of his silent
wanderings only to have him ask me to repeat the question I had just
posed to him. The data show that he was often disengaged.
Voice 2: Things
Nadji has told me: He lives with his mom and sister. Sometimes his dad
lives there too. He has his own bedroom. He doesn't watch much TV. He
has four TVs. He chooses his own clothes. He goes to church. He likes
eggs. He has a coloring set at home. His father hates him. He lives in
an apartment. He's been to a Monster Truck rally. He likes to write
poems. He helps his mom. He likes to sharpen pencils. He thinks God
could be both male and female. His family doesn't have a car. He has
good ideas. He gets up early. He stays inside all weekend.
Voice 1: I
watch Nadji on video as he interrupts Keysha's comment with a loud
humming sound. His torso is spread out flat covering the table, arms
outstretched so that his head and eyes are face down. He seems a
million miles away, demonstrating no apparent interest in the
conversation. I'm convinced he has no idea what we're talking about. He
can't possibly have seen her angry reaction to him, face down like he
was. Yet “sorry,” his apology for his interruption, follows immediately
upon her visual indication of indignation---a very telling expression,
but one that he simply cannot see. Her pause, his knowledge of her, an
understanding of conversational structure, and his embeddedness in the
moment are all that I can draw upon to explain his ability to respond
so appropriately. At this moment, though appearing to me completely to
the contrary, it seems that Nadji is intimately connected to the
conversation.
Voice 3: Divisive
in how we've chosen to interpret it, contradiction can have blinding
power. We let it stifle us from action, push us to chose sides,
overwhelming us so that we shut ourselves off from new ideas. As
teachers many of us live within the hold of this power.
Voice 2: We
are informed of the standards, yet overwhelmed with barriers of lack:
lacks of time, basic resources, collaboration, opportunities for
learning and reflection, support.
Voice 3: We are expected to contribute through appropriate administrative channels, yet our input and effort is blatantly ignored.
Voice 1: We are mandated how to measure achievement, yet we know we need to have multiple measures of success for our students.
Voice 3: We are told what kind of learning matters, but we have classrooms full of divergent learning styles.
Voice 2: We
are expected to use “teacher-proof” curricula, yet we understand that
our children have deep emotional and spiritual needs inseparable from
their complex intellectual ones.
Voice 1: We are asked to stick with the academic basics, and yet we see why subject matter needs to be about the richness of the world.
Voice 3: My
own reaction to the necessity of mediating these contradictions in the
isolation of my classroom has been to flail through my days, feeling
guilty both about what I do and what I don't do, succumbing to an
antagonistic stance.
Voice 1: Sitting
in their living room one winter afternoon, Susan and Jessica watch with
me one of my short videos of small group discussion time. It seems more
than coincidence that I have this particular data piece, one that
includes Nadji, on my laptop. Jessica has just finished filming for a
documentary that addresses questions of gender identity. I don't
mention my concerns about this child, but we are soon deep in
discussion about him. A feeling of relief overwhelms me. I haven't
talked to anyone about the many divergent modes of behavior I see in
Nadji. Afraid to voice my ignorance, I've tried to not acknowledge my
confusion even to myself. My thoughts pours out as both help direct me
to new understanding. Jessica suggests that I think simply in terms of
a spectrum and not feel like I need to make any kind of definitive
judgments that explain him away. The many forms of non-conformity I
witness, both through my data and in relationship with him---his
participation in conversations, his learning styles, his interactions
in the classroom, his gender expression---are a richness to be engaged
with, not contradictions that need to be resolved. She pushes me to see
that it is deeper understanding that will ultimately benefit both of
us, not my definitive interpretation of what his behavior signifies,
nor my determination of how to categorize him.
Voice 2: Specific
things I have learned: Students are often answering a different
question from the one I think I am asking; kids who appear to be
listening often are not; my intervention in conversation matters;
asking very general questions elicits lots of important information I
didn't particularly know I needed to know; kids who appear to be
disengaged may in fact be very involved; I often listen for only what I
think students are trying to say.
Voice 1: Above
and beyond every thing wonderful Nadji is in this world, for me he has
also been a teacher. Embodying what I had thought of as irreconcilable
dichotomies, I see characteristics that are seemingly contradictory
come together in an extraordinary child. I don't claim to understand
why Nadji does the things he does, but in looking at him through my
research and in knowing him within the context in which the research is
poised, he has challenged me to understand him more fully. And in
seeing the fullness of how he interacts, examining him closely through
the data and knowing him intimately through relationship, I have
expanded what I know about teaching and learning.
Voice 2: In
one of many detours on his way to get a drink, Nadji wraps his arms
around me in a hug. As he then makes his way across the room he knocks
down a chair, stops twice to talk, does a dance, gets distracted by a
stray Lego on the floor, and returns to his seat never having made it
to the fountain.
Voice 1: In
this insignificant trip one might see the circle that is the route we
have been taking together: meandering, full of the unexpected,
scattered with unforeseen barriers, involving conversation as well as
introspection, certainly non-linear, and wrapped up within
relationship. Clearly, it's essential that at some point Nadji get to
that drinking fountain. But the route he takes, and the depth of my
understanding of how he progresses, is where our learning is bound.
References
Bruner, J. (1996). The Culture of Education . Cambridge : Harvard University Press.
