hahaist011's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- thieves of horses and hearts i was writing a letter to ekm, describing how my students look and act, and i realized there may be some wider interest in at least one: on that first day in august, i was startled by the beautifully improbable resemblance one of my students bears to mmh. style, features, mannerisms, everything: they could be half-sisters. but really, it's the walk that kills me. KB--my student--is sometimes late or almost-late to sixth period, and her way of rushing looks so like mmh booking toward boucke or somewhere. shoulders gorgeously square, torso held straight though angled. only the legs moving, leading with the heel. head turned slightly and eyes somewhat to the side. a look on her face as though she might be holding her breath. and when i say, "Hi, K--," or "K---! Late!" the eyes slide further away, but her cheeks rise with something of a small embarrassed smile that might secretly be a laugh still embarrassed but also amused. and i would not wonder that she's laughing at being late or at me because it must be the most obvious thing in the world that _i_ find it adorable and her wholly charming. something i have found out: the small things that matter to all people in everyday interactions (at say, a store or the bank or the water cooler) matter even more to students. my heart is on its sad knees when i see how the smallest interest, the most unthoughtful "are you okay?" or "have a fun weekend" gains significance in their ears. yesterday, after fifth period, a student from another class came in to meet her friend and mentioned how tossed up the room looked. i was trying to get the desks back into order, and i laughed and nodded, then said (to the fifth period student), "we had some fun today, didn't we?" she seemed to pause for a moment before answering, and in that pause, some kind of glad surprise passed over her face. as though she were touched i spoke to her directly, as though she were touched that i asked her to affirm my feeling, as though she were touched that i said "we" and meant her and me. understand: this is not something i did. i have made clear, i think, that i like students very much, that i am interested in them, that i want to be around them, but still: that wouldn't be quite enough. it is being the Teacher. some kids--miraculously, many here--come to school every day bearing an almost-secret silent gift of attention to their teachers. they lend you some part of the heart, leave it on your doorstep, ring the bell, run away. it's yours, then, to study and to touch. it's yours, and all that's wanted, i think, is the tiniest oblique acknowledgment of the gift. these tough kids, walking to their buses, and you say, "have a fun weekend, and don't be so bad next week," and they look down as the corners of their mouths quirk up. an expression so perfectly and simply sweet, the navajo blush. do they know how this works? do they understand that possession runs both ways? do they know how, sometimes, my heart rushes into my head when i am entering the attendance and hear the pens and pencils scratching in writer's notebooks? when they cluster around my door between classes, when the skaters call "dwyer!" or "steelers suck!" as i walk past? could they possibly know how, sometimes, when i am among them i understand what other women seem to feel for babies?
7:57 a.m. - 2007-11-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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