My Walkers
When I was a kid in school, I was a walker. Out of my K-12 career, I walked all but two years. As a child I didn't always love it. But as an adult, I look back on it with great fondness. I remember anticipating that 3:30 bell and practically flying from the school when it sounded. I would run up the gravelly hill, with my gold and blue Hilton Wildcat tote bag, catching up with friends along the way. It is such a feeling of freedom....joy...... pure bliss. I remember it vividly. I can picture the cracks in the side walk and the acorns we had smashed along the way the previous day. Frequently, I took off my shoes and walked home barefoot, much to my mother's chagrin.
As with most things, the rules have changed, and the walkers at my school are not given the same freedom, or opportunity for youthful zeal at the end of a school day as I had "back in the day". For this reason, it came to be that I walk the walkers (in lieu of bus duty). I was told it would most likely be 8-10 kids that I was to gather and escort from our school property, past another school, down some sidewalk to the main road where they cross to their neighborhood. It's not an especially short walk but it's not especially long either. And I will freely admit that I was a little unsure about it when it was first assigned to me.
And then I met the walkers. There are thirty of them on some days. Thirty. They are an unruly bunch and they don't like to listen because, let's face it, school is over and they are done. I am supposed to corral them and keep them quiet while the other kids are loaded into their cars, and we wait for each grade level to be dismissed. I am a total failure at this. Despite my shushes and pleading, they challenge me everyday. They are done with school, they are ready to run free. It is like trying to keep 30 thoroughbreds in the starting gate past the sounding bell. And who can blame them. Surely not me.
So, as it started, I gathered, walked, tried my best to learn names.....which was no easy task. After some time, the walkers started standing out to me in class. In a school with 600 new names and faces for me to learn, it was like I knew them a little. And then we started to talk. One girl started testing my Spanish and teaching me new words. Another little girl would often show up with a furrowed brow, pouty lips, and crossed arms. She confided in me that she was getting bad conduct grades and would get home to no Wii, or no computer as a result. I started encouraging her and checking in on her daily conduct grades. In the following days, more often than not I was greeted with a smile and a high 5 (which meant a good grade). First 3 out of 5 days, then 4 out of 5 days. The streak of 5 out of 5 days is so long now we don't even discuss her conduct grades anymore. But we still talk. And sometimes she asks to hold my hand when we walk, and sometimes she even kind of leans her head on my arm. And it makes my heart sing.
Sometimes, I feel like I make a difference in my classroom. Just yesterday a student who I would classify as "just not very artistic" brought me a drawing of a cardinal he made after I sat with him in class and helped him "see" how to draw birds in class one day. His smile was beyond heartwarming. I have helped kids who were sure they couldn't weave make weavings that shot their self esteem into the stratosphere. And while I like those things because it shows them the possible is possible, and not just in art, I really like the way my walkers and I have bonded even more. The listen to me (sort of). They seek my council. And I like that. It is meaningful.
My walkers talk to me about life. They share their worries, their troubles, their joys, and sadnesses. And they are very funny little people. We talk about sports, the weather, we laugh, and sometimes I try to help teach them some form of social or life skills. One day, one of them brought a basketball and I wowed them with my "skilz". At Christmas I told them I would miss them, and one boy (a big tough 5th grader) turned around and hugged me. As he walked away he said, "Mrs. Morris, I miss you already." I cried all the way back to the school. I like to think that I make a difference with this group of fun, crazy, silly kids. And I am 99% sure that I do. What they don't know is what they give to me. They are the pick me up at the end of my day and I am secretly crazy about them. In fact, as much as I love to teach art, I think walking these kids is my favorite part of the day (and not just because I get to go home when I'm done).
As with most things, the rules have changed, and the walkers at my school are not given the same freedom, or opportunity for youthful zeal at the end of a school day as I had "back in the day". For this reason, it came to be that I walk the walkers (in lieu of bus duty). I was told it would most likely be 8-10 kids that I was to gather and escort from our school property, past another school, down some sidewalk to the main road where they cross to their neighborhood. It's not an especially short walk but it's not especially long either. And I will freely admit that I was a little unsure about it when it was first assigned to me.
And then I met the walkers. There are thirty of them on some days. Thirty. They are an unruly bunch and they don't like to listen because, let's face it, school is over and they are done. I am supposed to corral them and keep them quiet while the other kids are loaded into their cars, and we wait for each grade level to be dismissed. I am a total failure at this. Despite my shushes and pleading, they challenge me everyday. They are done with school, they are ready to run free. It is like trying to keep 30 thoroughbreds in the starting gate past the sounding bell. And who can blame them. Surely not me.
So, as it started, I gathered, walked, tried my best to learn names.....which was no easy task. After some time, the walkers started standing out to me in class. In a school with 600 new names and faces for me to learn, it was like I knew them a little. And then we started to talk. One girl started testing my Spanish and teaching me new words. Another little girl would often show up with a furrowed brow, pouty lips, and crossed arms. She confided in me that she was getting bad conduct grades and would get home to no Wii, or no computer as a result. I started encouraging her and checking in on her daily conduct grades. In the following days, more often than not I was greeted with a smile and a high 5 (which meant a good grade). First 3 out of 5 days, then 4 out of 5 days. The streak of 5 out of 5 days is so long now we don't even discuss her conduct grades anymore. But we still talk. And sometimes she asks to hold my hand when we walk, and sometimes she even kind of leans her head on my arm. And it makes my heart sing.
Sometimes, I feel like I make a difference in my classroom. Just yesterday a student who I would classify as "just not very artistic" brought me a drawing of a cardinal he made after I sat with him in class and helped him "see" how to draw birds in class one day. His smile was beyond heartwarming. I have helped kids who were sure they couldn't weave make weavings that shot their self esteem into the stratosphere. And while I like those things because it shows them the possible is possible, and not just in art, I really like the way my walkers and I have bonded even more. The listen to me (sort of). They seek my council. And I like that. It is meaningful.
My walkers talk to me about life. They share their worries, their troubles, their joys, and sadnesses. And they are very funny little people. We talk about sports, the weather, we laugh, and sometimes I try to help teach them some form of social or life skills. One day, one of them brought a basketball and I wowed them with my "skilz". At Christmas I told them I would miss them, and one boy (a big tough 5th grader) turned around and hugged me. As he walked away he said, "Mrs. Morris, I miss you already." I cried all the way back to the school. I like to think that I make a difference with this group of fun, crazy, silly kids. And I am 99% sure that I do. What they don't know is what they give to me. They are the pick me up at the end of my day and I am secretly crazy about them. In fact, as much as I love to teach art, I think walking these kids is my favorite part of the day (and not just because I get to go home when I'm done).
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