Lessons from Adolescents

Last week was my last 40-minute stint as a volunteer in a 7th grade classroom. In the fall, I was invited to participate in an incredible program where volunteers spend time in Catholic schools to read to children, aid teachers, share their skills, and pretty much give in whatever way they feel suited to help students grow.

Overly confident and remarkably naive, I told the principal that I work better with older kids. I was honest and said that reading to little children makes me sleepy. Twenty-five years ago, I taught many sections of Interpersonal Communication at a community college, and I was excited about offering a paired down curriculum to thirteen-year-olds.

I made my list of topics to cover in my six months of “making a difference:”

Eye contact

Posture

Gesture

Facial Expressions

Calling someone by name (ala Dale Carnegie)

Smiles

Mirror neurons

Synchronicity

Tone of voice

Incongruence

Listening

Silence

The Power of the Pause

Attention

The impact of interruption

Empathy

Inquiry

Appreciation

I bet you’re thinking - wow! This is great stuff. If not, I was. I devised mini lesson plans to try to make the importance of presence real to the kids.

I bought mini journals for the class and envisioned them ending the school year with a treasure of journal entries that led to epiphanies of meaning and goodness.

On day one, I entered the class with my typed lesson plan, my Thailand chimes, and overzealousness.

I had a basket of cute, colored 3x5 notebooks, and walked around like the bearer of great gifts. I was so proud of my patience as they deliberated over pink, blue, green, beige, yellow. I smiled as I thought that this journal would change their lives.

I structured each 40-minute session with greetings, a journal prompt, silent reflection, sharing, and paired and group activities that hit home the point.

Prompt #1 Freewrite in your journals ten words that describe yourself.

A hand shot up: “Are you going to grade this?”

Confused, I said, “No, why would I grade this?”

This was the first of many humbling moments where I discovered that I was out of my league. I know nothing about teaching 7th graders. I coached many middle schoolers in volleyball, basketball, track, cross country and speech, but I never taught in a classroom of adolescents.

At Thanksgiving, I came up with the ingenious idea to distribute thank you notes and asked them to write a card to someone, but ideally a mentor. This concept could not be grasped. I said write to anyone.

A hand shot-up: “Are you going to collect this?”

Confused - again, I said, “Why would I collect these? These are for you to give to someone.”

Next, I asked them to take out their journals and list the names of their classmates. I planned a Kumbaya experience of appreciation. Next to each one, write something you like about the person. I predicted a room full of flowing gratitude.

A boy waved me over to him and said out of the side of his mouth: “I don’t know these people.”

I had projected by 7th grade experience of knowing my classmates onto these kids. I thought they’d list endless positive qualities about their peers.

When I returned after Christmas, I had renewed, new year energy. I distributed the journals to learn that one boy was missing. When I called his name, a cacophony of voices shouted:

“He’s gone.” “He’s not coming back.” “He left.” “Not here anymore.”

Bummer. I thought. He’s such a cool kid.

There were two new classmates who brought their own unique energy to the room.

I asked the kids to put their desks in a circle, write in their journals what they are good at, and then share. The game started with one student stating name and skill. The next student referred to the previous students with that person's name and skill followed by their own until the last student was challenged with rattling off every child’s name and skill in order and ending with their own. (Kind of like the ABS grocery store game.)

This proved to be the most successful lesson plan of the year, not because the kids were orderly, but because they were engaged. They shouted out corrections as someone stumbled or didn’t use the exact language as the original speaker.

Most students repeated the skills identified by previous contributors. I asked what they noticed about the group.

One of the new kids said, “We don’t have original ideas.”

I left with renewed hope. I vowed to gamify this communication thing.

I tried other games that flopped, leading to increased disruption, lack of attention, constant chatter until I started dreading each visit. They could tell. They’re smart . . . and observant. They could feel the shift in me, and a few children would ask as I packed up my bag, “Are you coming back?”

I’d make eye contact, smile and say, “See you in two weeks!”

Last week, they knew it was my last time there, and the chitchat and interruptions were at their peak. An added discouragement was occasional loud yawns as I spoke. I felt small, yet determined to stick it out. The unruliness got so out of hand that twenty minutes in, I turned to the substitute teacher and asked, “What is happening?” I was really asking myself what was happening within me. I needed to take a breath.

He said, “It’s not you. This class is like this to everyone.”

I felt like someone in the midst of a break-up: “It’s not you. It’s me.”

I looked at the clock with 19 minutes to go and distributed my last handout - The Morning Prayer by Sister Pat Bergen, CSJ.

The Morning Prayer

Gracious God,

Thank you for the gift of today.

Refresh me . . . invite me . . .

to discover your Presence

in each person that I meet

and every event encountered.

Teach me when to speak and when to listen;

when to ponder and when to share.

In moments of challenge and decision

attune my heart to the whispering

of your Wisdom.

As I undertake ordinary

and unnoticed tasks,

gift me with simple joy.

When the day goes well, may I rejoice!

When it grows difficult,

surprise me with new possibilities.

When life is overwhelming call me

to Sabbath Moments to restore

Your Peace and Harmony.

May my living today reveal your Goodness. Amen.

I asked the children to write in their journals what lines speak to them. They all started talking and saying my instructions were not clear. Bombarded with commentary, I told them to underline a word or phrase that is meaningful to them.

They quieted. It was a miracle. I asked them to share.

One boy raised his hand and said, “I want to be aware of new possibilities. I think I’m open, but I don’t think I always see opportunities.”

Holy shit, I thought. “That’s amazing,” I said.

I asked why I would distribute this prayer on my last day with them.

“You have been trying to get us to listen, be present and see the good in others.”

I almost cried.

With four minutes to go, I told them that they have the opportunity to change the trajectory of their education right now. We all have a choice. They don’t have to perpetuate the reputation of being a difficult class. Next year, they will be the leaders of the school. I reminded them of how little kids look up to 8th graders. I talked a bit about how dignity and respect are basic human needs.

I felt Charlie Brown teacher syndrome kicking in. “Wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk.”

As I left the classroom, one of the girls slipped a torn and folded piece of notebook paper in my bag. I thanked her and left.

I returned my VIP Volunteer Badge at the office, walked out of the school building, and sang my own version of Taylor Swift’s lyrics:

“I am never ever ever going back in that classroom again!”

Later that evening, I cleared out my bag and found the student’s note:

I learned that I need the Morning Prayer - in every moment. Sister Pat Bergen’s words can be embedded in my heart as I struggle, feel overwhelmed, impatient, and disregarded, and when I need a Sabbath Moment.

This student gifted me with the revelation of God’s goodness. They all did.