What are our students' lives like when they leave our classrooms? How might their home lives affect the work they do in class? My own experiences as an immigrant child offer a glimpse into the need for teachers to understand the obstacles that some students face. I offer my story to remind teachers of the importance of considering how students' home lives can affect their performance in class.
Learning the Rules
My introduction to the English language came from volunteers at a refugee camp in Malaysia. My first English lessons focused on the alphabet, colors, numbers, and key phrases such as, "Thank you very much," and "I need help with this, please." I began school in kindergarten one year after I arrived in the United States. My physical appearance and language barriers clearly separated me from my predominately white, middle class classmates. Although some teachers embraced those differences, others did not. I struggled in school for several years. Over time, I learned to speak English fluently and flawlessly. More important, I learned the unwritten "rules of school."
By the time I reached 3rd grade, I had achieved a high enough score on my English language proficiency test to no longer need to attend lessons in the school's English as a second language program, which consisted of one volunteer teacher and the six Asian children in the school at the time. After only four years in the United States, I had learned enough English to stay in my class the entire day with the rest of my classmates.
The Big Assignment
When I was beginning 4th grade, my teacher, whom I'll call "Ms. Smith," reviewed the curriculum for the year. Before completing elementary school in Virginia, students were expected to know multiple facts about the state, including its agriculture, political systems, history, and the like. As a culminating project, each student in Ms. Smith's class would create a Virginia scrapbook. Ms. Smith told us that we had six months to complete this project and that she expected "perfection." Although I understood the project on a general level, my focus turned to the scrapbook itself. What is a scrapbook? Where can I get one? Whatever it was, I knew that my family could not afford to buy one.
The year progressed, and I turned in my homework diligently and successfully achieved As and Bs on all of my tests and assignments. However, Ms. Smith never made me feel welcome in her classroom, and it became my year's goal to gain her approval. I decided I would prove my worth to her by presenting the best Virginia scrapbook she had ever seen. Once a week for nearly the entire school year, I stayed in the library after school to work on my project. To do this, I had to lie to the school librarian, telling her I had a ride home. When no one was looking, I would sneak out the back door and begin my mile-long walk home alone.
I did research, wrote paragraphs, and summarized my newfound knowledge using correct grammar and perfect handwriting. Unlike my peers who had access to unlimited materials, I had to scrounge in the art room for crayons and a few colored pencils that I used to draw the cardinal, the dogwood tree, and other images that reflected Virginia life, history, and agriculture.
The Plan
Although I was confident in my abilities to comprehend and synthesize the content needed for the project, obtaining the actual "scrapbook" continued to haunt me. I learned from my classmates that these scrapbooks could be purchased from the local Ben Franklin store. I wondered, "What on earth is a Ben Franklin store?" When I went to this store with a friend and her mother, my eyes filled with wonder. After walking down each aisle filled with yarn, ribbon, unfinished wood knickknacks, and art supplies, I found the scrapbook I would need to complete this project.
The cheapest scrapbook cost roughly $15. To my family, this was a fortune. With the responsibility of raising three children in a new country, my parents had to account for every penny. Although their resources were limited, they were deeply committed to my education and willing to make sacrifices. To save for the scrapbook, my mother started putting aside a portion of the tip money she earned every day as a shampoo girl in a local hair salon. For every woman who got her hair washed, my mother would get 25 cents. Over several weeks, she saved nearly $20 in a jar that I had labeled "Lan's Scrapbook Fund." One sunny afternoon, I traveled with my mother across town to purchase this final and most important piece for this project. As a gift to me, my mother bought not the cheapest scrapbook, but the glossy, forest-green book with two gold lines bordering the front cover.
The Final Touches
When the due date grew near, I gathered my notes, my handwritten paragraphs, brochures from field trips to Monticello, and my hand-drawn illustrations. Everything was ready to be put into my newly bought, fancy green scrapbook. On Monday, we were expected to bring in our projects and talk about them for 10 minutes. When I sat down on Saturday to start assembling my work, I realized that I had forgotten one major detail—we had no glue. I had nothing to use to affix my carefully constructed materials to the pages of the book. For children whose parents have cars and some disposable income, this problem had a simple solution. Get your parents, get into the car, and go buy glue. But we had no car and no extra money. A single dollar spent on something that had not been budgeted meant that my mother would have had to shampoo four extra heads. It was Saturday, it was too late, and I was defeated.
This is what I thought until my resourceful mother approached me with a hug and a solution. On the table were all of my materials, my scrapbook, and a big bowl of newly steamed rice. For the next few hours, we sat spreading the rice onto the backs of each of my pictures and notes. With my mother at my side, I completed my scrapbook. In that moment, I could not have felt more confident.
On Monday morning, I woke up for school, got dressed, and hurried to the bus stop with my scrapbook closely clutched to my body. I placed it on the table with all of the other student projects and sat back in my seat with great anticipation. At first glance, my book looked like everyone else's. Surely my teacher would respect me now. Surely I would get an A. When it was my turn, I proudly went to the front of the class and picked up my project. But when I opened it, some of the pages were stuck together. The rice had dried over the weekend, and some of the pictures that did not get enough rice simply fell off the pages. The only thing that my teacher and classmates saw that day was a little Asian girl holding a scrapbook that was crumbling before her eyes. "What a mess!" the teacher said. She told me that I was a "slacker" and that I deserved nothing more than an F for my lack of effort.
Lessons Learned
- Classrooms should be spaces of community and warmth where students feel welcome and included. Teachers should respect their students, even if they do not fully understand them. If I have not created an inclusive classroom, I have failed as a teacher.
- Teachers need to focus on the process, not necessarily the products. I encourage my teacher education students to understand the process their students engage in, along with the final products they produce.
- Teachers need to believe that all students can learn. It is essential to understand student backgrounds, have high expectations of students, and challenge them daily.
- Teachers need to engage in continual self-assessment and reflection. All teachers need to acknowledge their own biases and challenge these beliefs.
- All teachers must take the time to understand their role in the classroom before looking for fault in others. If students are disengaged, teachers should first try to understand how their own actions might be affecting their students.
- Teachers need to recognize the role of multicultural education, culturally responsive teaching, and social activism. Even if we do not fully understand the belief systems of all groups, we need to fight for equity for all students.
I do not remember how I learned English or who specifically taught me to read and write. I cannot remember whether my teachers used a phonics or a whole-language approach. But I do remember the teachers who created classrooms where I felt that I belonged and felt safe. I remember which teachers I could approach if I had a question and which teachers seemed to prefer that I stayed in the back, never speaking a word. It is in the classrooms where teachers showed that they cared about my success that I achieved.
