Working with children: A few memories

My journey working with differently-abled children started with a lesson that remains with me even today. As a trainee, armed with our theories and idealism — both in equal good measure, though with the passage of time both have taken on a different hue! — our first student always remains deeply etched  in our “teacher subconscious.”

My first practical teaching assessment was with a wheelchair-bound young girl, buck-toothed with two pigtails and all of 9 years old. Walking into the class, I could almost see myself through her eyes — my overenthusiastic smile and cheery voice unsuccessfully trying to mask the butterflies inside.

My lesson plan had included a warm-up time of five minutes of getting to know my student, but nothing I said or did elicited any response. She looked at me with triumphant silence and yawned. Not the greatest of beginnings. Proceed to lesson, a voice cautioned.

And so I started with the models and all the rest of my paraphernalia. Every time I started, she would drop her pencil. Dutifully I picked it up. By the fourth pencil dropping episode, I saw my examiner desperately trying not to laugh and saw my student’s eyes watch it all in absolute merriment. So, when the pencil dropped for the fifth time, I told her in my most teacher-like voice that either she picks it up or that there was no recess. Blackmail of the worst kind… but it worked.

The rest of the lesson was smooth-sailing and I walked away with a new found respect and knowledge that children, special or otherwise, at the very core, are very much the same! Then there are students who challenge you in more than ways imagined.

Working in a mainstream school where students with learning needs were integrated in the classroom, my first student decided that I was just “no good and that her previous tutor was way cool”. Okay. I was a little low on the cool quotient, but surely, a little love and patience could win her over…all good in theory, but every day was a battle. Patience gave way to irritation and soon a feeling of inadequacy. When the next class resulted in her not doing her homework, I threw in the towel and called in her parents. The way her parents handled the situation was a lesson in itself. First they reassured me that she would be made to apologise for both the attitude and incomplete work.

Next, they gave me a good perspective on her needs and shared with me certain medical information that helped me understand her better. Third, they gave me some constructive feedback on the work I was doing. Apparently, the content was too heavy and she was finding it difficult to cope.

This, together with her being attached to the previous teacher who suddenly left, was too many emotions to cope with. The next day, I decided to give the textbooks a break, took her for a walk and really talked to her. Not as a child with dyslexia, but as a student.
I shared with her my own fears about working with her, and slowly, I felt her relax. We worked together for a year and went through many ups and downs. With the support from her parents, we showed progress and the highest compliment I received from her on our last day was: “I think you are really cool.”

Working with children with diverse needs is a lesson in progress. We need to keep learning, unlearning and sift through all the terms and theories to touch the very core of the child. Success then is measured not by grades, but how we empower them to face the world outside of the classroom, on the merits of their own strength.
 

(Anuradha Shyam is a special educator at a mainstream Bangalore school)