“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall that wants it down…” I have always liked that poem. I remember reading it in high school and thinking how much I liked the guy who thought the wall was stupid and how much I hated the guy who could not think of anything better to say than “Good fences make good neighbors.” I even remember sneering in superiority, sure that I would never get stuck behind one thought or one belief. I did not make it and I am a hopeless hypocrite in thinking of myself as an open-minded person, but I cannot escape the feeling that the guy who does not care about fences is smarter than the other one. I like the idea so much that I am in the business of tearing down walls.
Everyday this school year, there has been a quote at the top of my whiteboard. I know each of you read it on a daily basis. I never asked you to read it; we rarely discussed it or drew attention to it. Sometimes you knew exactly what it meant, other times you asked questions. But everyday a new quote was on the board for you, for your life story. I want you to learn one basic thing. Some of you may never know, and some may not know until years after you pass through my class. I want you to know you are a person of value. I want you to know you are fresh and bright, talented in a way that no other human being is talented. I want you to know you are new and experimental and no one has ever tried to be you before. You are endless possibilities and mind-boggling achievements within yourself. Like literature, you will have many stories: a family story, a personal story, an educational story, a fantastical story, a tragic story. You will have loves, hates, sorrows, joys. And from your wealth of experiences, a life of possibilities that is more beautiful than the greatest poem and vaster in purpose than the entire Milky Way will emerge.
I often asked my English teachers, “How is this going to help me in later life?” I learned literature is for the tearing down of walls. It is a place where a salesman is all the more heroic for having failed. It is the place where a brave mouse can save a princess. It is the place where an orphaned boy can find solace, hope, and peace in his sister’s Bible. It is a place where friendships grow, then die; where enemies fight to the death. It is the place where you are. It is the place where the miracle of the individual is exalted and rejoiced over. You are each your own miracle within yourself, and I rejoice in your learning.
There is one valuable skill that I have learned throughout my life, and I want you to learn this same thing. It is this. When we look at the person sitting next to us, we realize and see the talent, the beauty and the possibility behind each face. That we enjoy the unique qualities that make the snob, the jock, the brain, the loser, the hood, the geek, and the prima-donna all worth knowing, worth loving. Ignorance is refusing to see and knowledge is merely opening your eyes to what was already there.
I want you to get out there and tear down those walls. Don’t get stuck in the Doldrums. Dare to travel beyond the Land of Expectations. Dare to love the unlovable. Dare to love yourself.
This was the letter I gave to my students last year. Little did I know how much it would relate to our readings and learning this summer. I always wish the best for my students. Sometimes I think I have too many “life” lessons and not enough “school” lessons, but oftentimes my kids need somebody to talk to about life. I choose the literature we read in class with care. My purpose is to choose books that my students can relate to on several different levels. Not only do I want them to learn the Language Arts skills that are necessary to pass that darn test, but I want them to learn that literature relates to them. They can read a book and learn so much about the world and themselves. All they have to do is take the time to think about it.
I think the quote that best describes my learning this semester is by Michel Foucault. “There are times in life when the question of knowing if one can think differently than one thinks, and perceive differently than one sees, is absolutely necessary if one is to go on looking and reflecting at all.” I think it is impossible to move forward without looking back. Past experiences shape your future directions.
We saw plenty of evidence this semester of how the past shapes the future. Sometimes it hits us smack in the face. For me, reading about Jake and LeAnn fighting in the yard was one of those times. It demonstrates that children learn what they are taught, both verbally and by example. In Jake’s case, he learned a lot through his family’s example. I think as Jake went on into kindergarten, he tried to bring his familial discourse with him. He tried to incorporate his past experiences and what he knew through his family into his schoolwork – especially his writing and storytelling. Without realizing it, Jake was looking back in an effort to move forward.
The first set of articles we read, Dowdy and Delpit, are examples of how the past dictates and molds the future. The mothers in the articles wanted their daughters to speak properly, yet the girls wanted to speak in a manner that fit in with their peers. The mothers had to look back and reflect on their ideals before they could accept their daughters ideals and move forward. We all have to test the waters and use the safety net of our family and what they’ve taught us before we can move forward. As I said many times in previous posts, children have to try on different personalities before they decide who they want to be. Sometimes they are a different person every day, and I believe we saw this in our reading. Whether they were expressing themselves through music, writing, discussions, or actions, we saw the students in the research finding their spot in the world. They were marrying their family discourse with their school discourse. They were choosing which path to accept and which to reject.
Through this course I have become more aware of how my actions impact each student. I need to incorporate each child’s individuality into my classroom. I need to take my own advice from the letter above, and help each child see the beauty, talent, and possibility behind their own face.
Jennifer Wagoner