New Life, New World

I’d like to tell you about something that's happened in my classroom during the past two weeks.

It started with the news I’d be getting a new student. Actually it was two new students, since my teaching partner was getting one as well. A pair of brothers, with a younger sister in a primary class. When teachers learn we're getting new students, we always try to learn as much about them as we can. Are they a boy or a girl? Are they coming from within the school district? Are they coming from out of state? Do they have any special needs? Does the family have a different home language than English? What kind of ability do they have? Do we have any standardized test scores to review before they arrive?

Everything I needed to know this time I found out in just a few sentences: The family is originally from a country in the middle east. They’ve been living in a different country in the middle east for three years, and the kids haven’t had much as far as consistent schooling. They’ve been in America for less than a month and don’t have any English.

This is the kind of scouting report that makes a teacher think, “All right, here we go. Time to roll out the ‘A’ game.”

The kids in class knew enough about the situation ahead of time to be ready for his arrival, and were legitimately excited to meet him. One boy talked about how a new kid had joined his class at his old school, and the class had all worked together to help him learn words in English. Our new student didn’t come to class right away on the first day, since the family first met with building administration, an Arabic interpreter I’ve worked with a few times, and our exceptionally hard-working ESL teacher. Luckily for us each homeroom already had one Arabic-speaking student we could rely on for quick translations, but we all began communicating in simple words and hand motions. The other students were friendly and welcoming, guiding this new boy through the routines of the day the best they could. 

During dismissal, the two brothers quickly found each other as the bus lines started for the office. We made sure we knew which bus to get them on. One of my other boys, who rode the same bus, told me he’d seen their family moving in and knew which stop was theirs. When people tried to escort the boys onto the bus, they opened up in obvious panic, scanning the crowd for their little sister, refusing to get on until she was with them. I went to the front door and waited. She was easy to spot, dressed in the same slightly formal way as her brothers, looking for them with the same panicked expression, and holding hands with her teacher. I crouched down by her, clearly said the names of her bothers, and had her follow me to join them. The boys surrounded her when they saw her, and the three of them got on the bus holding each other. It occurred to me then they had probably been living for three years with a near constant fear of being separated if they didn’t keep close watch of each other. I choked up a little as their bus left, quietly reminding myself that even if I couldn’t teach them everything the same way I was teaching the rest of the class, I could at least be a part of their day when they would feel happy, comfortable, and fed. They would be able to work and play with other kids, they could learn the boundaries they were probably craving, and they could feel safe.

As the days continued, our new fourth grader made some extraordinary leaps in his language acquisition, going from asking other students a pre-coached “What’s your name?” to picking up school-specific vocabulary and useful expressive phrases. He learned how to do things and where to go by observantly emulating his classmates. I went from being someone he would walk up to and stare at with unspoken questions to “Teacher.” As he found that comfort level and made new friends, he turned out to be a little spitfire. During the afternoon of our fall party, he laughed and screamed and played games and danced. The last kids to be dismissed in my room sometimes crawl under the desks and call them forts while they wait for the bell. When he crawled under with them and accidentally farted, the other kids started laughing and he laughed right along with them. 

We kept teaching him with hand motions paired with words the best we could. If he got too excited and had to be corrected, I used simple language with my motions and tone of voice: “No running in here.” “Don’t pinch. That’s wrong.” “Good job!” He picked up on these cues and would nod his understanding, then would stop doing whatever it was as temporarily as any other nine-year-old would. 

We had a math test yesterday that took some kids close to two hours. He didn’t take it. He looked at a picture book for awhile, then I gave him some colored pencils and paper: “You can draw.” He smiled and picked up the pencils, then came up with these two masterpieces: A truck and a happy warrior defending the American flag, and a group of friends in a swimming pool with the American flag hanging overhead.

Based on his pictures, I'd say he thinks America is already pretty great the way it is. 

Today during dismissal, he stood by the door waiting for the bell. Out of nowhere he began quietly singing to himself, some song in Arabic. He looked up, saw me listening, and smiled.

I thought of how much his life had changed in only a month and smiled back, feeling a little privileged that I had the chance to help him transition into a whole new life.