I can’t stop
thinking about Tytiana. Right after Thanksgiving, I started a fresh coaching
cycle in a third grade class during their writing workshop. We only had a few
weeks until Christmas vacation and I wanted the students to have the
opportunity to celebrate their writing before the break. The students, their
teacher, and I decided to use their quick writes about “hands” and turn them
into finished pieces. Some kids wrote about
their own hands, the hands of a parent or sibling, or Santa’s hands. The format
for the celebration was very simple. The kids put their fancied-up “hand” writing
in the middle of their cleared off desks then stood quietly nearby. We had invited
another class, administrators, secretaries, and some teachers to attend the
gallery walk the week before. As guests
arrived, they signed in and browsed the pieces at their leisure. They were free
to pick up the writing, read it, and ask the writers questions. After about
fifteen minutes or so, the teacher and I asked the attendees, as a group, what
stuck with them about the pieces they had read or seen. The guests noticed that even though everyone
had written about hands, all the pieces were different. Many of the visitors noticed that the writers
had used similes. Lots of compliments. Lots of smiles. Then our visitors were thanked and they
departed. Quick and painless. As soon as everyone left, the class, their
teacher, and I gathered at the carpet to debrief. The kids were bursting with
excitement. One little girl, Tytiana, a decidedly reluctant writer, was smiling
so wide I thought her cheeks were going to pop.
“Tytiana,
you are smiling so much! Are you happy?”
(enthusiastic
head nod)
“Did it feel
good to share your writing with Mr. P’s class?”
(another
enthusiastic head nod)
“Did you
want to tell why it felt so good?”
(animated
head nod and a big breath in)
“Wellllllllll,
this girl read myyyyyyy writing.”
“So, why was
this so wonderful for you, Tytiana?”
(big breath
in)
“Welllll, she
is in my cheernastics class annnnnnnd, usually . . . she doesn’t even notice me. Today . . .
she did!”
I looked
over at Tytiana’s teacher biting my lip and swallowing hard. Tytianna
continued.
“She never
even talked to me before. (pause) Cuz, IIIIIIIII’m like on the bottommmm of the
pyramid, yunno, and she’s on top cuz she’s smaller.”
Tytiana
struggles in so many ways. But that day was different. Tytiana wasn’t
struggling. She was noticed. She was noticed and smiled at and respected. And
by the way, her writing has amazing voice!