I imagine by her peers’ standards she’s strange. She keeps to herself. She has different interests. She says and does weird things. But, really, she’s neither strange nor weird; really, she’s just misunderstood.

Turns out, I have a lot of Ms. (and Mr.) Understood’s in the classroom. Always have. Always will. We are all different. We are all strange. We are all misunderstood. It’s the way of things. But I say this not as an admission of apathy. Rather, I say it as a recognition of reality. In our world, we misunderstand much. Of all, it seems we misunderstand each other. And why wouldn’t we? We don’t know each other. We can’t understand what we don’t know. So, then, to understand, we have to know. The goal has to be to know each other. In room 206, that is the goal.

In my room I want you to feel connected.

This is everything in my room. All else comes second. We work–deliberately and diligently–at this every day. No magic bullet. No shiny, canned, costly program. Just 31 people in a room connecting each day through Smiles and Frowns. I know I often talk about and talk up our daily ritual, gushing about its impact on our classroom community and culture, but it has been a powerful means to a powerful end, an end that I am witnessing from the front row. And from my perch, I am watching in real time “knowing” transforming into “understanding.” And yesterday, was the best yet. For yesterday, Miss Under stood.

She has refused to share her work all year long. Trapped in her anxiety, scarred by bullies and teasers in her past, aware of her socially awkward standing, she has hidden in the shadows, barely showing herself. Occasionally, intermittently, she has shared a smile or frown, but she has never shared her work, which I have always found to be our misfortune, for her work is good–really good. And as we neared the end of this project and approached the presentation part of it, she and I had already reached an agreement that–as always–she would not have to share her work. But, then, yesterday, something happened. Miss Under stirred.

Maybe she was having one of her “less-bad” days (for her, good). Maybe she was inspired by her peers’ sharing their work. Maybe she finally believed me when I told her that she had good stuff. Maybe it was merely a fluke. Regardless the reason, as the period began, and I was asking if anyone wanted to fill the two vacant spots in the presentation schedule, she spoke up.

“Sy, I guess I can go.”

“Really?” (shocked)

“But only my poem.”

“You sure?” I was still in shock.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not” (anxiety coming to life).

“Let’s let the others go first. And if you go, great. If you don’t, all good.”

And then, when it was time, she stood. Miss Under stood. And she shared not only her poem but all of her pieces. Afraid for her, I quickly scanned the room, worried how the kids might respond. But they–and I should have known better–regarded her as one of the “family,” transfixed by the wondrous work the weird girl in the corner shared from atop her moment’s mountain. It was a palpably surreal moment for me, for all of us. And at the end, I marveled as she read through her peers’ kind comment cards, smiling bigger than I have ever seen her smile.

We won’t soon forget what we now better know and better understand about Miss Under. We will all remember the day she stood. More, she won’t forget either. She, I believe, better understands, too.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…celebrating our connections. There is nothing else.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.