Filling in for Mom and Dad

A particular little boy in my Prepa B class seemed impossible to motivate. It wasn't unusual for him to spend most the class period crawling around on the floor, bothering his friends, or finding someway to mutilate his homework. Please don't mistake this for my lack of trying. First of all, I have 27 little kids on my hands which in and of itself can be very overwhelming. Although I usually have an assistant, she is often taking kids to the bathroom or dealing with one of the few especially difficult boys. Add to this the fact that:

1. These kids don't understand half of what I say.
2. They aren't used to being in school all day.
3. When you are 5 or 7 years old, sitting in a desk and listening to a strange language isn't high on your priority list. 
 4.Despite the fun we do manage have in class, nothing changes the fact that learning a second language is tough.
5. Oh, and don't forget about personality clashes, class clowns, bullies, and constant little arguments that are certain to abound in large groups of immature youngsters. 

Back to my student. I had tried encouraging him, I had tried scaring him (saying I would send a report to his mom, making him write sentences--which he never did, refer to homework mutilation). Most kids have some angle that you can reach them at. I was at such a loss with this one. However, today I decided to try to understand. I bent down and looked in his face just moments after confiscating his scissors. I tried talking to him in Spanish, hoping that he might respond. I asked him what was wrong. His face crumpled a little. Before long, I could see how much this tiny little kid was hurting, and I asked him if he wanted to come work with me at the teacher's desk. He nodded, took his paper and came to my desk. I picked him up on my lap, and asked him what was wrong again. He looked like he wanted to talk, but no sound came out. Only a few tears that he tried so hard to hold onto belied what he was going through. I asked him if he missed his mom (a typical reason for preschoolers to be upset). He nodded. I asked if he missed his dad, another nod. I asked him if he wanted to talk about it. He did. But no sound came out.

I told him to bring his colors. He only had three. He spent the rest of the class actually doing his work, sitting on my lap. I searched through the lost colored pencils, sharpening some to add to his pitiful little collection. I don't know what this kid is going through, but from the look of his eyes his pain is deep. These are preschoolers. I am reminded again that I'm not just playing teacher here. As much as I can try to teach them English and Bible stories, these kids are desperate for attention and love more than anything. I am filling in for Mom and Dad.