The words she texted told me that a student, from the first year I was a paraprofessional at Turner Junior High School, had died.
I initially scanned the words and then uttered, "Oh, no."
Thinking of this student took me spiraling back 20 years to my first job in Special Education. I was a 1:1 for part of the school day and was placed in teacher Kim Nelson's class for the remainder.
It was in this class that I met Emily.
Emily taught me how to teach.
I don't remember everything about those few years, of course, but what immediately comes back into focus is her.
Kim had a full class and several students. As an 'extra' para in her room, I was there to work with whichever student needed me. I know I made a quick scan of the classroom, silently praying Kim wouldn't place me with Emily because she was as tall, if not taller, than I was and I knew she was nonverbal. She had a communication device and I hadn't worked with those before. She also used some basic ASL signs but I wasn't confident with my abilities in that regard, either. I kept thinking there was no way I would be able to communicate with her and my self-confidence took a nose dive.
Frankly, she scared me. I knew she'd be able to feel my unease and that's all it takes for a junior high student to get the upper hand. I had no doubt she was sizing me up from across the room, too.
The game was on.
I can't tell you how many weeks it was but what I can tell you is that something incredible happened between me and Emily.
Emily taught me how to teach.
No, I didn't become an expert with the communication device nor did I become fluent in ASL, but we found a bond and a connection through humor that I wasn't expecting at all.
Humor?
Yes, special education students can be funny. Because they are people like you and me. They have all the emotions and all the feelings every human has and they are simply waiting for us to notice!
Emily taught me this.
No, we didn't have a breakthrough during one of Mrs. Nelson's lessons, either. Actually, what happened between us occurred in-between a lesson.
I had left the room to go into the hallway and as I came back in, I noticed Emily leaning over one of the desks. She often did this. She would bend in half (remember she was a tall girl for her age) and this caused her rear end to jut out into the path between her desk and another piece of furniture in the room.
I have absolutely NO idea why I did what I did next.
It felt like the right thing to do in the moment.
As I passed by Emily's rear end jutting into the walkway, I playfully swatted at it as I walked on. A mere second in time.
Instantaneously, Emily let out the loudest and deepest laugh I'd ever heard!
It was more like, "Heh, Heh, Heh!" than a true laugh. But for Emily it was a laugh.
I turned and looked at her and her mouth was spread wide in a smile. She didn't bother to stand up. She was still bent in half over her desk but she'd turned her head in my direction and was laughing and looking at me.
Mrs. Nelson saw it.
Now, I'm not saying paras or teachers should go around swatting a student's rear end. I waited for a second or two to see how what I had done would be received by Mrs. Nelson.
Kim smiled.
Everyone smiled.
Emily's laugh was infectious and Mrs. Nelson must have known that this exchange was a breakthrough because miracles take many forms in a special education classroom. It's often the unplanned and the unexpected which become milestones for which we mark our students growth and success.
In that moment, Emily taught me how to teach.
Our relationship after that was more than I could have hoped for. I looked at Emily differently and I think she saw me differently, as well. We connected.
Fast forward 20 years. Mrs. Nelson and I have reconnected, professionally. Except now I'm the teacher and she is my administrator. I don't know if I'd actually connected the dots of how Emily impacted me all those years ago until Kim texted with the news of her passing.
I shared with my classroom staff yesterday that Emily was the student who scared me because I couldn't 'talk' to her. I told them how her size intimated me. How my insecurities and my inadequacies were highlighted because she was a challenging student.
But, before all that, I told them she was my favorite. Because she was. She was special to me.
Emily taught me how to teach.
It's one of my greatest regrets that I didn't see Emily again once I left Turner to go work at another school. Kim and I would say we should go visit her and yet I never made that happen. Life keeps moving on and you think there will always be more time. So, things get set aside.
I know Emily would be happy that today my classroom is an ode to her.
We laugh.
We sing.
We dance.
We smile.
We love.
We teach.
Emily taught me that teaching and all those other things are actually one in the same. Because of her, my students now have a teacher who is infinitely changed because of what a nonverbal student 'said' to her two decades ago.
Now, you're probably wondering if I ever swatted Emily's rear end, again, right?
Let me tell you that kid tried and tried to get me to do it!
When she'd see me coming, she'd immediately bend over at her desk and look at me with her big smile.
Yes! She wanted me to swat at her rear as I went by.
Yes! She wanted me to swat at her rear as I went by.
How we would laugh about that! It became quite a 'thing' in Mrs. Nelson's classroom.
But, what I haven't told you is when Emily truly worked her way into my heart.
One day, it was me who was bending over at a desk...
It is what it is.
p
