Throughout the month of March, I am participating in the annual Slice of Life Story Challenge, an event hosted by the team at Two Writing Teachers. Every day in March, I will share a story and comment on the stories of other participants. Please join us in writing, sharing, reading, and commenting!
Today's post is more of a celebration, and, after yesterday, I need it-- one can only write so much heaviness!
I've kept up with my tutoring throughout this knee rehabbing process, and I'm always happy to work with D. He has missed very few sessions in the two years I've worked with him. Despite being on Zoom, he is focused, and he is eager to learn. Friday afternoon? He's smiling. Sunday morning? He's doing his best. Saturday afternoon? Yep, he's all in. My daughters shake their heads at his commitment to our two times a week sessions. "Who happily shows up for writing sessions on weekend mornings?" they've asked many times.
D. is a high school senior with some significant disabilities. When his mom contacted me a couple of years ago, I wasn't sure how it would go and if I could really teach him to write. Sentences were hard, and we started with really simple ones. His fluency grew, and we developed a predictable format for our sessions. With scaffolds and sentence stems, he learned to write various types of paragraphs, understanding how to shift depending on the genre and purpose.
Progress has not always been consistent, but it's been northeast. His mom and I have had many conversations, brainstorming topics and supportive strategies she could work on with him. She wants him to have as independent of a life as is possible, and she wants him to know how to write. I have so much respect for her.
Over the last few weeks, we've been working on essays. Nothing fancy, but essays. And this afternoon, D. write an essay with very little prompting from me. Not only that, but he also explained the smart things he did with his introduction, the types of elaboration he used in his body paragraphs (yes, he used that language), and the call to action he included in his conclusion.
D. doesn't always smile, but he did today when I told him that if I were there with him in person, I'd be hugging him. What a testament he is to hard work, efficacy, and a commitment to learning. He's an inspiration.
This is inspirational! Mom, D, you! There is so much power in believing that all kids can learn. It feels like this moment deserved a group hug. ❤️Jess
ReplyDeleteI am so glad he has you to teach him. I love that his mom sees the power in learning to write. I’m smiling with all of you!
ReplyDeleteTracey
DeleteOften as teachers we don't get to see when a child actually makes the progress because it takes more than a year and we tend to only get a year. This slice reminds me that progress happens thanks to moms and teachers and tutors like you. I'm glad you got to see and feel this accomplishment today!
ReplyDeleteI truly love this line: ‘ Progress has not always been consistent, but it's been northeast.’ it has such a kind sense of humor and reality. This is a beautiful testament to D’s mom and D and you. AND to the belief that when teaching is clear, step by step, and explicit, surprising growth can happen. Its kind of a love letter to special ed.
ReplyDeleteAwww, what a special moment!! He's lucky to have you! And his mom.
ReplyDeleteIt's moments like these that really make what you do worth it! I'm sure that D has grown tremendously because of your efforts...and his confidence in his own abilities sounds like it has skyrocketed. My favorite sentence was "Progress has not always been consistent, but it's been northeast."
ReplyDelete