Unexpected Lessons: Teaching Struggling Students in South San Francisco

The names of the students have been changed for privacy.

Because I haven’t been teaching in a classroom this year, I wanted to use the break to fill in the “holes” of my mostly independent school résumé.  I’ve expanded my writing career with Pacifica Patch, tutored children one-on-one in a variety of discipline areas, and helped place students with various special needs in appropriate independent schools.

However, in all my years of teaching, I had never worked with under-privileged and underserved students.  In looking for an appropriate placement, I reminded myself that I have formal diversity and differentiation training. I attended a weeklong diversity workshop in Maryland a few years ago that opened my eyes to my own inherent prejudices and stereotypes—those that were taught to me when I was young. Additionally, I had attended a plethora of differentiation conferences where I learned to address different learning styles. 

I had used the tools I learned in these workshops in the classroom previously, but, in reality, my students had been predominantly white, affluent, and intellectually curious and able, with only a few students of color and/or learning challenges sparsely interspersed with the rest. 

After several weeks of actively looking for placement, a colleague called me to let me know that he was starting a government-funded after school math program in South San Francisco. When he asked me to be his lead at Parkway Heights Middle School, a struggling SARC (School Accountability Report Card) school, I immediately accepted.

On first arriving at the campus, I was struck at how unwelcoming the school appeared from the outside.  Perched on top of rise, the school could make use of the beautiful vistas, but the cinder block, rectangular structures had windows that mostly faced a concreted courtyard. 

The library, where the students would meet after school, had no windows. Large, with high-beamed ceilings, skylights or glass panes could have been positioned around the top perimeter, but only dropped fluorescent bulbs lit the space. Metal, half-filled bookshelves lined the walls, and I was surprised that there weren’t more reading options. With 452 students in 6th through 8th grades, the number of books in this library, in my opinion, was painfully insufficient.

I met a few of the teachers, the librarian, and the principal, and all were very nice, if not harried and busy. There was little time for chatting or getting to know anyone, as everyone was running from one place to the next.

So, though Parkway Heights looked like a school, had teachers and an administration, and lots and lots of students, it felt alien to me. There was little connection to the schools I had taught at in the past, and the energy of the place felt tired, worn, and dated.

Once the students arrived, I quickly realized that these kids were unlike any other students I had ever taught in a classroom. 

I was silently looked over by many of the boys and openly, and rather loudly, questioned by the girls. They wanted to know whom I was, why I was there, and, once I laid down the new rules for the library, when I was leaving. 

But, once I got them settled, I saw that much of the brashness was a lot of bravado they used to cope with their harsh realities.

In speaking with one 6th grade boy, Joe, I asked him about the pictures of a young man on his binder.

“These are my brother,” he said proudly. Then, he added, “He got shot last week. We’re going to the cemetery today.” 

Another boy chimed in, “But we’ll get the guy who shot him!”  The other two boys at the table laughed.

While working on math with Anna, I asked her what she wanted for her birthday. “A tattoo, like my mom’s,” she said, “Right here (indicating her chest).”

I silently moved from table to table, struggling to think of replies to my standard ‘getting to know you’ questions. I've taught over 1,000 students, and I know how to handle textbook learning struggles-- but I didn't know what to say to them.

Math frustrations were a common theme among these students. When I asked them if they could meet with their teachers with questions, they all said they could after class, but there wasn't enough time so they still didn't get it. None of the teachers have office hours, and, in general, move very quickly through the curriculum, leaving those with questions to fend for themselves. Most of the students would just give up.

Over the weeks, I learned, slowly, how to talk to them, as some direct questions or background questions were answered with unexpected hostility. I asked one girl, Patty, what she liked to read, and she answered, without cold glare of complete indifference, “Nothing.”  Or, when asking Jesse about what he wanted to be when he grew up, he answered with a smile, “A killer.”

Through all the aggression and defensiveness, however, I watched them slowly succeed. The adult-like worry that constantly plagued them would fade momentarily when they understood how to add decimals or, like some 8th graders, factor polynomials. In sitting with a student for a few minutes to patiently explain a concept, more understanding would occur than in an entire class period.  A few students who would continue to get louder and louder throughout the hour would calm down easily when I would quietly cue them with, “Inside voices.”  And, best of all, more students actively worked on their own volition, without prompting from my assistants or myself. 

Unfortunately, though the program was promised funds to carry it through the end of the school year, those were abruptly pulled on April 5 with no real explanation. On the last day, when we announced that today would be the last day, there was a mix of emotions from the students. Some appeared happy, but what I saw in their faces continues to plague me this very minute as I type these words: I saw them retreat back behind their defensive shells. We, the adults, suddenly became like everyone else who made promises to stay and help. Like so many others, we were leaving them; after we told them we would be there to help.

For a brief period of time, they came out of those shells and learned math. They had studied and behaved like 6th, 7th, and 8th grade students, not like adults thrashing about in an unkind world.