Look them in the eyes…
The end of the school year is quickly approaching. As I reflect on all the many routines I do with my students, there is one that will NEVER, NO MATTER WHAT, go away.
It starts the very first day. Let’s go back…
Backpacks on, they enter the room. T gets to the doorway and asks quietly, “Am I in the right place? This is my very first day at this school.” I smile warmly and reassure him that he is. I note that my heart is probably beating as hard as his…the start of the year always brings those butterflies!
Students begin to take their seats and unpack, and that’s when it happens. I walk over to each one, kneel down, LOOK THEM IN THE EYES, and say, “Hi ___. I’m so glad you’re here.”
There is an observable change in their bodies - the way they sit, face me, sit up straighter - the way they actually place their bodies is softer, more open, and engaged. Why? Eye contact and their names - a simple, yet deeply resonating way they know they are seen.
Every day, for the rest of the year, I do the exact same thing. No fail. I show that I see them, they matter to me, and they belong here.
Yes, we are busy. Yes, we have lots to accomplish. However, I will not start that path until I have done the MOST IMPORTANT work a human can do - connect.
What I have purposely omitted is that this is my college freshman writing class. These are BIG kids. Kids whose parents aren’t making them show up every day. Kids who have lots of other things competing for their attention.
It’s really important that we remember that kids of every age crave time with others. Sure, they may act like other things are more important when they spend hours on video games or complain about us “making them” do things with us, but they really do need it. We can’t forget that. We need to continue to do the things that remind them how much they love/need to connect.
This foundational routine also unlocks other important pieces that I don’t have to force.
Because I choose to see them, Instead of making a “phone free zone” a class rule…they choose to put down their phones. They see a purpose to developing their self-regulation muscles and make responsible decisions on their own.
Because I ask about them, their games, their families…they ask me about mine. They develop authentic respect and empathy. I am an academic ally rather than an adversary.
Because I am willing to question, be curious, and continue to learn…they know this is a safe space to risk and they do too. Modeling a willingness to grow and vulnerability of imperfection raises their expectations of themselves to show curiosity, make mistakes, and persist.
Because I see them, they see each other. The space transforms from a space with people in it to a place of learning with other learners.
Sometimes I fret about my lack of experience in my first year of collegiate teaching. “There’s so much I have yet to learn,” I worry. “Have I covered it all?” I ask myself. But then they show up, knowing they belong…ready to engage.
That’s the biggest lesson I could ever give.
