Two Challenging Stories from One Day in the Classroom
And why I think sharing them matters.
For the most part, I like to share stories of success on here: moments I’m proud of alongside moments I’m grateful for, and moments that hopefully can be helpful for others to read about—especially when discussing how they happened, in my reflection.
Today I don’t want to do that.
Instead, I want to share two different stories of challenging moments from a single day in the classroom—two stories that were quite challenging for me, both within the classroom but also afterwards as I reflected on how to move forward.
I’ll add, though: neither story is going to seem “life-changing” and, since they happened, within the week both leveled back to a semblance of normalcy.
Regression to the mean is a thing in the classroom, too, after all. In both directions.
Yet before these two stories fade into the many other stories of the past week, and then ultimately into yet another mosaic of stories across another year in the classroom, I wanted to share them here.
One at a time, one after the other.
One Story.
I currently teach both sophomore English (along with several other fantastic teachers at our school) as well as multiple sections of AP Literature, and there are always a handful of my sophomores who have a positive experience and then loop back into AP Literature the following year.
This first story is about of those “looping” students who has had one of those very-positive arcs: beginning sophomore English not particularly confident, but then slowly-but-surely emerging to become one of the strongest writers and thinkers in the entire grade—and then choosing to make the leap into AP Literature as a junior.
The type of trajectory we love to celebrate, right?
Nevertheless, when I was collecting Unit 1 Spirals for AP Literature the other day, I came across this reflection in this particular student’s spiral:
“I feel like my skill with my writing is just going down,” they wrote, “and I don’t understand why.”
Again, this was from a student who had quite simply thrived throughout their sophomore year, to the point that they had chosen to loop back into AP Literature—and then had proceeded to spend the first few weeks of this year being a clear leader in discussions. A confident one, too, at least from my vantage point as their teacher.
Still: “I feel like my skill with my writing is just going down.”
For context, AP Literature students had just received their Unit 1 Essay scores and many ended up with lower results than they had hoped for—and additionally, this student’s reflection took place before the following class’s full debrief experience that would include the opportunity to revise.
By the end of the week? They were back on track.
Why does this moment reading this student’s beginning-of-the-week reflection still sit with me, then, if for the most part everything was resolved—and why share it here?
Two reasons, I think:
Even the best trajectories are rarely linear, and it is easy to think of our classrooms broken down into students who are doing well and those who are not. Clear, easy-to-navigate dichotomies make sense when you have 150-200 student stories to hold in your mind in a given school day, right? Yet in every indication I had up until reading that reflection, though, I would have said this student was doing fine. I had over a year’s worth of “data” to rely upon, after all!
And I would have been wrong. This is why we need to refuse the temptation of fixed mindsets about all of our students, especially those we feel are 100% supported and confident. For me, this means building in reflection opportunities frequently and intentionally—and in ways I can authentically and immediately respond to (including a quick check-in conversation the following class period with this student after reading their reflection.)
That reflection was a gut-punch but also an important reminder for me—and I don’t want either the feeling or the lesson from that reflection to fade any time soon.
Another Story.
Reading a student reflection that challenges you is one thing, especially when you’re able to process it along with your response to it in the quiet space of a planning period.
When that challenge comes right when a student walks in the room, and is not only verbalized but quite visceral? With other students squeezing by with eyes wide to see what Mr. Luther will do?
That’s a whole different thing.
As I’ve discussed on here many times before, I’m a major believer in intentionally designing the classroom to build community and the role that assigned seating can play in that pursuit. This is why I not only lean into group seating but regularly “shake things up,” especially in the first semester, to create more opportunities for students to get to know classmates they had never met before. (This is even more of a priority in a school of 2000 students like the one I work at!)
So every 3-4 weeks, I let students know their new seats as they’re walking in the room—and the typical reaction is a knowing nod, a curious eyebrow raise, a cliche rolling of the eyes, etc.
Not getting cursed at.
But that’s what happened earlier this week, and it surprised me so much that I thought I had to have misheard what was said at first. Without going into any specifics, let’s just summarize by saying this student was not at all happy about having to sit in a particular place in the classroom—a student who had been doing just fine in class for the first six weeks!—and they “went off” on me in a way that I never would have anticipated was even in them.
Again, just like the first story in this post, the “regression to the mean” took place relatively quickly: [1] I stayed calm and reminded myself that an out-of-the-norm response happens for a reason, and likely one I wasn’t going to understand right away; so [2] I talked them down as much as possible and asked them to just give it a day while I could work on a solution knowing [3] there was a gallery walk 15 minutes into the lesson where I could talk with them more at length and discretely so that [4] we could figure out a solution together going forward.
And we did.
These things happen, and as teachers we tend to figure out a way to meet a student where they need to be met—even if they don’t necessarily advocate for themselves in the way we hoped they would.
But I still want to hold onto this story because I know very much that if I was having an off day, or just had a bit less patience in that difficult moment, the outcome would have been very different for the student as well as for our relationship.
This is humbling, too, as it is a reminder of just how much our own context as a teacher shapes the way we respond to and support students. A bad day for us very much can translate into an unnecessary consequence for them.
That’s the way of the world, yes, but it shouldn’t be—and definitely shouldn’t be in our classrooms.
Why These Two Stories?
Well, first of all, I am well aware that I typically tend to center quite-positive stories in this space, and I don’t want anyone reading or listening to think that this means that the entirety of my experience in the classroom is perfect.
Yes, I care about classroom community immensely and feel very proud of the growth we make each year—including this one already!—but no, that does not mean that every decision I make is right and every experience I have with students is positive.
So in sharing both of these stories, first and foremost I hope to be authentic about what teaching is for me and everyone else: full of many challenging stories like those above, even in the best of experiences, interwoven with myriad other stories on a daily, even momentary basis.
It’s confusing and overwhelming and draining.
Yet at our best, I think, as teachers we can find time to sit with those challenging stories just a bit more, and to consider our own role within them—and then to consider what we can learn from them as we move forward.
That day earlier this week? It was a hard day.
Those students? Back to thriving.
The lesson, then, for teachers?
We’re never done learning.
—Marcus
We want kids to have a "growth mindset" but often forget it's critical to our learning, too. I was in a Facing History workshop yesterday, and we discussed this very scenario, the one where, depending on an entire range of factors that affect dispositions of the humans involved, outcomes could have run the gamut, and as you say altered all the trust-building that had preceded them. Reflection—if we can get to the "after-space" (and know that there is one—always)—is what you've modeled here. Thank you.
Really appreciate this “other side” view. Im glad you were able to get both of these students through these challenges. In thoughtfully working through challenges, we learn so much more and deepen classroom culture. Thanks Mr Luther. 🍎