Yesterday I had glorious plans about where I wanted to go with my next post.  Truly!  I had it all mentally prepped and was going to jot some notes to myself during my plan period at the end of the day.

Then a young man showed up, knocking at my classroom door. Much to my dismay, I opened it to find him crying some very ugly tears.

It was his last day as a student in our school, and he most definitely did NOT want to leave.

He wanted a hug, and he wanted to stand and sob. He craved words of reassurance for his future. He needed to hear me say it will be okay and he will find a place to fit in at his new school.

What is monumental about all this is that the young fellow has some pretty significant autism.  Yes, the transition is going to be hard for him, as transitions tend to be for many people with that particular struggle. But it’s more than that. He’s found a safe place here. He’s comfortable in the routine and in knowing that my co-teacher and I build on strengths and focus on small successes as we journey toward proficiency. He’s scared to lose that (among many other supports in this building).

I know I was going to write about formative assessment and intentionality as they related to the interactive handbook I use with students.  I was going to write about how these things help them overcome insecurities and open them to being more willing to risk trying.

Instead, I’m using him to show it.  English is a terribly hard subject for him, both as a reader and a writer, but he was growing in confidence — enough so that he came and laid his emotions bare at my door rather than burning a fast path away from “that” room.

His tears mattered more than  my plans, as they should have.

I’ll be intentional tomorrow. Today was about going with the flow.

 

 

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