Earlier today, I found out that my brother is being deployed to Afghanistan next month. This is really devastating on many levels, but that’s not something I want to go too in depth on right now, except for the way it relates to teaching. Maybe I’ll write more about him going to Afghanistan another time, but I don’t think I can at this point.

I found out at the end of the school day, but had an after-school class to teach so I didn’t really have time to think much about it. But I felt incredibly sad and found myself struggling to keep my composure several times during the after-school session. Part of this is probably because I’ve been thinking about my brother a lot lately when I’m working with some of the boys I teach.

During the past week or so, I’ve struggled a lot with my fourth period class. There are 10 children in the bunch and they’re all great, but they’re a lot to handle in a group setting. Five of them are boys and they’re all friends and don’t like the whole sitting down and doing work aspect of class. I admire their energy and their spirit but I’ve been struggling to find a way to give them their freedom and teach class without having to stop 15 times (and that number is not much of an exaggeration).

Sometimes when I’ve lost control of the class and am feeling disappointed and frustrated, I find myself just watching the kids play and laugh and talk with each other. I’ll look in their pretty, dark little eyes and see the joy and wonder there and I’m often overcome by a sense of awe. I remember how young they are and how new everything is to them and I don’t really want to interrupt what they’re doing. I just want to let them learn and explore, and to observe this wonderful scene in front of me.

During the past couple of days, I’ve started seeing the boys as my brother and his friends when they were that age. Teachers were forever sending home reports about how much they talked in class or got up out of their seat or didn’t listen to directions. I was only four years older, but I always thought they were so cute and funny. And they were. Just like my boys are.

When I started looking at them in that way, I felt a stronger affection for them and appreciated the way they were acting. I thought about all the reports that my parents used to get about my brother, and looking back, he and his friends were never doing anything wrong. They were being children and didn’t like having to sit still when they wanted to play or being reprimanded for goofing around with their friends.

My after-school class only consists of two children, a boy and a girl, and it’s a conversation/speaking fluency class. We don’t have a set curriculum and since these kids are only four years old (American years), I try to read books and do puzzles, and help them learn words just by talking to them.

The little boy, William, is always playing jokes and trying to make Alyssa, the other student, and me laugh. Again, I try to find a balance between giving him the freedom to have fun and also doing actual work in the class, but every time I looked at him today, I saw my brother.

This made it a little difficult emotionally to get through our hour-long session, but I think I managed to keep things light. Every time William tried to make a joke or veered off topic a little, I tried to be curious and encouraging. Maybe there was some part of me that wanted to give him the freedom and positive feedback my brother and his friends were often denied in school. I’m not sure. As helpful as it has been to think about my brother as a little boy when it comes to teaching, it also fills me with a deep sadness, especially when I think about him as a soldier now.

I guess this post is a bit rambly and I’m not entirely clear on the thoughts myself yet, so hopefully I’ll figure that out in the next few days or so. But I do know that there is a connection between the two and that this new way of looking at my students will absolutely inform my interactions with them from now on.