Amanda
In 1988 I taught senior English in high school and Amanda was assigned to my class. Amanda, I quickly discovered, felt she had a calling from a higher power admonishing her to make miserable anyone presumptuous enough to teach her English. If Amanda had somehow known that Dante had defined nine level of inferno, she would have proposed a tenth and assigned every English teacher to that special level of perdition. She hated the subject and she hated anyone who attempted to teach her the subject.
Her grades during the first six weeks were not good. Her attitude was worse. Every assignment, every piece of literature produced a string of sarcasm and complaining. I particularly remember teaching Amanda’s class, “The Eve of St. Agnes” by John Keats.
The long poem, “The Eve of St. Agnes” tells the story of a young girl named Madeline who lived in a far away land. In this land there was a tradition practiced allowing young girls like Madeline to come to a party given in her behalf on January 21,on the cold winter evening before St. Agnes‘ day. According to the tradition described in the poem, Madeline is to attend the party, not eat, and not make eye contact with any guest. After the party, Madeline is to go to bed and late in the night the love of her life, Porphyro, would come to her and bring dainty foods, cakes and pastries, would become her love, and would wisk her away to a life of happiness. A description of the encounter in the poem between Porphyro and Madeline went like this.
he arose, Ethereal, flush’d, and like a throbbing star
Seen mid the sapphire heaven’s deep repose;
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odour with the violet,—
Solution sweet
At this point, Amanda’s hand shot up.
Amanda‘s question: Did they have sex?
My answer: Well, I guess that’s the implication
Amanda’s question: Who wrote this thing?
My answer: John Keats
Amanda’s question: Are we going to read anything else by him?
My answer: Probably
Amanda’s comment: Well, I don’t think we should because anybody who could describe sex in such a boring way is obviously not a very good writer!!
After several more of these encounters, I began a series of conferences with Amanda’s parents. I found out some things about her. I found out that she had never done well in English. I found out that she had repeated sophomore English. I found out that her utmost fear was that she lacked the capability to do well in English. Her confidence was gone if it ever existed.
After the conferences I worked hard on the kid. I met with her before school. I worked with her on writing. I worked with her in understanding convoluted lines of English poetry. We even worked up to Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter. By the third six weeks, her grades began to improve. During the fourth six weeks, when I had a Renaissance Festival in all my classes, Amanda had her mother make her a Renaissance dress for the festival. She made the first A that six weeks she had ever made in high school English.
The fifth and sixth six weeks continued to go well. Amanda now seemed to like my class and was relaxed. She
was positive. She was productive.
At the end of the school year, students in my English literature class went their way. On the last day of our class meetings, Amanda’s class left a wrinkled paper for me with a number of comments scribbled about the class by the students. Amanda too had a comment on the paper. The second sentence in Amanda’s comment was this:
I never would have tried so hard if you hadn’t had confidence in me.
That statement has affected a great deal of my teaching since 1988. It’s something I know needs to be a integral part of what I am as a teacher.
Postscript:
In 2004, I was visiting a friend of mine in the cardiac ward at a Woodlands hospital. When I arrived in my friend’s room, he had a number of nurses working over him, each intensely involved with some special medical-related duty. I looked closely at one of the nurses. It was Amanda.
She and I had a wonderful visit. Amanda told me that she had graduated from college and was now a registered nurse. She laughed and apologized for her behavior in my English class. I, of course, dismissed it to her.
During the course of the conversation, Amanda told me that she was married and had two boys, each in intermediate school. As we chatted, Amanda made the comment, You know, Mr. Ezell, I love my boys but sometimes they drive me crazy. I closed my eyes, and silently mused to my maker, Thank you Lord--I’m so pleased.
When my visit with Amanda ended, I left the hospital and I thought back about the note she had left me on her last day of high school. That special second sentence, so simple yet so profound, so at the heart of what we should do in working with students, “I never would have tried so hard if you hadn’t had confidence in me.
In 1988 I taught senior English in high school and Amanda was assigned to my class. Amanda, I quickly discovered, felt she had a calling from a higher power admonishing her to make miserable anyone presumptuous enough to teach her English. If Amanda had somehow known that Dante had defined nine level of inferno, she would have proposed a tenth and assigned every English teacher to that special level of perdition. She hated the subject and she hated anyone who attempted to teach her the subject.
Her grades during the first six weeks were not good. Her attitude was worse. Every assignment, every piece of literature produced a string of sarcasm and complaining. I particularly remember teaching Amanda’s class, “The Eve of St. Agnes” by John Keats.
The long poem, “The Eve of St. Agnes” tells the story of a young girl named Madeline who lived in a far away land. In this land there was a tradition practiced allowing young girls like Madeline to come to a party given in her behalf on January 21,on the cold winter evening before St. Agnes‘ day. According to the tradition described in the poem, Madeline is to attend the party, not eat, and not make eye contact with any guest. After the party, Madeline is to go to bed and late in the night the love of her life, Porphyro, would come to her and bring dainty foods, cakes and pastries, would become her love, and would wisk her away to a life of happiness. A description of the encounter in the poem between Porphyro and Madeline went like this.
he arose, Ethereal, flush’d, and like a throbbing star
Seen mid the sapphire heaven’s deep repose;
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odour with the violet,—
Solution sweet
At this point, Amanda’s hand shot up.
Amanda‘s question: Did they have sex?
My answer: Well, I guess that’s the implication
Amanda’s question: Who wrote this thing?
My answer: John Keats
Amanda’s question: Are we going to read anything else by him?
My answer: Probably
Amanda’s comment: Well, I don’t think we should because anybody who could describe sex in such a boring way is obviously not a very good writer!!
After several more of these encounters, I began a series of conferences with Amanda’s parents. I found out some things about her. I found out that she had never done well in English. I found out that she had repeated sophomore English. I found out that her utmost fear was that she lacked the capability to do well in English. Her confidence was gone if it ever existed.
After the conferences I worked hard on the kid. I met with her before school. I worked with her on writing. I worked with her in understanding convoluted lines of English poetry. We even worked up to Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter. By the third six weeks, her grades began to improve. During the fourth six weeks, when I had a Renaissance Festival in all my classes, Amanda had her mother make her a Renaissance dress for the festival. She made the first A that six weeks she had ever made in high school English.
The fifth and sixth six weeks continued to go well. Amanda now seemed to like my class and was relaxed. She
was positive. She was productive.
At the end of the school year, students in my English literature class went their way. On the last day of our class meetings, Amanda’s class left a wrinkled paper for me with a number of comments scribbled about the class by the students. Amanda too had a comment on the paper. The second sentence in Amanda’s comment was this:
I never would have tried so hard if you hadn’t had confidence in me.
That statement has affected a great deal of my teaching since 1988. It’s something I know needs to be a integral part of what I am as a teacher.
Postscript:
In 2004, I was visiting a friend of mine in the cardiac ward at a Woodlands hospital. When I arrived in my friend’s room, he had a number of nurses working over him, each intensely involved with some special medical-related duty. I looked closely at one of the nurses. It was Amanda.
She and I had a wonderful visit. Amanda told me that she had graduated from college and was now a registered nurse. She laughed and apologized for her behavior in my English class. I, of course, dismissed it to her.
During the course of the conversation, Amanda told me that she was married and had two boys, each in intermediate school. As we chatted, Amanda made the comment, You know, Mr. Ezell, I love my boys but sometimes they drive me crazy. I closed my eyes, and silently mused to my maker, Thank you Lord--I’m so pleased.
When my visit with Amanda ended, I left the hospital and I thought back about the note she had left me on her last day of high school. That special second sentence, so simple yet so profound, so at the heart of what we should do in working with students, “I never would have tried so hard if you hadn’t had confidence in me.