Chapter 2



Becoming an Educator: An Autoethnography Exploring Classroom Environments and Dynamics

A Thesis Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the

Requirements of the Renée Crown University Honors Program at

Syracuse University

Emma Snitkoff

Candidate for Bachelor of Science

and Renée Crown University Honors

Spring 2020

Honors Thesis in Inclusive Early Childhood Special Education

Thesis Advisor: _______________________

George Theoharis, Professor of Teaching and Leadership, Professor

Thesis Reader: _______________________

Tom Bull, Assistant Teaching Professor, Director of Field Relations

Honors Director: _______________________

Dr. Danielle Smith, Director

© (Emma Snitkoff 2020)

Abstract

Classroom environments and dynamics are typically relegated to the background of educational research. Although not specifically academic by definition, classroom environments and dynamics, because of their intrinsic nature to the process of education, significantly aid or inhibit the learning process that occurs in classrooms. Through an autoethnography of my significant pre-service teaching experiences, I analyzed and reflected upon classroom environments and dynamics and how my experiences have influenced my development as an educator. As this research is presented as an autoethnography, data collected is qualitative to reflect the nuances of situations and students that most accurately and clearly represent my perspective. This thesis project explores experiences that have been pivotal to my development as an educator. Experiences were collected from both academic and non-academic settings. Through my own experiences, I focused on the importance of classroom environments and dynamics, especially, but not limited to, how they can be used to motivate students.

Executive Summary

This research is an exploration of classroom environments and dynamics and their effects on student behavior and learning. Using autoethnography, I draw upon my own personal experiences and reflections on these experiences, from both my time as a student studying Inclusive Early Childhood Special Education at Syracuse University and my time working at a summer camp during the years that correspond with my matriculation at Syracuse University.

As this capstone is an autoethnography, it is comprised of vignettes or personal narratives and analysis. The personal narratives are indicated by italic print. Analysis directly follows each personal narrative. Personal narratives are described as “…stories about authors who view themselves as the phenomenon and write evocative narratives specifically focused on their academic, research, and personal lives” (Ellis, Adams & Bochner, 2010). Wall (2006) notes that “autoethnography can assist in answering otherwise unanswerable questions” (p. 152). It would be impossible to effectively quantify all the different facets of classroom environments and dynamics. I am a crucial part of my observations and the how I interpret them. Because of the personal nature of these observations, names and identifying traits were changed to uphold confidentiality.

I have been actively engaged within a classroom in roles that include volunteer, observer, or teacher, seven of the eight semesters I have been at Syracuse University. I observed and worked in a variety of classrooms throughout the local community and each one has been unique. The bulk of these experiences were during what the Inclusive Early Childhood Special Education program calls “blocks.” Each block includes an experience of teaching in the classroom and classes taken concurrently. As I progressed from Block I, all the way to Student Teaching, often thought of as Block IV in the program, I both taught more and assumed greater responsibilities in the classroom.

Block I included an experience for me in a second grade general education classroom, in which I co-taught with another student in the program. I was there three hours, three days a week. Through this experience, I learned to teach in a style that was authentic to myself and learned about the impact of teacher-student dynamics and the significant impact it can have on learning. These dynamics can help a student feel comfortable in the classroom, which can allow them to learn.

Block II consisted of a full day four days a week experience in a first grade general education classroom. Through this experience, I learned the importance of creating a classroom environment that is developmentally appropriate, low-stress, and kind, and what can happen when that is not the case.

During the summer, I also worked as a camp counselor for four and five year olds. The setting for the camp was in a classroom and counselors were often teachers or education students, but were not formally teaching the children anything. Through working with my campers, I learned to view children as source of information on themselves, and about the tricky but necessary balance of parent communication and confidentiality.

Block III included experiences from two different early childhood settings. At one day care center I worked with infants, toddlers, and preschoolers. This was a general education setting and I worked professional hours. The other setting was an early intervention program for toddlers, in which I also worked professional hours. Block III was a four day a week experience. Through these early childhood settings I realized the power of framing, presumption of competence, music, and validating emotions. Many of these issues are an integral part of developing a relationship and rapport with students.

Student teaching would normally include both a general education and a special education placement. However, due to the effects of COVID-19, I was only able to complete my special education placement. This student teaching experience was in a resource room in which students were pulled out from their general education classrooms to receive their lessons. There was one student who we would support in the general education classroom as a “push-in” service. I worked with students in kindergarten through second grade and followed the professional hours five days a week. Through this experience I learned the benefit, and sometimes necessity, of explaining how you are disciplining or not okay with a student’s behavior, and the dangers of not presuming competence.

This study draws on my own experiences, following my progression in understanding classroom environments and their dynamics. I will analyze moments from each of my experiences to assess the effects on myself, and the people around me, ultimately to discern their ramifications on learning and my development as an educator. To quote Sparkes’ (1996) goal, ““I... attempt to take you as the reader into the intimacies of my world. I hope to do this in such a way that you are stimulated to reflect upon your own life in relation to mine” (p. 467). Hopefully my own experiences and reflection will help you, the reader, to understand the importance of classroom environment and dynamics, illuminating some general truisms that speak to our role as educators.

Table of Contents

Abstract……………………………………….……………….………….. iii

Executive Summary………………………….……………….……….….. iv

Preface……………………………………….……………….…………… viii

Acknowledgements …………..…………………………………………… x

Chapter 1 Block I: Getting My Feet Wet ………………………………….………………... 1

Chapter 2 Block II: Do Unto Others… ……………………………………………….……… 9

Chapter 3 Camp Experiences: Uncrossing the Wires ………………………………...…… 18

Chapter 4 Block III: Making Connections and Revising Expectations …………………… 23

Chapter 5 Student Teaching: Sending the Right Message ……….………………………… 37

Chapter 6 Conclusion: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow ……………………..………….. 46

References ...…………………………………………………….......………………………… 49

Preface

Much research on teaching best practices is often done with regard to instructional strategies. However, classroom environments and dynamics play an influential role in learning. This is not hard to grasp when you consider how different you would act in a comfortable welcoming setting versus an uncomfortable inhospitable environment. Classroom environments contain many facets that would be difficult, if not impossible, to represent quantitatively. Instead, my descriptions and reflections, representing my personal perspective, act as data, informing my own progression as an educator. Consequently, the research has been conducted in the form of an autoethnography. An autoethnography is research that describes and analyzes one’s own experiences in order to understand larger cultural concepts or experiences. (Adams, Holman Jones & Ellis, 2015, p. 46). I am describing and reflecting upon my own experiences with children in order to better understand classroom environment and dynamics.

Unlike traditional research, my autoethnography “is distinguished by an author writing in the first person about her/himself with a text presented as a story, in literary form, disclosing hidden details of private life, highlighting emotional experience and oriented to evoking emotional response in the reader” (Josselson & Lieblich, 2005, p. 200). Sarah Wall (2006) notes “Traditional scientific approaches, still very much at play today, require researchers to minimize their selves, viewing self as a contaminant and attempting to transcend and deny it” (p. 2). Not only are my experiences given as data, but my own inner thoughts and feelings about events are also provided as data. My own experiences and interpretations of those experiences are an integral part of my understanding of classroom environments and dynamics. By removing myself from the narrative, data would be rendered incomplete.

To collect data, I journaled throughout my experiences in which I worked with children. I journaled about events that I felt were particularly noteworthy, and some experiences that might seem more mundane, not knowing what events would be the most significant in the end. In journal entries I would describe what was happening, what I thought about it, and the emotions I felt. While journaling I would sometimes go back to previous entries to build on ongoing experiences, as I was continuously making sense of my experiences. When I began writing the autoethnography, I read through these notes, and reviewed the work that I had done for those experiences, reviewing lesson plans and the materials I made for lessons. This brought to life the experiences that, for some, I had experienced two years prior. This allowed me to pinpoint some of the moments that shaped me as an educator. As I began the process of autoethnography, I did not know what my final product would focus on, other than my development as an educator. The review process helped me focus on my evolution of understanding classroom environments and dynamics and encouraged me to explore both at a deeper level.

Acknowledgements

Learning is not done in isolation. I am grateful to all of my cooperating teachers who welcomed me into their classrooms with open arms and all of my students who not only accepted me as a part of their classrooms, but motivated me to continue improving myself as an educator. My learning would not have been possible without them. My learning would also have not been possible without my professors and instructors at Syracuse University, who consistently challenged my thinking, especially George and Tom who also supported me through the capstone process. Prior to starting this project, I barely knew what an autoethnography was and I would not have been able to create one without the guidance and patience of George. I am also grateful for my family who have nurtured my love for education and supported me throughout my journey.

Chapter 1

Block I: Getting my Feet Wet

Near the beginning of my Block I second grade placement, I remember an incident which left me feeling flummoxed. As it occurred only a few days into my placement, my role and responsibilities in the classroom were still undefined. Not surprisingly, this ambiguity over how to proceed in the classroom filled me with anxiety. While I wanted to be as involved as much as possible, I also wanted to be sure that I did not overstep any boundaries that the teacher had in mind. Without clear direction from the teacher, I decided to try taking the initiative to help students with their morning work, something I felt would help me ease in to becoming integrated into the classroom’s routines. As I was helping one student, I saw that another, Jason, was only eating his breakfast, and not doing any of his morning work. When I finished helping the first student, I decided to try to try to get Jason on task with his work. As I walked over to Jason. I greeted him, remarking that “it’s time for you to get your morning work supplies out.” What happened next, somewhat shocked me. Jason simply refused. I was both taken back and also quite nervous about how to handle his unexpected response. I did not want Jason, or my cooperating teacher, to think I was incompetent. As it became more and more clear that he was not going to listen to me, I tried explaining to him that it was necessary to do morning work and I gave him the choice of either taking out his morning work or I would take it out for him. Either way, he would be doing it. Jason responded, “Why?” over and over again, staring at me, almost as though he was looking for me to justify my very reason for being there. My immediate response, internally, was shock. I had never considered that a second grader would question his reason for doing class work, let alone the idea of learning. His unexpected response made me feel very unsettled and I knew that it required a legitimate response from me. In my mind, the response was obvious, yet I felt I should just address the immediate question of morning work, not the importance of getting an education. I told him that morning work is important to help us learn, as it reviews what we learned the day before, so we can be ready to learn new things. Jason continued to ask why learning was important and repeated that he did not want to learn. I wondered why a young child would be asking why he should do school work or learn. I felt sad that at such a young age he had a very negative view of education. I wanted him to see that learning could be both fun and useful, as I do.

It was one of the first days in my Block I, second grade placement. I had noticed that students would typically come grab a free breakfast, if they had not had one at home, and begin doing either math problems or language arts questions from a packet. The students were expected to do a specific page each day and if they decided to have the breakfast, to also eat while they worked. I decided to both help students with their packets and make sure that they were also staying on task. This moment was somewhat illuminating for me, as I had not thought that I would encounter a student this young, a second grader, with such a negative view toward education. Jason often came to school exhausted, so it would make sense that school work was not his first priority, rather the basic need of sleep might be. This information left me with somewhat of a powerless feeling. As it was the beginning of my very first placement in the classroom, and I had spent little time with Jason up until that point, we had not established a relationship where Jason felt comfortable talking to me. Consequently, I felt limited in the moment from being able to make a significant impact.

Throughout the time I spent with Jason, I did in fact observe him progress in his attitude toward school. My cooperating teacher during this placement was able to subtly add positive reinforcement to her interactions with him. She told me that she tried to balance sternness with warmth, so that students understood boundaries, but also felt welcome. Jason tested these boundaries at times, but ultimately knew what he was supposed to be doing. Eventually, Jason made progress in his behavior, and chose to test behavioral boundaries less and less. By the end of the placement he was raising his hands, volunteering to answer questions, which never had happened when I initially joined the classroom. For me, this change in Jason’s behavior really illustrated the importance of students feeling comfortable in the classroom. Children will not take any academic risks, including raising their hands, or making any kind of effort, if they feel uncomfortable in their surroundings. This teacher had explained to me she thought Jason needed to feel like he belonged in the classroom before doing any work because he described some neglectful situations at home, and did not have a lot of friends in the classroom. As a result, she went out of her way to support him at school, telling him repeatedly that she was impressed by his answers. Also, she would remark that she missed him when he was absent and was glad he was back. The teacher showed that she was there for Jason, but did not lower her expectations for him. Eventually, Jason rose to meet those expectations. This experience made it very clear to me that ensuring everyone feels welcome is the first step of creating a classroom environment that supports all students. Additionally, creating a warm and supportive classroom environment does not mean lowering expectations. In fact, it supports those raised expectations. I had not realized that warmth and sternness could go hand in hand in supporting students to learn at higher levels.

“I think you guys are in a great starting place. I could tell that you are both very passionate about teaching. I think one of the most important things you guys should be working on is finding your teaching style and teaching voice” Mrs. Smith said as she finished giving us feedback. Kyle, another student in my block cohort paired with me as a co-teacher in this placement, and I had just finished our first lesson. There had been so much anticipation leading up to the lesson that we were relieved to complete it and eager to hear any feedback. At first when I heard Mrs. Smith’s statement, I felt defensive. It was easy for Mrs. Smith to talk about teaching style and voice, as she had a presence that demanded attention. She had a big presence that was hard to ignore, but she also knew when to be calm to draw students in. How could I find my voice and style? I struggled to fathom how students would ever pay attention to me, when they were not being watched by their own teacher, as I have always had a quieter demeanor.

Although I was wary at first, and it took a while to process, Mrs. Smith’s advice was very prescient and helpful. As a matter of fact, as my experience in the classroom has increased, I have really reflected on her words and come to appreciate what she was trying to tell Kyle and me. As I observed and participated in more classrooms throughout the years, I became cognizant of many different teaching styles that also worked. At first, I resisted her advice. I thought it was a comforting platitude that she was sharing, in an effort to make us feel better about the lesson. None of my teachers were soft-spoken like me. Nonetheless, her observation sent me on a path of reflection, which has led to continuous growth and self-revelation throughout my experiences. As I slowly found my voice and personal style, my interactions with students were more organic and authentic. I did not have to spend extra energy thinking about my style, instead I could put all of my focus on the lesson. I was able to embrace my quieter demeanor and find what works within my personal teaching style. It sounds intuitive that teachers should find their personal styles and not try to all come across in the same way, but it is actually a revelation when you realize that your own style has validity. My genuine and comfortable approach led to genuine and comfortable interactions. I realized that although teaching is often sometimes like an acting performance, I did not have to forgo my natural tendencies, in fact lessons seemed to work better, from a management and participation standpoint, when my demeanor was authentic. Although it may seem intuitive to be one’s self in the classroom, I had never been exposed to any teachers that were more reserved, like me. Although I continue to find more of my teaching voice and style throughout the various classroom experiences I have taken part in throughout my college career, I know that it is something that I will always continue to work on.

Mrs. Smith flicked the lights and cued the class’s attention. “It’s time to clean up. Put your materials away then go back to your seats.” I turned to Maya, a student from the class next door who I had been one-to-one tutoring in reading throughout this placement, saying, “I know that you usually go back to your classroom after our tutoring sessions. But, your teacher said that you can stay for snack today because we are celebrating my last day. Would you like to stay?” “No, I want to go back,” Maya replied in a shaky voice. I told her to put her materials away, while I did the same with mine. While I was putting my materials away she went back to her class, but something about her seemed upset, so I asked Mrs. Smith if I could quickly go check on her. With her permission, I went into the hallway and found Maya. She was in-between the two classrooms standing and crying. I was completely shocked. She had been fine during our tutoring session. It was not until the very end that she seemed to be acting slightly out of character. “What’s wrong?” I asked her. “I don’t want you to leave!” I came and sat down next to her. I was honored that she valued our time so much that she would actually miss me when I left, but was surprised at her response. I never thought she would value our time together this much. I did not think I had spent enough time with her to develop a student-teacher relationship that would cause such a reaction. Of course, I wanted to comfort her. I told her that it was okay and normal to be sad about someone leaving, but that she had the memories of the time we spent working together. At this point a couple minutes had passed and Mrs. Smith came out to make sure that everything was alright. She came over and reminded Maya that I was learning to become a teacher and that it was time for me to move on, so that, eventually, I could help other students. After a few more moments, Maya calmed down and she was able to go back to her classroom. As I went back into the bustling classroom to help with snack, I continued to be bewildered thinking over the events with Maya. I had never expected that reaction from her.

My Block I placement was three hours a day, three days a week in a second grade classroom. During this time we had to choose a focus learner who we would tutor in reading. Mrs. Smith did not have anyone in the classroom that did not already receive reading services and needed help, so one of the students, Maya, from another second grade class next door would come in for extra help. We worked together for over fifteen lessons, but it was only for twenty minutes or less at a time. I thought that the limited time I spent with her, in addition to the fact that it was all academic in nature, would not be enough to develop a true relationship or bond. We had followed the Road to Reading program, which is a very structured program. However, I tried to create choices for her whenever possible. I let her choose whether she wanted to read a section from a book first, or write words that I dictated on a whiteboard. She had to do both tasks, but she could choose the order in which she would complete them. I incorporated this aspect because I thought having some autonomy would motivate her more to work on both tasks. Additionally, as the literacy methods instructor suggested, in addition to incorporating challenging tasks, I incorporated tasks I knew that she would succeed at as review and as a way to make sure that she did not feel incompetent. I did not understand at the time, but upon reflection I realized that I had created an environment that was not only academically supportive, but also emotionally supportive. Creating an emotionally supportive and comfortable environment really had an impact on Maya, even if I had not realized it while working with her. Individuals may require different emotionally supportive features from the environment to feel emotionally sustained, but, ultimately, a teacher should strive to achieve this kind of environment because it is so impactful. When students feel supported they take academic risks which can lead to academic progress and feelings of competency. Looking back, this probably was a factor in Maya’s progression throughout our tutoring sessions. If I had made myself a completely unwelcoming presence, she might have put in little to no effort, or been afraid to make mistakes, preventing her from reaching her potential.

I underestimated my impact on a child’s learning experience. By spending time with a child, integrating myself into her daily schedule and giving her respect and autonomy throughout the lessons, through the use of choices, I unknowingly created a bond with Maya that she valued. This experience really brought home to me how student-teacher relationships develop organically. Even when these relationships have been thought out to maximize learning, the emotional impact on a student can be quite strong and very impactful, even if the teacher is unware of this. When instructing a child, even on a limited basis, it is important to remember the potential impact you may have on the student. Your actions, even if they seem insignificant to you, impact the child, which is a lot of power to yield.

Chapter 2

Block II: Do Unto Others….

It was the first day of my second block II, first grade placement. Even though I had greeted the children as they entered the classroom and even helped a few with their morning work, I still felt uncomfortable and unsure of my new role. I did not know much about how the classroom was run or the classroom expectations. Students were silent as they came in and ate without trying to approach me once I greeted them. Once some of the students finished eating they silently proceeded to sit on the carpet in the front of the room, while waiting for their peers to finish eating. The silence felt odd, almost unnatural. I had never seen a group of young children so quiet before. I later found out from the teacher that the students were expected to always be nearly completely silent, even if they were not doing schoolwork. The silence combined with the occasional sound of children opening packages made for an awkward environment that only added to the anxiety I was feeling over my unspecified role. After what seemed like years of silence, the teacher started to do the class’s morning meeting, discussing what the students would be doing that day. In the middle of her sentence, she suddenly stopped. At first, I thought she had lost her train of thought. But, then I noticed her intensely staring at a particular student for a reason I was not able to discern. The student looked back at the teacher and did nothing else. The teacher then loudly asked the student “Caleb! Are you in your living room?” I was surprised at her volume. The student quietly replied “no.” At this point I was not only confused, but rapidly becoming more anxious, from the odd way the class was interacting with this teacher. I straightened my own posture, suddenly becoming self-conscious with the way I was sitting. It felt odd just sitting there. I wanted to leave. I had no idea where to look or what to do. I felt conflicted in my role as a passive observer who was not helping the student even though I disagreed with the teacher’s discipline approach. My role was that of student teacher and I could not say anything to undermine the cooperating teacher. I had never been in a classroom that was so quiet, so devoid of joy. It saddened me that this would be one of these students’ earlier experiences of learning. They were experiencing learning as something devoid of joy and about humiliation, possibly discouraging future learning. The teacher then finished by saying “Then don’t sit like that. You’re not at home, you need to sit up! Caleb, would you ever sit like this in class?” I was shocked at how critical the teacher was over something as inconsequential as seating posture. I felt this was unnecessary and humiliating to the student and it made me feel disgusted with the situation. I wondered if this was typical for this classroom. If so, how could children learn in such an environment?

An autoethnography is not truly useful and insightful unless it is truthful, which is why I must describe the struggle that this semester posed. As I learned in my Block I placement, with my one-on-one tutee, the classroom environment can impact students. Previously, I had seen how the positive environment I created led to a teacher-student relationship in which students felt comfortable to take academic risks. In many ways, during this semester, I saw the opposite. This classroom environment made me uncomfortable and often sick to my stomach. Even though often I was merely a spectator, as this teacher rarely relinquished any control over anything, even of the least consequential nature. I was filled with dread every morning on my bus ride to the school. Once I arrived, I was hesitant over my every movement and fearful of engaging too much with any students, as I was afraid of facing the teacher’s rebuke. I would become self-conscious about myself, wondering if it was only a matter of time before she spoke to me that way. I can only imagine how the students felt during such incidences. The classroom culture was behavior focused. The first grade students, for example, were expected to remain at a voice level 0, or a silent voice level, throughout the bulk of the day. Although this may create a quiet work environment, it completely discourages collaboration, which actually could enhance learning. A quiet work environment is necessary at times, but I do not think it should be enforced during the entire school day. It was also difficult for the groups to remain quiet for that long. Students would often speak despite the voice level 0 requirement, leading to discipline and time away from the lesson. This did not seem to match what I had learned about developmentally appropriate practice with young children. It caused me to feel angry. The expectations felt unjust and excessive. Not only were students missing out on the benefits of collaborative learning, but the students were often being punished for not being able to do something that many adults would struggle with. Of course, I know that behavior should be managed in the classroom, but this semester it felt like the central focus of the placement’s classroom, and I felt that because of this the students’ learning suffered. To me, it simply felt unjust that the students were having to squash enthusiasm and sharing for the sake of an abnormal level of silence.

In addition to the silence, students were not allowed to raise their hands if they were working at a computer, even if a teacher was available and in the room. Although this lessened any disruptions, it also lessened productivity because when computers had technical issues, which was often, students would simply waste an excessive amount of time that was allocated to schoolwork on trying to fix computers, instead of moving on to different tasks.

Discipline was conducted as public shaming, often with tattling from peers being encouraged. Students often cried during discipline exchanges, whether they were yelled at in front of the class, threatened to be sent back to their kindergarten classroom, or had to change their positions on the behavior chart. Although discipline is a part of behavior management, the public shaming aspect of it seemed to only enhance the emotions of students involved and ultimately take more time away from school work. Alternatively, if the teacher had talked privately with students, if possible, disciplinary situations would possibly not escalate, thus requiring less time taken away from the entire class’ work.

I dreaded being in this classroom. Physically, it made me sick to my stomach. I hated watching how students were disciplined. I kept thinking about how upset I would be, as a child, if someone, especially my teacher, spoke to me that way. I was nervous to take risks when teaching, worried that my own feedback would be similar to the harsh and often sarcastic treatment the teacher’s own students received. I knew I loved teaching, but this classroom made me feel conflicted; while I enjoyed working with the students, I loathed being there.

Complicating the situation, I was a guest in a classroom and technically the teacher held part of my fate in her hands. The cooperating teacher had the power and experience in the situation. Although it was not the way I would run this classroom, I contemplated her reasons for running the classroom the way she did. How did she arrive at this choice? I was a guest in her classroom and I tried my best to look at it as a learning experience.

Not surprisingly, I felt very conflicted. The classroom environment was uncomfortable for me, but I had to be professional. I tried not to let others know about my discomfort or be disrespectful to the teacher’s protocols. Although I did not agree with what was happening, I had to observe it. This observation, although unfortunate, forced me to think about classroom environments again. I noticed repeatedly that students were often reluctant to ask for help and say answers if they were unsure. Although the classroom’s rules and procedures created a quieter and seemingly orderly classroom, it also created a classroom in which students’ achievements might have been inhibited by feelings of insecurity. Through this experience I saw how important finding a balance between behavior management strategies and a welcoming classroom environment was key. In teaching situations, I still often think of this experience and how I want to structure my own classroom, or lessons, to ensure that I am creating a warm and welcoming experience. As much as I disliked this environment, I realize that models of how you do not want to behave can also be instructive.

During my first opportunity to observe this first grade class taking a spelling quiz, which was a weekly occurrence, I was once again saddened by the classroom atmosphere. As soon as the teacher announced that students would be taking a quiz, the atmosphere of the room changed. Students became quiet and jittery, their stress clearly palpable as they frantically pulled out their materials for the quiz. As the quiz occurred, I began walking around the classroom with my cooperating teacher. As I moved around the room, I could tell how the students were doing without looking at their papers, just by scanning their facial expressions. As I walked by Sophia, I heard her sigh and noted her frustrated expression. When the quiz ended, Sophia kept repeating that she was stupid and refused to go to recess. She was upset to the point of tears.

Quizzes were always difficult in this first grade classroom. When the teacher announced the spelling quiz, I felt the apprehension of the students as they transitioned to their desks and took out their materials. It was tangible. What was particularly frustrating about the situation with Sophia is that she had been making progress. She previously had been getting words entirely wrong phonetically. She had progressed and was now getting the first and typically the last consonant phonetically. She often struggled with the middle sound of the vocabulary words. This was really significant progress. Sadly, she felt stupid despite making progress. Sophia’s lack of confidence affected her learning experience. She would give up, becoming easily frustrated, or just be reluctant to take academic risks, limiting her opportunities to learn. Often, Sophia’s lack of confidence became a self-fulfilling prophecy, and was a cycle that she was a struggling to try to break. I sympathized with Sophia, as I too had struggled with reading and spelling in first grade, and as a result often lacked confidence.

These quizzes were the only way that feedback was given on spelling in the classroom. Feedback, in general, was often provided through quizzes or worksheets. When an answer is either right or wrong, and a student is getting answers less wrong, but still wrong, it is hard to see any progress. Sophia took this experience of not “seeing success” and felt incompetent. If I was her age, I imagine I would have too. This feeling of incompetence was a continuous issue for Sophia. Her fear often manifested in her refusal to answer questions, as she was afraid she would be incorrect.

During my SU classes, we talked about multiple intelligences and different kinds of assessments at length. Initially, I did not see much value in it. I did not think different kinds of assessments would make that much of a difference. However, after seeing how Sophia reacted to the quiz, my perspective changed. The quizzes were not working for her, so it would make sense to try something else. In reflecting on this experience, I really believe that trying a different kind of assessment might have allowed her to feel more competent, while still assessing the same skill. Additionally, spelling does not have to be assessed through quizzes. I would have liked to see how Sophia would have responded to something less stressful, like spelling games. I wish I could have seen something like this tried in this classroom, it might have helped her self-esteem and, perhaps, that of her peers too. Sophia is an important example of how classroom tasks can influence student behavior. This was an illuminating moment for me. I could see the connections between how teachers structure their classrooms, the kinds of learning tasks, and the impact of those tasks on behavior. I had not thought of classroom tasks as a part of the classroom environment before. But, upon seeing how upset Sophia was about the spelling tests, I realized how influential it could be on the classroom environment. Potentially, by making the switch from a spelling quiz to a spelling game, the stressful atmosphere of the classroom could be mitigated during the task, while still acting as an assessment of the students.

During my first time teaching an in-depth lesson in this classroom. I was teaching an hour long Social Studies lesson on families. As I went to the front of the classroom to start my lesson, naturally I could feel anxiety rushing through me in waves. I knew I had prepared a lesson that would meet the social studies learning standards for my students, but was worried about student engagement. What if my students did not want to participate in the lesson? What if they found the content boring and as a result did not try to learn it? If my students were not engaged in the lesson, it might be harder to teach, get students to participate, and for students to understand the content. I had chosen to start the lesson off with an anecdote about my own family and Halloween, a holiday that some of the students celebrated and was rapidly approaching. I incorporated a personal family photo from my childhood. I could feel all eyes on me as I turned the projector on displaying pictures of my family. “I went to the grocery store recently. I saw this entire section of items for Halloween and it made me think of my family and this picture of my sister and I.” Some of the children giggled as they noticed my sister and I in silly costumes. I continued, “Growing up, my family always celebrated Halloween. It was one of the things we did together. I know that not everyone celebrates Halloween, but my family did. We would all decorate the house together. We went trick or treating as kids. When we would get home, we would trade candy. Every Halloween we used to make rice crispy treats.” I could see the students raising their hands to share and doing the classroom sign for “me too!” I began to feel a lot more confident. The students were engaged even though not all of them celebrated Halloween. I was introducing the idea of family and traditions into the lesson and giving examples with the definitions, so that the definitions had some context. When I asked the students about similarities and differences between their families and my family, students’ hands shot up. The relief melted away as we talked about similarities and differences between our families, practicing what we would be doing with different families in picture books that would be read at different stations afterward.

I was surprised. I did it! It felt great to be able to hold the class’s attention. I had been uncertain about how to make my lesson grab my students’ attention. I used a story about my family and it drew each student into the lesson. They were engaged and it was great! I was relieved at the success of this hook. I had set the tone for the lesson and now I could focus on its content.

Going into the lesson, I knew that the students understood what families were and many knew about their peers’ families. However, this represented a somewhat narrow definition. Eventually, I came up with the idea of sharing about my own family. This was a family that students were unfamiliar with. Additionally, by sharing about my own family, I was able to define a lot of the terms that would be used in the lesson with an actual example, so that the definitions did not feel isolated. From my own experiences, I knew that teachers’ lives outside of school tend to feel like enigmas. Previously, I’ve had children think that I lived at the school or wonder if I had parents. I realized I could use that curiosity to engage with my students. Initially, I was worried that it may be unprofessional or that students may get off track, but I tried to structure the hook to prevent this. Although I presumed that the students had an interest in my life outside of school, I had not expected such immediate interest from the students.

I even heard some students referencing “Miss Snitkoff’s family” during the lesson when comparing and contrasting families. Additionally, by talking about my own family, I had created a situation in which students felt like they could talk to me. By sharing small details about my family, students felt like they could share small anecdotes about their own families, similarities or differences, and ask me more about mine, which led to an enriched discussion during my lesson about families.

Chapter 3

Camp Experiences: Uncrossing the Wires

“Stella is running away again,” I thought to myself, rather unsurprised, and to be honest, a little annoyed. I was working at a town run summer camp with four and five year olds and we were on a field trip for an on-site pony ride experience. Stella was a camper that spent four weeks at the camp. Because it was a camp setting, run by the town, parents did not have to disclose any diagnoses or disabilities to us. Although, we were not doing anything academic, I felt having more insight about any of the children with challenging behaviors would have been helpful. Stella’s behavior, in particular, was frustrating to manage without any understanding of her needs. She demonstrated behaviors that were unsafe to herself, such as running away from adult supervision. She also presented safety challenges to other children in the group, since she frequently hit her peers. I ran to catch up with her, annoyed that she could not just stay with the group. Because I had to follow Stella, to ensure her safety, I had left the other counselor alone with the remainder of the children, a sizable group. I was annoyed. This was a regular occurrence for this camper and my camp counselor and I did not understand what Stella was trying to communicate by running away. It was confusing. She would run away during different times in the day and different activities, even in activities that she would be excited for. Stella had expressed excitement about getting to ride a pony and was so happy when she got to do it. It was only after that she ran off. The fact that I could not understand her behavior worried me. I wanted to make camp an enjoyable experience for all, but I had no idea how to help Stella get what she needed. Instead of letting my frustration show, as this would only make the situation worse, I tried to talk to Stella. “What’s wrong?” I asked her. She began to shake, and I became worried that there was something seriously wrong. She did not respond, so I tried asking her again. “I need to leave!!!” she sobbed. At this point, I was very concerned by her unhappiness and had no idea what was causing it. Again, I asked her why she needed to leave. She still kept trying to leave so I sat down next her, slightly blocking her exit off the field. Finally, she responded, “It just smells so bad,” as she continued to cry.

The other counselor and I knew that Stella had received special education services of some type because she would miss camp in the mornings to attend a special summer school for children in preschool with disabilities who were entering kindergarten. Despite this knowledge, we did not know definitively what she struggled with, what she was working on, or how to help her. It was frustrating to not know what the camper needed.

As difficult as this situation with Stella and the pony rides was, it actually helped me to understand her a lot better. While the smell of the ponies had mildly bothered me, to Stella it was completely debilitating. Prior to this occurrence, I did not realize how much a bad odor would impact Stella and her behavior. In this situation, her desire to flee was not done to annoy me, but rather communicate her need to escape, what for her was, an unbearable situation. Eventually, we were able of find a solution that allowed Stella to get away from the smell. We still had some time left with the ponies when this situation was happening. I ended up taking half of the campers that were done with the pony back to the classroom to play at centers, while the other counselor stayed outside. Once I entered the classroom with Stella, her demeanor shifted dramatically. She was no longer crying, was less fidgety, and was able to play with peers.

It took me a while to realize this, but Stella herself was a great source for this information! Stella was five years old, so she was not always able to sufficiently express her needs, reasoning, and preferences to adults, but asking Stella was a great first step to starting to understand her and her needs. Working with Stella this summer was very challenging, but she taught me that children are a great resource on themselves. Of course, caregivers and adults that work with Stella would know Stella, but clearly so would Stella. Part of my frustration was not having information on how to support Stella. I had wanted and expected this from other adults. But, I came away knowing that the young children themselves are the most authentic source of insight in their needs and struggles.

Stella sat down at the table for lunch. “I have a cream cheese and jelly sandwich” she exclaimed. I was happy to see Stella in a good mood, hoping that this would mean that she would not struggle as much with her behavior during lunch. Unfortunately, lunch was usually a struggle. Stella would be in close proximity with other children. She would frequently touch them, or their food, leading to conflict. Either I, or the other counselor, would always try to station ourselves by the table, but not in an obvious manner, so we could monitor the situation. But, my hopes for a good day for Stella were soon dashed, as the children that were already sitting at the table did not respond to her attempts for conversation. Instead, they got up and moved to another table. I saw Stella’s excitement quickly turn to frustration, sadness, and finally anger. “No one is sitting next to me!!!” Stella yelled. I felt very defeated and powerless. Stella was being ostracized and I was unable to prevent this from happening.

A big part of my time at the camp was spent trying to figure out how to help Stella be less violent and more in control of her body. This was exceedingly difficult. It was only after talking to her parents that we found out that she had an Individualized Education Program (IEP), although not what she was working on, or specifically what her diagnoses were. Other parents thought of Stella as a bully, not as a child struggling to control her body and emotions, so they had told their children to avoid being near her. I was frustrated and angry because Stella was not having her best camp experience. While, this really highlighted the need for better parent communication, it also showed me how tricky these situations are. On one hand, I wanted to inform parents, but on the other hand, I knew I had to maintain confidentiality for Stella in this situation. It was difficult to balance the two.

The immediate problem that day was naturally solved when the students realized that there were not enough seats at the other tables. Additionally, the other counselor modeled sitting next to Stella, coming up to her and loudly saying “Yay!!! I get to sit next to Stella. I love getting to talk to Stella. She has so many interesting things to say.” The children did include Stella in their conversation upon their return to the table, and later played with her, but this exclusionary behavior made me upset.

Initially, I assumed that Stella was trying to be difficult. But, after getting to know Stella I realized she was not trying to be mean. She did not want to hurt her friends. I had not made the least dangerous assumption, which could simply be described as giving Stella the benefit of the doubt. By not assuming that Stella had no intention of hurting her friends, it took longer to figure out ways to work with and help Stella. It took me a while to realize Stella’s outbursts would often be accompanied with situations of frustration or anger, like not immediately having access to the toy she wanted or having a friend who did not want to play the same game as her. If I had presumed that she was not trying to be naughty, I might have realized this sooner. She was not trying to be malicious, but would sometimes hurt her friend’s feelings, or even sometimes try to hurt them physically.

I understand children not wanting to play with someone who will hurt them or be mean to them, but, in this situation, Stella was not trying to do either. Usually the other children had no problem playing or eating with her, in fact often some of them sought her out. But, when the other campers physically removed themselves from her presence, I felt upset and sad for her. When Stella became upset, I understood her feelings. Naturally, it would be upsetting if someone did that to me now, let alone when I was her age, when that behavior is a much more significant part of life. After this occurred, we ended up having a talk about how to react when a friend does something you do not like and how we should always include others. However, this was a reactionary solution that did not completely resolve all concerns.

My time with Stella illuminated a deeper understanding of child behavior. It made me much more empathetic toward children that presented with challenging behavior. I realized that, while their behavior might be considered disruptive, their intent is not necessarily to be naughty. Rather, their behavior is often the only way they can communicate a need. Additionally, my time with Stella taught me about the tricky, but crucial, balancing act of communicating with children and parents, respecting all viewpoints but, crucially maintaining confidentiality.

Chapter 4

Block III: Making Connections and Revising Expectations

At last, it was the day of my first lesson in the preschool classroom. I had spent the previous week getting to know the students and planning a lesson that would hopefully interest, engage, and be developmentally appropriate for the entire group. However, this excitement soon turned into anxiety as the morning wore on. Phillip, my focus learner for the lesson, who I planned many supports and targets around, was having a difficult morning. I had planned for him to have a turn in the morning, before the lesson, in the gross motor room, so he could move around and be better able to focus during the lesson, but he was unwilling to go when called by the teacher running that station. Phillip was also crying during transitions. This was not out of character for him, as he struggled sometimes with being able to put down something engaging and move onto the next activity, which I had strategies to target in my lesson. However, Phillip was not calming down this morning. If Phillip was crying, he would not be able to participate or do as well in the lesson, which was a concern for me because not only was this my first lesson with the group, but it was also the only preschool lesson I was going to have observed by my professor. I sat with Phillip as he was still crying and eating his snack. As I talked to him, I reminded myself that Phillip was not doing this to be an inconvenience. His crying is a communication of his feelings. Although having to transition may not be upsetting to me, his feelings were very real and very strong. However, this was not enough to help Phillip self-regulate back into a calm state. One of the head teachers suggested that we pull Phillip out of the classroom to talk to him privately for a moment. Although students were not usually told prior to the lesson that they would be participating, the teacher suggested that I tell Phillip so that he could have something exciting to focus on. I agreed, figuring that Phillip could only get calmer. We walked through the hallway to a private corner and Phillip sat down. “Phillip, Emma has something very special to tell you!” the teacher said in a soft voice. Phillip, crying, turned to face me. “We are going to be working together today! Yay!!! After snack we will be talking about apples! We are going to read a book, sing, and do other fun things! I’m so excited to work with you!” I said to Phillip in my most excited voice. Phillip’s crying quieted a bit. “Wow, Emma that sounds like so much fun! Phillip, you did such a good job yesterday presenting your pictures that you were chosen to work with Emma on a special project. You’re going to need to do your best. Do you think that you are ready to calm down and go eat snack?” the teacher asked. Phillip slowly shook his head affirmatively. We walked with Phillip back to the lunchroom so he could eat his breakfast. He had stopped crying. As I helped out serving food in the lunchroom, I anxiously kept an eye on Phillip. By the time the lesson began, he had calmed down so much my professor did not know until I told her how difficult his morning had been. I was shocked that the lesson had gone this well. This was a drastic change in mood. I was also touched that Phillip was motivated to change his behavior and find a coping strategy to motivate himself to be successful in the lesson. I was proud that I had developed this relationship with Phillip.

Despite not having an IEP, the classroom teachers suggested I choose Phillip as a focus learner. Although teachers are always thinking of all student’s needs and learning styles when designing a lesson and differentiating, particular students, focus learners, need to be honed in on as they have unique needs, and may need extra consideration for these needs in order to be as successful as possible in lessons. This, in part, is a practice for the Education Teacher Performance Assessment (edTPA), and is also integral to considering students’ needs when creating a lesson. Phillip was recommended as my focus learner because of his struggles with behavior. Phillip struggled with self-regulation. He could be impulsive at times, struggling to wait his turn or listen to a particular instruction. Notably, Phillip also struggled with transitions. It was not uncommon for him to start crying when he was expected to clean up. And, once crying began, it was hard for him to calm himself down again. This morning was one of those days where he truly struggled to accept the transition into snack time and calm himself down. Not only was this my first lesson in the preschool classroom and I was being observed for it, but I wanted Phillip to be able to participate in the lesson and feel good about it. It was not typical to tell the children about who would be working with a specific teacher before the students transitioned, but the teacher thought it might cheer Phillip up and motivate him to calm down.

Often when Phillip became rankled, minuscule challenges, such as him disliking a picture he made or his toy being moved, could set him off for the entire day. Consequently, I was worried that this would affect Phillip’s success in my lesson. I had planned supports for him, such as telling him what we would be doing in the beginning of the lesson, giving him extra prompting to follow directions if needed, and warnings before transitions in the lesson. To my great relief, Phillip was completely engaged in the lesson. He was talkative and visibly excited to participate and suffered no major outbursts. This continued for my other two lessons with him as well. This really surprised me due to the general frequency of Phillip’s outbursts and struggles to self-regulate. I assumed that I would have had to redirect, or help him self-regulate, throughout the lessons. But, even when Phillip was doing things that were normally difficult for him, such as waiting his turn, he was able to do so in a way that seemed surprisingly free of strife. I had expected there to be some struggle during the lesson because he was not accustomed to doing more formal lessons. The preschool I was placed at did not do small group lessons, but rather integrated learning into play. Phillip was able to sustain his good behavior for sometimes up to thirty minutes. However, it is important to note during my lessons that the students were not sitting the entire time. Each of my lessons used a song with movements about the apple life cycle, so the children were able to move during the lesson. Activities also required student engagement. Students had a role, from singing to tasting. The lack of idle passive time might have given Phillip motivation to remain on task.

The preschool environment was Reggio-Emilia inspired. Consequently, my lesson topic, apples, had been inspired by interests that I observed. I also picked activities that we were doing in the lesson, such as tasting different kinds of apples, singing, and apple printing based also on the general interests that I saw students express in the classroom. In addition to the excitement of being a part of a group that gets to do these special activities, I think Phillip was excited to do things he normally enjoyed doing. I could observe Phillip’s interest by his demonstrative curiosity when I introduced what we would be doing during each lesson, his discussion, and the integration of what he was learning into his play.

I also think the smaller group size was helpful. Phillip was able to feel heard by both his peers and by me, his teacher of the lesson. Phillip had a lot to say during the lessons. He often had an interest in showing what he knew or could do. For example, when we did apple printing in the third lesson, he wanted to show everyone the imprint of the star from the seeds on his paper. In a larger group, Phillip may not receive as many opportunities to communicate with others, because he would be competing with a greater of number of students who also wish to communicate. Additionally, I was more able to closely monitor how Phillip was doing, in addition to his peers. For example, when I could see him beginning to get frustrated, such as when he was making an “A” to mark his favorite apple on a chart, I redirected him, offering my support before it escalated further. Through working with Phillip, I realized that not only an engaging lesson can be a powerful motivator and a way to support behavioral concerns, framing lessons as special opportunities can truly motivate students to get involved and be more patient and cooperative. I thought about Phillip and added aspects of the lesson, such as doing a song with movement in each lesson, as I knew this would engage Phillip and support his need to move. I had planned a lesson supporting his needs and it worked! This will be strategy that I will continuously use in future lessons.

All of the students in my Block III cohort worked with the same students just at alternating times. As a result, I had heard about Skylar before I came into the classroom. She was notorious for having an ear-piercing scream. She struggled to spend the entire session length in the classroom, crying most of the time. She got picked up early and consideration was being given to whether the early intervention program was the best way to meet her needs. Despite hearing all of this about Skylar, I tried to go in with an open mind. However, I saw that my classmates’ description of her was correct. She really struggled in the setting. She would walk or run around, sometimes crying while, waving chewies on a string. Because she was so upset all of the time, she did not participate in any of the classroom activities, such as gross motor time, or even playing alone, because she was so upset that she was unable to. The teachers were simply focusing on getting her acclimated into the classroom and in trying to keep her calm for longer periods of time. This seemed like such a small goal, yet day after day Skylar cried the entire time, making even this small goal seem unattainable. The first day I met her, Skylar kept crying and reaching for my hand, trying to drag me to the door, so that I would open it for her and let her out. This continued for days. Did Skylar reach out for me because I was new and she thought I would actually open the door for her, or was it because she wanted me to comfort her? I found it hard to imagine Skylar participating in the classroom, but followed the teachers’ protocols. It was hard to watch Skylar crying. I wanted to try to comfort her but worried that she would not like being comforted by an unfamiliar person. Instead, I worked with other children, observing Skylar from the sidelines.

Slowly, however, her behavior started to change. Skylar had a good day when she cried less. She was calm enough to eat during snack time. She only cried when it was close to her dismissal time. We were shocked and ecstatic over the improvement. The improvement was not consistent, but, gradually she had more good days. Skylar was able to eventually even take part in gross motor time, which had seemed like an unrealistic goal only two weeks prior. I, and the other university students I was partnered with at the center, were amazed at the progress we observed over the two and a half weeks we were at the center.

I knew that children, especially those in the early childhood stage, could show dramatic developmental change. I had noticed in the infant room how fast the babies, some of them only a few months younger than some of the students in the toddler program, progressed. Yet, I did not expect this progress with Skylar. It seemed unfathomable from what I had heard. Over half of my practicum cohort, the other undergraduate students I was working with in this semester, had already completed their time at the center that Skylar was at. Each had noted the same seemingly intractable behavior. When I started my time at the center, the head teacher gave us information about the children. When it came time to describe Skylar, she really only told us that Skylar was struggling with the day, was picked up early from the session, and that her placement in the early intervention program at the center was being evaluated to see if it was the best fit for her. From conversations and observations, it seemed as though Skylar was not making any progress until suddenly she did. This really impacted me. I learned from this that progress will happen, but it just may take a while. This experience challenged the prior expectations I had of Skylar. Unfortunately, I had assumed that she was not going to make much progress. I realized that this was an incorrect assumption to make that could have subconsciously affected my interactions with her, potentially making it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I recognized my assumptions had been wrong and that I was wrong to make those assumptions, especially when I did not know her really that well.

The teachers credited consistency with aiding in her progress. Although she appeared initially not be making any progress, the teachers kept her protocol consistent. Skylar was clearly uncomfortable in the classroom. Consistency is comforting to children, especially those with an autism diagnosis, like Skylar. Over time, she had a chance to get acquainted with the routine of the day and sense how teachers responded to certain actions. Additionally, this showed the importance of giving time for a strategy to take hold before deciding if it works or not. Constantly changing strategies for helping Skylar would have most likely not yielded as effective of a result because she would constantly be adapting to new expectations, instead of working on her goals.

This moment really showed me how teacher assumptions and beliefs about students influence classroom environments. The teachers were thinking about having her potentially removed from the classroom setting due to their assumptions. If you think that a child is not going to improve, then your approach would definitely be different than if you thought the student was progressing or could make progress. By assuming that the student will make progress on a particular goal, you will make choices that support that progression, ultimately enhancing student learning.

I was sitting on the ground, watching another child roll a ball on the ground, when suddenly a book landed in my lap. I took the book and glanced up to see Aubrey now sitting in my lap. She’s 14 months old and not speaking yet, but her actions are enough of a communication for me to know what she wanted. I have never been comfortable singing, as I do not think of myself as a singer, but I open The Itsy Bitsy Spider book knowing that she will not care how well I sing. After the song is over, she examines the back of the book, which has a little spot for a finger to wiggle around to pretend to be the head of the spider, poking my finger. I begin talking about the spider, “Wow! Look at the purple spider. He’s wriggling.” It isn’t long before the cycle starts again and she wants me to sing the song from the book again. It’s odd to think Aubrey does not mind spending so much time with me now, especially since she was so shy toward me only a few days prior. Now she wants me to read and sing to her, even placing herself directly in my lap.

I was only in the infant room for four days. Even though I was spending a lot of time each day with the babies, it was hard to have the children trust me as a caregiver in such a short period of time. This was particularly true for Aubrey, who was more aware of caregivers than her younger peers and was also very shy. The first day I was with Aubrey she deliberately avoided me. She would often try to keep a small distance between both of us, moving away when I got closer, which I respected. Eventually, after a day, I was able to play with her, but she remained at a safe distance. It was not until this moment with the book did she get physically closer to me. I knew about the importance of reading and language exposure to young children, but had found it hard to picture how to do it with infants until this point. The adults in the center rarely prompted children to look at books. Instead the books were on the ground at a place where children could crawl to and reach. The selection consisted of different board and foam books that rotated weekly. Although there was no time dedicated to reading books, if a child asked to read a book or gestured the child was never denied.

Many of the books in the classroom were songbooks. Singing a book in the classroom was often an act of comfort or care. It was not uncommon for the children to cuddle with a teacher while reading a book. Not only was interacting with a book helpful for cognitive and language development, it was helpful in developing relationships with the children.

Reading a book was also a great opportunity for focus. Previously, I had not seen Aubrey focus on anything for that long when she was playing with toys. The sustained focus Aubrey was able to have on the book was really great because it allowed for more language opportunities and interactions. The book became a way for Aubrey and me to connect and for her to trust me.

I had just finished my lunch break and went outside to monitor the preschoolers playing outside. I come outside to the bustling outdoor play area and curiously watched the students playing, while also making sure they were safe, as well as trying to note any interests they may be exhibiting. Any developing interests could help me develop my next lesson. As I perused the playground, I spotted some of the children from my small group lesson playing together, so I walk over and try to stand discretely within earshot. “Apples! Apples!” they all chanted. “Let’s go pick some apples!” Phillip said, directing the play. “Then plant the seeds” said Carly. The children pretended they were walking around the playspace “picking apples” and “planting seeds.” Eventually the children spotted and approached me. At this point, I noticed that the group had grown a bit, with students from the class that did not take part in my lessons participating. “Emma! Emma! Sing the apple song” Phillip asked. I knew what he is referring to. He wanted me to sing a song that I created, along with movements, for the lesson. This song was a continuing link through all of my lessons about apples, as I began each lesson with it. The children really liked doing it along with the corresponding movements that represented the lifecycle of the apple tree. Inside I was completely giddy that they wanted to explore content related to my lessons in their play and enjoyed the song I created. “Hmmm. Phillip, how does it start?” “Seeds!” he replies. We kneeled down and began singing, going through the life cycle of an apple. After we finished, the children ran off to “grow more apples.”

I had completed two of the three sequenced lessons expected of me during my time in the classroom, all of which centered on the topic of apples. For these lessons, I had written lyrics, as well as created movement, to the tune of the “Farmer in the Dell” about the life cycle of an apple. This was a continuing thread through all of my lessons. The song and movement heavily involved the children. Not only were the students invited to sing along and move, but I prompted them about what was next in the life cycle. Sometimes responses would be almost a cheer. I had never incorporated music in a lesson before, let alone actually created the lyrics and sang. But, this lack of experience did not stop the children from enjoying it. The first time we did the song with movement we ended up doing it multiple times because it seemed to resonate with them while also incorporating everything I was trying to teach into a memorable format.

Initially, I had decided to incorporate music into the lesson to appeal to my focus learner, who liked to move. I thought alternating between this and an activity where I would prefer the students to sit would be helpful in aiding him in reaching that goal. However, through this moment I saw that it was useful beyond being a tool that encouraged student focus. This interaction demonstrated that I had created a lesson plan that the students were truly interested in. In recreating my song and movement in their play, they were able to practice using the vocabulary I had introduced through my lessons. The music had helped them retain the vocabulary. Students would use gestures for different apple life cycle stages as they were talking about them.

I had studied about the benefits of music and movement in learning, but had somewhat brushed this off assuming that it was only for a small percentage of students, or that the benefits of music and movement was not something that other teaching methods could also achieve. This experience helped me see that music and movement were not only great tools for visualization and retainment of vocabulary, but also engagement. As a result, I intend to incorporate music and movement as a teaching tool into a future classroom of mine.

“Ava this is your last piece of apple. When it is all gone there will be no more apple,” I told Ava, as I put another slice of fruit on her plate for breakfast. Ava was one of the younger students in the class and, like many toddlers, struggled with being told “no.” The students only received so much food at each meal and Ava was approaching her limit. I hoped that preemptively warning her would help her prepare for what could be upsetting to her. Ava finished her apples. “More! More apples!” she asked. “No more apples. You can have some more milk or clean-up” I replied calmly. Ava kept asking, each time getting slightly louder and more agitated, I gave the same calm response to show that I would not budge. I was nervous. I felt out of my depth having so little experience with toddlers and the other classroom teachers were watching, but I appeared calm. But, Ava did not appear calm, so I asked her “Are you mad because I will not give you more apples.” Ava nodded. “I’m sorry that you are mad, but you cannot have any more apples. Would you like a hug?” Ava nodded again and we hugged. Afterward, I gave Ava her choices again and she chose to clean up, without any protest. I was shocked that she was so willing to clean up after initially being so upset.

At the time of the incident, the student, Ava, was less than two years old. I knew that developmentally her impulse control and language were at a less developed stage than her older peers who were nearly three years old. Consequently, I knew that she might require a slightly different approach than other students. Just as my response to a student would vary from student to student in that classroom because of their developmental stage, it would vary from grade to grade. Although a hug was appropriate in the toddler room, it may not be appropriate in settings with older children. Her teachers had warned me that snack time was a time in which she struggled to behave in a way that was expected. This warning, although potentially helpful, just made me nervous. It was a vague warning. I did not know what to expect, what strategies helped her, or why she found snack time challenging. This confusion and nervousness was compounded by the fact that I had never worked with toddlers before and was just getting to know Ava. I had no idea what strategy would make the most sense or be the most helpful to her. There are children that seek physical affection from teachers and others that absolutely want no part of it. I was hoping that giving Ava the choice would at least allow her to express her feelings and feel as though she has some control in the situation. But, I was not sure if it would work. I found through this interaction that, in addition to remaining calm while not wavering in my expectations of Ava, naming an emotion and giving comfort to a child, if desired, was helpful. Naming the emotion and hugging Ava deescalated the situation and allowed her to eventually compose herself and choose an appropriate next step. Taking this approach of naming a possible emotion and talking to her about it, made sense because at her age. I knew this made sense developmentally because many children at two years old do not completely understand emotions or what actions are appropriate to take about them.

Up until this time, I understood that comforting was a big part of working with toddlers, but I had not expected it to be an important part of discipline. I understood that comforting was definitely helpful for working with toddlers, it also has implications with older children. When trying to get a child to do something that they do not want to do, disobedience may not always be intentional. Students who do not follow directions may be trying to communicate something with their behavior. Understanding that communication is important to resolving issues and deescalating situations is critical to running a classroom, regardless of the developmental stage of the children. Students have emotions. Something may seem insignificant to an adult, but that may not be the case for the student. This was an important reminder to me to always try to see the student first as a person with emotions, rather than someone disobeying.

Chapter 5

Student Teaching: Sending the Right Message

It was the first day of my special education student teaching placement. I was placed in a special education setting that was conducted usually separate from the student’s classroom. My placement involved teaching special classes and a resource room for reading and math in the special education classroom, with the exception of my time with Max. My cooperating teacher taught him writing in a general education classroom in the afternoon. Finally, we would get to “push into” a classroom where I hoped to get a chance to provide special education services as a part of the general education classroom. I was excited at the prospect of “pushing into” a classroom, I had never seen that before, only studied it in class. I’d finally get to see a more inclusive model of special education! All we had to do was pick up the student. Max, from the separate school program that he participated in during the morning, and take him to his kindergarten classroom, where, I assumed, I would finally be able to see the inclusive philosophy that I had been taught at Syracuse University put into place. I wondered how lessons were modified for Max and how the environment was tailored to support him, his needs, and his peers needs.

“This is where Max spends his morning” my cooperating teacher said as we entered the room. As I looked around the room, my excitement deflated and quickly transformed into disappointment. There were several desks with privacy covers around them. I saw several children working one-on-one with an adult. The room was quiet except for the instructions given from adults sitting next to a student. There was no peer interaction. It did not even seem like all the students were working on the same subject area at the same time. Although the adults were friendly, the classroom felt lonely and isolated, with so little peer interaction. “Max will be ready in a minute,” one of his teachers told us. I introduced myself to his teacher. “We are working on life skills this month” his teacher told me as she was explaining the program. I nodded, processing the task I saw students working on around me, hoping that there was more going on than I was observing. I could not believe my eyes as I saw one student pick up a box of tissues and begin to practice blowing his nose. Surely, this was not a daily activity that the student was working on? But, this was a task the students practiced the entire month. I was flabbergasted. This “learning time” could be spent on so many more interesting and beneficial topics. If I had been a student expected to practice blowing my nose each day, surely I would grow to hate the task and wonder why I had to keep doing it, especially since I might not even need to blow my nose at that moment. I was angered at the learning that the students were missing out on, putting them even further behind their general education grade level peers.

Soon Max was ready and we walked him down to the kindergarten classroom where we would be “pushing in” his services. My cooperating teacher led him to a table at the edge of the room with a privacy cover surrounding it. With the privacy cover he could not see his peers, or even look out the nearby window. As I sat down and Max got into his work space, I looked around the room, noticing the different visuals, but also the noises in the room. As I did this, I reminded myself that Max could not see any of it. It must be distracting to hear everything going on around you but not be able to put an image to what you are hearing. I began to wonder, what the point of having Max in the general education classroom was, if he was so segregated during his time. Max began his work, which included tasks such as reading a story about how to draw an animal, drawing the animal on the iPad, per the exact instructions, as well as making a chart gluing words and images based on which pair of shoes was new, which was old, and a corresponding sentence. These were all tasks that were unrelated to what the class was working on at the time. Max began to resist his work, pushing the activity away, trying to wriggle out of the chair. Looking at the activities, I began to think that I would be bored doing these activities. I began wondering if perhaps that’s why Max wasn’t complying. “Are you working for those stars, so you can do your numbers?” my cooperating teacher asked, reminding him of his extrinsic motivation, working toward a break in which he could play with different foam letters on the carpet on a different side of the room. Max began to comply again, while counting from 1 to 10 and cheering at 10.

Max’s IEP had him receiving writing instruction in the general education classroom. Surely, I figured he must interact at some point with his peers. But, this began to seem less likely as Max began his work. The interior of the privacy cover had rules and reminders for Max, and a chart for him to mark how much progress he was making toward his goals. Maybe, when he takes his break, I figured, he would get a chance to interact with his peers. I soon came to realize that this was also not the case. What is the point of even having him in the general education classroom for his lessons, if he is doing something completely different from his peers and does not get to interact with them at all? He was not a true part of the classroom. Although he was in the classroom, he was in his separate space of the classroom. When the class transitioned to the rug working on something else, Max stayed at his seat. The general education teacher was the only one to greet Max when he came in the room. Max was clearly a “guest” in the room. He had no classroom jobs or responsibilities within the larger general education classroom community. I could only imagine how odd and confusing it might feel to go into that kind of environment where you are not entirely welcomed each day. I might even become angry or frustrated at the discrepancy in how I was treated from my peers. As I thought about this I wondered how Max’s set up benefits anyone. Do his parents, who requested that his Individualized Education Program (IEP), a plan for students with disabilities that draws out specific goals and services that a child must legally receive, have his afternoon in the kindergarten general education classroom, know that this is what his time in the classroom looked like. If my child was doing this, so far removed from the classroom community, I would be angry. Physically he was in the classroom, which technically is following the IEP, but he is not truly a part of the classroom. They are not following the IEP with fidelity. This felt like a great injustice to Max, and, as a student teacher, I was powerless to create any meaningful change for his situation.

This was one of the first times that I had truly been angered by the way a student was learning. I understand why this might be done, but I just could not get past the missed opportunity to include Max in the classroom. I understand that I was not there before and that it was difficult to know what could be done that would include Max more meaningfully in the classroom, while also allowing him to continue learning. Looking at his IEP, it was difficult to gauge academically how he was doing because he was noncompliant when taking assessments. Consequently, it was difficult to know which assignments would be at the right level. It is also difficult at times to figure out what may work best for a student, as it takes a while to try new strategies out. Strategies must faithfully be pursued for a while before ensuring their effectiveness or lack thereof. Additionally, Max was used to the routine. He might have been comforted by the existing routine, and may have issues switching to a new learning routine, even if he prefers the new one.

Max was clearly bright, having a strong rote knowledge. He loved numbers.

Yet, he did not have autonomy in the lessons. I can only assume the frustration of not being allowed to have any autonomy on an assignment. I, personally, would not have been invested at all. If a student is not invested then there is no intrinsic motivation. The stories he was reading would dictate how many plants and animals he should draw. Allowing Max to choose how many he draws, for example, even though he was working on ELA and not math, would have given him some autonomy in the assignment and allowed him to take a little more ownership over it. Not only did he not get autonomy in his assignments, the expectations were extremely low for him. This could have also been a factor in his non-compliance. Tasks may be too easy and thus boring for him. For example, his peers were learning about animal habitats and the difference between living and non-living things. Although drawing animals is vaguely in the same ballpark of a topic, it is not remotely aligned with what his peers were doing. Additionally, this non-alignment of the lessons eliminates an opportunity for him to gain knowledge. Not only does this mean that Max might not have this knowledge once he enters society, but also it prevents him from getting to a point where he knows what he needs to know to be on grade-level, indefinitely keeping him on the special education track. Having high, but reasonable, expectations would mean having Max participate in the same kind of content, perhaps in a different way. When the expectations are lowered so much, it not only limits current learning, but also affects future learning. How can Max learn biology in high school, if he never learns the concept of living versus nonliving? It sets Max up for a curriculum further removed from his peers that are not diagnosed with disabilities. It also continues him on a path of increased time in a secluded special education classroom. The system that in many ways is intended to help him seems to also be holding him back. Changing expectations is an integral part in changing this.

Furthermore, Max is missing meaningful opportunities to interact with peers, and his classmates are missing the opportunity to interact with him. Even ignoring the fact that lowered expectations are creating an almost self-fulfilling prophecy for Max, it is disappointing that Max does not get to interact with his peers. Notwithstanding the fact that social situations can be a benefit to all students, Max is working on his communication skills, so it would be a great opportunity for him to practice with someone else. How could I, or any teacher, expect Max to develop his communication skills, especially those of a social nature, when has so few opportunities to work with peers? I was disappointed by this situation, as Max was not getting a chance to be successful or learn those skills.

Children without disabilities that do not have a one-to-one aide, get the opportunity to be off-task and this is, to an extent, considered normal. Children chat and goof off. Max does not get these opportunities or interactions. He is stripped of this experience and expected to be on task and comply all of the time. This is not a realistic goal for most children. This experience represents a troubling reality that many students face because of the organization of special education programs within schools.

Having Max at the side of the room doing unrelated tasks sends a very clear message to his peers that he is not truly a part of the classroom. This is a damaging message to both Max and his peers. Max was seemingly deemed unable to be a part of the classroom due to his frustration and aggressions. As a result, he has been relegated to doing lower level tasks that unfortunately put him on a path that increasingly gets further behind his peers the longer the status quo prevails.

All of my students were pulled out into the resource room, except for Max. The first grade special education math group would come to my host teacher’s classroom for an hour. It was tough to have students pulled out of the classroom because there were sometimes feelings associated with leaving the room and you did not always know about the context preceding their entrance. As a result, understanding some behaviors in the moment were difficult. It was not uncommon for students to come into the lesson and participate in behaviors they knew were distracting not only to others, but to themselves. Today, Layla came in and was tapping her peers and the table with her folder that she was supposed to be taking work assignments from. Layla was calmly told twice to put and keep her folder on the table. Her peers were understandably becoming agitated. Despite being told to stop and the clear displeasure expressed by her peers, Layla persisted with her behavior. I was confused about Layla’s motivation for this behavior. I assumed that she would not like her peers and teacher being unhappy with her. I wondered if this was not a motivating factor to stop the behavior, what would make her stop. At this point very little work was getting done because of this disruption, which was frustrating to both my host teacher and me because we wanted all the students to get the most out of the time. “Layla! This is my ‘I mean it voice,’ my host teacher said sternly. “I don’t like to use my ‘I mean it voice,’ but I need to let you know that you need to stop. You have jobs to do. I know you can fix. I want you to be able to earn your break.” At first, I was shocked at my teachers’ tone. I was caught off guard. Her voice was always calm. I had never heard her raise her voice or be stern with students. I thought the student would have been also shocked to hear the tone change and maybe even upset. However, Layla stopped the behavior and was able to get back to work. “I’m so happy you were able to fix” my cooperating teacher praised Layla after being on task for a few minutes. I was both confused and shocked at the efficacy of the “I mean it voice” until I began to analyze it.

After analyzing the situation, it became clearer to me why this was a successful strategy for dealing with Layla’s behavior. My cooperating teacher used classroom slang, such as “job” which denotes what activities students have to do, “fix” which is changing a behavior to one that helps the student and others learn, and “break” which describes the five minutes that students can earn in the classroom to do an activity of their choosing. These were all terms Layla was familiar with. I might have used different language, as the term “fixed” could be internalized as the student needs to fix his or herself, but I found the core concepts of this discipline to be helpful. My cooperating teacher was also conveying both high expectations and compassion for the student, even if the student was not following directions at the moment. She was saying that she knew Layla could follow the directions and expected her to do so. But, she did not do so in a mean way. Rather, through having a sterner tone and not raising her voice, and describing why she was making her tone sterner, she was making it clear that the student’s behavior was not okay, but not adding more emotions to the situation, like yelling might. I liked how my cooperating explicitly told the student the function of her change in tone and why she was using that tone. For some students a change in tone could be confusing, and thus potentially have the ability to escalate the situation further. However, by explicitly mentioning her tone, my teacher was leaving no room for misinterpreting what was going on. There was a balance in sternness and warmth. This balance had not been achieved in my Block II experience where the classroom environment was tense and uncomfortable. I was able to finally see that balance achieved here and the discipline worked. Layla was able to go back to work and the situation did not escalate further or taking up any more time of the lesson.

My cooperating teacher later on in the lesson checked Layla’s behavior chart to see if there were any notes about her behavior that might explain her current behavior, and eventually followed up with her general education teacher to figure out what the possible purpose of that behavior was. I found it really helpful to be a part of this situation. I have had many courses explaining the theoretical aspects of discipline, and that children should be treated with kindness when disciplined. I also agreed with this, but wondered what to do if a child persisted in pushing that boundary and not listening. I realized that you can still be stern, while also being caring, in your act of discipline and that some students benefit from the strategy the melds the two together.

Chapter 6

Conclusion: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

I entered college knowing that having a positive classroom environment and dynamic could make learning fun. Yet, I was unsure how to create such an environment and had not really considered the extent to which classroom environment and dynamics, which are traditionally considered non-academic in nature, are, in fact, pivotal to learning.

Some of my insight into classroom environment and dynamics came from focusing on what students may need to be successful at learning, such as feeling comfortable in the classroom. This could be something as simple as developing a rapport with a child. Other strategies include creating lower stress learning opportunities, such as games, instead of focusing on more stressful situations, like quizzes. If students feel uncomfortable in their classrooms, they may be too afraid to take academic risks. If students are presenting with challenging behaviors, they may not be intending to be naughty, but rather communicating something else, such as a need that is not being met. I realized that recognizing students’ emotions and helping them to find a way to cope with those emotions can also be a part of this process. When I validate a child’s emotions, I can not only deescalate the situation, but I may also develop a rapport with a student. I have sometimes found it difficult to understand why a child is uncomfortable. However, I have learned that, often, going directly to the student is the best way to get accurate information, even if the child is young.

Additionally, a quiet work environment that emphasizes order, is not always the best dynamic for every lesson. Although quiet environments and order can be beneficial, expectations should align with developmentally appropriate expectations for students. Lessons in which children move around or incorporate hands-on activities or music can aid in student engagement and increase learning. Some of my most successful lessons included music and movement. Framing a situation as an opportunity can also motivate and encourage students. When students feel excited about lessons, instead of thinking of the lesson as a mundane task, they are more willing to work. Lastly, I realized that relationships are not a bonus part of learning. They are necessary and unavoidable. Looking back on my classroom experiences, I realized that I often made more of an impact on students than I had initially believed. Although it is important to remain professional, sharing a little about yourself as an educator is not only okay, but can enhance engagement.

Through my time in different classroom settings, I also learned quite a bit about myself. Teaching in a way that was authentic to my own personality was not only more comfortable, but could also still be successful. Presuming competence of my students is an important part of helping students succeed. When students are presumed incompetent they lose out on learning opportunities. Additionally, my choices send a message, whether I intend to or not. To place a student’s workspace at the side of the room, separated from everyone else, and to have that student doing work that is unrelated to the work of his peers, sends a message to both the student and his peers that he is different and not included. Not only is this a damaging perspective, but it presumes incompetence and does not give the student opportunities to further his abilities to work with peers or on grade-level content. I also learned that I can sometimes help students understand my feedback by explicitly explaining myself and my tone.

Moving forward, as my understanding continues to grow, it will be important for me to also understand why educators make certain choices in the classroom. Educators have reasons for the practices they have in place. If I am seeking to help other educators, or to collaborate with colleagues that may not see eye to eye with me, considering other viewpoints will be important when asking them to consider my own.

While my understanding of classroom environments and dynamics has progressed greatly, it is still not complete. I had preconceived notions challenged, and will continue to, as I encounter more classrooms and more students. Each experience, even those I perceived as negative, and even those that made me feel sick or uncomfortable, greatly contributed to my growing understanding. As an educator, each day is a learning opportunity for both my students and I, and I look forward to continuing on my journey in this role.

References

Adams, T. E., Holman Jones, S. L., & Ellis, C. (2015). Autoethnography. Oxford University Press.

Ellis, C., Adams, T., & Bochner, A. (2010). Autoethnography: An Overview. Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung / Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 12(1). doi:

Josselson, R., & Lieblich, A. (2005). Carolyn Ellis, The Ethnographic I : A Methodological Novel about Autoethnography Walnut Creek, California: Altamira Press, 2004, 384 pages. ISBN 0759100500. Life Writing, 2(2), 199-206. doi: 10.1080/10408340308518298

Sparkes, A. C. (1996). The fatal flaw: A narrative of the fragile body-self. Qualitative Inquiry, 2(4), 463-494. doi:10.1177/107780049600200405

Wall, S. (2006). An Autoethnography on Learning About Autoethnography. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 146–160.

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