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Yesterday, I gave my students individual graphs that show their growth so far this year in reading. (Our class average growth so far this year is .94 years!) Most of my students have made pretty remarkable progress so far, but one student, G, has made literally no growth.

When I say no growth, I mean it. She started the year reading on a kindergarten level, has been in my intervention class since October, has had individual tutoring, and now, in March, is still reading on the same kindergarten level she was at the beginning of the year. This raises issues of its own, of course, and I’m doing what I can on an administrative level to make sure G gets the help she needs.

But this doesn’t change the fact that she is functionally illiterate in my classroom, and on days like yesterday, when other students are celebrating their growth, her lack of progress smacks her in the face. I’m not really sure how I could have handled this situation differently. One of the problems of transparent tracking is that the kids who aren’t where they need to be just feel bad about themselves. Despite me trying to make it as positive as possible- “If you haven’t made the growth you wanted to make, it’s ok. We will continue to work really hard to make sure you meet your Big Goal-” kids still know that they didn’t do a good job.

So, when G saw her graph and saw it only had a little tiny sliver colored in, she covered it up as she put her head down on her desk and began to cry. This, of course, attracted a lot of attention, and one of my students even tried to force G to give her the graph so she could see what the problem was. I then had to take what should have been a very positive, celebratory moment in my classroom and turn it into a negative conversation about how we should be empathetic to others and how we should never, ever make fun of anyone else for any reason. G continued to sob. I got the rest of my students out the door for recess, most of whom actually felt pretty bad for G.

I had G come talk to me in the back of the room. She was still sobbing uncontrollably. She was upset because her dad was going to be disappointed in her because he always tells her to read more. She clearly didn’t know what to do about the fact that she still doesn’t know how to read.

To tell the truth, neither do I. I’ve poured my heart and soul into this effort, and gotten no return whatsoever. Other students who started out at the same level as G have made incredible growth, or at least have grown to a point where they can more or less read on their own. It’s heartbreaking to see other kids responding to my instructional methods and have G just stagnate. Clearly, something is missing.

Anyway, I calmed G down the best I could, told her we would do everything we could to make sure she learned how to read. Seeing her that upset almost made me start crying, too. She spent the rest of recess sobbing at her desk. This moment was definitely the worst moment I have had in my classroom this year.

During lunch, G’s mom came to eat with her, so I got my principal to translate for me and explain to G’s mother what had happened. G’s mother didn’t seem to have much of a reaction, which is pretty typical for her. This time, though, she started to argue with us a bit.

Mom: I don’t understand. I see her reading at home all the time.
Me: That’s because we give her books to read that are at her level. The books she’s reading are on a kindergarten level.
Mom: Oh.

At least we will be having an SST meeting for G at the end of this month. Hopefully then we can start to move forward and figure out how to teach G how to read.

Because of this whole incident, yesterday was a pretty soul-crushing day for me in general. Lots of bickering between my students, a feeling of exhaustion from me, and the lack of support I feel has really got me down. Lots of people from my school administration and TFA are always saying a general thank you for working so hard. When I say general, I mean something like, “Thank you to all teachers for the hard work you do.” While I appreciate the fact that they recognize that we are working our butts off, I do wish that once in a while somebody would tell me that I was actually doing a good job. There’s a big difference between working hard and being effective, which I know all too well from last year. Other teachers that I know in TFA and at my school are being individually recognized for this, that, and the other, while I’m still plugging along, doing my thing. It’s starting to give me a confidence crisis. I’m not saying that I would like somebody to jump up and down for me just because I’m alive. But once in a while, it would be really nice to hear that somebody knows that I’m doing well. That’s all.