It was with sweaty palms and a stomach full of butterflies that I first set off to observe one of my former high school history teachers, Mick Lefort, teach an eighth grade class at Kickemuit Middle School. Mr. Lefort (it feels weird to address him by his first name even now, two years after I graduated from East Providence High, where he used to teach before moving on to the Bristol-Warren school) had been kind enough to arrange for me to come and watch him, getting back to me promptly and generally making the process as pain-free as possible. Until now, I thought as I sped down I-195 towards exit two, phone in hand with my GPS calmly spouting directions. When forced into the kinds of "sink-or-swim" situations someone finds themselves in any time they do something out of their usual routine, I find that I generally can keep my head above the waves, but it doesn't stop me from dreading the moment I'm thrown into the deep end. All I have to do is sit there and watch, I thought, but the actual classroom was not really what I was worried about. It was going through the office, dealing with the paperwork, talking to people whom I would be meeting for the first time at a place I had never been to before. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, not letting ago until I had pulled into the parking lot and had to step out of the car and into the unknown.
In retrospect, I feel silly having ever felt that nervous. When I was buzzed in through the main entrance, I was met by a friendly, supportive staff who had been expecting me and who were eager to help. I filled out all the paper work before the school's police officer walked me to Mr. Lefort's class, where his first period of the day was about to kick off at 8:30 am. Walking down the halls, I was struck by how new everything felt in comparison to the schools I had attended- how well maintained, how bright everything seemed. Slogans calling for academic success rained down from the walls, clocks that actually said the right time were situated everywhere. It felt so...friendly. Perhaps not incredibly warm, but sanitary, generally positive. I didn't want to leave as soon as I walked through the halls. I walked into Mr. Lefort's class. He shook my hand, sat me down at his desk, pushed off to the far back corner completely opposite from the door, and assured me that we would have plenty of time to discuss any questions that I probably had during the following period, in which he was completely free. As students filtered in, many cast curious glances towards me, but Mr. Lefort quickly had them turn their attention towards his lesson, and I was left more or less to myself, the desk sitting far away from the center of student-teacher interactions, seemingly placed away from all action, almost as if its location was an afterthought. The desks were grouped haphazardly, distributed unevenly across the room, with another teacher desk stationed at the front of the class. It appeared organized, as did the desk I sat at, sitting before the whiteboards and the smartboard at the front of the class.
Mr. Lefort darted in between each group as he routinely wandered around before making his way back to the front of the class. The walls were adorned with various things- student work, historical posters and images, a Pink Floyd "The Wall" poster, and an image of Bob Marley, dreads and all, followed by some quote that escapes me now- I remember wanting to ask Mr. Lefort if he had ever been asked by nervous parents to remove Marely's smiling face from his class, but I forgot to do so until I found myself driving home a few hours later. The decorations felt cool, almost youthful, as if Mick had invited me over to hang out and talk about social studies instead of sitting in Mr. Lefort's class to review last week's exam. This particular class had 18 students, 10 of whom had IEP's as I would find out later, and had a single teacher assistant attempting to help them; the only black student in the room was receiving the lion's share of her attention. Despite this, it felt like everyone was participating. I was struck by Mr. Lefort's ability to always bring students back to task, no matter how far a tangent they went off on, and get them to talk about the material at hand. A dry wit and patience allowed him to incorporate even the more "difficult" students into the general discussion, disruptive behavior quipped by a funny remark and general laughter. It was enjoyable to watch this flow between student and teacher, at times disjointed but generally positive. It screamed of amicable student-teacher relations, which is exactly how I remembered being a member of Mr. Lefort's class; the freedom made me remember how I enjoyed being his student, and I'm sure his students, and Kickemuit's student body at large, feel the same way now.
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