Observational Story

 

It was a cold day. The kind where the sun peaks from between the empty, silent streets of small, decrepit houses while the harsh wind cuts right through your being  like a razor blade through a damp tissue as you walk down the grey sidewalk. The kind where your feet tingle with every step, and your fingers achingly ping with every pulse of blood. The kind where your ruby face feels like it has been bitten, and your ears feel like they have been burned with a white-hot iron. 

With twenty minutes to spare I had arrived. There was no parking lot in sight and the streets were aligned with cars upon cars, desperately squeezed close together compactly so as to be as close to the building as possible. After searching for a parking spot for fifteen minutes I eventually deciding to take the risk and park in a permit only zone for the forty-five minutes I would be there.
With now only five minutes until class started, my body shook uncontrollably as I quickly paced around the large building towards the main entrance which sat at the top of a flight of stairs with no ramp for handicap students. 

After signing in and meeting with a professional, I was brought down a grey,white, and baby-blue colored corridor. Students of all different races, genders, ethnicities, class, and body shapes scattered like a stampede to hurriedly get to their classes on time. The dull hallways seemed like a maze, all of the same pattern and confusingly darting off into different directions.

I introduced myself to a blonde teacher dressed professionally in a black and white colored suit with black-rimmed glasses that sat at the top of her nose against her pale face. Her smile was friendly and warm. Though she had the exterior of a hardened professional woman, she was anything but. She had the soft spoken, encouraging, and light-hearted demeanor of a kind mother. 

I took a seat in the far back right corner of the room. It was a small and claustrophobic. Behind me sat a large, iron curtain that separated one half of the room to another where a teacher could be heard boisterously navigating his classroom.  

The desks were aligned in compact rows of five or six with little to no room to walk down the aisles.  Pencil drawings of cartoons were practically carved into the white wood of the desk I sat at. 

Though the room was small, it was colorful and lively. The walls were cluttered with a rainbow of colorful encouragements, agendas, rules, reminders, artwork, vocabulary, calendars, and expectations. An American flag hung from my left. Dozens of files sat against the large window to my right filled with student classwork and assignments. A medium-sized divided white board sat at the front of the room with homework assignments and objectives written. Notes for the day were already scribed in a thick, black marker in a large and bold font. The teacher’s desk sat on an angle in the right hand corner of the front of the class perfectly organized with all sorts of folders, binders, and piles of neatly-laid assignments. A black digital clock sat on the wall above the door. Dingy off-white filing cabinets sat in the back of the room, to my left.

Despite a stack of the same large textbooks lined against the wall and a few dictionaries, there was a lack of books. Where I had expected every English classroom to be healthily riddled with dozens and dozens of books, there were hardly any that I could see.

Students began to file into the classroom, dropping their books onto their desks with a loud bang and turning around to talk with their friends. After the bell had let out a muted chime, the students took their seats, but continued to talk. The teacher waited a few minutes after the bell as a few students scurried into the classroom. Then I counted.

There were fourteen students. Ten were female and four were male. Three were white, five were black, and six were either mulatto or hispanic. It was hard for me to identify. Four students wore glasses while ten did not. None seemed to really be overweight nor underweight. Some were dressed nicer than others. I could not tell if this was a stylistic choice or one directly related to their economic classes. I assumed it was more economic. Overall the class was extremely diverse with many different kinds of smiling faces, ready for class to begin. There was still a buzz of student conversations before the teacher stood in front of the class and announced the beginning task.

As the teacher continued with class, she asked many questions. Almost all students were involved and engaged in the lesson. There might have been one or two students who did not talk that sat in the back of the classroom. They sat quietly, but never took their eyes off of the teacher or the text in front of them. It was obvious that they were paying attention and were following the material, but I wasn’t sure if they quite understood everything being taught because they never voiced their answers or opinions to the class. The student, along with all of the other students, have the ability to participate. They all have the correct materials, take notes, and do not have any disabilities that would make them unable to participate.

I was mostly impressed with the students and their reactions to the lesson plan. They were not completely ecstatic about the lesson of course, but they treated it as if they really wanted to understand and learn. This brought a smile to my face. The students were arguing their opinions, striking up conversations about what they would do in situations that characters were in, making content-related jokes, and were having fun with the content. The teacher allowed students to have these conversations, which I was actually happy about. The teacher allowed the students to talk about the content because it meant they were engaged. She did not, however, allow this conversation to get off-topic or out of hand. She held the power to control the room and how the students acted.

Though some students got out of their seat, they were quiet and quick so as not to disrupt their classmates from learning. Overall, it was a rather pleasant experience despite the extremely small space the students and teacher were provided with in such a confusingly laid-out and dingily colored school with extremely narrow, maze-like hallways.

After the bell rang, I returned to the main office where I handed back my visitor badge in return of my student ID card. Although the school might not have looked the best, it at least was pretty secure.
On my way out the door I pictured what it might be like to be a student at the school. I think it would be hard to be inspired within such a confusing and pale school. While this is true, I might be encouraged and inspired depending on my teacher and the environment the teacher set up for me. The teacher I observed was one that encourages learning and having a clean and inspiring environment.

It might be hard to get to class on time when there is hardly anywhere to park. Heck, it was hard for me to even find a parking spot with the twenty minutes I had to spare. I couldn’t imagine how many students might show up to school with only five minutes and end up being late due to the lack of parking.

As I walked around the building I saw three people who looked like students slamming on a side door for their peers to let them in. They stared at me as I walked down the sidewalk with glaring eyes, making me feel slightly uncomfortable. After a while, they looked away and continued to bang on the door. A teacher told them through the window of the door to go through the front of the school and sign in. At least I could rest easy knowing that the school took necessary safety precautions.

And even though my fingers felt like they were about to detach from my hand and fall off onto the concrete, and my nose was nearly purple from the cold wind blasting against my face, I was happy to have been able to observe a classroom in action.