There was an extra spark of enthusiasm in class one year as the detention center kids and I began a poetry unit. The students appeared eager to write and share their own poetry, so we set aside every Friday for open mic time. The day before the first performance, one of the students suggested I should also write a poem.

BY NANCY KIDD

“I don’t know,” I said reluctantly. Truthfully, I was thinking of the short time I would have to write, especially when my evening at home would be busy with dinner, family and household tasks.

“Come on, Mrs. Kidd,” a couple other students encouraged. “We’re all writing poems, so you should write one, too.”

“I don’t know,” I repeated in an attempt to get myself off the hook. “What would I write about?”

“You can write about us. You can write about teaching us.”

Let’s try this

It didn’t take long for the wheels of my mind to start turning. I decided I would try to write a rap about the kids when I got home. Now, I didn’t know the first thing about rap, but I had a son in high school who listened to it. I was hoping he’d help me put something together, something the students would like. Just imagine – an older white woman trying to “spit and flow!” I thought it would be light and funny and that they would at least appreciate my effort.

After my son’s basketball practice, dinner and a bit of television, he and I sat down at the computer. Although rap had always sounded to me like someone just talking with a particular rhythmic pattern, the two of us quickly discovered coming up with the words to spill out in that special way requires a talent neither he nor I had. Some time passed, but the right words, the right poetry, never came to either of us. Around 10:30 he gave up and went to bed, offering only, “Sorry, Mom. I can’t help you. You’re on your own.”

I was left with no choice except to move on to Plan B. Forget the rap and just throw together a poem that spoke of my feelings about my students. I sat back down at the computer, took a deep breath, and began to type. This time the words came more easily, and by midnight it was finished.

The next morning I had serious doubts about the whole thing.

On one hand, I was on cloud nine because I knew the poem I had written did indeed express my deepest feelings. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure the students would relate. I figured I would have been better off to go for some humor. Plus, I really didn’t think I had the confidence to open up to my students this way.

Poetry preparation

Before the students arrived, I tried to make the room as warm and inviting as I could.  I had previously strung hundreds of Christmas lights from the high ceiling, and they came in handy to add a little ambiance. I turned them on and turned off the stark fluorescent tube ceiling lights. The only other light came through the two narrow windows in the room. I arranged the desks in a circle and confirmed that the view of the room was still clear so that always watchful eyes could ensure we all stayed safe.

The mood when the students took their seats was electric. They couldn’t wait to share their poetry. Some had written multiple poems. As they took turns reading, all remained attentive, kind and supportive.

What a beautiful scene to behold! It was all working out even better than I could have hoped for.

I guided the process but never mentioned my own poem. Then, near the end of the class period, one of the boys asked, “Mrs. Kidd, didn’t you write a poem?”

“Yes, I did,” I answered quietly.

They asked me to read it, but I told them I couldn’t.

“Why not?” they wanted to know.

“Because if I read it, I am going to cry.”

I will never forget their responses, the way the whole class immediately reacted with tenderness to support and encourage me.

(Wait a minute! Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, ME encouraging THEM?)

“Mrs. Kidd, you can do it!”

“Oh, come on, Mrs. Kidd!”

“We’re here for you!”

And so I pulled out my poem, and I began to read. I barely made it through the first two lines when the tears started flowing. It got worse as I felt my throat tightening. Multiple times I had to stop and try to collect myself before I could continue. I cried – no, more accurately, I heaved and I blubbered – through the whole poem. Then it was over. After a brief moment of silence applause and the heaping on of compliments followed.

“Wow! I really liked that!”

“Oh, Mrs. Kidd! That was so good!”

“Can I have a copy of your poem?”

I had made myself vulnerable to these students, and they responded with love. They listened, and they “got it!” Staff members later told me how thrilled the kids were to have a copy of the poem in their room, how eager they were to share the poem with them and with their own family members.

‘Acceptance and joy’

Oh, the incredible flow of deep emotions – acceptance and joy and love all around us!

On that special day the students understood how deeply I cared for them. And I understood more clearly how vital it was for them to know they mattered.

In the end, isn’t that what we all long for – to feel our value and to know we are worthy?