My lessons are always lofty and beautiful. In the early stages. The students are going to love, love, love this book! I love, love, love this book! Can't wait to share! And, oftentimes, they do love it, but I always come to find that they find their own love, and that love isn't necessarily the same as mine. Which is the way it should be, but I generally have a bittersweet realization of, "Oh, you're right. On point. Totally relevant. Just not exactly what I thought it would be." In Perks, the narrator is dismayed because he only earned a C on an essay. The teacher said that he runs his sentences together. I cringe, because I know I've been guilty of giving the same abstract response in the past. The funny thing, though, is that this relates to yesterday's lesson with my students. The teacher recommended that he incorporate new vocabulary words in his writing. The student goes on about how he doesn't know how to do that, but a few short paragraphs later, he uses the new words. Correctly. Beautiful. And I realize it's a matter of waiting for the few paragraphs to elapse (or days, weeks, multiple assignments, whatever...); they do it when it makes sense to them.
I would do well to remember that they are most likely trying, and I simply need to wait for it all to gel, their way.
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