By Nellie Curtiss …
She came to class in pajamas.
I looked at the attentive students in their first college composition class and saw Koko waltz in laughing and carrying on with the student behind her. She was late.
She interrupted others, me, and when I gave a cooperative assignment, she would complain loudly about having to write.
Waking just 8 minutes before class she not only wore pajamas to class, she also sported nose piercings, tongue piercings, an array of hair colors and styles. She could swear like a James Joyce character, too.
As the instructor, I was in a quandary as to what to do with such a boisterous student. I should know, I thought to myself, because I remember my “M.O.”.
Esther was my baby-sitter when I was a tyke. She helped my single mom navigate her job as a bank teller and the mother of two small children. One night, my mom was part of the Rio Grande Valley’s stock show parade. So, Esther stayed with us until Mom could get home. As a treat, we watched her on the new television set. As Mom waved at us through the box, I asked Esther “How did Mom get so small? How did she get in there? When will she be home?” The questions streamed like ricochet thoughts. Finally, the “show” was over and though Mom wasn’t home, it was my bedtime. Esther put me to bed in my favorite pjs.
She said, “Now I lay me down to sleep…” with me. But as she was closing the bedroom door, I was already using my strong 4-year-old legs and I was jumping up and down on the bed.
Esther called, “Now quit that!”
I giggled in high pitch. Still jumping in the middle of the bed and then to the headboard, I just stared her down with my mischievous grin.
“Go to sleep,” she called from the door.
“Nah, nah, nah, you can’t make me!” I retorted in sing-song.
She threw my favorite teddy bear at me.
As it darted passed me and bounced onto the floor, I yelled, “You missed me, you missed me!”
Then we broke into laughter together.
And so, Koko was a young woman with an attitude, as we say today. I couldn’t help but see Esther dealing with me as I puzzled over what to do to make the class a successful class for everyone enrolled.
As I looked at Koko in her soft pastel pajamas, and cushy house slippers, I knew what to do. I assigned different jobs to students; and pulling her aside, I assigned her the round-robin task, which was a read-a-round.
“No, I can’t do that, Ms. C,” she said.
“Oh, yes you can,” I said.
Standing in front of her peers, she shared and selected readers. She followed my lead and made positive comments about the works and even re-instructed students in my “sandwich” technique of first praising, then suggesting a small improvement, and praising again.
I studied student faces. Everyone was involved; everyone was sharing their essays.
Koko became the best student; she did her work on time; she shared; she improved; and she threw words together like a master weaver of tales.
One day in my office she confided to me how her side was turning numb, how she was dropping things, how she was forgetting. I had noticed that she wasn’t the student with the attitude anymore. I hugged her and encouraged her to see a doctor.
Later, we all learned that Koko had a brain tumor. I cried.
She went away to Washington to be treated. There was hope that a new procedure would dissolve or shrink the tumor. Somehow after treatment, and many cards from her peers and friends, Koko came back to school.
She was wearing her grin, a funky hat, and pajamas; and Koko was on her way to college in South Dakota with her art and writing in tow.
Columns by nellie 