Reflection #1
So far, in this class, I think I have learned that using the arts in teaching other subjects is more than just letting kids draw, paint, or color-- it's about keeping the kids engaged and helping them understand better through teaching others and expressing themselves.
A little background: I have 7 sisters and 1 brother and all of my siblings (with the exception of 1 sister) have cerebral palsy, to every extremity. My brother, in particular, has a very bad case of CP, as well as epilepsy, a clawed right hand, and frequent strokes. Needless to say, he had a very difficult time in school growing up. Now, I don't remember a ton from my childhood, due to my own life complications, but I do remember my brother being in high school and having such a hard time coping with going to school. The one event that sticks out in my brain the most is the look on his face when he was accepted into the high school band, although he wasn't very good at playing any instruments. The blotchy memories that I have, and the very much appreciated input from my mother, allowed me to remember this event. I remember wondering why in the world the high school allowed him to be "included" in their band when he couldn't play an instrument. But then I remember this wonderful teacher and his passion for wind instruments and my brother. This teacher would show up at my house sometimes just to come help my brother learn how to play the french horn (an instrument, I might remind you, that require the usage of the right hand to play the notes). The looks on their faces are images that I think will never be scraped from my mind. You could just see how passionate the teacher was about helping him and how grateful and loved my brother felt. This is why I want to be a teacher--so that I might experience this same passion, acceptance, and understanding that this student and teacher felt together. This, just this, is my passion.
Please remember that this story has taken some time to finally piece together between my mother and I, but the first piece of the puzzle was their faces and how I had to know what that situation was. My mother, thankfully, is a very understanding teacher herself, and, in change, has become a very wonderful and understanding scrapbook of my brain, but it is just that--a scrapbook. Her memories are just pieces that I have to piece together to remember on my own.