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淘气的天使WhyITeach
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惠特尼·L.葛拉德WhitneyL.Grady
Iknowmystudents.Massesofawkwardseventhgradersswarmthehallsofmyruralmiddleschooleachday，haulingbackpacksoveroalkingandshufflingaloilehallwayfloorfromclasstoclass.Iwatchthemlikeageneralfrommypost，mydoor，ahefactthatIcalleae.
Iks，theirstories.Dorasloudisshy，andIknowitisbecauseshespehiced，soshewohebruher’sangryhand.Jaypitchlikeatenthgrader，andallthegirlsswoonwhenheandhisblondhairstrutby，butIkreallyevenlikebaseballthatmuchheplaysbecausehisdadwantshimtoaooscaredtoaskoutthegirlhelikes.Thekidsthihisjusttheclass，butIknowofhisdreamstobeeanastronautandI’vereendedhimforspaceowmystudentsbecauseIamtheirwritirustmewiththeirstoriesandsoIamgiventheprivilegeofhavibondwitheadeveryohe
&udentsaboutthepowerofwords，andItrytoletthemfindreleaseahr.Welearntotrusteachotherinwritingclassbecausewelearnhowharditistowriteopenlyaly，asharingyourwordstakesce.Iseeceeverydayinmy，andIamalwaysamazedatthewordsthatystudes.
Onesuchexampleetookplagauthor’schair，asharitheendofourwriter’sworkshopinwhitsvoluosharewhattheyhavewritten.Wehadaheschool，Al.Alwassmalland，withhisdimpleddbabyface，helookedyouhanhisclassmates.
InfaAlwasfirstiheclasstwoweeksearlier，osaid，“You’rehgrade.You’reababy.”
Tothat，AlquiAlBillslington，andIamihgrade.”
Despitehisobvie，Alhadbeenwithusforonlyashortwhileandwasstilltryingtofitin.SoIwasalittlesurprisedwheeeredtauthor’schair.Ihadohoseteaents，whenIsmiledandnoddedforhimtoread，whileinsideIsaidasileheotherstudentswouldheerheread.Theroomfellsilent，aoread.
“IfIhadowouldbetomeetmydad……”
Hestartedoutloudanddheldtheattentionofmyusuallyrestlessseventhgradersashereadonforwhatseemedlikefifteeoldofhowhehadneverknownhisfather，whohadleftthefamilywhenAlwasababy.Hesharedtheiailslestobetheonlymasugage，ofhavingtomowthelawnandfixbrokenpipes.Herevealedtousthethoughtsthatraindtlyaboutwherehisfathermightbeahaveleft.
Myeyessedtheroomffacesofseventh-gradekidsereproojumpataweakrytocrackajoke，buttherewereherewereneyesesturesinsinuatingbattayseveswerelisteening.TheireyeswereonAl，andtheywereabshiswordslikesponges.Myheartwasfull.
Aluedon，tellingofnight，amansoimportanttohim，yetsounreal.Icouldhearhisvshakyashereadsuateawords，andIsawatearrolldownoneofhisdimpledcheeks.IlookedtotheaudieearsonJessica’sfathefacesofafewothersseatedquietly，iening.
&tinghimdothis，Ithought.Theyareallowinghimtosharesomethingheperhapshasneversharedbefore，ajudginghimhiIfeltalumpinmyo>
Alfirugglingnowtoreadhislastsentence.“IfIhadowouldbetomeetmydad，soIwouldn’t……”
Histearswererollingnow，andsowereours，“……soIwouldoyeyesijustwwhathelookslike.”
Withoutanye，theclassstoodupandapplauded.Alsmiledfromeartoearastheyallrushedhimwithhugs.Iwasfloored.ThisiswhyIteach.IteachbecauseIamallowedtolearoriesbehindthefaces.IteachbecauseIwatchkidsgrowandlaughandleareachbecauseofstudentslikeAl.
我很了解我的学生们。
在我们乡村中学里，每天都会有一群七年级的学生，背着双肩背包，沿着走廊的瓷砖地板一边嚷嚷，一边慢悠悠地从一间教室走到另一间教室。
我站在教室门口看着他们，就像一个将军在阅兵似的。
我为能叫出他们每一个人的名字而感到高兴。
我知道他们的秘密以及他们的故事。
多拉是一个懒散而害羞的女孩，我知道这是因为她在家的时候不愿太惹人注意，以免因闯祸而遭到继父的殴打；杰伊可以像一个十年级的学生那样投掷棒球，当他顶着一头金黄色的头发大摇大摆地走过时，所有女孩都欣喜若狂，但是我知道他对棒球根本没兴趣，只是不敢违抗父命而已，与女孩子出去约会也会让他感到害怕；孩子们都认为基思只是班上的小丑，但是我知道他梦想能成为一名宇航员，所以我把他推荐给了一个太空夏令营。
我了解我的学生们，因为我是他们的写作老师。
他们信任我，并告诉我他们的故事，所以我有了与他们每一个人分享秘密的特权。
我教给我的学生们文字的力量，尝试着让他们通过写作来释放自己，表达自己。
在写作课上，我们学着相互信任，因为我们知道公开而诚实地写作是多么困难，我们学着鼓足勇气来分享我们的语言。
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