Meg fell asleep in class yesterday. I let her. I didn't take it personally. She has zero-hour math, farm-girl chores, state-qualifying 4X400 fatigue, adolescent angst, and various other things to deal with. My class is only a part of her life, not her life. No, she did not use
her time wisely in class yesterday. She didn't get her essay turned in. She knew that. I knew that, but I didn't beat her up about it. Didn't have to. She emailed it to me last night at 9:00 PM. On her own. I know we all somewhat subscribe to this notion that there's a right way
of doing things, and letting kids sleep in class falls outside the boundaries. I get it, and I'm not suggesting that we make it a permanent part of repertoire /routine, but I am suggesting that we sometimes trust our instincts, even if it goes against the grain, maybe especially
if it goes against the grain, for I am not always convinced the grain best considers kids. In a different room, Meg may have been written up for sleeping in class and given a zero for a missing essay, but she wasn't in a different room; she was in my room. My room.
And in my room there are lots of things I CAN do. I can't control the world outside. I can't offer Meg a math class later in the day. I cannot feed her horses (many horses) in the morning or evening. I cannot run 6 race-pace 300's for her. I cannot spirit away her teen trouble.
But I can give her a break. She was not being rude or disrespectful yesterday when she nodded off. She was tired. So I gave her a break. I can do that. And I want to believe, I have to believe--else my life is a lie, that it will come back in the end. And it did. Meg got her
essay done. In fact, serendipitously, she proudly told me so when I ran into her at the grocery store at 6:45 this morning. She was getting some breakfast before her 7:10 math class. She'd been up since 5:00 doing chores. #myroom #project180
