Paul, My New Friend

I am teaching my high risk class again this semester. It's a small class of 20, and about 15 of them are at a high risk to drop out of high school. They are a rough crowd that come from rough families, drugs, abuse, and many other issues I can't even begin to imagine dealing with at 15 years-old. The purpose of this class is to be small so that I can work more one-on-one with them, motivate them, care about them, love on them, feed them when they are hungry, and smile at them when no one else does.

I realized this morning that they are my favorite class. They are certainly not perfect, and they often give me a headache. They are a lot of work even though they are my smallest class. They are tardy every day. They talk when they should be listening. They don't follow directions. Some of them can barely read. They aren't the smartest kids in the school. They sometimes could care less about English and/or school, and yet I look forward to this class everyday. I have better rapport with them than my "normal" students, and I feel like I'm making a difference every time they walk into my class.

One student, Paul, comes from Vietnam. He's been in America for a couple of years, so he does speak English, but his reading/writing skills are less than par and he struggles with basic comprehension. I just got him in my class last week, so we introduced ourselves and made friends quickly. He's a spunky little guy with a lot of wit and humor. I can tell I'm really going to like him, but I can also tell he's going to be a challenge in many ways.

One of their favorite questions to ask is, "What is your first name?" I always answer and it usually involves an explanation of where it came from, why my parents chose it, and what it means. Usually my students really like my name, but they are also quick to point out that Shiloh is a dog's name (at least in the movie, Shiloh). Hahaha. Very funny.

Paul, being Vietnamese, had never heard the name Shiloh. He was fascinated by my name, and kept saying Shiloh over and over. And then he goes, "I like it. I'm going to call you Shiloh from now on."

I chuckled and said, "I'm Ms. Nichols to you, buddy."

Well, ever since that day, you want to know what he calls me? You guess it....Shiloh!

"Hey, Shiloh. Can you help me?"
"Shiloh, will you come here for a minute?"
"I need some help Shiloh."

Initially, I didn't even notice he was doing it. My friends and family call me Shiloh, so it's natural for me to answer. After the second time, however, I realized what he was doing. And for some reason, it doesn't bother me when he does it. If it were any other kid, I'd put him in his place. But with Paul, it makes me laugh. I'll let him call me Shiloh as long as he's working hard and showing me he cares about his grades.