If you are interested in learning how to teach from a successful California Public Schools teacher and administrator, I recommend you purchase this book, Unleashing the Student’s “I Can” by Dr. Wendy Ghiora (http://www.publishamerica.net/product89724.html). Dr. Ghiora is an accomplished teacher, principal, and staff developer. She received the Outstanding Doctor of Education Award from Alliant International University in San Diego. She is a firm believer that, if a teacher’s ultimate objective is student learning, the keys that inspire, motivate, encourage, and ultimately move students, are there to be found. Through a teacher’s resourcefulness and ambition, many students can experience the breakthroughs her students have. Below is one story from the book. Every story, in its own way, is equally as powerful. Come join me now as we enter Dr. Ghiora’s classroom. She is about to unleash one student’s “I can.”

Brandon
By Dr. Wendy Ghiora

It was a Monday morning.  My drama students were working in pairs doing “Mood Drills.”  I would have them take a banal sentence such as: “Pass the salt please,” and say it in various moods, such as: grief, boredom, excitement, anger, etc.  The actor would continue to deliver the line until the partner that was listening could correctly guess the mood intended.  Then they would switch.  As I observed the different twinships, a gentleman came into the theatre, pushing a student in a wheelchair. 

Teaching drama carries with it many unnamed expectations. Whenever dignitaries, or visitors of local business or academic institutions toured our high school, it was inevitable they would stop off at The Little Theatre to watch my drama students in action. 

These unannounced visits were actually good training and kept the students and me on our toes at all times.  It was also a foregone conclusion that when any club, group, or team needed a skit put together with no prior notice, I would be able to whip one up and supply the actors as well, 
if needed.  This carried over into professional development as well.  If the teachers were ever asked to create skits as a part of the ongoing training, a gaggle of them would flock to my table. 

Another benefit of being the drama teacher was I could always count on our school counselors to routinely place any “problem children” in the drama class, where they could “act out” to their heart’s content.  One year, I received a very unusual student, Brandon.

The gentleman pushing the student in the wheelchair introduced himself as Marty Sanders.  He said he was from the Sharp Behavioral Hospital across the street.  He had spoken to our principal and school counselor and wanted to know if I would be willing to have Brandon (the boy in the wheelchair) participate in the drama class.  He said he would stay to supervise.  I knelt down, looked Brandon in the eye and said,
“Hi Brandon.  I’m Mrs. Ghiora.”  I held out my hand and we shook. 
He said, “Hi, I’m Brandon.” 
Then I asked, “Brandon, are you interested in drama?”
            
He looked at me, and his eyes lit up, “Yes,” he said, “I really love plays and acting!”
“Well, okay then, it’s settled,” I said.  “Mr. Sanders, Brandon is welcome to join our class.”

The reason I did this, was I wanted to be sure this was really something Brandon wanted, and not just a way to find a free babysitting service (which believe me, has been done all too often).  More importantly, if Brandon didn’t want to be there, then I certainly wasn’t’ going to condone a student being placed in my class under duress.

From the moment Brandon entered the classroom, I knew there was something special about him.  Of course, I tend to think this about all my students.  But something about this young man….   I wondered to myself what lessons each of us would learn from him.  On the surface, one could see a unique confidence, perhaps even bravery, for a boy in a wheelchair to want to be “on stage,” metaphorically and literally, in front of a group of high school students that were strangers to him.  I had trained my students in tolerance and understanding, now I would get to see if they would apply what they had learned.
                
Sometimes we complain about our lot in life, or our job.  Complaining doesn’t really accomplish anything.  If we look at each day as an opportunity to create something new, something good; or to help others produce something they can be proud of, then sometimes we are lucky enough to receive a gift like Brandon.

Every day, third period, Mr. Sanders and Brandon arrived for my drama class.  The students took an instant liking to Brandon.  He was a neat kid, with a great sense of humor.  He was paralyzed from the waist down and often moved his head and arms spasmodically, trying to no avail to get his extremities under control.  This affected his speech somewhat as well, however, he must have used every ounce of determination to keep fairly good control over his speech mechanism.  Several students alternated as his partner for the various warm-up drills.  They were astute at adapting them for Brandon’s unique needs.  I never found out what his behavioral issues were, (he was living in a youth psychiatric facility), and they never cropped up during class.  I encouraged him daily, as did many of my students.  He tried his best to participate in every activity we did.           
                         
Sometime during his second week of attendance, I noticed Mr. Sanders no longer showed up.  This was probably for the best, as Brandon was really starting to feel and act like a member of the team.

Toward the end of the first quarter, the drama students began working on a major assignment.  They were going to act out a monologue in front of the class.  They could use any monologue that had been pre-approved by me.  It was to be memorized and presented “in character” for the entire class.  Costumes and props were recommended but not required.  My student technical crew set up a schedule so the students could be videotaped, and then watch themselves deliver the monologue in order to self-critique, or get comments from classmates on how to improve what they saw.  I found the students to be ruthlessly critical of themselves, so I stepped in to point out many of their positive attributes during the reviewing process, and gently suggest ideas for improvement.

During practice week, I hadn’t noticed Brandon working on anything.  One day I went over to talk to him.  I asked if he needed help finding a monologue.  He responded, “No thanks, I already know what I’m going to do.” 

I nodded and said, “Great! Just let me know if you need any help.” 
He looked me in the eye and said, “Thanks Mrs. G.  Don’t worry, you can count on me.”
And so I did.

The following Monday, my drama students began presenting their monologues.  In general, I was very pleased with the effort and results displayed by the first brave students’ performances.  I noticed Brandon was absent.  I hoped the assignment hadn’t caused him undue stress.  I called the phone number on the card Mr. Sanders had given me, but got no response.  I remember my talk with Brandon and decided to go with my gut feeling that he would follow through as he had promised.

Tuesday morning, Brandon was back.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  I decided I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it if Brandon hadn’t done the assignment.  We watched and did “sandwich” reviews of the first two monologues of the day.  A “sandwich” review is where we give one positive comment, one comment on something that could be stronger and end off on another positive comment.  Suddenly, John raised his hand and said, “Mrs. Ghiora, Brandon wants to do his monologue.” I said, “Very good.”  John and two other twelfth grade boys lifted Brandon in his wheelchair onto the stage. 

The theatre was totally quiet.  All eyes were focused on Brandon.  I noticed he was wearing a child-like striped T-shirt.  I waited, not knowing what, if anything was about to take place.  Brandon was getting into “the zone” of becoming his character.  Suddenly, he looked directly out at the audience and said, “I think lunchtime is about the worst time of day for me. Always having to sit here alone.”

I think some of the students squirmed because they thought this was Brandon talking to them; not so, this is the first line of Charlie Brown’s famous monologue about the love of his life, The Little Red-Haired Girl.  The quality of the voice, the tone, the emotion, was simply amazing.  I looked around and saw most of my students’ jaws hit their knees.  When Brandon delivered the last line: 

“Whew! She's not looking at me! I wonder why she never looks at me? Oh well, another lunch hour over with...only 2,863 to go,” there was a pause, and then the entire class stood up to give Brandon a well-deserved standing ovation.  He was all smiles and glowing from head to toe.  After dabbing my eyes and discretely shoving the Kleenex back in my pocket, I walked over to the stage as the boys lifted Brandon and wheelchair down. 

“Brandon,” I said, “You are quite the actor.  That was amazing!”  He smiled and said, “Thank you.”  The boys all lined up to give Brandon high fives. 

The tender loving care of human beings will never become obsolete. People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed. Never throw anybody out. Sam Levenson