A Close Knit Classroom
During my time as a special education teacher at a female youth correctional facility in Lakewood, Colorado, I formed close relationships with several of the girls living there. One evening, after significant disruption on the unit, the teachers were asked to stay well into the night. While we waited, the girls pulled out their crochet projects—something they often used as a calming, productive outlet—and quickly noticed that I had no idea how to crochet. With patience and enthusiasm, they decided it was time for me to learn.
They started me on the basics: a simple chain of single crochet stitches, followed by the “easiest” stitch—the double crochet. They encouraged me to start small, just as they had when they began. At the time, many of the girls were making scarves and mittens to leave on a chain-link fence at a nearby park for people experiencing homelessness.
Over the next several days, our routine became beautifully reciprocal. I spent my time providing academic support, and in return, they taught me new stitches, techniques, and the joy they found in creating something meant to help others. I worked diligently on my own scarf, and although I was proud of the final product, the girls gently questioned its practicality. In truth, it was so small it could probably only keep a squirrel warm.
But in that experience, we all discovered something important: learning is not one-directional. I can learn just as much from my students as they learn from me—and sometimes, what they teach is far more meaningful than any lesson I could plan.
