Low-Key, This is Kinda Good

Meeting Kids Where They Are

There’s a student I teach one-on-one right now. I won’t use his real name here, but let’s call him J.

Here’s what you need to know about J: He came to me with a reputation for being . . . difficult. He loses focus. He pushes back. And if you give him the opportunity, he’ll drag you into a power struggle and keep you there.

Here’s what I don’t do: I don’t enter power struggles with students. I’m not here to wrestle. I’m here to connect.

The Gift of One-on-One Teaching

✨ The gift of one-on-one teaching: no audience, no distractions—just the space to connect, adapt, and help a student find their voice.

My current students come from different walks of life. What they have in common is that school didn’t work out for them in the traditional sense. Something about the system—its pace, its priorities, its rigidity—didn’t fit.

And here’s the honor of my job: I get to meet them right where they are. No audience, no scoreboard, no classroom politics. Just the beautiful puzzle of figuring out how one person learns and then providing opportunities for success.

From Wimpy Kid to Shakespeare

Before we met, J hadn’t read a book in a long time. So we started with something that would feel like a win. He admitted the last book he enjoyed was Diary of a Wimpy Kid, so I handed him The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. The very existence of Native American reservations shocked him. Then, Sherman Alexie's humor hooked him. Finally, Junior’s voice resonated, and Rowdy? Rowdy became his favorite.

When the next unit came around, and we had to cover a play and persuasive rhetoric, I made a decision my principal initially questioned: Julius Caesar.

“Really? For J?”

Yes. For J. You know why?

• Because it’s an interesting play;

• Because it’s masterfully rhetorical;

• Because aching character arcs and simmering symbolism;

• Because Shakespeare is cool as hell.

  
  

And guess what—J made connections. To his music. To politics. To power. This kid can now have an intelligent conversation about Brutus’ character arc.

The teacher-choice I made was to add challenge, not for the sake of challenge itself, but for interest. Because when J is interested in what we were doing, he sticks with the text, even when it seems difficult.

The Baddie of Baltimore

🖤 Poe Bingo! A morbidly fun way to introduce students to the wild, tragic, and gothic life of Edgar Allan Poe. Which square would you call first?

This unit, our current tasks are poetic devices and figurative language. Sounds like a job for Edgar Allan Poe.

Is the 19th century language a challenge? Yes it is. Is the figurative language woven throughout Poe's works decadently layered? Yes it is. Can any kid enjoy the gorgeous gothica of Poe with the right scaffolding? Darn tootin'.

We started with a little background. I made bingo cards:

Tuberculosis!

Court Martialed!

Married his cousin!

Died mysteriously in a stranger's clothes!

Bingo.

After a couple of short biography videos, and a rousing game of 'grandmas' as he called bingo, I asked, “So what did you learn?”

“That guy is wild.”

Yup.

Today we hit “The Tell-Tale Heart.” Before we even read it, we watched three short video interpretations: animated; live action; and dramatic reading. That way, J didn’t have to wrestle with 19th-century language cold. He had anchors, images, context. This approach also provided opportunities to compare, contrast, and evaluate.

So today, as we read, he stopped mid-story and said:

“Low-key… this is kinda good."

Yup, indeed.

The Takeaway

J doesn’t have much reading stamina yet. But he’s engaged. He’s thinking. He’s connecting. That only happened because I was allowed to scaffold—to mix videos, games, discussion, and the text itself. He can get there; he just needs a ladder built for him to climb.

That’s what I wish schools prioritized: human support. Content teachers, special educators, and curriculum developers need the freedom and time to adapt—not just to cover the syllabus, but to bring it alive. Kids deserve Shakespeare and Poe delivered in ways that invite them in, not shut them out.

I’m a big fan of what AI can add to our toolkit. But at the end of the day, we know our kids. Relationship, judgment, presence—those can’t be automated. Teaching is about adapting the material to the child, not the child to the curriculum.

Kids aren’t fragile snowflakes. They’re a blizzard—each unique, yes, but together powerful and formidable when given the chance to rise. That’s worth every ounce of our attention and investment.

Because when you hand students something real—something alive, something worth wrestling with—they surprise you. They surprise themselves.

And sometimes, if you listen closely, you’ll hear it: “Low-key… this is kinda good.”