"Can't you just give us the answers?"

This was a question one of my 7th grade students asked yesterday as we finished a review for a test today. The question stuck with me long after the school day ended. Usually, their questions are lost in a miasma of repetition. Can I go the bathroom? What? May I go to the bathroom? Why do we have to say "may I?" Can we have snack; I mean, may we have snack?" Do we have silent lunch today?

The test did not go well for a lot of them. They are, for the most part, struggling with the following concepts: absolute value and addition and subtraction of negative numbers. I try to explain to them that they have to take the time to figure it out, that me giving them the answers is insufficient, that all I can really do is give them the tools to figure out the answers, but that ultimately, the answers are theirs to find, not mine to give.

They are, however, not reassured. Like many of the other questions they have for me, they expect action (signing a hall pass) or at least an answer (Yes, you do have silent lunch today). They are not the least big comforted when I tell them that it is up to them and that they must take action. Everything is new. The endlessly hurt feelings as they jockey to find their places in the world. When they say things that are mean and thoughtless, they think it will hurt my feelings they way it would hurt theirs. They are genuinely sorry, even if only for a few seconds.

Monday is a new day. Perhaps they will find some answers.