Teachers can often fall into the trap of teaching content instead of children. Howard Gardner says, "When students cannot learn the way we teach them, we must teach them the way they learn." That's a powerful statement. But even if we know, in theory, that differentiating our instruction to match the needs of each student is an important key to success, it's still challenging in practice.

Many of us have the attitude that "we will put the information out there, and if they don't get it, it's on them." We tend to be resistant to the whole idea of differentiation. I believe it starts with the teacher's attitude and expectations. Most of us are not willing to entertain the idea that not all students will learn the same way or at the same rate, nor will every student respond every time. We've got to be willing to keep trying to reach every student.

One incident in my personal history springs to mind. I was teaching freshmen English that year, a curriculum mostly centered on grammar and macro skills application through literature. I was certainly not the paragon of teaching excellence I am today (just kidding!!!) and I was struggling to find ways to make the content interesting.

Though Jaime was classified as gifted, he slept in class every day. He'd come to class, stay awake for about 15 minutes, and then down he’d go on the desktop. It didn't matter what I did. Since literature can be a little dry, I really tried to spice up that class. I used lots of cooperative learning, visuals, and let the students have lots of choices. Jaime didn't care. During his standard 15 minutes of awake time, he'd stare into space, grunt when spoken to, and cultivate a general look of disdain. I began to get really frustrated because I couldn't pique Jaime's interest. I even began to harbor a little resentment toward him for not liking my class.

I was thinking, "OK Jaime, if you want to fail my class, FINE. I've tried everything." As time went on, I sort of gave up. I just started to ignore Jaime. I didn't ask him questions or even make eye contact with him most of the time. I didn't expect anything from him, except snoring and an occasional puddle of drool left on his desk.

It was quite by accident that I came to realize that Jaime was capable of much more than I had given him credit for. During my planning period one day, I went downstairs to the internet laboratory to access my website and upload some student handouts that my students can print and use in class. Several students were working on an assignment while I sat in the corner. I was focused on my work and not paying much attention at first, but then I heard a voice I recognized. I looked up and saw Jaime, not only awake, but teaching his classmate how to effectively design a website that they’re working on. He was thoroughly explaining how to combine colors and lines to create warmth and user-friendliness. My first thought was that Jaime must have a twin brother! I sat there staring with my mouth agape, struggling to reconcile the Jaime I knew with this stranger. Suddenly he realized I was sitting in the corner and staring at him.

When our eyes met, he said, "Sir?" And I said, "Jaime?" He asked with surprise, "You know how to maintain a website?" I almost said, "You're awake?" but then I caught myself. "Yes. You really seem to know your way around designing sites. I had no idea you were a webmaster!" He beamed with pride and proceeded to explain the project he and his classmate were working on. It was clear he had earned the respect of his classmate. And it was also suddenly clear that I had not really made an effort to know Jaime at all.

What happened after that day was nothing short of amazing. When Jaime came to class the next day, he not only stayed awake, but he completed his work, and even participated in the class discussion. In fact, from that day on, he was totally different. He volunteered to do some projects we were doing in class, and he even completed one himself. He ended up passing my class with a 1.50.

What happened? When Jaime encountered me in a situation other than English class, it changed his perspective of me. He realized that I wasn't just some weird fat guy trying to force him to learn poetry. Equally important, my perspective about him was altered. He wasn't just the guy who slept in my class.

I'm not proud of the fact that I didn't make a better effort to know Jaime long before this incident. He was just desk four in row three of my second-period class. It was easier just to see him that way. I told myself I had tried everything, but I had not stepped outside of my little English-class world at all.

When I think about what caused me to underestimate Jaime, I see that it is related at least in part to my own school experiences. You see, I'm a "teacher pleaser" from way back. Since I saw teachers as magical beings, I can get offended when my students don't perceive me that way—especially when I've tried so hard to make the subject matter interesting for them. I did learn from that fortunate accident. Now I make a great effort to cause more of these "accidents" to happen. I try harder to discover the many facets of my students. And I am happy to report that Jaime now works for a television station in Quezon City.

In the end, it's all about attitude. It may be a teaching strategy, a timely smile, or a fortunate accident.

But if we're determined to reach our kids, we'll eventually find a way.