Heather Povinelli, left, tutors a second grade student at Bradoaks Elementary Science Academy in Monrovia.
Credit: Emma Gallegos/EdSource
When Heather Povinelli was in teacher training while in college, there was a moment she believed her dwarfism would thwart her dream of becoming a teacher — a kindergartner grabbed her on the playground.
“I just stayed there frozen. We were eye to eye. I knew I couldn’t push away,” she said. She immediately drove back to campus and switched her degree to sociology.
Today, Povinelli teaches second grade at Bradoaks Elementary Science Academy in Monrovia, a city in the foothills of the San Gabriel Valley mountains, where she has spent her entire 25-year teaching career. This year, she was named one of five California Teachers of the Year.
And she embraces her diminutive height as a strength in her teaching.
“I’m always at eye height with my students,” she said. “It’s a nice connecting point. I can look in their eyes and see what they’re feeling immediately.”
Povinelli’s classroom is decked out in pastel bunting and twinkle lights. There is a cozy corner with an oversized plushie monkey and cushions dedicated to students who need a moment to calm down. On a recent morning, students took turns leading the class through a morning routine, with only occasional prodding from Povinelli. Students performed jumping jacks and windmills outside. Inside, they chanted major phonics sounds: “ou as in soup,” “oo as in moon,” “ow as in cow.”
There was only occasional prodding from Povinelli. One student is taking her time picking a name out of a jar to lead the next section of the morning routine. Povinelli calls her “sweet girl” and nudges her: “3, 2, 1 … I choose you.”
“I don’t use my voice or my body to manage my classroom,” she said. “I try to build on routine and then relationships.”
On this recent morning, it was Povinelli’s birthday. Students clamored to give her flowers and hugs as they arrived. They sang “Happy Birthday.” She instructed students to wrap their arms around themselves and repeat each phrase after her: “Say ‘I love me, my teacher cares about me and is so thankful.’”
Bradoaks Principal Calvin McKendrick stopped by the room for her birthday. He marveled at how Povinelli seamlessly incorporates expressions of love and gratitude for her students into the day.
Povinelli knows how to use “her heart and her wisdom to show them she cares, she’s grateful, she loves them, and they feel that,” he said. “It’s just mind-blowing for me. It’s something so simple.”
Research on the ‘dwarf perspective’
After she was grabbed by the kindergartner and switched her major, she and her husband moved from her native California to Minnesota. There, Povinelli worked a string of unfulfilling temp jobs before she decided to give teaching another shot.
“I always knew I wanted a job that fed my soul,” Povinelli said. “So then I thought, OK, I wanna go into teaching, but I wanted to make sure I was right, ’cause I knew I was scared. And I remembered that moment years before.”
Looking back, Povinelli said she thinks that the student who grabbed her was probably curious and didn’t know how to react to her diminutive stature. She said she has never felt unsafe on her school campus. But now that Povinelli is more seasoned, she feels she could handle a similar incident.
She had a friend in Orange County who was a dwarf and taught kindergarten. She asked if she could shadow her classroom, and she did for two days. Povinelli said that changed her life.
“I was able to see her do it, and I saw myself reflected in her,” Povinelli said. “That gave me the strength to know that I could do it.”
A few years ago, Povinelli decided to pursue her doctorate in education at Cal Poly Pomona, where professors encourage students to conduct research. She had found little research that explores educators with disabilities, and much of that research focuses on the barriers teachers with disabilities face. She couldn’t find any research on teachers with dwarfism in K-12. So she decided to explore the idea that her dwarfism is an asset in her dissertation.
Povinelli interviewed seven teachers, finding many of them had shared her own experiences. Their physical perspective — standing eye to eye with their students — was an important theme. Even high school teachers noted that while students may tower over them when standing, during most of the school day, when students are seated, teachers are at eye level. Eye contact is an important way teachers with dwarfism connect with their students, she said.
Dwarf teachers also draw on their own struggles as a way to connect with their students or teach lessons, she found.
One teacher in her study shared what happened when her kindergartners noticed a class of fourth graders in the hallway making fun of their teacher. The kindergartners were really bothered, so the teacher saw an opportunity. She asked her class to explain to older students why she looks different. They were hesitant at first, but they explained that their teacher was smaller than most adults, but she could still do everything everyone else can do.
“Those moments are priceless,” Povinelli said. Math and reading are important, she said, “but those moments change hearts.”
Povinelli also shares her experience of being picked on with her students to illustrate how hurtful teasing can be.
“I do know what it is to be teased, to stand out, to be mocked, to be all those things that aren’t so nice,” Povinelli said.
And she’s used her height to explain the concept of equity. One year, a student complained that other students were offered wobble chairs or fidget spinners. Povinelli pointed to the stools in her classroom and asked whether it makes sense that she has them and other teachers do not. Now she uses that metaphor at the beginning of every year with each class.
“I try to make the promise that I will try my best to get you what you need,” she tells her students.
Inclusion
When McKendrick began at Bradoaks Elementary, a school of under 400 students, a few years ago, there was a group of “frequent fliers,” students who often ended up in his office for discipline. He did not see them the next year and assumed they had transferred to another school — until he learned they were in Povinelli’s class.
McKendrick said that “even the most at-risk students achieve success and find a way to find themselves” in Povinelli’s class.
Bradoaks Elementary serves students with autism from much of the San Gabriel Valley. One of the program’s teachers, Mini Bhalla, works in a self-contained classroom of students with autism. Every day, she sends some of her students into Povinelli’s room for part of the day.
“The warmth that Dr. Povinelli gives our students, she’s just very, very welcoming,” Bhalla said. “They look forward to going to her classroom, and she makes sure to make them feel included.”
That’s not always a given, said Bhalla. She has worked with general education teachers who view the behavior of students with autism as “disruptive” and will send students back to her, excluding them not just from academic instruction but also social experiences like field trips or birthday parties.
Once, a student with autism in Povinelli’s class was struggling with his scissors during a project, and another student quickly jumped up and stood next to the student, offering quiet support. The first student relaxed and began working again. That, Povinelli said, exemplifies the kind of classroom environment she tries to foster.
“It’s a safe space to get frustrated,” she said, “but also to know that you’re going to get the help that you need.”