Most of us know that we have to deal with administrators and other authority figures. Fine. I treat everyone with respect, listen attentively for changes and policies, and follow directions to the best of my ability. I cannot, however, suffer fools. And that is what I have had to do ever since I got rehired at my present job. So instead of spending today organizing, planning, and setting up my room, I have to run back and forth to the insurance office, the benefits office, and personnel. A lot of these folks are hard-working, kind souls. Many of them remind me of the devils I talked about in my very first blog entry. They take a little bit of power, and relish the control it allows them over others. I am angry that I have to do this today, and then go to another mandatory workshop tomorrow--but I will persevere. In the end, none of this will bother me or keep me from my goals. Writing about it is a release, and even though it won't make it any easier I feel better now.
Writing is a tricky subject. It is the one place where questions and answers are within us, and all you can do is round them up and see what pours out onto the pages of a blog, a notebook, or a restaurant napkin. I am a passionate reader, so I can bear witness to many great writers' work. However, up until 8 years ago, I didn't think of myself as a particularly strong writing teacher. I mean, I knew the basics: grammar, spelling, vocabulary. All of these things came in handy when, as a new Florida teacher, they threw their "writing test" at me. It wasn't my first tussle with a standardized test, but it was the one I found most awkward. The administration's plan was simple--make the kids write a five-paragraph essay with a structured format, either expository or narrative. Make sure they use a graphic organizer and that they are done in under 45 minutes. With that, they said, you're good to go. WRONG!!! I Can't think of a more distasteful way to teach anything, never mind a talented skill that is connected to every subject, including math. I knew I had never specifically taught writing skills for testing, but one thing was certain--I would never do it this way. Fortunately, I started out with a team who did not stand for all this--they just quietly let me know that I could find my own way without compromising the standards (remember blessings and gratitude?) I began teaching and researching the subject with a passion, setting out to show that it is possible to entice kids to write about all sorts of things without throwing the words essay, prompt, narrative, or expository around. We had a blast. There were scary stories, poems, moving compositions, jokes, riddles, serious tales, goofy tales, and diaries. We had author's chair, and story chains. Some kids became experts on topics just so they could write something about them. Others found their voices were strong, and they could begin learning to share their point of view with others. Most of them had a pretty good grasp on arguing. The kids wrote, and wrote, and wrote. The results were awesome (and productive on tests--the school's first perfect score, ever) but in my mind the cool deal was that I did it without taking away their creativity and spontaneity. I didn't have to sell my soul for it, just work it. As I unpack my boxes of writing materials now and get ready to attend our fourth writing training (yeah, the district can't make up their mind which magic formula will get them where they want to be) I am looking forward to writing my way through one more year without gimmicks, chants, or snake oil. Instead, I will try to find inspiration in the hundreds of articles and blog entries that other finer teachers have researched and used to distill writing to an art. They also reinforce my belief that it should be fun, and that no matter how many curriculum changes, data analysis, and workshops are forced down our throats, we will always have the secret pleasure of writing just because we want to.
The real process of taking down and setting up a classroom is a bit like losing your mind. When I began moving boxes back to school, I was elated. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on my things again, to imagine how everything would fit and how these items that I’ve been collecting for so long would be used again. Let’s just say that after quite a few days of being “blessed with work” I am now closer to rebellion than readiness. All of a sudden housework seems more fun, and don’t you know, I have so much to do at home! But I am a seasoned teacher, am I not? Don’t I know how to handle everything, being so well organized? A part of me wants to spit out the coffee I’ve been drinking as I write this. I’ll try not to for my keyboard’s sake...
In spite of how frustrating this feels, I have to remember what I believe: experienced teachers know this is all normal; that in order to be a successful teacher, veteran or rookie, you are always learning and adjusting to the chaos. It is absolutely necessary, in order for it to make sense, that a person has to give up control in order to gain control. I turn to my friends, my books, my family, and many, many fervent prayers to get through this. Some of the prayers are just venting (I wish this mess would burn to the ground and I could start fresh!) and others are more pitiful (God, What did I do to deserve this?), or vengeful (Lord, smite this jerk who won’t set up my computer accounts!) but somehow or another cleaning, sorting, planning, and setup fall into place. Things we thought lost magically reappear. The computers begin to work. You get rid of the cardboard boxes, and you are able to look over the surface of your desk again without climbing on a chair.
Most of us are wondering how we’ll get it all done in such a short time, when they are sending us to this and that workshop or volunteering us for all kinds of wacky projects (avoid the office and the librarian in the media center at all costs). The only answer is faith--in God, ourselves, our abilities, our support systems, and sheer luck. Does it make me crazy I believe this? Probably. Most of you are going “IT’S EASIER THAN DONE!” Do you think you anyone is completely in control? Bless your soul, that makes you crazier than me. None of us are, but somehow we’ll all make it. We have to give ourselves permission to go a little coconuts in order to find sanity. As Patrick Overton said, “When you walk to the edge of all the light you have and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,
you must believe that one of two things will happen: There will be something solid for you to stand upon, or, you will be taught how to fly.”
I got this from a friend, and I wanted to share--If you love animals, you'll understand...
DOG DIARY
8:00 am Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
CAT DIARY
Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.
Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Bastards!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
This morning I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow-- but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly . I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now...
My animals are my dearest friends--they ask no questions and offer no criticisms. They are the ones that lower my blood pressure when I've had a tough time at school and remind me of unconditional love every day. Sadly, many pets are hungry, abandoned or forgotten. Please help by clicking the button on this link: http://www.theanimalrescuesite.com/
Every little bit helps. Thank you. Please pass it on.
At night, I have been spending a lot of time with my professional books. They always looked as if they’ve been through battle, because I underscore and highlight, and make notes on the margins just as I did back in college. My kids laugh when I show them, telling me that I should know better. Maybe so...
Anyway, Isabelle Beck came to mind with Bringing Words to Life, one of the best books on vocabulary instruction. Her research is both frightening and illuminating. Some scary facts I am sure we are all too familiar with: children from higher socio-economic groups know twice as many words in first grade as those in lower circles. Children who read well and widely enough to find words they are unfamiliar with significantly improve their ability to infer word meaning from the context of what they read. In other words, if our children don’t read very much, or if what they are reading isn’t challenging enough, they are shortchanged. (This is my very own justification for hitting every book, garage and library sale I can.) Another problem is the sheer amount of words teachers are trying to teach. The greatest challenge, in my view, is teaching vocabulary in a way that defies stereotypical or skill-driven activities. The old standards are going out the window (along with a full-night’s sleep from thinking about it)--and definitions and sentences are no longer an acceptable ways of introducing word meanings. As with every subject, the trick seems to be to develop ways for kids to apply, rather than memorize, words.
It is this application that is a true challenge for all of us. As I walk about my room, trying to decide where to place my word walls and which would be the ideal place for a writing center, I am wondering about my ability to give my students the power of words. Will the layout help them question, reason, and use these new words? Will they be able to take these words with them, use them to express themselves clearly and powerfully? Malcolm X said “Education is the passport to the future, for tomorrow belongs to those who prepare for it today.” Vocabulary is a cornerstone of 4th grade. I’d never felt a stronger urge to be prepared. As many of us are working hard and long hours making sure there is a place for everything and everything is in its place, we need to take a little time to shake things up a little--maybe spruce up the old word wall...
I have begun to move into my new digs, room 206. It’s a new building, and the room echoes empty until I’m able to move the majority of resources and really have some fun decorating and planning. It takes a lot of work and organization to make a classroom both beautiful and comfortable. I have been keeping a notebook where I write down all my lists and ideas for the way I want things to work--everything from what to buy to the bulletin boards. I don’t really have a theme. My goal is to present a comfortable, safe environment, with lots of color and activity. I am also dealing with the lovely task of tracking down my textbooks (scattered all over creation), signing up for workshops, dealing with the district paperwork, and cleaning out the mess the previous teacher left behind.
The thing is, I have not done any of this alone. None of us really do this completely by ourselves. My husband is my most supportive and generous helper. The entire time I doubted it would be possible for me to get right back to work, he was always there to encourage me. He has helped me move in and out of classrooms, from the first one in Louisiana (with a hole on the wall that you could see green grass through and which we had to scrub and paint ourselves) to the small trailers where I taught science, and finally to the one I have today as a fourth grade teacher. His neck and shoulder are really bothering him, but next week he will help me load a U-haul truck with all my goodies so that I can be ready to follow my dream again. He’ll use colorful language (to say the least) but at the end of the day (or a lot of days) everything will be set up just the way I like it. Then he’ll act like it was no big thing and wave my thanks off.
My fourteen-year-old son just spent a couple of hours with me at Target, buying supplies (again). My mother prays for me from far away, and sends me checks to help buy games, manipulatives, and books for kids she will never know. They’ll never realize that somewhere there is a lady who sent money to change their lives, or a man who carried stuff with a a painfully sore shoulder, or a bored kid who would rather be playing Xbox but helped sort out bins, supplies, and boxes for them and for me. But I know. And even though they don’t do this because they expect any reward or extraordinary gesture of appreciation, I will be forever thankful, even if it is just with the still small voice of gratitude.
My husband and son have left for a short vacation (just the boys). I chose to stay home this time, and spend sometime by myself. While I was sad to see them go, I am the type of person who enjoys being alone, not necessarily lonely. While I miss my family very much, I am also looking forward to indulging in a shameless fest of books, chocolate, numerous cups of tea, long naps, and curling up with my pets while watching old movies.
Florida has a wonderful program, called Sunshine State Readers. They chose a set of books for two different levels, 3-5 and 6-8, and encourage kids all over the state to read up. The kids love them because of the diversity of themes, authors, and genres. While they are mostly fiction, they are a great addition to any classroom library. I ordered mine from Amazon, and I intend to read all fifteen before I go back to school. Most non-teacher people I now never touch children’s literature. Other than Harry Potter, they are completely oblivious to what most kids like to read. Parents who make an effort see an immediate benefit and kids who come through my classroom never leave quite the same. In my classroom, reading is and always will be an enjoyable experience, complete with laughter, tears, chills, thrills, and snacks.
I believe teachers should read any book they assign to their students, either to read independently or as a read-aloud in class. I have heard people complain “Why are you doing that? Do you like working on weekends? Does that mean we have to?” Seems ridiculous to me--this is the best kind of work. By doing this, you know what the literature is really like, what words, emotions, and questions will come up...We are supposed to grow readers, sometimes from scratch--that means your students have to identify with you and the books. As a lifelong reader this has never been a problem for me, but other teachers must realize how important this is, and be able to see it as such. So I can’t think of a better way to spend my rainy weekend than pouring over my latest finds; if I should get bored, I have also picked up a stack at the public library, including Shel Silverstein’s biography and the latest Sophie Kinsella novel. Tomorrow I’ll hit the grocery store and stock up on soup, chocolate, and popsicles. I’ll burrow under my afghans with my four cats and huge cowardly super-mutt dog. As Ernest Hemingway said,
"All good books are alike in that they are truer
than if they had really happened
and after you are finished reading one
you will feel that all that happened
to you and afterwards it all belongs to you;
the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse,
and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was."
Here’s to reading on rainy days :)
I never believed in signs. People waiting for some sort of clue from the universe, waiting to tell them where to go or what to do. My Mom, on the other hand, has unshakeable faith. She tries to pass it on, but sometimes I don't believe because, lets face it, I don't often get my way. But she continues to pray for me, and because she lives far away, I imagine that I can wrap myself up in her devotion, like a warm blanket on a cold day. Without looking for them, I have tripped on a few sign bearers. Like the man who joked with me in Winn Dixie 14 years ago. I was worried about my pregnancy, but he told me I would have a spring lamb. My son was born in April, perfectly healthy. Or the woman at the post office, who mailed off one of my grants. She asked what it was for because I seemed nervous. When I told her what it was, she smiled and said "Don't worry, you'll get this." I did. At my doctor's office, I hyperventilated a little when the nurse asked how I was doing--I told her how anxious I was about my job search. She laughed and told me I shouldn't fret. Later that day I got the e-mail asking if I was ready to go back to work. And finally, the woman at Ross, where I fell in love with a $20 computer bag great for my laptop. The checkout lady saw my hesitation, so I told her I would return the bag if my interview to reapply wasn't successful. Wouldn't you know, she said "Don't worry, baby, you'll get this job--you already have a perfect bag." I may have. Official confirmation is slow in coming, and everyone is wrapped up on the euphoria of the school grades, which came out today. Our school, I am proud to say, made an "A", which is great news. But my fate rests in the hands of bureaucrats, and I am feeling a little frustrated. You know, maybe I'm just no good at reading the signs, and God will have to drop an anvil on my head to get my attention. Maybe it's true--If you look around, there are signs everywhere, and you can get proof when you expect it the least and needed it the most.
Before you begin reading, I must warn you--this is not a post about a metaphorical garden, where young minds must grow and prosper, blah, blah, blah...This is an actual, honest to goodness garden, a very cool place at my school, tucked away between two buildings. Six years ago, when I started working there, it was nothing but a dusty patch of grass. Trying to find a way out of the confining four walls of my room during good weather, I began searching for a good place to take my class out to read. You know, take them out into the sunshine when it's not too hot and read aloud or let them read "in the wild". Watch stuff grow.
Anyway, I started thinking about building a real garden, and then I had to give myself a slap and remember every time I tried to grow anything, I'd kill it. That is not to say I didn't like it, it was just not my thing. I've seen beautiful gardens in the States and in Europe, but never thought I could actually grow one. Once I started thinking about it, though, I couldn't stop. My vice-principal, a very wise woman, marched me into her office one day and said, very matter-of-fact, "I am putting together a grant for this outdoor garden/classroom idea you got. And you're writing it." Ok, long story short, we got the grant and got started.
My principal immediately began drawing up plans for landscaping and a pond. A small gazebo was ordered. The district promptly imposed restrictions, but we worked through them. People donated stuff, like plants and mulch. The three parent volunteers who showed up helped my husband and I build flowerbeds, bless their souls. My vice-principal (again, a very enterprising woman) and I planned to get compost for the plants. The only problem was, we needed a truck and a shovel. She promptly volunteer her truck and shovel, and I went home and fetched mine. It was an extremely hot and humid day. See, this is how you really know if you can trust your administrator. Nothing like knowing that a person who is capable of throwing shovefuls of dirt side by side with you, in the blistering heat and humidity is also capable of going to bat for you and run things at school at school with a firm hand. We shoveled compost by the truckload and it finally began to look like what it was meant to be--a wonderful place for kids to learn about nature in a real setting, to sit down and read in beautiful weather, to hang out and think deep thoughts. The kids were awesome too, planting and rearranging. Working side by side, I was immensely proud of them and their hard work. We had a dedication ceremony for our retiring principal, and released butterflies. It was one of the best moments of my life.
It was not easy--I've done everything from scooping out big globs of nasty green algae out of the pond to pulling weeds taller than me. There were ant bites all over my arms and hands (stupid forgot her bug repellent) I tried to ignore whatever lurked in the dark corners, thinking it is supposed to be an ecosystem and that includes snakes. I even walked in front of my entire faculty covered in dirt and sweat, after one of the weed-pulling sessions because I could only get out through the media center and they were having a meeting! I was so tired I didn't even think to care. It should have been one of the most embarrassing moments.
I've been gone from the garden for a year, and it has been going back to its untamed state. Plumbago is running wild, most of the mulch is missing, and my spring perennials have gone. I think the koi fish may be dead, or maybe playing dead. While I am waiting for final approval of my appointment as a fourth grade teacher, my principal has given me permission to go back and work in the garden, which no one seems to use as a classroom anymore. And writing this post reminded me of why it was so important to me. Maybe it is a metaphor, after all. So, as Rudyard Kipling (from the Jungle Book) said "Then seek your job with thankfulness and work 'till further orders, If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders. And when your back starts aching and your hands begin to harden, You will find yourself a partner in the glory of the garden." I'll be picking up my gloves and shovel, because my Serenity Garden is calling me back.
I got to see my new classroom yesterday. It is like staring at the proverbial blank canvas, and wondering what pictures we will paint in this neutral, empty space. I know other teachers may prefer less materials, books, posters, and crooked pictures of student work on the wall, but I am the total opposite. I love teaching from all sides with charts and posters; my books cover the walls, along with newspaper clippings, sketches, and photos of mad science experiments. We even have four computers which I am sure they will try to take away when they realized their mistake. I hope they don't. The room also has windows--that's a first. I'll be able to look out into the fields and the trees. I'll try to remind myself not to jump (just kidding!)
I also feel a packrat phase coming up--did I mention I love to shop for teaching supplies? Target, AIMS, Kagan, and Lakeshore are playing my song. It is almost a religious experience to examine, ponder, and agonize over every choice, thinking what it will be used for, where you'll store it, and how much they'll enjoy it in class. Used bookstores and libraries are my favorite--the smell and feel of books is essential. Stickers and post-its are a must. And pencils--gotta have pencils everywhere, and fresh sheets of crispy, lined paper. Bright fabric for bulletin boards. Stuffed animals. Comfy chair. Coffee mugs. A ton of coffee...
Blessings come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. My friend Lenny, who is a custodian in our school, gave me a huge hug when he saw me and showed me to the room. He had just finished cleaning it, and even arranged the desks the way I liked them, in groups. He showed me, smiling, some of the old supplies that were left behind, which he squirreled away in drawers for me. He and my husband laughed as they commiserated on all the projects I intend to try this year, or the amount of money I will be spending. Times are hard, he said, but I am so glad you're back. We used to have great talks while he cleaned up and I picked up after my crazy day. He gave great advice. Lenny is a big fan of Ben Franklin--"Well done is better than well said." I think he's right.
My principal, also a friend, called everyone we know. I tried calling my friends--former principals, my reading coach, my other teacher friends--it turns out they all knew, and they were screaming on the phone, congratulating me. I was surprised--I did not think they would give it a second thought beyond "how nice for you". And I am working with a power group of teachers. Blessings, I tell you. I am surrounded by good will and best wishes, and I didn't even know it.
So I stood in that empty room, thinking--now what? We'll see, I guess. For now, clearly, I'll be blessed with a ton of work.
According to Wikipedia, The Cynics (Greek: Κυνικοί, Latin: Cynici) were an influential group of philosophers from the ancient school of Cynicism. Their philosophy was that the purpose of life was to live a life of Virtue in agreement with Nature. This meant rejecting all conventional desires for wealth, power, health, and fame, and by living a life free from all possessions. As reasoning creatures, people could gain happiness by rigorous training and by living in way which was natural for humans. They believed that the world belonged equally to everyone, and that suffering was caused by false judgments of what was valuable and by the worthless customs and conventions which surrounded society. So, the question is:
Are all of us as teachers philosophical cynics? Because this description fits most of us to a T...
Blog posts, journals, and chat rooms are brimming with teachers who are anxious for answers, tips, anything they can hang on to in order to be proactive and land just one opportunity. It is one of those situations you have to live through to understand, and as grateful I am it is almost over, I am not sorry I went through it myself. As I prepare to go back to work, I feel deeply connected to the hundreds of people I have read about, talked to, and e-mailed about the lack of teaching jobs. They have had the rigorous training, given up the worldly possessions, and are ready to banish the worthless customs and conventions. However, they are still struggling just to get a chance.
Just when I start losing faith in human nature (daily) I am reminded of so many who are supportive and generous with their feedback and advice, setting an example to us by connecting to each other through invisible lifelines. You can vent, pray, and rant regularly without upsetting the balance of the universe, knowing that someone out there gets it. As teachers, we have most certainly rejected all desire for power, wealth and fame--heck, we just want to get back in the classroom and make the worthless customs go away book by book, math problem by math problem.
So I dedicate this post to all closet cynics who also happen to be teachers, and to those who have spent endless hours encouraging, talking, and saving their hope. May we all live to teach another day.
People will probably glance at the name of my blog, and feel rather confused. I don't feel like an angel, I never have. It's just that I have been a teacher for about eight years now, and I've just recently began to understand why this seems such a tremendous job and why it takes sooo much just to do what it is that we do.
As I said, I am an elementary teacher. Love my work. Wouldn't have it any other way. But every year, it seems as if I have to try harder and harder. It always bothered me people would ask questions like "What made you become a teacher?" and the classic "What do you love about teaching?"
Whenever this came up, I tried to answer in a sensible, intelligent matter. The fact is, I don't have any one answer. And I don't believe people who spend hours pouring over sirupy, overused cliches do either. So much of my time (in between teaching, planning, cleaning, organizing, assessing, grading, fussing, more cleaning, meeting with parents, meeting with morons, going to workshops, etc.) was spent pondering the real reasons.
It is not because I love working my way through the mounds of paper the size of termite colonies sitting on my desk by the end of the week. Probably not the lunch lady, who used to drop-kick my snack basket if I dared bring it in late during testing week. I know it was not those endless tests and assessment forms, on some of which I am sure I promised my firstborn and my immortal soul.
I was reading up on math. And I found this paper on game theory--that is the math of probability and economics. There was a problem, posed by J.H. Conway about an angel who is chased across an infinite chessboard by a devil. Can the devil, who removes one square per move from an infinite chessboard, strand the angel, who can move 1000 squares per move? It is unresolved, but most math geeks (serious ones) believe that is unlikely, because if the angel is fast enough it can escape in three dimensions.
It made me think of all the negative things that wear us down when we teach--poverty, negativity, self-doubt, lack of energy, jerks of all shapes and sizes...and then I got it. I teach because I like this fight. It makes me feel that I can truly make a difference. It inspires me to be faster, wiser, better, and more resilient that anything else in my life. I teach because I love the game--and so far, I have managed to stay ahead of the devil.
Every kid who leaves my room a reader, or who says to me "Hey, I never knew math could be fun" has just giving me a 1000 squares.