One of my students came into my classroom this week clearly frustrated and struggling with a heavy burden. After a moment or so, she began to share very vague snippets of what was going on. I sat and listened for awhile and then asked her how I could help. I said that I could just listen, I could try to offer some advice, or I could tell a story from my experience. She asked me to tell her a story from my experience. When I asked what it should be about, she said, "People being mean." This is the story I told her:
When I was in sixth grade, there were three guys. Guy One was a really nice kid who happened to have some geek-like qualities. Guy Two had always been a good student and a good kid. Guy Three was an OK student and a generally good kid. The three were also a bullied kid, a bully, and an observer.
Guy One moved down the street from Guy Two's house during the summer and they became friends. They each had a brother and the four of them had a blast making up games on their bikes and chased each other all around their neighborhood.
When school started, things started to change a bit between Guy One and Two. After some time, Guy Two started teasing Guy One a bit for some of his geekiness. Good natured teasing was actually something he did a lot to friends and family, but it started to make other kids laugh. So he did it a bit more. Soon, he was teasing and making fun of Guy One nearly everyday. Things just started to snowball, and without even planning it to happen, a group formed that was all about teasing and making fun of Guy One. Guy Three was a member of that group and he laughed right along with everyone else, though he never did any direct bullying.
Eventually the dad of Guy One found out about the group and took action. He spoke to Guy Two and was quite upset about the way his son was treated. The dad reminded Guy Two how they used to be friends and wondered what happened to change that. Guy Two felt terrible, apologized to the dad and tried to explain that he wasn't even really sure how it had gotten so out of hand. He assured the dad that things would change.
Things did change.
Guy Two stopped teasing and making fun of Guy One. He apologized to Guy One who was gracious enough to offer Guy Two a clean slate. He told the people in the group that it was over. Guy Three also got to the point where he felt terrible for going along with the group and doing something he knew was not right. A few years later Guy One and Guy Two became good friends. They each had some difficult times in high school, and both of them were there for each other despite the rocky road in sixth grade. They kept in touch in college and would see each other on vacations. They even got together along with their wives when they were both living in the same town. Guy Three ended up drifting apart from both of them, though they ran into each other from time to time and caught each other up on what was happening in their lives.
When I finished, I asked her, "Now. Who am I in the story?"
"The guy being bullied."
"No."
"Were you the guy that just watched?"
"No."
She paused and stared at me for a moment.
"You were the bully?"
I silently nodded my head.
"No. I don't believe it."
I assured her that I was serious. I also shared with her that I truly felt terrible for what I did and I never intended things to go so far, they just got way out of control. I explained that while I wish that I had not acted in that way and caused so much pain, even out of that brokenness, my life changed for the better. It was after that experience that I began to seek out the marginalized or the "left-out." As a student in high school and college, as an adult in my personal life, and as a teacher, I tend to naturally gravitate towards the people on the outskirts and try my best to come along side them and let them know that they are not alone. I try to make them laugh, most often by making fun of myself in some way. In fact, even as I write this I am realizing that it was around that time when my self-deprecating sense of humor came about. I would make myself the clown and the brunt of the joke rather than others, though my wife and family can assure you that I still get in my fair share of good-natured teasing.
My students are trying desperately to navigate through a tumultuous time in their life. They are going to make a ton of mistakes, just like I did and do. The absolute least that I can do is to offer them a chance to have a clean slate. I need one as teacher, husband, and father on a daily basis. Why would I ever not extend the same grace to my students?
I reminded another student that in my class he always has a fresh start when he needs one, and he really needed one this week. He responded with, "I don't believe that." I was terribly saddened that he had such a hard time believing that. Whether it is showing them that they have a fresh start, or sharing stories of times when I have needed one, I will do all that I can to make it clear to my students that their past actions do not define who they are. I will do my best to show them that they have a chance each day to reinvent themselves.
My students, many of whom are the marginalized and "Didn't Fits" of the traditional classroom, named themselves OOTA: Out Of The Ashes. When I asked what they meant by that, one of them said, "We all used to really struggle and have a hard time in school and it was like we were burned down and in a pile of ashes. And we want to be something better."
To rise from the ashes as something better, my students need a fresh start and a clean slate, just as I did in sixth grade and today.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Sunday, October 20, 2013
My Lousy Garden
Should I be at all concerned that multiple posts lately have started with a confession? Well, this one will follow suit.
I paused during a leaf-fight with my boys on Friday and looked at our vegetable beds that resembled something from either Jumanji or Where the Wild Things Are, and I realized something.
I'm a pretty lousy gardener.
I truly love the idea of growing my own vegetables. It is with great excitement that I lay in bed on cold evenings in February, dreaming of what we should try in the garden this year. I shuffle through seed packets at garden stores the way I did with baseball cards when I was ten. I begin tilling the beds. I get down on my knees and plunge my hands into the rich, dark soil, and I breathe in the rich smell of fresh earth.
I plan out where seeds and seedlings will go, place them gingerly into the ground with the help of my oldest son. We talk about the mystery and majesty of tiny seeds just waiting to explode and bring forth new life that can actually sustain our own. Yes, it's a bit heady for my four year old, but he humors me so that he can do one of his all-time favorite activities: digging.
The first few days or perhaps even weeks go fairly well. I water the right amount. I destroy any weed that dares spoil the beautiful black canvas that is a weed-free raised garden bed. The first sign of Cucumber beetles gets me out with my organic spray and I blast them like a gunslinger at high-noon. Okay, I admit that I may even make gun noises at times. I will not, however, comment on whether I ever asked a Cucumber Beetle if it "felt lucky, punk." Those records are sealed.
Then things start to go south. I miss a watering or two. Cucumber beetles invite their friends over for an all-you-can-eat buffet at the Coleman Family Garden. Leaves yellow. Plants droop. Bugs make swiss cheese of the large green leaves. In only the time that it took me to write these past few sentences, the weeds decided that they're taking over everything.
Then it comes time to harvest. Though we always enjoy many gifts from our garden, there is much left to be desired. Peppers look pathetic. Multiple tomatoes have cracks. There is powdery mildew on zucchini. Many of the red potatoes look like marbles. There are zucchinis the size of small babies laying hidden under broad leaves. Beans hang from their poles looking as though they will burst from the pod any second.
So if there was some success, how did things also go so very wrong? It did not happen because I don't enjoy gardening. It did not happen because I have no idea what to do. It did not happen all at once.
I believe the main reason why my garden never lives up to my hopes is because I do not give it the conditions needed for optimum growth. All plants have essential needs to grow. They need water, sunlight, room, nutrients, and freedom from predators.
This is basic stuff, right? So why can't I give my garden what it needs?
The answer is that there are different needs for each plant and it can be overwhelming. While all plants need the same essential elements, where they differ is in the amount of each. They also differ in their tolerance for things like shade, soil temperature, and alkalinity. Where they are planted in relation to other plants as well as the spacing between rows is another factor. All of these things can significantly impact whether a plant dies, merely survives, or thrives. The rhyming stops now, by the way.
So, if I can name all of these conditions that must be met for my garden to thrive, you would think that my actions would reflect it, right? So where do I go wrong.
I go wrong when I see that there are too many different needs of all the plants and I do a one-size-fits-all regimen of watering, feeding, and weeding. I let minor problems develop into larger ones because I am too busy. Despite knowing that there are very different needs of all the different plants, and that I truly desire a variety of vegetables come harvest time, my practice does not reflect diversity, but rather a monoculture approach to gardening.
Ready for the pathetic part? I am actually surprised when I look at the produce and am less than thrilled with the results. I get frustrated with the plants and say that I am never growing that vegetable again. Yes! This really happens! I vowed no more onions and peppers of any kind because they were unwilling to produce what I needed, despite me not creating the conditions that they needed. "They're just too hard to grow, so I won't grow them." Stupid onions. Stupid peppers.
I want variety, but create uniformity. I dream big, but deliver small. I have good intentions, but pathetic practices.
And so...
As I begin a second week of exploring different learning styles with my students, my hope is that I am a better teacher than I am gardener. May I truly listen as they share what they are learning about how they learn best, so that I can help create those conditions that they need. May I realize that a one-size-fits-all approach to teaching will yield the exact same results that I see in my garden. May I realize that the time it takes my students to learn something will be as diverse as are the number of students in my room. May I know when to step in to assist, and when to allow them to grow in the direction that they need.
May I do all that I can to create the conditions for growth for each individual student in my class. May I never take for granted the privilege to witness the mystery and majesty of watching new growth before my eyes.
I paused during a leaf-fight with my boys on Friday and looked at our vegetable beds that resembled something from either Jumanji or Where the Wild Things Are, and I realized something.
I'm a pretty lousy gardener.
I truly love the idea of growing my own vegetables. It is with great excitement that I lay in bed on cold evenings in February, dreaming of what we should try in the garden this year. I shuffle through seed packets at garden stores the way I did with baseball cards when I was ten. I begin tilling the beds. I get down on my knees and plunge my hands into the rich, dark soil, and I breathe in the rich smell of fresh earth.
I plan out where seeds and seedlings will go, place them gingerly into the ground with the help of my oldest son. We talk about the mystery and majesty of tiny seeds just waiting to explode and bring forth new life that can actually sustain our own. Yes, it's a bit heady for my four year old, but he humors me so that he can do one of his all-time favorite activities: digging.
The first few days or perhaps even weeks go fairly well. I water the right amount. I destroy any weed that dares spoil the beautiful black canvas that is a weed-free raised garden bed. The first sign of Cucumber beetles gets me out with my organic spray and I blast them like a gunslinger at high-noon. Okay, I admit that I may even make gun noises at times. I will not, however, comment on whether I ever asked a Cucumber Beetle if it "felt lucky, punk." Those records are sealed.
Then things start to go south. I miss a watering or two. Cucumber beetles invite their friends over for an all-you-can-eat buffet at the Coleman Family Garden. Leaves yellow. Plants droop. Bugs make swiss cheese of the large green leaves. In only the time that it took me to write these past few sentences, the weeds decided that they're taking over everything.
Then it comes time to harvest. Though we always enjoy many gifts from our garden, there is much left to be desired. Peppers look pathetic. Multiple tomatoes have cracks. There is powdery mildew on zucchini. Many of the red potatoes look like marbles. There are zucchinis the size of small babies laying hidden under broad leaves. Beans hang from their poles looking as though they will burst from the pod any second.
So if there was some success, how did things also go so very wrong? It did not happen because I don't enjoy gardening. It did not happen because I have no idea what to do. It did not happen all at once.
I believe the main reason why my garden never lives up to my hopes is because I do not give it the conditions needed for optimum growth. All plants have essential needs to grow. They need water, sunlight, room, nutrients, and freedom from predators.
This is basic stuff, right? So why can't I give my garden what it needs?
The answer is that there are different needs for each plant and it can be overwhelming. While all plants need the same essential elements, where they differ is in the amount of each. They also differ in their tolerance for things like shade, soil temperature, and alkalinity. Where they are planted in relation to other plants as well as the spacing between rows is another factor. All of these things can significantly impact whether a plant dies, merely survives, or thrives. The rhyming stops now, by the way.
So, if I can name all of these conditions that must be met for my garden to thrive, you would think that my actions would reflect it, right? So where do I go wrong.
I go wrong when I see that there are too many different needs of all the plants and I do a one-size-fits-all regimen of watering, feeding, and weeding. I let minor problems develop into larger ones because I am too busy. Despite knowing that there are very different needs of all the different plants, and that I truly desire a variety of vegetables come harvest time, my practice does not reflect diversity, but rather a monoculture approach to gardening.
Ready for the pathetic part? I am actually surprised when I look at the produce and am less than thrilled with the results. I get frustrated with the plants and say that I am never growing that vegetable again. Yes! This really happens! I vowed no more onions and peppers of any kind because they were unwilling to produce what I needed, despite me not creating the conditions that they needed. "They're just too hard to grow, so I won't grow them." Stupid onions. Stupid peppers.
I want variety, but create uniformity. I dream big, but deliver small. I have good intentions, but pathetic practices.
And so...
As I begin a second week of exploring different learning styles with my students, my hope is that I am a better teacher than I am gardener. May I truly listen as they share what they are learning about how they learn best, so that I can help create those conditions that they need. May I realize that a one-size-fits-all approach to teaching will yield the exact same results that I see in my garden. May I realize that the time it takes my students to learn something will be as diverse as are the number of students in my room. May I know when to step in to assist, and when to allow them to grow in the direction that they need.
May I do all that I can to create the conditions for growth for each individual student in my class. May I never take for granted the privilege to witness the mystery and majesty of watching new growth before my eyes.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
An Open Letter to the Creators of Standardized Tests
Dear Sirs and or Madams,
It was standardized testing week last week at my school and I have become intimately familiar with your work. I read the instructions numerous times. I passed out and collected the testing materials along with all the scrap paper, though I understand you prefer the word "scratch." I lugged the box of materials into a secure location in our building any time I was not in the room. I assisted in locating where student and school names should be written. I answered questions about duration of time and number of questions.
So far, our relationship has been very one-sided. While I am becoming more familiar with your work, you do not yet know me. In fact, there is nothing in the Answer Booklet for my students to share with you who I am, so I am doubtful that you will ever know of my existence. Soon we will be packaging all of these pages of graphite-filled bubbles and constructed responses, and you will begin what I imagine to be the arduous task of scoring said responses.
As you open the neatly packed boxes containing what represents hours of hard work from the students at my school, I wish I could be there with you. If I could, I would point out the students that I have in class and tell you about them. I would say things like, "Man, he struggled on this test. But you should see this guy talk about WWII. He knows way more than me about all the battles and the weapons and the whole nine yards." As you continue to look through test packets I may see another name and mention that that student is living with five people in his house, none of whom are full-blood relatives, and that he shows more maturity when talking about the struggles with his dad than I have ever seen in a thirteen year old. I would mention another student that lights up any time we talk about creating something. I would talk about how another student hardly ever came to school before nine o'clock last year, but this year hasn't missed a second of school. I would tell you the story of the first time one of my students shared a "Brag" at our weekly class meeting and it was to share how proud she was of her writing, despite it being such a challenge for her to get her words on paper.
I would talk about what I have seen these students do when presented with a challenging task. I would talk about the way they have pulled together to help other students who are struggling in my class. I would talk about how they have learned to work together despite all their many differences. I would show pictures of them working with each other to form groups based on interests and abilities as they create a product that will guide their learning. I would tell you stories about how some of them never shared anything in class last year and how this year they are bursting to share what they know. I would show you drawings that they have done that really should be hanging in a museum somewhere. I would talk to you about the hope that I saw in their eyes as they presented their research on Project Based Learning.
I would share with you excerpts from parent emails saying how much of a change they have seen in their son this year and how he's happy and excited to come to school. I would tell you the story of the day that my students begged for more time to write. I would show you a picture of the girl who hated writing so much in the past but has absolutely fallen in love with blogging because there is a real audience to read her excellent writing. I would share with you some of the baggage that they carry that makes it a miracle that they are even present today. I would tell you about the looks on their faces when they get the results of your tests back and they can't help but let the scores determine their self-worth.
I would not do all this to bug you or annoy you. I just didn't see a place on any of the pages to share these things with you.
Most Sincerely Yours,
Matt Coleman
Former Test-Taker
Current Lover of All Things Relevant, Flexible, Engaging, and Authentic
It was standardized testing week last week at my school and I have become intimately familiar with your work. I read the instructions numerous times. I passed out and collected the testing materials along with all the scrap paper, though I understand you prefer the word "scratch." I lugged the box of materials into a secure location in our building any time I was not in the room. I assisted in locating where student and school names should be written. I answered questions about duration of time and number of questions.
So far, our relationship has been very one-sided. While I am becoming more familiar with your work, you do not yet know me. In fact, there is nothing in the Answer Booklet for my students to share with you who I am, so I am doubtful that you will ever know of my existence. Soon we will be packaging all of these pages of graphite-filled bubbles and constructed responses, and you will begin what I imagine to be the arduous task of scoring said responses.
As you open the neatly packed boxes containing what represents hours of hard work from the students at my school, I wish I could be there with you. If I could, I would point out the students that I have in class and tell you about them. I would say things like, "Man, he struggled on this test. But you should see this guy talk about WWII. He knows way more than me about all the battles and the weapons and the whole nine yards." As you continue to look through test packets I may see another name and mention that that student is living with five people in his house, none of whom are full-blood relatives, and that he shows more maturity when talking about the struggles with his dad than I have ever seen in a thirteen year old. I would mention another student that lights up any time we talk about creating something. I would talk about how another student hardly ever came to school before nine o'clock last year, but this year hasn't missed a second of school. I would tell you the story of the first time one of my students shared a "Brag" at our weekly class meeting and it was to share how proud she was of her writing, despite it being such a challenge for her to get her words on paper.
I would talk about what I have seen these students do when presented with a challenging task. I would talk about the way they have pulled together to help other students who are struggling in my class. I would talk about how they have learned to work together despite all their many differences. I would show pictures of them working with each other to form groups based on interests and abilities as they create a product that will guide their learning. I would tell you stories about how some of them never shared anything in class last year and how this year they are bursting to share what they know. I would show you drawings that they have done that really should be hanging in a museum somewhere. I would talk to you about the hope that I saw in their eyes as they presented their research on Project Based Learning.
I would share with you excerpts from parent emails saying how much of a change they have seen in their son this year and how he's happy and excited to come to school. I would tell you the story of the day that my students begged for more time to write. I would show you a picture of the girl who hated writing so much in the past but has absolutely fallen in love with blogging because there is a real audience to read her excellent writing. I would share with you some of the baggage that they carry that makes it a miracle that they are even present today. I would tell you about the looks on their faces when they get the results of your tests back and they can't help but let the scores determine their self-worth.
I would not do all this to bug you or annoy you. I just didn't see a place on any of the pages to share these things with you.
Most Sincerely Yours,
Matt Coleman
Former Test-Taker
Current Lover of All Things Relevant, Flexible, Engaging, and Authentic
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Baggage
My family and I are leaving in two days to fly to Oklahoma to celebrate my in-laws 50th wedding anniversary. It will be wonderful to help them celebrate and it will be great to see the family.
But it makes me think about the journey there. Flying. With a 4 year old and a 17 month old.
Yikes.
Though I am not proud to admit it, I have done quite a bit of stressing about this and given a lot of thought to how we will make it through with our sanity intact. My wife and I have thought of ideas for activities to do on the plane, how we might help our little guy get out his ever-present antsiness, how we might help our oldest pass the time in a flying climate-controlled tube when he so often longs to be outside in the fresh air.
Then there's the baggage. We need clothes. We need stuff to get us (ok, mainly me and the boys) smelling nice. We need things to keep our boys busy on the plane. We need to think through weather and activity possibilities. How do we carry all of it? To check or not to check? That is indeed the question.
There are needs that my family has. There are multiple ways that we could pack the items needed to meet those needs. There are then several options for how we will carry and store it all. Carry-ons, purses, backpacks, diaper bags, checked suitcases, pockets. There are lots of options.
In the past, I have silently wished for being able to travel with nothing but a book as I feel the weight of my backpack, a diaper bag, and a suitcase all while cradling a screaming baby in the "football carry" position.
The reality is that we have baggage for a reason. Some of those things we carry are to make the destination more comfortable. Some of the baggage will make the journey more comfortable. Some of the baggage is from me trying to be prepared for every scenario leading to significant case of overpacking. Some of the baggage is from learning our lesson the hard way. Some of the baggage is essential, some of it is not. As a result of past trips, or essentials needed for this one, we may not be able to do anything about the number of bags that we carry, but how we distribute that baggage and weight can make all the difference.
I saw the same in my students this week. I saw a lot of the baggage that my students are carrying and it filled me with sorrow and even some frustration. There is baggage that just goes along with being a middle school kid. There is some baggage that no kid should ever have to carry. There is baggage that is placed on the students from events in their personal life. There is baggage placed on the students from their experience in school. There is baggage and it is weighing them down.
While there is sorrow when I see the baggage that my students attempt to carry, I am at the same time filled with hope. My hope is that we can work together to shed some of the weight. While I may not be able to remove some of the baggage, perhaps we can work together to redistribute the weight so they can stand a bit straighter.
Regardless of my frustration with my own baggage for our trip, or the sorrow and frustration of watching my students struggle under the weight of all that they carry, sometimes baggage is inevitable. I have seen in my own life this week that my own attitude and outlook can add (or less often subtract) to that weight. No matter how much I may complain or lament that the baggage is there, it does nothing to help me or my students bear the weight.
Looking ahead to this trip and to this school year, I will focus on baggage management and elimination rather than baggage lamentation. I will do my best to find ways to ease the burden for my wife and our boys, as well as my students. My family and my students deserve to see a husband, dad, and teacher spend more time trying to assist with the weight and less time moaning and groaning about its presence. I have found, but often forget, that helping bear the weight of another's burden will often bring balance and relief to the load that I carry.
Here's to helping each other bear the weight.
But it makes me think about the journey there. Flying. With a 4 year old and a 17 month old.
Yikes.
Though I am not proud to admit it, I have done quite a bit of stressing about this and given a lot of thought to how we will make it through with our sanity intact. My wife and I have thought of ideas for activities to do on the plane, how we might help our little guy get out his ever-present antsiness, how we might help our oldest pass the time in a flying climate-controlled tube when he so often longs to be outside in the fresh air.
Then there's the baggage. We need clothes. We need stuff to get us (ok, mainly me and the boys) smelling nice. We need things to keep our boys busy on the plane. We need to think through weather and activity possibilities. How do we carry all of it? To check or not to check? That is indeed the question.
There are needs that my family has. There are multiple ways that we could pack the items needed to meet those needs. There are then several options for how we will carry and store it all. Carry-ons, purses, backpacks, diaper bags, checked suitcases, pockets. There are lots of options.
In the past, I have silently wished for being able to travel with nothing but a book as I feel the weight of my backpack, a diaper bag, and a suitcase all while cradling a screaming baby in the "football carry" position.
The reality is that we have baggage for a reason. Some of those things we carry are to make the destination more comfortable. Some of the baggage will make the journey more comfortable. Some of the baggage is from me trying to be prepared for every scenario leading to significant case of overpacking. Some of the baggage is from learning our lesson the hard way. Some of the baggage is essential, some of it is not. As a result of past trips, or essentials needed for this one, we may not be able to do anything about the number of bags that we carry, but how we distribute that baggage and weight can make all the difference.
I saw the same in my students this week. I saw a lot of the baggage that my students are carrying and it filled me with sorrow and even some frustration. There is baggage that just goes along with being a middle school kid. There is some baggage that no kid should ever have to carry. There is baggage that is placed on the students from events in their personal life. There is baggage placed on the students from their experience in school. There is baggage and it is weighing them down.
While there is sorrow when I see the baggage that my students attempt to carry, I am at the same time filled with hope. My hope is that we can work together to shed some of the weight. While I may not be able to remove some of the baggage, perhaps we can work together to redistribute the weight so they can stand a bit straighter.
Regardless of my frustration with my own baggage for our trip, or the sorrow and frustration of watching my students struggle under the weight of all that they carry, sometimes baggage is inevitable. I have seen in my own life this week that my own attitude and outlook can add (or less often subtract) to that weight. No matter how much I may complain or lament that the baggage is there, it does nothing to help me or my students bear the weight.
Looking ahead to this trip and to this school year, I will focus on baggage management and elimination rather than baggage lamentation. I will do my best to find ways to ease the burden for my wife and our boys, as well as my students. My family and my students deserve to see a husband, dad, and teacher spend more time trying to assist with the weight and less time moaning and groaning about its presence. I have found, but often forget, that helping bear the weight of another's burden will often bring balance and relief to the load that I carry.
Here's to helping each other bear the weight.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
The Weight and The Relief
Confession time again. I've been feeling a significant weight on my shoulders and nearly buckled under it this week.
Confession #2: I have struggled with being an overachiever, perfectionist, and professional stresser-outer for nearly all my life. Some days or even seasons of my life are easier than others. Some days or seasons nearly crush me.
I've been feeling the crush this week.
I believe with every cell in my being that the changes that I have made and continue to make to my teaching is absolutely in the best interest of my students. Admittedly, while my intentions may be noble, the execution of some of these plans or ideas of mine do not always go that well. I've been feeling a significant weight this week as multiple fronts combine to create a wall before me.
I do not wish to go on and on about my burdens, but will say that even the things that I believe are best for students can create a significant weight on my shoulders and require an exorbitant amount of time. I was feeling that this week.
I made plans to go to bed early last night, be up and out of the house as soon as possible, and try to get caught up on all that I need to do to meet the needs of my students. Despite being woken up three times last night (once for a truck slamming into and totalling one of our cars and the hour and a half ordeal with the police (who could not have been more helpful, by the way), once when my oldest son had lost his pillow, and another time when my oldest son had a nightmare and wanted me to lay in bed with him), I was still up at 4:15 getting ready to go. I arrived at school and got a significant amount of work done. I was feeling a very miniscule portion of the weight lift, and then my students arrived.
What I witnessed today from these students made me feel as though the burden had been wrenched off my shoulders. The perspective that it gave me allowed me to see through the wall that is before me, and see the wonderful things that are happening to and in my students.
I was so proud of my students yesterday that they were able to complete three sets (of five minutes each) of absolutely silent and focussed writing. For students who view writing as many adults would view root canal surgery, this fifteen minutes was nothing short of a miracle. Afterward, they said how much easier it is to write once you get started. They said how much easier it was to write using an outline. They said how much easier it was to write after I modeled for them what writing looks like. They said how much easier it was to write when they created a custom plan for how they would use class time.
I was on top of the world, and today I realized there are a few more floors to go.
I praised them today for their hard work yesterday. We talked strategies and plans. We checked rubrics and outlines. Then we tried the five minute silent writing again.
They didn't want to stop.
They kept asking to share what they wrote.
They begged for more time writing.
Yes! I am not making this up! They begged for longer than five minutes.
I suggested seven minutes and they laughed at me.
"We want 10."
"Guys, come on. Seriously. Let's try 8."
"Give us 10 minutes. We can do it."
That's when I caved. The fact that they unanimously believed in themselves that they could accomplish this goal was an accomplishment in and of itself.
"Ok. 10 minutes."
They didn't believe it when the timer went off. They thought I cheated and only set it to eight minutes. We debriefed afterwards and talked about what went well and what could have gone better.
They started begging again.
They wanted 15 minutes of silent writing.
I was amazed. We talked about strategies for if they get stuck, or if they finish.
Then they wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
I mentioned to them beforehand that if they could actually pull this off, then I would call the principal on the phone and brag on them for a bit.
When the fifteen minutes was up, and we listened to our writing, they insisted that we bring the principal to the room so they could see his reaction. He was gracious enough to oblige, and the smile on his face as I recounted the events of the day was enormous. He then asked, "How many of you are proud of what you wrote?" Every hand shot up as though he asked "Who likes pizza?"
And the burden is gone.
Yes, I still have a ton to do. Yes, I will probably have to prioritize and let a few things go. But what I saw today in these students was extraordinary, and it deserves nothing less than my full attention.
So you have seen my therapy session for the day. I put aside everything else to write this blog and reflect on the beautiful experience I was able to stand witness to today from students who have been so disenfranchised by school.
They named themselves OOTA, Out Of The Ashes, because "we've always been burned by school and have been covered in ashes, and we want to be something better."
Today, I saw the birth of something better.
Something beautiful.
Confession #2: I have struggled with being an overachiever, perfectionist, and professional stresser-outer for nearly all my life. Some days or even seasons of my life are easier than others. Some days or seasons nearly crush me.
I've been feeling the crush this week.
I believe with every cell in my being that the changes that I have made and continue to make to my teaching is absolutely in the best interest of my students. Admittedly, while my intentions may be noble, the execution of some of these plans or ideas of mine do not always go that well. I've been feeling a significant weight this week as multiple fronts combine to create a wall before me.
I do not wish to go on and on about my burdens, but will say that even the things that I believe are best for students can create a significant weight on my shoulders and require an exorbitant amount of time. I was feeling that this week.
I made plans to go to bed early last night, be up and out of the house as soon as possible, and try to get caught up on all that I need to do to meet the needs of my students. Despite being woken up three times last night (once for a truck slamming into and totalling one of our cars and the hour and a half ordeal with the police (who could not have been more helpful, by the way), once when my oldest son had lost his pillow, and another time when my oldest son had a nightmare and wanted me to lay in bed with him), I was still up at 4:15 getting ready to go. I arrived at school and got a significant amount of work done. I was feeling a very miniscule portion of the weight lift, and then my students arrived.
What I witnessed today from these students made me feel as though the burden had been wrenched off my shoulders. The perspective that it gave me allowed me to see through the wall that is before me, and see the wonderful things that are happening to and in my students.
I was so proud of my students yesterday that they were able to complete three sets (of five minutes each) of absolutely silent and focussed writing. For students who view writing as many adults would view root canal surgery, this fifteen minutes was nothing short of a miracle. Afterward, they said how much easier it is to write once you get started. They said how much easier it was to write using an outline. They said how much easier it was to write after I modeled for them what writing looks like. They said how much easier it was to write when they created a custom plan for how they would use class time.
I was on top of the world, and today I realized there are a few more floors to go.
I praised them today for their hard work yesterday. We talked strategies and plans. We checked rubrics and outlines. Then we tried the five minute silent writing again.
They didn't want to stop.
They kept asking to share what they wrote.
They begged for more time writing.
Yes! I am not making this up! They begged for longer than five minutes.
I suggested seven minutes and they laughed at me.
"We want 10."
"Guys, come on. Seriously. Let's try 8."
"Give us 10 minutes. We can do it."
That's when I caved. The fact that they unanimously believed in themselves that they could accomplish this goal was an accomplishment in and of itself.
"Ok. 10 minutes."
They didn't believe it when the timer went off. They thought I cheated and only set it to eight minutes. We debriefed afterwards and talked about what went well and what could have gone better.
They started begging again.
They wanted 15 minutes of silent writing.
I was amazed. We talked about strategies for if they get stuck, or if they finish.
Then they wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
I mentioned to them beforehand that if they could actually pull this off, then I would call the principal on the phone and brag on them for a bit.
When the fifteen minutes was up, and we listened to our writing, they insisted that we bring the principal to the room so they could see his reaction. He was gracious enough to oblige, and the smile on his face as I recounted the events of the day was enormous. He then asked, "How many of you are proud of what you wrote?" Every hand shot up as though he asked "Who likes pizza?"
And the burden is gone.
Yes, I still have a ton to do. Yes, I will probably have to prioritize and let a few things go. But what I saw today in these students was extraordinary, and it deserves nothing less than my full attention.
So you have seen my therapy session for the day. I put aside everything else to write this blog and reflect on the beautiful experience I was able to stand witness to today from students who have been so disenfranchised by school.
They named themselves OOTA, Out Of The Ashes, because "we've always been burned by school and have been covered in ashes, and we want to be something better."
Today, I saw the birth of something better.
Something beautiful.
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