Rebel with a cause

It seems like this week has been all about dreams.  Martin Luther King's dreams, Syrian women and children's dreams - nightmares, actually - and students' dreams as a new school year begins.

My school year actually began three weeks ago.  We are on a "moderately" balanced calendar.  I don't hate it, especially when I have extra time off in October and April.  In August, I'm not as much of a fan.  As the school year began, so did the push.  The CCSS push.  According to "everyone," IT is coming.  We have to be ready.  There is much work to be done and our students will never make the bar.

Well, I've had enough.  This "movement" is not about kids.  It is not about education.  It is about money and about power.  If it was about kids, about learning, then we would be looking at how kids learn.  If we would only stop and do that, we could not possible continue down the automaton route prescribed by CCSS.  In fact, we would definitely turn and run as fast as we could in the opposite direction.  Sadly, the ones with the power - school administrators, most states' Heads of Education, the entire national Department of Education - refuse to see the truth, to stop and talk to the real practitioners, to talk to the very students they all profess to care so deeply about.

You see, the emperor truly has no clothes here.  There is literally no money to fund the programs and testing the CCSS requires.  This will mean only one thing: the very programs that make American education unique will be lost.  Our schools will be nothing more than "drill and kill" programs designed to produce the results required for teachers and administrators to keep their jobs.

Real learning is difficult to effectively measure.  Sure, there are ways to see if someone understand algebra (why they can understand it I'll never understand!), or chemistry, or even grammar.  But, how do you measure thinking?  Creativity?  Problem solving? Is there a way for someone to demonstrate the real process of writing in 60 - 90 minutes?  Two hours? How many published writers produce quality work in that timeframe?  Does the ability to identify the structure of a manual on using a laser printer show more insight and understanding than the ability to experience the unique qualities of a poem or to discuss the ways that The Diary of Anne Frank continues to be relevant to fourteen-year-olds even after almost 70 years?

There is real danger here.  I do not doubt that the main framers of the CCSS share my concern for the state of education in the U.S.  My problem?  Most of them have not accurately experienced public schools and what is being done currently across the country.  They may have attended public schools themselves, but they send their children to private schools - schools out of the financial reach of the majority of Americans.  Most have not spent any time working as an educator, attempting to make relevant curriculum that has no connection to kids who are worried about where they will sleep that night or what they will find when they go home.  They haven't seen the look on a child's face when they realize someone believes they are worth the time.  That they have something to say and someone will help them figure out how to say it.  That there is a safe place to share thinking, views, without being ridiculed.

And so I have become a rebel.  A rebel with a cause.  I will find ways to work around the box I'm forced into as a teacher.  I will not become a robot, simply spitting out "curriculum" meant to lead my students to "correct" answers.  I will not give up on the kids others turn away from: the ugly, the poor, the obnoxiously arrogant, the inquisitive, the yearning.  Any child that turns up in my classroom.

My cause is simple: let me teach.  Let my students learn by exploring, making mistakes, revising, talking.  I will not force-feed my students a one-size-fits-all curriculum.  I will differentiate and encourage, push, cajole, and threaten.  I will help every single student understand one thing: they matter.

I'm a rebel with a cause.  I hope others will join me.  Before it is too late.

She's baaaaccckkkkk!

It's been a long time.  Way too long.  I honestly thought I was taking a short break.  Yeah, right.  More than ONE YEAR later, I finally find myself ready to put myself back on the web again.This is really for me, so it doesn't really matter if anyone else reads this or not.  If you do, thank you!  But, it's okay if it's just me.  There are just too many things floating around in my head that need to get out.

This past school year almost did me in.  Almost proved all of my critics right.  I almost walked away.  I wanted to.  Part of me still does.  But I'm not going to.  I'm going to stay right where I am: in a classroom with 100+ students coming and going throughout a day, working hard to know them, to establish relationships, and to find ways to help them realize that English/Language Arts isn't the horrible, boring, scary class we (English teachers) have made it seem.

I want to take some time this summer to think here, to try and put some experiences in perspective while I also think ahead and maybe even find my excitement again for the year that is barely over the horizon.  So here I am.  Twisting and turning.  Again.

And it doesn't feel half bad.

Can't stand the heat...let me out of the classroom!

I haven't been very faithful with my postings during this challenge.  I have all sorts of reasons.  Too busy.  Life is a mess.  Nothing to write about.  But, I finally figured it out.  My brain is literally fried.  See, my classroom has been roughly 80 degrees every day, all day, for the last week.  Yep.  Northern Indiana. March.  Outside temps in the 80s.  Classroom...ditto, or more. 

I've gotten special permission to open my windows.  My work ticket scored me one fan.  I keep the lights turned off more often than on.  Yet I can feel it every day, my brain boiling over....cooking to a crisp.  So I have the ultimate excuse.  I can't write because...

...my brain is fried.

Privilege

Sitting in a coffee shop
overwhelmed by gratitude
listening to heartache
exchanging pain for laughter

Picking up my phone
as the alarm stops its ring
finding an unexpected message
accepting memories and hope

I didn't know when I started teaching
that being myself
would open new relationships
feed me in such beautiful ways

I found myself today
realizing how lucky I am
as two beautiful young women
reached out to me

Reminded me to stop
take a close look at my life
receive the gifts they offered
become friend instead of teacher

I can't WAIT!

I've been waiting all year for today.  For the day when we finally can talk about the genre of commentary.  I LOVE this genre.  Love to read it.  Love to write it.  Really love to take it apart and talk about it.  I started the kids off with something hard...a 10-page piece that I knew would bring groans, followed by amazement as they fell head-first into this amazing world of thinking and talking.  And you know what?  It worked.  Yesterday I handed out the packets amid groans of dismay.  Then I sat back and watched.  I watched struggling readers connect.  Fluent readers connect, even slow down and re-read.  I even watched one student wipe tears from her eyes as the writing moved her heart and her intellect.  I know for most kids it was a first.  They have never read, let alone tried to write, something that is based mostly on thinking.

Today we took the piece apart: what did we like? Why?  What would we change (amazingly, no one could come up with anything there - it was unanimous that this particular argument needed this particular amount of space to accomplish the author's purpose).  I saw a gleam begin to glow in a few eyes, the percolation of ideas starting, the itch for paper and pencil.  We are on our way.  We'll keep reading, this author and my other two favorites (maybe more, you never know with me!), dissecting, reflecting, and talking.  We'll make lists, try out ideas, learn more about things we care about, and finally, choose a mentor author and write.  Oh, I just can't wait!

I have to say good-bye
and I don't want to
But she has to go
the pain
the confusion
this is not what she deserves

She is laughter
and love
Hospitality and
honor
She is my friend,
my sister,
my mentor

My life will be
emptier
My heart will be
fractured
but I know I can't
hold her back
and so I have to
say good-bye

A silly poem of "T's"

Teenagers
twisting my words
turning my moods

Traumatic
trials of the lovelorn
tribulations of the needy

Teaching
teenagers is
tremendously
taxing

I don't know what to write...

Well, I feel just like one of my students.  I've been sitting here for awhile, waiting for an idea, and I've got nothing.  I'm not sure why.  I'm just not finding an idea that wants to go anywhere today.  I've started (in my head):

• a list of reasons why I teach
• a poem where every line starts with "T"
• an entry about making dinner for my daughter and her boyfriend

But none of these has gone anywhere.  Maybe it's Spring Fever.  It was beautiful today.  Almost 70 with a little sunshine.  Maybe it's because I was giving ISTEP and my brain didn't fully engage today.  Maybe I am just out of ideas.  Whatever it is, this is my best for Tuesday, March 6, 2012! (at least I think that's the date today....)

Enough!

I've been beating myself up
I haven't written every day
Day four passed by
No entry from me

Then I watched ESPN
I saw a man born
without lower arms or legs
who is a champion wrestler
who climbed Mt. Kilimajaro
on his hands and knees

At a rest camp
more than halfway up
he berated himself
for being so slow
then he realized
he'd been focused on how far he had to go
instead of
how far he had come

I realized I've been like him
instead of letting myself
see where I've been
I beat myself up
over where I am not

So...
I have missed a few entries
but I've still written more
than I had
at this time last year
and that is
GOOD.

First of the real lasts

I did it today.  I went to the first of my real "lasts."  Today was the first indoor track meet of this year...and the first for my last baby...who is also a senior.  So this is my first real last.  Before I could fool myself: this isn't the last band competition, there's another daughter coming in 4 years; this isn't the last sports event, there the baby coming right behind..and when football season was over, that was not so sad.  Track was yet to come.  And so track has begun, and it's time for me to face the truth.  It's ending.  This whole "busy full-time working mom who has to spend weekends at sporting events" role will wrap up on June 3rd. 

So today I took some extra time to enjoy.  I smiled extra big when he took off for the second leg of the 4x200. I let myself enjoy watching the stride of those legs that make him measure 6'4".  I clapped really loud when he cleared the high jump bar (not high enough for state qualifying, but there is still next week for that), and I even jumped up and down as he raced (literally) 55 meters over the hurdles.

I love being a mom.  It's probably what I do best.  It's definitely a reason I think I'm a better teacher.  I will always be a mom, but not in the same way.  And so I let it begin.  The real "lasts," the final good-byes, the packing up of not just a bedroom, but a major life role. 

Ouch.  This hurts.

And then there were 30...

31 days
Where can I find any ideas?

I've looked on the bottom of my shoes
Nothing

I've checked up my sleeve
Nothing

My mind is blank
There's nothing there

How will I fill
31
days?

(with special thanks to my student, Erica, for her feedback!)

Ironic

It's been a while
I thought I was done
I don't know
why
I let them
read my work.

But they think
I should write
more
and they won't
stop
until I do.

You see,
this is what happens
when you open your life
and your blog
 to your students.
They see
inside.
See things you may have
missed.
And push
YOU
just as you push
them.

And that
is
irony.

"Plans"

Chaotic
Confused
Unconnected
Random
Changing
Frustrating
Mandated
Maddening
Unclear
"Plans"

Tired.I am so tired.
The school year
hasn't begun
and
I
am
tired.

How
did this happen?
Summer,
a time of rest,
was instead
a time of
work.
Good work
even fun work
but work.

I am tired
before
I
have
begun.

Boys and Girls

Boys and girls.  We all know they are different.  Just look around your house, your classroom, any restaurant.  We think and react in very different ways.  I've considered myself a bit of an expert in this matter, after all, I have 2 girls and 1 boy.  I pretty much know it all.  Right?  Right? Right.

Enter the dreaded college application.  Ten years ago our oldest daughter was a senior. She interviewed colleges (visits and online), gathered her required materials, and submitted her applications.  I had almost no responsibility.  Six years went by and daughter number 2 entered the college application world.  Again, she did the research, gathered the materials and submitted the applications.

And then there is the baby...and the boy.  About to begin his senior year, he doesn't need to visit any colleges.  He knows his choice already.  Well, that's fine since it's Purdue, but they won't let you in without an application.  What?  Application?  What's that?  Who's going to fill that out?  They want an essay?!  This is way too much work.

Now, the application is done. Submitted.  Fingers crossed.  But it took a lot of work. I had to bite my tongue and the inside of my cheek more than once as I forced (his words, not mine) him to complete the work after football practice - the horror!

Boys and girls.  They couldn't be more different.  I thought I knew that.  But I was wrong!

It is coming...

Do you hear it?  Has it started for you yet?  I heard it for the first time yesterday.  Tick tock, tick tock.  I stopped and cocked my head.  Was I really hearing this sound?  So soon?  I'm not ready!  I have too much left to do, I screamed in my head.

What was this sound?  You know it.  The sound the remaining minutes of summermake as they run away.  In their place, the call of a new school year.  Tick tock, tick tock.  This is the 9th year I've heard the call, the summons really, to return to structure.  To put aside leisure.  To embrace change and challenge.

Am I ready?  NO! Luckily, the sound is fairly quiet so far.  But, every day I know it will become louder...louder....louder until like the narrator in The Tell-Tale Heart, I must accept the sound...but without the madness and murder. :)

Enjoy the quiet, but be ready.  Tick tock, tick tock.  You will hear it before you are ready.

Over

I am used up
exhausted
confused

On the outside
once again
nose pressed
to the glass
wanting, waiting
to be asked in

Excuses flood my ears
Frustration overflows

One day I will
stop
turn around
walk away
to my own
place
where everyone
is invited
in

A True Love

10 Book That Helped Me Grow Up:

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (my #1 of all time.  How did Betty Smith create a character that was me?!)
Anne of Green Gables
Stuart Little
Nancy Drew (all of them!)
Cherie Ames, Student Nurse
The Yearling
Leaving Home
Hope of Earth
The Cay
Mrs. Mike

10 YA Books I'm So Glad I Discovered:

Twilight (sadly, not the entire series)
Willow
13 Reasons Why
If I Stay
Because I Am Furniture
Boy At War
Locomotion
The Looking Glass Wars
Looking For Alaska
Purple Heart

I look around my house and everywhere there are books.  Books to be read. Books to be remembered.  Nonfiction.  Fiction.  All books. As unique as my family, as my students.  Each as important to who I am.  I love my books.

Summer

I think about what to write
It feels like nothing has been going on
Nothing out of the ordinary that is
Is that bad?
Is that wrong?

I worry about people thinking I am lazy
All summer off
I don't have much to show
Is that bad?
Is that wrong?

I wonder about the future
How can I heal the hurts
Smooth the path
Is that bad?
Is that wrong?

Then I realize I am in the right place
A place of calm and rest
Time to get my strength back
It is not bad.
It is not wrong.

Lucky

Everyone says
I am
lucky,
and most of the time
I agree.

They are
successful,
happy,
healthy -
all that a mama
could want.

But when I least expect it
I feel the knife in my gut

Doubled over
I search for
the happiness
I know I should feel
as I watch
my babies
all
grow
up.