Today is unquestionably beautiful: the summers in the Pacific Northwest are glorious. It’s 9:30 AM, 68°F, relatively low humidity, and sunset is at 8:56PM tonight. I mention that because summer is light and warmth. Now I love a good, Gothic, gloomy rainy day next to the vampiric girl, but I can appreciate summer, too.
I’ve used Mary Oliver’s line from this poem as a personal tagline for over a decade: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
Well, I am not sure now. It’s still one, still wild, but I don’t know what to tell. And I think I need to just settle on “show.” Just –do. Create. Breathe. This infinite hyper-vigilance is not how I want to spend my one wild and precious. Do I, or rather can I, allow myself one day to look away? I have been thinking this is the part of the dystopian/apocalyptic novel no one talks about — the precursor, the backstory, and the prologue. But then Stephen Colbert’s guest, Kamau Bell, among many other brilliant things, said “Didn’t Mad Max say, hey, gas prices sure are high!” before the actual Mad Max story. (paraphrased). That’s exactly how I feel. I don’t want to waste time, anymore so than I did yesterday or tomorrow. But yet here I am. It is a summer’s day, and I am greedy. I want my summer’s day, and I am squandering the light and time.
So, a reminder: it’s okay to take a break during the summer. It’s also okay to play. Do some curriculum planning. Plant some daisies. Tell my family I love them. Make a will. Up my life insurance. Draw some doodles. And just enjoy this one life.
I used to have a copy of this book for my sons, and I’m not sure where it is now. Jan Brett is a wonderful illustrator, and I had a few of her picture books. When I saw the viral post about “we can do this” I thought of this Ukrainian folktale: the story is a little mouse finds one mitten and makes a home for herself. Other forest critters come along, in succession of size, and ask to join her in her small home. The thematic topics of sharing until the point of destruction, (looking at you, Giving Tree), and sacrifice until no one has what they need, because, you guessed it, the mitten finally explodes from the stress. I feel like that mouse now, and schools are the mittens.
We teachers spend our own money. We buy food. We give up things because our students need it now. We support working parents, understanding they’re stressed and busy, and formed an ad-hoc coalition of support and community. (Well, this teacher anyway, and many of my colleagues.) I ran after-school clubs as a volunteer (that’s over 1000 hours of free childcare right there), and have spent thousands on books, food, and school supplies.
And I can’t for the life of me wrap my brain around why districts simply do not say we can’t reopen now.
To everyone who says Richmond Education Association isn’t playing… I say NO ONE IN RICHMOND EVER PLAYS GAMES. Learn that lesson or learn it the hard way. Richmond never plays pic.twitter.com/Dq6i4NCNNV
— jennthetutor 🎓 👩🏾🏫 🧩 #testoptionalnow-ESQ/JD (@jennthetutor) July 10, 2020
This last week of June has been full of tears, grief and sorrow. No, no one I knew was sick or died. Wait–yes, someone just this morning reported the death of a cousin. And though I’ve reached the last of the thirty days of posting, the work, thinking, and focus is not over–it’ll never be over.
My husband and I have been doing all right during the quarantine. Some little snarls here and there, but nothing that’s a big deal. We mostly move around the house, separated by a few rooms, and leave each other to our work.
But last night, he came in to check on me during another one of my marathons of ‘Jane the Virgin,’ and just broke down. He didn’t cry, or scream: he expressed how much sorrow and distress he feels for white cops killing Black people, and just wants it to stop. I am doing a horrible job of describing his voice, his body language, and sorrow. But it unnerved me: I know how he feels and what his values are. But this different: he is in a great deal of physical chronic pain, and that’s been his focus to try to manage, and to see the pain of the world and our nation, too…I told him about Elijah McClain and we both started to cry. And we both know tears aren’t enough.
If you don’t think you have a friend, partner or spouse like mine, someone who shares this grief, you do: I can be here for you, too. This is all about love. White people: if you respond to the world with debilitating fear and loathing, it will betray you. It will betray your chance at love. Fear will destroy you.
But if you love, your fear will calm. You find joy again. Love your fellow human.
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Collecting poetry and art for Black History Month, and life…
This is going to be an odd confession: I dislike the word “joy.” I don’t know why. The cynic in me? The grumpy old lady? The word feels blandly chewy in my mouth. I don’t like the texture of it. It’s the uncooked tofu of words. When I think of Marie Kondo and things ‘sparking joy’ I look around my ‘stuff’ and my happiness is diminished because seeing it through another’s eyes makes me doubtful and harnesses my insecurities.
But this morning I got an uncharacteristically early text from my dear friend, suggesting I do something joyful today, or that would bring me joy. She must recognize I am in a place of deep despair for our government today. We are watching a corrupt takeover of our nation and everyone, and I mean everyone, has something to say from their seat in the auditorium. It is not out of the realm that the current president could declare martial law, cancel elections, and take over the press and other media outlets. This morning I am out of hope. And I am ashamed of my gall and privilege for, while being outraged and sickened, during my life I lived with veiled trust and progress. We, White people, did not do nearly enough to include, raise or center others’ voices. We marginalized Black History Month–the audacity of a “month” where every month, every day, the voices of history and present demand and deserve to be heard.
Back to joy: what will bring me joy today? Maybe joy isn’t going to ‘bring’ me anything: maybe I have to reach out for it, recognize it, and allow it in. I do have small moments of euphoria–where my serotonin levels bust through and I’m in a peaceful ‘everything is cool’ nirvana. Work brings me joy: productive disruptions, productive anger, and opening space and making room. And friends who give me wise woman words to put down my shield for a few hours and rest.
I don’t have this entirely substantiated, so if my facts are incorrect, I apologize–this is a quick sketch of my new teaching position and how the students’ classes are structured. I believe my principal made this change last year in order to help more students recover credits and graduated on time or close.
There are a few pathways for students at this alternative high school, but the shift has been to offer ‘day school’ options alongside the computer programs and off-campus options. I’m still learning more about those, and can’t speak to them. However, here’s my role: I was hired as full time ELL/ELA, and in the past had a teacher who came in to support the ELL students and keep up the paperwork, but no full-time class. She’s been helpful in my transition to the building and role as an ELL teacher.
My principal changed the schedule to four periods per day, about 75 minutes each, and each quarter is worth a semester’s credit. As teachers who were in the building prior to this shift have had to adjust their scope/sequences and tighten up content, and it is a challenge to ‘fit it all in’ in a quarter. For me, this is how most high schools should operate, especially for freshmen who are trying to acclimate themselves to high school. There are pros/cons to this schedule, and it would have to be rolled out with intentionality and understanding of impact.
Cons
Students at alternative high schools have a different transportation system than others. They have to wait at their home schools for another bus, and the busses are often late, and students must wait outside in the cold. No accommodations are made to keep them warm while they wait.
Students at alternative schools often have a deep history of trauma, attendance obstacles, academic and emotional challenges, and if they don’t have the support they require during the school hours when they’re present, and moreover, accommodations for support when they’re not, they lose credits, and then may give up.
These accommodations must mean allowing for make-up work at 100%, choosing careful times when they’re present to get the work done (this is happening at my school, but I need to be more conscious of this), and never marking a zero in the grade book if a student is absent: missing, yes, but no zeros. (I need to take a look at this, too.)
Four classes a day means there are limited course options. But, the quarters are quick, so they can grab other classes when they need them.
Pros
There is time in the class to go at a calmer, deeper-learning pace.
The class sizes are smaller at alternative high schools, and the benefits of this cannot be overstated. One notice, though, is if kids are absent, the momentum does slow down.
Small class size and longer class periods allows for better connections and relationship building. If one struggles with this as a teacher, it might be challenging.
Students can recover credits quickly, and that gives them momentum and hope.
Tightens up learning, and as helped me focus on essentials–what’s really important:
Reading/Independent reading, journaling, close reading, discussions, seed ideas/ theory of themes, informational texts, and work across all content areas
My two freshmen girls are very excited, and so proud of themselves for having completed/passed all their first quarter classes. One girl wants her mom to come to conferences because this is the first time she’s ever passed all of her classes!
Many students, however, continue to struggle with attendance, substance abuse, and other responsibilities.
Some thoughts:
As I get to know my colleagues, it’s my hope that we continue to grow and collaborate on essentials and cross-content connections. I have a lot of autonomy this year to create curriculum, and this space is where I’m fulfilled and excited.
Finally: to all of you 8th grade students out there: please–do NOT blow this year off, thinking it “doesn’t count.” It is for your present and your future–when your teachers say “you’re going to need this” what they mean is not some abstract time, but concrete, hard and fast: you are working on background knowledge, content, skills, strategies and empowering yourself to be turbo-charged for your days in middle school AND for your beginning in high school. Guaranteed, you must be a craftsperson of your own knowledge building. Grades may not “count” in middle school but they count in priceless, immeasurable ways. It’s a paradox. You will feel this vague and uneasy sense that you ‘missed something’ and feel lost. Eighth grade allows you the time to practice, take risks, and fail, and those risks will serve you well.
Some thoughts on what it’s like to join a new teaching community/school.
“Everywhere we go, always take the weather with you…”
We move through the world, on our own narrow trajectories, new places, friends, lost and found, along the way. Thinking the other day of what it’s like to join a new community as a teacher, I am no expert. Some teachers stay relatively in the same building for years, and others jump around a bit more. I’ve changed districts three times, and reflecting on that, it’s been imbalanced.
When moving to a new teaching community, we can only bring the person we are. We come with our own narratives: hurt, experiences, successes, etc. We craft our identities based on our values:
Thinking of my own professional timeline, twelve years at a Title I middle school, one year at another, and now at an alternative high school in my third district, with a new position as the ELL/ELA and ELL Study Skills teacher, and a Check/Connect time. I really admire and appreciate my principal and assistant principal. It’s a small, tight-knit staff, overall. There are prior grievances and interpersonal conflicts, of course. And I’m finding who aligns with my values for the workplace, and more importantly, our students. Culturally relevant teaching, engaging, representational literature and texts, student support and connections: I can infer which staff members feel the same way I do. It takes time. For example, I put these posters outside the room I share, and one of the teachers happened down the hallway, and they brought up a great discussion about a new Netflix show she shows students, “One Strange Rock.”
Now I’m navigating other treacherous waters. I have the full support of my admin, who has made it very clear I am in charge, he hired ME and my expertise, and to make the program my own. I am giddy and energized by this. And then, on Friday, (and there’s context here I won’t get into) a mentor basically cut me off and said, not quite in a loud voice, but kind of, sort of, loud and aggressive, at least to my ears, “WE ALL KNOW WHAT YOU KNOW, KELLY!” Fortunately, I don’t think anyone else heard her, but I can’t be sure. I have a habit of prefacing a statement with context, but once in awhile this irritates others. It’s a gopher hole I step in, unintentionally, of course, but it’s painful nonetheless. I stayed calm and approached it from another angle (because she was basically telling me what to do, how to do it, etc.) I am a master of reading subtext, and am growing in my skills of how to use it to maintain good, collegial relationships: it’s a balance between cowering in fear and advocating for myself. Essentially, I maintained the pitch of my own voice, and said I have been teaching at Title I schools with 80% free and reduced lunch for thirteen years, with a deep and wide ELL population. Please do not assume I’ve been teaching at suburban schools with a largely white, native speaking population. (What prompted this was she said I wasn’t used to teaching ELL kids.)
What do we do when someone makes assumptions about us that are inaccurate? How much is self-advocating versus going overboard? My exuberance is both a fatal flaw and blessing. And all I can control is my own language and responses:
Use more ‘we’ language
More sentences that recognize others’ accomplishments
More acknowledgement of what others’ contributed and how it’s valuable
Don’t tell others my plans.* (Because that takes away their chance to dart throw.)
When we meet others who are clearly more interested in their agenda, smile, nod and do what’s best for students.
Seek instructional allies. You will find them. Have faith and trust.
Like writing workshop feedback, take the comments and suggestions and just say “thank you” — the root of ‘author’ is ‘authority’ – believe in the agency of your actions, accomplishments, and abilities.
*With this caveat: if others ask, share. If not–watch out for that gopher hole. Notice who’s receptive and who’s not. Those are your allies.
Insecurity takes root and I notice my language, (in an attempt to be humble yet not let others make assumptions about me), takes on this “Here is my resume. This is what I’ve done. This is what I know how to do” tone. Especially when cornered by others of authority and matronly posturing. Probably need some therapy for this, but in the meantime…I’ll just try to write, reflect, and take my own advice.
PS I wish there was a job in schools of a teacher liaison –not a union building rep, but SEL for staff!
A growing body of evidence has shown that the American education and criminal-justice systems dole out harsher and more frequent discipline to black youth compared with their non-black peers. But while most of that research has focused on black boys, a new study from the Georgetown Law Center on Poverty and Inequality specifically turned its attention to society’s perception of black girls.
Further in the article:
Black girls describe being labeled and suspended for being “disruptive” or “defiant” if they ask questions or otherwise engage in activities that adults consider affronts to their authority. Across the country, we see black girls being placed in handcuffs for having tantrums in kindergarten classrooms, thrown out of class for asking questions, sent home from school for arriving in shorts on a hot day. … We also see black girls criminalized—arrested on campus or referred to law enforcement—instead of engaged as children and teens whose mistakes could be addressed through non-punitive, restorative approaches.
“The evidence shows that perceptions of the essential nature of children can be affected by race, and for black children, this can mean they lose the protection afforded by assumed childhood innocence well before they become adults,” said co-author Matthew Jackson, PhD, also of UCLA. “With the average age overestimation for black boys exceeding four-and-a-half years, in some cases, black children may be viewed as adults when they are just 13 years old.”
I’m sharing these articles in the hope that we all are a bit more cognizant of our implicit biases and perceptions about children, especially children of color. There are more than a few behavior issues in my afternoon classes, and I’ve been doing a mountain of reflection. I can feel my brain buzzing in the early morning from the currents of thought and concern. Juggling new, top-heavy curriculum, leveled, a prescripted reading program that flies in the face of everything I’ve researched, and thirty-minute schedules to teach U.S.History (yes, thirty minutes) along with the new committees, expectations, navigating the new culture of my new workplace and district–it’s a lot. As I remind myself I am the adult here– and if my situation is challenging I must keep in mind how difficult it must be for students. Listening and reading a book you don’t like or can’t connect with? Silent reading for thirty minutes? And then pivoting to other ideas that seem random, as instructed from the same teacher, same space? I’m going to have to do better: it’s going to take both tricks and treats to move learning along.
In the meantime, thanks to many generous donors, and getting a decent payday myself, my DonorsChoose was fully funded. I am hoping that the #projectLIT books help my scholars see themselves in narratives.
Look! LOOOOOOOK! Students are using my resources about readers’ response journaling! LOOOOOOK!
Needed to take a moment and capture the first two weeks at my new school:
I love teaching ELA/History again!
Great and wonderful things:
8th-grade scholars (not students, scholars) who have been through the AVID and IB classes are incredibly prepared. It has been such a boon for teaching students content, and so many of them come prepared with best practices procedures.
Their reading program comes with books for every student. Repeat: a book for every student. No chasing down resources or playing a dangerous bartering game to try to scratch together things.
They do not use computers every day. This–this has been wonderful.
My knowledge and wealth of resources are going to be utilized to the fullest: my AVID training, National Writing Project, National Boards, –everything! I finally feel that I am in a place that not only values my knowledge but is truly collaborative! (This. Is. A. Big. Deal. I didn’t realize how starved I was for this type of collaboration.)
Areas for growth:
8th-grade scholars who are new to Totem are not there yet: I witness the continued lack of hope and engagement in their learning.
They don’t use computers every day, so I’m carefully planning when and how to implement computer use. There is a cart in my room, and I am going to move slowly and intentionally with my technology embedded instruction. And holy smokes do I miss my Smartboard.
The biggest success so far? It would have to be me flying solo on Theory of Theme and using seed ideas. The first whole class novel is Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai and I asked my dear friend, Minh Tank, who served in the Vietnamese army, about his experiences and resources, and he provided a rich treasure trove.
The steps of Theory of Theme:
Watch a quick video about theme –informed scholars this is not a one-time deal
THEMES ARE NOT TOPICS (check that box)
Preview several images from the Vietnam War.
For each image, scholars wrote their thoughts/words/phrases
After the image previewing, highlight three words that stand out
Share out as seed ideas
Co-construct a theory about possible themes by looking at the words
Decided to focus on war, and sentence starter: War can be___________________
Twitter, well, Twitter is a lot of things but it does provide some great discussion/debate threads if you’re patient to find the gems.
Here are five threads that gave me some ideas for discussion questions:
What causes poverty: moral failures or society’s failures? (*remember, in strong argumentative reasoning there is always the third rail)
Once again, we continue to treat poverty like a moral failure. Thank you for your contribution and being the conductor on a train that is never late. https://t.co/PSW4czkIAm
Is talking and learning about controversial topics more or less important than not causing conflict in school?
There’s a lot of “This is America” that’s ripe for meme-ing — and maybe some of that was the point — but I wish people would’ve worked some of the harder parts into memes.
There’s so much going on in this video that’s gone unexplored by pop culture. It’s not fucking funny.
I’m speechless 😶! To watch this Georgia state senator justify the president’s use of the N-word has my mind spinning on this morning. Is this where we are now as a country…or is this where we’ve always been? 🤦🏽♂️🤷🏽♂️ @CNNpic.twitter.com/73kWMvs7b3
