Tag: pandemic

Runs in the family.

My son struggled with ADHD in school and because teachers didn’t know how to deal with it, it destroyed his love of reading. But there is hope.

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Please read all the heartfelt comments in this thread: many teachers and parents reached out with amazing resources, love, and ideas.

Last night my younger son, Daniel, who’s 23, was hanging out with me, and I asked him how reading The Hobbit was going. He had mentioned he was reading it because, well, he never had, and thought he’d go through Tolkien’s books. He said he hadn’t made it through the first chapter. He said with ADHD, he has to read paragraphs repeatedly, and he just gives up. I asked how that made him feel in school, like everyone knew some secret magic that he was left out of, and his body language and face, his deflated posture, broke my heart. Yes, he confirmed. And it made him feel ashamed. School was a place that took a bright, funny, smart,* laughing little boy and turned him into someone who’s had to fight hard to find his own path. Like every other kid out there. He’s not special. His generation has never gone to a public school building without testing from kindergarten through their senior years, and drilled skill after skill, without little experience or joy knowing what those skills were for. Reading logs and extrinsic motivations, academic achievement, meetings with the principal and band director because the band director was going to flunk him because we needed to go on a family trip for personal reasons. Time and again, the cruelty was the point. My older son followed all the rules and fit their mold. Daniel did not. Nothing I did or didn’t do. And yet these two beautiful sons of mine taught me so much about how horrible a place school can be.

But why does this have to be this way? Why does school have to be a place that most of us ends up hating? We end up resenting?

I told him during the pandemic, this past year, I’ve struggled to read. My escape of novels and fiction just isn’t there. Friends posting book after book on Goodreads while I languish. I find myself reading the same paragraphs, too. I just started reading Stephen Graham Jones’ The Only Good Indians and am embarrassed to admit I am going to have to start over again for the third time because I don’t understand what happens in the first chapter. Is that an elk? A fight? A fight with an elk? And please don’t step in and explain it to me. I’ll get it. About all my brain can handle right now is watching old episodes of Inkmaster and

My dad, who’s 79, tells a story with some trace of bitterness, how one teacher told him his fate would probably be jail. I don’t know what my dad did or said that prompted this reaction from his high school teacher. My dad was a middle child of three boys, all close in age, with two parents who worked outside the home. And I guess he was mischievous, a troublemaker? Prone to staying out late, maybe? I don’t know details of my father’s high school years. I do know my dad is one of the sweetest, funniest men I know.

My own troublemaker self was almost kicked out of kindergarten, and often sent to the corner or hallway many times for talking in first and second grades. The teachers simply did not understand that I was trying to help others near me understand the material. But those corners of the room smell like tooth-fairy breath and shame. And I didn’t learn a damn thing about staying quiet, except that when I do share ideas and thoughts, it comes with anxiety and sometimes pain.

Okay, enough of this. We have a family history of ADHD, this seems pretty clear. Now what? Whenever I am overwhelmed, I make a list. Here are some of my initial thoughts, and many of these were echoed on Twitter. I promise I was not ‘workshopping’ anything — what a breathtaking community you are. I love you, my teacher out there — ready to jump in, share ideas, with love, compassion, and without hesitation.

  1. Reading is not just print on paper. It’s audio, acting, movement, illustrative, and beyond. Let’s embrace a culture of reading.
  2. Love of stories must come first, and remain, the goal.
  3. I want Dr. Gholdy Muhammad to head up change in our education system with her ideas on Cultivating Genius.
  4. Burning questions (allow students to co-construct their units of study with teachers and shifting classrooms– this is a seed of an idea I have)
  5. More money for better early reading instruction that extends throughout all grade levels
  6. All teachers have a partnership with specialists
  7. Art at every grade
  8. Music at every grade
  9. Physical movement without ableism
  10. Multi-modal essays and collaborative work
  11. Sketchnoting, and other interactive ideas to express glorious passages of the ‘grand conversations’

There is so much more, and we’ll keep talking adding, and thinking.

My son will probably finish The Hobbit someday. Right now he’s switched to Recording Unhinged by Sylvia Massey because he’s been playing a lot of music lately with his dad, (who does not have ADHD), going to school, and working. I’ll finish my books, too, and figure out what that elk is doing.

And please follow Nicole Biscotti, M.Ed:

Some books folks recommended, on my reading list:

I Can Learn When I’m Moving By Nicole Biscotti, M. Ed.

ADHD and Me: What I Learned from Lighting Fires at the Dinner Table by Blake ES Taylor

*He’s still funny and smart. And very darn cute.

Then and Now: what poets can teach us

I asked the question: was there a scholar who wrote about the 1917 pandemic with wisdom and guidance? I am ashamed that I looked in the wrong place, and should have been looking for a poet.

I asked the question: was there a scholar who wrote about the 1918 pandemic with wisdom and guidance? I am ashamed that I looked in the wrong place, and should have been looking for a poet.

Kyrie by Ellen Bryant Voigt

From Blackbird Archive, read the curated content: https://blackbird.vcu.edu/v17n2/gallery/1918/intro_page.shtml

Soon it was a farmer in the field—

someone’s brother, someone’s father—

left the mule in its traces and went home.

Then the mason, the miller at his wheel,

from deep in the forest the hunter, the logger,

and the sun still up everywhere in the kingdom.

     ―Ellen Bryant Voigt, Kyrie

https://blackbird.vcu.edu/v17n2/gallery/1918/intro_page.shtml

It’s a hard thing to acknowledge, that the country’s current administration (executive branch) is killing us. This is not hyperbole. At every turn, the executive branch failed and exacerbated the crisis. We could be so much better. We could do so much better. My hope is hanging on by a thread. We need to fight this on so many fronts: the media must do better. We must rethink capitalism. We need to strengthen our communities and love for one another. I do not share Ms. O’Meara’s optimism at this writing, but you might:

In the Time of Pandemic

And the people stayed home.

And they read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still.

And they listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. 

Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently.

And the people healed.

And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.

And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.

—Kitty O’Meara

Other resources and readings:

“Invisible Bullets”

9 Ways Schools Will Look Different When (And If) They Reopen

Little birds.

Whereby I make the Internet angry.

Again.

Well, that was a hefty miscalculation on my part. For many reasons, others on Twitter took my tweet to mean I think journaling is bad. But Twitter is the telephone game x1000, and between my hyperbolic phrasing, and perhaps the exhaustion on my and others’ behalves, we’re just all on edge. And as Joe pointed out, my “all caps” is classless. His response may be “man code” for “watch yourself, young missy,” questioning my teaching credentials and all. I was reminded of David Spade’s recurring receptionist character on SNL, “and YOU are?” And my response to this educator, and others whom I upset, is Emily Dickinson’s poem:

I’m nobody. A frog croaking. A bird singing. Just thinking about stuff and worried about my students.

And my colleagues: you are more than welcome to tell me you don’t agree with me. I just asked us to think and reflect, but I didn’t say it ‘nicely.’ My mother’s philosophy is “never apologize, never explain,” so I’m going to try that now. I tend to be a people pleaser to ease my anxiety, so while I try to buck up and find some courage, not sure how successful I’ll be.

We all come from a wide variety of teaching experiences. We all have something to offer. And who we are for our students may not translate or scale to what we need to be for each other. If I am not the colleague who want to converse or exchange ideas with, that’s completely cool. Often, I don’t have a lot of patience or time for you, either–and that’s okay.

Many teaching practices we did before our buildings closed down were brilliant, creative, rich, meaningful and nuanced. And many of our teaching practices will continue to sparkle and connect.

But many weren’t. There were, and are, inequities, bigotry, racism, poverty, classism, political domestic threats toward some immigrant students and families, lax oversight and accountability, bad faith ed reformers, poor practices and shaky scripted curriculum. Oh, and that state standardized testing, which as it turn out, was an educational albatross.

And I had this random thought, that maybe, just maybe, in our exuberance of trying to stay enthusiastic, engaged, and hopeful, that assigning journaling about the pandemic wasn’t a good idea. To quote, the “WORST.” And I did apologize for my hyperbole. As a choice, ungraded, an idea, no, it’s not a bad idea at all. Helping student writers frame their daily journaling is a great boost. What we may be grieving for, however, is much broader and painful than we care to admit.

We are not physically “there” to catch the body language, emotion, or stress our students are feeling right now. We’re not. And as much as we can duplicate some learning experiences or catch them before they fall, we are just not there. That is a big part to why teaching is emotional and psychologically exhausting — we are aware and watchful for our students’ responses. So now we are bereft of that role, and have a new exhausting role. And he’s right — we are all just trying to do the best we can. That does not excuse us from bad practices or lack of reflection, before the pandemic and now. Nor after.

If we assign something to be graded that may cause additional stress or trauma we are doing harm. And no justification, teacher ego, or defensiveness will change that.

Many people in the thread came to the conversation with breathtaking ideas, kindness, gentle pushback, questions, thoughts, and those are the next focus. Like this wonderful teacher:

Keep journaling, keep thinking. And allow writers to have their thoughts. I’ll have a talk with my inner editor next time.

First Days, and First Rejection, Dusting Off

What happened the first few days of my school’s closure for #COVID19

This was originally drafted for one of the best educators, @LarryFerlazzo. He is incredibly generous and collaborative: he shares his platform for a wide variety of teacher-writers and has included me in two podcasts, including this one: https://www.bamradionetwork.com/track/yes-teaching-poetry-can-be-powerful-riveting-and-fun-if-you-do-this/

This article didn’t make the cut, however. (technically my first writing rejection!) And that’s totally cool. I was honest with him and in my writing: it might be confusing, emotional, and rambling. I can’t hit a home run every time, and that’s why I am honored to be given a chance to try. Here it is, and thank you for reading.

The First Days…Teaching 21st-Century Students During a Pandemic

Somewhere in an obscure psychology text, published after the 1918 influenza pandemic, I imagine a wise doctor described the mental health issues that arose after the pandemic was over. World War I raged until November of that year, and the outbreak occurred during the final months. What might the good doctor have written, if such a text exists? Would he have said one might experience shell shock, depersonalization disorder, or depression? Maybe this text exists somewhere with the perfect passage that provides not only diagnosis but therapeutic suggestions. But this wishful thinking won’t serve our needs in the present tense. For someone who believes anything can be solved by reading, I am not finding that answer now. Looking to the past for answers only goes partway.

This time, just over 100 years later, we aren’t in a World War, but we are in a time of crisis. No matter one’s partisan views, there is abundant evidence that the current President of the United States came to power because of deeply racist beliefs. He did not start these, but he crystallized and coalesced the “masterless men” (Keri Lee Merritt). Capitalism, and other “isms,” are not living creatures, but simulate and replicate systems that work for or against humanity. And one of those institutions of civilizations, the education of citizens, (and who has access to that education), is in distress. 

This moment did not come unannounced. The past informs us, just like we use data to inform instruction. And yet, we did not put the “data,” rather the history, to good use. While I amuse myself with thoughts of random 20th-century psychology books, I know it’s just a mental exercise to keep my mind off of the issues in front of me. I, and thousands of teachers around the country, had to say goodbye to our students for the next eight weeks, and perhaps longer. My roster is small but large in need and love. Saying goodbye to those who attend the high school where I teach was as challenging as years past when I had twenty-five or more students, five times a day. The confusion and chaos about what things are going to look like must be answered with 21st-century skills, but I am wondering what can we borrow from the early 20th century to help our students best?

My students are academically fragile: students who attend alternative high schools are in need of safe alternatives for credit recovery and graduation. Each student was given a Chromebook to take home, and I provided a hastily worded letter with my email address, some ideas of things to do, and reminders to please check in with the school website and my Google Classroom. I asked each one to bring home a book of their choice from my classroom library. I’ve been practicing blended learning for years, preparing creativity bundles for kids before breaks, building relationships, and know-how to teach online. But nothing has prepared me for this. I feel that I’ve pushed them into an educational lifeboat with flimsy lifepreservers. 

Keep in mind many of our students around the country are not going to check online for work. They’re just not. And my students are no exception. I gave them what I could. What plans are in place for students who fall off the radar? So, for those of us who teach students who may not be checking in, we’ll just have to keep calling, emailing, and making ourselves available.

What people had in 1918 that we lack one hundred years later is processing time. And that time is what I want for my students: time to create, think, be safe, read, breathe, eat, stay warm and dry. But they weren’t readers before this, and they didn’t write before this: they never saw the value. One freshmen girl constantly chastises me for “wasting money on books.” This must be my focus and responsibility, now more than ever. I am the only ELL teacher on staff and have the honor of supporting students whose middle and high school experiences brought them in my life. I cannot change their pasts but am dedicated to their futures. I will keep sending out messages to them, and keep reaching out and make a schedule of contact with each of them. I’ll provide a daily creativity break, and send reassuring messages, Let’s use the technology available to us in this century to reach out with words, love, and hope, lessons of the past to ease the present and hope for the future. Connect with your students as humans first, not students. Which is what we should have been doing all along.

Update:

I’ve heard from 5 of my 25 students. Some have joined me on Google Meets. I have a plan to reach out to more. I am trying to remain positive, active, and hopeful.