Reading

I had a student ask me if he could take his book to lunch. This was the same student who, the class before, told me, "Miss, there is nothing good in here." We were in the library. I pointed him to a series of books which I thought he would enjoy if he gave them a chance. Turns out I hit the nail on the head in this case.

I resisted the urge to cry fat, happy tears and hug him endlessly in front of his friends. Because I care. And because I don't want to get arrested.

Student of mine, you have made my week.

Quote of the Day

Administrator to student:
"Well no wonder you're lost. You don't have a fourth period anywhere on your schedule."

You've Been Kittled

This year my district is using the Readers/Writers Workshop model in the Language Arts classroom. This curriculum is amazing! I gets kids reading. It gets kids writing. It gets kids engaged. And until I get the hang of it, it is going to be the death of me!

Today I wrote the same essay about fear six different times because part of Writers Workshop is that you write with your students. So, I did ... the same essay ... six times. Maybe there is someone out there who can give me some pointers on this because I feel like a crazy person by eighth period. Is it better to write virtually the same essay so that I can discuss similar points with each class as I model, or think about my sanity and write a different essay each time? Furthermore, do I even have it in me to write six different essays on the same prompt? See? It's exhausting!

Penny Kittle, one of education's Readers/Writers Workshop gurus, says you should write for fifteen minutes every day. Kittle does this. Kittle, God love her because, truthfully, I want to be her best friend (or at least her Facebook friend), has older children. Children who can fix their own breakfast, do their own laundry, give themselves a shower, drive themselves to dance, and turn the TV on without any assistance whatsoever. Bottom line ... I am using my kids as the very good excuse reason I don't always write fifteen minutes a day. However, when your best friend tells you to get it together and write, you listen. Because honestly, your best friend is starring you in the face judging you with that you-are-so-ridiculous look, while Kittle is only mostly judging you from the cover of a book you can just turn face down on the desk.(Seriously, Penny ... Facebook.)

So today, I wrote. A lot. Way more than fifteen minutes. The crazy thing is it felt good. It's been a while sisnce I wrote from a topic, winging it, in front of a group of teens, and I liked it. I also learned that when I told students it wasn't difficult to brainstorm and write, I was lying big time. That is HARD. (If you are reading this and used to be in my class, I would like to formally apologize to you at this moment for lying to you on accident.) And if I expect my students to write and share, I should be able to write and share.

So, since I have now been Kittled, and my class has been Kittled, we will write ... a lot ... excessively. And while I may not get in fifteen minutes every single day, I'll get my time in there where I can. Who knows, maybe one day I could write for a living ... or at least for fun.

... and then it was Monday.

School has started. This year is a mile stone for me: my tenth year teaching. It's a bit surreal to be honest. When did I become one of those veteran teachers who's supposed to know everything? How did I acquire tales-from-the-trenches stories to share? Really ... I am perplexed.
Ten years ago we started school for the first time after 9-11. Our crisis drills had new elements like "we found anthrax in the building" and "a terrorist attack has occurred in this city." Really, it was enough to give me nightmares ... and I was a grown-up! There were other scary moments, like the time the police escorted a student to his locker right next to my room where they pulled out a huge knife he had brought. (I should note here that we had metal detectors, so how the heck did that get in there??) There were the tornado threats where, again, I had to be the calm, cool grown up. There were even a few students who got so angry with me that I thought if any kid is going to stalk me and stab me in my driveway later, it's gonna be this kid.

But amidst all the crazy is the awesome.

There are the whispers of "I love this class" when the students don't know you are listening. There are the talent shows and where you get to see your students do amazing things you didn't know they could do. There are concerts to be proud of, sporting events to cheer at, and awards ceremonies to recognize the amazing kids. There are the cliche moments when a student "gets" something, and the moments when a high-five is not only warranted, but enthusiastically given.

My greatest memory, though, isn't a moment. It is a girl ... we'll call her Lucy. Lucy was in my class my first year at my current school. Additionally, she was my student aide. She worked her tail off for me, both academically in my class and tediously as my aide. To say that Lucy and I spent a lot of time together would be an understatement. We bonded, and at the end of the year, for the first time ever, I cried when a student left me and moved on. Every year she would come and see me to tell me how she was doing, and it was always really well. When she graduated I cried, and when I found out that she was getting married, I cried again. I love this girl ... she is beautiful, smart, and a super hard worker. She will always be special, and I hope that one day I can teach her children, too.

Teaching is hard, but there are the moments that make it all worth it. The scary, the sad ... those things are fuzzy years later, but the moments that made my day are still crystal clear, even ten years later.

Honoring a Teacher

Today, on the 78th anniversary of my grandmother's birth, I would like to honor Jo Ann Goolsby, one of the more amazing teachers I have ever known.

Grandma spent the first part of her life as the CEO of her household. Once her three children were older, she went back to school and earned a masters degree in education. She started and finished her career at Sam Houston High School (Go Texans!), teaching first Junior then Senior English.

Grandma was old school. She didn't smile the first two weeks of school. She didn't "give" passing grades to star athletes (a practice that caused the administration to place several with other teachers). She wrote on a chalkboard ... with actual chalk.

Despite her cold manner at the beginning of the year, Grandma left a lasting effect on her students with her warm personality and caring attitude. There are people alive today who will tell you she was one of the best teachers they ever had. When her Christmas tree died right before the holiday, leaving her with a barren tree and a carpet full of needles, her students bought her a foot-high glass tree with tiny, light-up ornaments. (She plugged that little tree in every year after that, and it sat prominently on a living room table.) She went to as many SHHS football games as she could to support her students. When she passed away, one of her attendants was a student. Every year in May, a group of ex-teachers who worked with her gather to choose a recipient of a scholarship established in her memory. They talk, they laugh, they miss Jo Ann.

Grandma retired in 1991 when she was diagnosed with cancer. Her death less than a year later left a large hole in the lives of many, many people. Even today, as I sit in my own classroom, planning my own lessons, I wish I could call and ask her for her opinion, her feedback, her support. I imagine my journey to find my teaching comfort zone would've been different if I had had her to lean on.

But then again, maybe I always did.