Definitions (SOLSC--Day 2)

A student asked me today how we know when we love someone.  Her question was not in connection with a romantic relationship she was trying to navigate, but instead stemmed from her feelings for her parents.  "I care about them," she said, "And I would never wish anything bad to happen to them, but I am just not sure that's what love is."

And in that moment, I am reminded again about why I am a teacher.  It isn't really to teach English or to share a love of books or even to inspire excellent writing.  She wanted to ask questions and have it be okay that the answers weren't complete because we are always moving closer to the truth but never quite reaching it.  I am a teacher because that young lady needed a space to speak those words and she needed me to care about them and really consider my response.  She wanted to open her heart a bit wider than she usually does and know I could be trusted with what was inside.

And that's what I told her I think love is.

Saying Goodbye

Summer vacation was nothing like I thought it would be and exactly what I needed it to be. At the start, I told my husband all about these great plans I had made, the daily schedule I had devised, and all I wanted to accomplish. I even had a little acronym I wanted to use as a "title" for our summer adventures. And then, I didn't do any of it. No schedule, no accomplishment, no acronym. I have to say, it was lovely. The boys and I spent hour upon hour at the pool -- beginning most of our days there and not getting properly dressed until lunchtime. We didn't rush anywhere, we didn't pack anything, and the only schedule came from the fact that the pool opened at 8, so we knew we had to wait until then to arrive. I learned amazing things about my sons, about how their minds and hearts work. Without the demands of the school year, we were free to talk, listen, and wonder together. I watched them play together, fight together and grow even closer to each other. Of course, they had their daily hourly skirmishes and there were a number of days when I thought the top of my head might actually combust in an outward display of my frustration, but those times were worth it for the moments of magic. Diving into the deep end, sprinting through the sprinklers, pizza picnics in the park and the last hours of the evening cuddled together reading books that made us cry -- we spent those long unplanned, unnamed days in love.

Now it is time for backpacks and notebooks. Lesson plans and lunchbags. I'm glad. Too much time away makes me antsy; relaxation begins to feel like laziness. I like thinking and planning and doing. But. We are two weeks into our school year, the boys and me both, and while we are adjusting well, I think we are all having a more difficult time time saying goodbye to summer this year. Or maybe, we are having a hard time saying goodbye to each other.

Last Day of School

On my last day of teaching this school year (remarkably it has been almost two weeks since then!) I received a number of kind, sincere letters from my students.  As I read them, I cried.  And then I wrote:


I'm supposed to be grading papers.  I am supposed to be finalizing grades.  I am supposed to be cleaning my classroom and packing things away for the summer.  Instead, I had to sit down and write.  I had to sit down and share with somebody, anybody, everybody, how incredibly powerful the teaching experience is. 


My classroom is quiet, for what feels like the first time this year, and I have been sitting and reading thank you letters from students.  And when the tears started falling, I knew I had to capture this feeling.


The work I do is the good work. It is work that sometimes feels like not working at all because it is so natural.  It is simply one person guiding another person for a short time as they journey through life.  It is beckoning the child over, holding the hand, sharing anecdotes and wisdom and warnings and praise.And then it is listening.  To what they say, to what they don't. To the music they don't always know their words produce.


And other days it is the work of mules and oxen. It is the harvest.  It is pushing from behind, pulling from the front, leading by example and digging in my heels.  I try on those days not to let the strain show.  I try to still hold the hands, listen and encourage.  Not only for them, but for me.




I would be lying if I said I do it all for them.  I want such wonderful lives for them; I want them to be reflective and kind, thoughtful and giving, bright and resourceful.  But, I also do it for me.  I do it because it brings me unspeakable joy.


 So, today, as I read the most poignant words from the special students I have been blessed to call mine, I feel undeserving.  How could they be so sweet and so appreciative and so affected by someone who is just doing what brings her joy?

I will definitely enjoy my summer, a little more sleep and lots more time with my boys and my husband.  But I also love summer because it gives me more time for thinking and reflecting and filling my head and heart back up so I have even more to give when school begins again in August.   Can't wait!

They're Writing Today

I love the booming silence of students deep in thought.  My classroom is usually a place of witty conversation, lively laughter, and healthy debate; occasionally we even have musical accompaniment.   But today, the room is thickly hushed as the students write.  Their heads bent over their papers, they are like umbrellas above their essays.  One hand expertly holds the sheets still while the other fills the page with words.  Every so often, the writers pause, raise their heads, and look around the room. They squint, yawn, stretch --  then refocus on the page in front of them. Quiet and slow, their pens and pencils leak their thoughts onto the page. Quiet and slow.  I love the noise of their learning.

A Thicket and Bramble Wilderness

I promised new stuff soon and here it is!  Soon, right?  Funny thing is, the something new is actually nothing new here, but something new somewhere else. That sounded a bit confusing; let me explain:  I have been maintaining a class blog for about three years now -- a place to list assignments, describe what we did in class in case kids were absent, store handouts, provide links to helpful resources, etc.  Recently, however, my school district has adopted School Loop, a communications system which will meet all of the needs I have for a class site.  Therefore, my previous class site (MrsElliott.net) was days away from becoming irrelevant and unnecessary, which caused me some pangs of sadness. Grief, perhaps?  But then, I noticed a post on The EC Ning from a teacher interested in collaborating with other teachers to create a group blog entitled 101 English Blogs.  Intrigued, I sent the founder an email.  I wasn't sure that More Than I Should Bear was really an "English blog" since I cover all sorts of topics besides teaching.  So, I decided that my contribution to 101 English Blogs could be a blog strictly about my teaching practice, and now that the mrselliott.net space is available, I created my new blog there with a new title, "A Thicket and Bramble Wilderness".  The new blog (as if I can even keep up with this one!) will feature specific lessons, activities, assignments and experiences from my classroom.  I am excited about this new endeavor and hope it challenges me and strengthens me just as More Than I Should Bear has.  Wish me luck!

"The World Depends On Saying"

Whether it is one little word or an entire speech, the power of language continues to move me.

Last week, I shared the One Little Word concept with my students and asked them to choose words for themselves.  A difficult task for some, but later in the week when I had students create "rationale cards" depicting their words and explaining why they had been chosen, I was reassured that this was a valuable exercise.  Most of them were quite conscientious and sincere as they shared the motivations and hopes that guided their selections.  Words like balance, passion, trust, horizons, courage and explore revealed the vision they have of their 2011, the year they graduate high school and begin to live the lives they have dreamed. Even my principal has joined in the fun.  He wrote about making his OLW choice on his blog and in doing so communicates to my students that words are important, they have power in our lives.  Plus, his kind words for me always give me the courage to keep learning and growing.

The power of language is not always demonstrated through positive circumstances, though. 

The safety of the world depends on your saying ‘no’ to inhumane ideas. Standing up for one’s own integrity makes you no friends. It is costly. Yet defiance of the mob, in the service of that which is right, is one of the highest expressions of courage I know. -- Gabrielle Giffords

These words were spoken by Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords in her 2009 commencement address to her alma mater (and mine), Scripps College.  I shared them with many of my students on Monday morning following the tragic shooting in Arizona.  What struck me, in addition to the truth of her statement, was that she spoke these words without knowing that in less than a year and a half, her life would be defined by them.  From the Scripps webpage to the news coverage to Twitter, these are the words we keep coming back to for a sense of who Ms. Giffords is. And in this precarious time, as Gabby fights to heal, and the hearts of those who lost loved ones break and begin to heal as well, words continue to be important.  On the Scripps College website, a Letters for Gabby page has been established so that people can send their thoughts to her in a forum that inevitably allows for us all to be encouraged. 


I try to push my students to harness the power of language to represent the truth of who they are.  We need to be careful about the words we choose, but we also need to be willing to put ourselves into words, to communicate with honesty the truth of who we are.  When we do this, we impact others -- we support, we inspire, we matter.



Though the situation is tragic, Gabrielle Giffords's words of conviction have already become woven into the fabric of our country's history.  The One Little Words my students and I have chosen have already become woven into the fabric of our personal histories. Language does that; it lives in us.  It can move an entire nation and a single heart.  Words can keep a woman breathing.  I know.

A Me of Multiple Identities

The last two months have been absolutely crazy.  It began with a jam-packed November which included my first trip to the National Writing Project's Annual Meeting, held this year in Orlando and continued through Thanksgiving, the blur that was early December and finally the merriment and mayhem of Christmas and Winter Break.

I've decorated; shopped; wrapped; baked (to the detriment of my family); nurtured sick children, a sick husband, and a sick self; assessed students on a semester's worth of work; and spent way too much time on my new phone (LOVE that I can play Words with Friends anytime, anywhere).  But through the cloud of all this activity and chaos, my mind keeps returning to an idea I happened upon while in one of my sessions at the NWP Annual Meeting.  The session focused on the new book, Because Digital Writing Matters and the concept that struck me was that of multiple identities and how students today need guidance and instruction in terms of how those identities are formed and conveyed.  In the past, we had our various roles -- mother, teacher, church-goer, poet, friend, wife, and so on -- but to some degree we could control which of those identities others had access to and how each of these identities was presented.  Today, those multiple identities bump up on each other, overlap each other, become almost indistinguishable at times.  When I write a blog, its public nature means that my mom can read it, my brother, my husband, my pastor, my student, my student's mother, my aunt, my principal, my long-lost boyfriend from kindergarten -- and strangers by the thousands (or the dozens anyway!).  How do I acknowledge and respect all of these pieces of myself and still be transparent and sincere in what I share here?  When my audience is so broad, yet so potentially personal, how do I share my heart without crossing the line?

I don't have a clear answer, but I believe the best way to discover how to balance these multiple identities is to face the challenge they present as directly as I can.  I need to keep writing.  I need to keep asking myself how these readers of many sorts might respond to what I share, but I also need to remember that ultimately, I have to honor all of who I am.  I tell you, it certainly provides motivation to be a person of worth and integrity.  When each identity has its own space and expectations, we can rationalize the inconsistency of our attitudes or behaviors. When all of our identities are exposed at once, hypocrisies and weaknesses are much easier to see.

The multiple identities of Lucas: good, bad...you know the rest!

The Big Idea in my AP English Literature class this year is "Somebody Worth Being" and while I certainly intend for my students to grow in their reading and writing skills over the course of the year, I believe the most important learning will be in relation to that concept.  How do we become people of value and substance? Maybe it begins with all the parts of who we are making peace with each other so that we can approach the world with confidence and courage.  Writing is the way I make that peace.  How do you make yours?

Good Grief, Not Grades!

I hate grades.  Even before my teaching career began, I had an aversion to grades.  When I applied to colleges, my first choice was Reed College in Portland, OR, a decision largely influenced by their practice of not distributing grades to students, but instead, a narrative of the strengths and weaknesses demonstrated regarding the expected learning of the course.  This type of personal feedback attracted me as a student; even though my grades had always been high (maybe because they had always been high), I felt that a single letter was not an accurate depiction of the level of my learning.

Now, on the other side of the red pen, I have even more difficulty reconciling the grading process.  For the last thirteen years, each grading cycle has produced anxiety in me.  Each time, I have wrestled with whether or not I am a fair grader, if the grade I assign to a student is the most honest evaluation, if there was any way I might be wrong and if so, how would that mistake impact the student's life.  Assigning each piece of paper a point value and then equating the amassing of points to a particular letter grade has never felt right to me.  It is simply how my grades had always been determined as a student and how I was expected to determine grades for my own students.  It was unquestioned, accepted, even made a certain type of sense, but what seemed to be missing was a real sense of what the student actually knew.

But this week, things have changed.  This week determining quarter grades has been a pleasure. In fact, it has been more than a pleasure.  The grading practice I am implementing allows me to have a conversation with my students about their growth toward the learning goals of the course.  In the course evaluations I had my students complete this week, one actually included the comment: "I would like even more opportunities to show my progress toward our course standards."  Doesn't that blow you away?  A students asking for more work  -- and not extra credit or to get more points, but to show how he is progressing as a learner in the class. 

This summer, I worked with many other teachers from my district on developing learning scales on the essential standards for our courses.  Our district school reform is being guided by Robert Marzano, both his research and his actual physical self.  I spent much of my poolside reading time annotating Marzano's books, rethinking my teaching and reorganizing my assessment practices.  Tossing out a points-based, percentage-producing grading system was liberating and exciting, but I still worried about how things would come together once grades had to be reported.

I won't go so far as to claim every student is ecstatic about this or that all of them even fully grasp how the new grading practices work, but honestly, the transition has been smoother than I ever could have imagined.  Now, the students' grades are based on what specific skills and knowledge they have demonstrated.  Points and percentages really have nothing to with it.  As each student conferenced with me, we agreed on their level of proficiency on eight standards for the quarter.  Then we determined an overall score for three categories (Reading, Writing and Academic Skills) and put those together to ascertain the level of proficiency in the course as a whole at this time. 

Basically, what I really feel this all comes down to is that I have finally found a way to evaluate my students that treats them with respect -- as if they are valuable and important regardless of what the grade they earn happens to be.  I hope as each of them sat with me and we talked about their progress, that they felt like they mattered.  Because they do.

Tell Me What You Want

My husband and I have been married for almost 12 years.  We are starting to figure each other out.  Just now.  Recently, we had a very long, emotional "discussion" at 1:00 in the morning -- when most of our relationship breakthroughs occur.  I will spare you the details and simply say that in the end, I realized that if I want my husband to be the husband I need, I need to tell him what that means.  This is not to say that he has never been the husband I need.  In fact, with as little direction as I have given, he has done an amazing job of figuring it out.  But ultimately, he can only do so much when it comes to reading my mind, and even more difficult, my heart.

As hard as it was, though, for me to tell him exactly what I need from him in our relationship, the impact it has had on us has been tremendous.  Now, for some, being as direct with someone about what you want or need is not a challenge.  I have always struggled with it, though, because I feared hurting him.  I worried that sharing what I needed would make him feel judged or betrayed.  What I had to realize was that what I saw as protecting him was actually keeping him from growing.  It was like giving a plant water and food, but hiding it from the sun.  When we do not tell people what we want, we diminish their capacity to meet those expectations.

With my parenting, I have had far less trouble with this.  In fact, I work quite hard at not just telling my children what I need them to do, but modeling for them the appropriate responses and requiring them to practice.  For example, if one of the boys demands, "Get me some milk!" I do not say, "Please ask more nicely next time," have them agree and then proceed to get the milk.  Instead, I try to say, "That was not a nice way to ask for milk.  Instead, you should say, 'Mom, could you get me more milk, please?' Now, let me hear you say that." This does not always translate into perfect behavior (what an understatement!) but I am confident that the boys are  clear about my expectations and because of that, the likelihood of them responding and interacting in appropriate ways is increased.

In the classroom, I have been somewhere between these two ends of the spectrum.  I believe my students always sense the expectations that I have for them, but I do not think I have been as conscientious as I need to be in this area.  Over the summer, I read a number of books by Dr. Marzano.  While much of what I read matched up neatly with my philosophies and practices, I realized that in terms of clarity and focus in terms of what I need my students to learn, I had some growing to do.  Not only do I think my students in the past have been fuzzy about exactly what they were expected to know, I was fuzzy, too.  I had a sense of what I wanted them to be able to do, but truly showing them how to get there was a leap I wanted them to make without the kind of direct instruction they needed to do so. 

Recently, we have been working with the concept of archetypes and their influence on literature.  Giving students a list of common archetypes is useful and all, but the skill I expect is that they can analyze the influence archetypal characters, images, and motifs have on a work of literature.  That step, from recognition to analysis, is one I have asked my students to make in the past without ever actually showing them how.  Honestly, the process is so natural for me, I had to slow down, and really think about what I do to move from one to the other.  This sharpened my ability to transfer this knowledge to my students and, in the end, resulted in their success.

Telling the people in our lives what we want or what we need is not selfish or hurtful if we are doing so to help them grow and if we do so with a heart and spirit of kindness, encouragement and love.  I believe this is happening with my children, with my students and with my husband (You can read his blog about our recent date to hear more!). Success is sunshine to their flowering confidence.  And if it makes me happier, too -- even better!


 

On Endurance

Behold, we count them happy which endure (James 5:11).


On the first day of school, I began my AP English Literature class with a poem, “The Seven of Pentacles” by Marge Piercy. As I read the poem aloud again and again – eight times over the course of the day, in fact -- the line that resonated with me was “Live a life you can endure.” Teaching seniors is a complex joy. I feel the pressure of preparing their minds and hearts for a world beyond the gates of high school, but I also experience the excitement and pride as they move confidently into this next stage of their lives. As we discussed the poem, I came back to the word endure. Often, the connotation of this word is negative, implying mild suffering or unwilling tolerance. However, endure can also mean allow or continue. Live a life you can allow. Live a life you can continue.

My son, Michael, has started third grade and getting back into the routine of homework and reading calendars and spelling tests has proved difficult. He tends to rush, make mistakes, become agitated and give up easily. I do not want homework time to become a nightly battle, but I believe allowing him to submit to his laziness, love of video games and the lure of television will not only weaken his academic skills, but his work ethic and intrinsic motivation as well. I have been encouraging him to go beyond what is easy, to be conscientious and to find pleasure in doing well on an assigned task.

Another poem we will read soon in AP Lit is also by Marge Piercy, “To Be of Use,” in which she proclaims that all people yearn for “work that is real.” That is what I want to unearth in my son, in my students and in myself – a desire for work. I have been telling my students that whatever comes quickly is too easy; they need to push themselves to read more deeply, think more creatively, question more voraciously. The literature we study is so incredibly rich that we could never exhaust its supply of insights, connections and revelations.

As a teacher, each year I begin with a renewed commitment to refining my practice, focusing my instruction, sharpening my assessment, sowing and reaping in a carefully planned manner, while relishing the miracle of growth. And I want to balance this deep commitment to my students and my craft with the loving and nurturing of my family, certainly the work that is most real. At school, 146 hearts and minds; at home, four, but the scales lean heavily in their favor. Often, this balancing is the thing I consider the hardest work of all. But it is the best work, too. It is certainly a life I can allow, a life I can continue, a life I can endure.

 

It Takes Time...Part II

I often tell people being a teacher is my calling.  From my first days in kindergarten with Mrs. Love, deep in my five-year-old heart, I knew I was home.

Luckily, my school days were blessed with wonderful teachers, some of whom I remember with more clarity than others, but all of whom shaped me into the person and teacher I am today.  From Mrs. McEnerney-Ogle in 3rd and 4th grade, who talked to me in an adult voice and made me feel smart; to Mr. Fried, who I think I may have been smarter than, but who still wowed me when he taught me karate and revealed he had once been Olivia Newton-John's bodyguard; to Senora Rodriguez who told us hilarious stories of her hijinx in Cuba and made Spanish not so scary -- my education was filled with teachers I learned from, leaned on and loved.

Even so, becoming the teacher I wanted to be did not happen as soon as I walked into a classroom. Even now as I begin thinking about the upcoming school year, I struggle with what image of myself I want to project and how I can teach the students in a way that makes a positive impact.

Over the last few months, I have been fiddling quite a bit with this blog and mostly that fiddling has been concerned with how the blog looks.  I have tried template after template, background after background.  From polka dots to dandelions, modern lines to shabby chic, I made my eyes ache from the hours of trying on hundreds of looks.  I wanted something that was "my style."  The problem is, I'm not sure if I have a style.

When I was a freshman in high school, I decided to run for student government.  I had not made cheerleading for the third year in a row and finally figured out that cheerleading was not my destiny.  Sometimes, I am a slow learner.  So, I thought maybe student government was a place for me. The student government advisor was a pixie of a woman.  She was tiny, but commanded the respect of this energetic group.  And she was a woman with style.  When she was my English teacher the next year, I remember sitting in the front row and marveling at how her tights, heels, skirt and scarf were each a different shade of olive, yet because of their textures and designs, they came together beautifully.  At the time, I was lucky if I left the house looking more like a teenage girl than a circus performer. Mrs. Palicki had style; I was a mess.  Maybe a mess with potential, but still a mess.

There are still days when I feel that way, when I feel like my life is a haphazardly tossed together ensemble that reveals how not together I am.  Sometimes I even feel that way in the classroom.  Is the lesson prepared enough?  Have I explained the objective clearly? Does anyone in the classroom actually see the purpose of what we're doing? And then I think back to those teachers who impacted me.  I didn't learn from Mrs. Palicki because her outfit was so pulled together or because her lessons were meticulously prepared; I learned from her because she gave me new eyes through which to view the world.

Seth Godin recently published a post about two kinds of schooling. He explains, " Type 1. You can take a class where you learn technique, facts and procedures. Type 2. You can take a class where you learn to see, learn to lead and learn to solve interesting problems." Type 2 is where I want to be --as a teacher and in my own life -- and it doesn't take coordinated shoes and accessories to get me there.  Sometimes that kind of teaching is messy, but it is also spontaneous, inspiring and eternal.


It is okay with me if my classroom does not always run with the efficiency and organization of a machine, and it is okay with me if I have to change around my blog background and header to appease my ever-changing vision of myself and my writing.  And it is even okay if my wardrobe is more likely to be featured on What Not to Wear than InStyle.  To be willing to lead, willing to try to solve problems, willing to see in ways I haven't before -- that is to be brave.  And as Thackeray argued, "Bravery never goes out of fashion. "

 

Swimming Lessons & I'm the One Who's Learning

For the boys, summer's greatest pleasure is time in the pool.  Splashing and screaming, they spend hours in the water.  Michael learned to swim two years ago when two of my students (sweet, talented young men!) were willing to give him lessons.  After only three lessons, he was ready to take on the deep end.  This summer, he took his first jumps off of a diving board, and is thrilled at his new cannonballing skills. With just a little guidance, plenty of encouragement and a solid confidence in his abilities, Michael has made steady progress and I expect that progress to continue.

Lucas is my daredevil.  Last summer, he would jump from the side of the pool into the water without holding on to me.  He loved going under and trusted that I would be there to scoop him up and lift him to the surface.  This year he has been a bit more cautious, but has progressed to dunking himself under the water and jumping into the pool in areas where he can reach the bottom.  He wants to keep up with the older boys, so he is willing to try anything once and I am hoping to have him doing some independent swimming by the end of the summer.  For Lucas, youthful exuberance has cooled a degree or two, but with his brothers and other kids having so much fun around him, he is willing to trust me and challenge himself each time we are in the pool.

Nicholas has had the opposite experience.  He loves the water and being in the pool, but an incident two years ago -- he went a few steps too far in a friend's pool and ended up going under for a moment until I "rescued" him -- had left him very reluctant.  In fact, he has been terrified of learning to swim ever since.  All summer I have been trying to encourage him to take small steps -- put his face in the water, jump into the shallow end of the pool, use a kickboard to get across the pool - to almost no avail.  His fears were so great that he he was completely illogical about the risks associated with the tasks I was asking him to complete.  He wanted to be in the pool, but his fear has kept him from fully engaging in the experience and so his growth has been minimal.

Watching my boys in the pool this summer has made me think about the students in my classroom.  They are all in the pool, but how is each one feeling about the challenges that lie ahead?  Who needs some basic guidance and support and will then be confident enough to push himself further with expectations of success?  Who is trusting and willing to grow, but really just wants to be able to keep up with the other guys? And who has had some experience in the past that may be keeping him from trusting and trying?

On Independence Day, Nicholas had a breakthrough.  In the same pool he had the scare in which caused his fears of swimming, he began going under the water on his own and using a float to practice his swimming kicks.  The pride on his face made my heart shoot skyward and nearly explode.  All of my cajoling, my promises of keeping him safe, my bribery tactics had not worked. What he needed was time to find the right moment. He told me later that being in a pool with deeper water gave him room to try something new.  Also, he said that he wanted to see how happy I would be when he accomplished  these new skills.

Even though my students are in the pool, they are certainly not all having the same feelings about being there, even if they seem to be enjoying themselves.  I have to be what each of them requires for their growth to occur.  I need to be trustworthy and encouraging.  I need to give guidance to those who are ready and space to try new things to those who need it. Most importantly, I need to be patient, I need to believe in all of them and I need to show sincere joy in their accomplishments. Yes, this is challenging and exhausting, but boy the fireworks that go off when a student experiences real learning!!  Summer's greatest pleasure for my sons has prepared for some of my greatest pleasure as a teacher -- I am sure of it!

  

The Affliction Which Shall Not Be Named

Graduation was last night.  I was honored to sit on the field as a member of the Teachers Honor Court. My heart felt young seeing the relieved, celebratory smiles of all our new alums up close.  As I hugged and photographed and applauded, what I must have said a hundred times was "Enjoy the moment!" I wanted them to breathe graduation, to fill their lungs with the sweetness and poignancy of the hour.  Sometimes, I wish I would live the words I speak.  Even though the ink on the diplomas isn't even dry, I am already beginning to plan for next year.  To tell the truth, once fourth quarter makes her debut, my mind begins to imagine the coming school year.  I suppose it is part of being a reflective person , teaching a reflective discipline, in a career which encourages continuous reflection  -- I am never content to let one school year close before I begin thinking about what I could have done better, what could be the difference between good and amazing.

The first thing I am doing differently next year is banning a particular word from being said in my presence.  Now, I know that I am constantly lauding the power of language and encouraging students to develop their own voices and barring students from a particular word might be in opposition to my objectives, but in this case, it must be done. Actually, I hope to be more effective in achieving my objectives through the complete erasure of this word from my students' vocabularies.

The word? Senioritis.  Even typing it out makes me cringe.

I heard this word so many times this year that as May approached, each time someone uttered it, the irritation was like tiny prickly bugs crawling beneath my skin.  "I'm behind in my work -- you know, senioritis."  "I can't seem to focus -- it is a bad case of senioritis!"  "Don't teachers realize that we have senioritis and that makes studying nearly impossible?"  "I have had senioritis all year and that's why my grades are so bad."  It was epidemic -- spreading like hot gossip and attacking the innocent, leaving students helpless and unable to defend themselves.  Once senioritis struck, any deficiency was now a symptom of the disease -- from bad attitudes and uncontrollable drowsiness, to unfollowed directions and subpar assignments -- and any student infected was relinquished -- in his own mind, at least -- of any responsibility for his performance.  Blame it on the senioritis.

The problem is this is like blaming a forest fire on Bigfoot -- you cannot blame what doesn't actually exist.

Senioritis is a myth. Granted, it is one of grand proportions in high schools today, but nonetheless, it is a myth.  I, for one (and I am sure I'll get an Amen! from some other senior teachers out there) am completely finished with it.  When a student blames his irresponsible actions or lackluster abilities on senioritis, he appears to be taking responsibility, but in fact is abdicating blame to this relentless mythical syndrome.  And by doing so, he perpetuates the myth, thus, allowing other students to adopt the same stance -- We can't!  We have senioritis!


Now, if this were some silly, inconsequential, rite of passage sort of situation, I would not have decided to ban the word from my classroom next year.  But honestly, I think this situation is hurting our students and allowing that to happen in my own classroom is something I simply will not tolerate anymore. Though I did not lower my standards with the seniors who came before, allowing them to engage in this thinking without challenging it establishes my own culpability.  My hope is to be a better teacher -- this is always my hope -- and I would not be satisfied with myself if my reflections on this issue did not lead to some modification in my behavior. So, banned it is.  And to let it escape one's lips in my presence will result in immediate consequences.  (What they are yet, I am not quite sure, but rest assured, there will be consequences!)

In all seriousness, students need to take responsibility for their choices and teachers need to keep students accountable for the choices they make.  When a student laments a low grade, but then rationalizes her situation by believing it was all a result of senioritis, she has taken her own power away and becomes tempted by other evils, cheating being a primary example of such.  When she suggest her problems stem from senioritis, she has said, I am a victim of something that is a figment of our collective imagination; I am the prey of a predator which does not exist.

More than any other single concept that I hope to teach to my students, the concept I believe is paramount is  self-efficacy.  And senioritis, or any other condition which allows us to push the blame onto something other than ourselves, erodes that self-efficacy and, instead, reinforces the notion that we are all weak and susceptible, so the pursuit of purpose and fulfillment is merely a wish on a dying star.

Senioritis does not need a cure, because it is not real.  By removing it from my students' vocabularies, at least for the hour a day they are with me, I am asking them to live with integrity.  That, although more rare than I would like, is something real.

Seinfeld, Facebook and a Self Divided

George Costanza could never be on Facebook.  One of my favorite moments with George on Seinfeld is when he talks about how he cannot have the George he is with his fiance -- Relationship George -- come into contact with the George he is with Jerry and friends -- Independent George. "A George divided against himself," he proclaims, "cannot stand!" To have his worlds collide would cause a catastrophic explosion in George's estimation, killing Independent George.

One of my relatives is feeling the same way about Facebook.  She has decided to remove herself from it because of her discomfort with the access she has to people's lives.  Being only a few clicks away from knowing specific details about the lives of perfect strangers is disconcerting to her.  Plus, she is not thrilled about her work "friends" mingling with her church "friends" -- these are spheres of her life she'd rather keep separate. This is one of many reasons why I probably will never see my mom on Facebook.  The thought of acquaintances from thirty years ago traipsing through her page and seeing pictures of her and her family turns her stomach. Although the benefits are certainly there, she would not want to sacrifice her privacy for them. I respect these attitudes and understand how this change in how people interact with one another can be disturbing for those who have been able to experience privacy through most of their days.

Even though some people might turn away from social networking, with Facebook boasting millions of members, it is quite likely that each of us will eventually face these issues and have to find some kind of harmony among the spheres of our lives.  Easy access and the addictive fascination with social networking make separating these various spheres of our lives very difficult. Is this going to result in more authenticity?  We are losing the divide between public and private; will we be left with truth?

Somehow, I doubt it.  In fact, the ease with which we can create an online persona and the lure of being something online that we are not in real life may prove to be too strong.  Having lived in a world without status updates and profile pics, I am able to see how the way we present ourselves to the world has changed with technology.  My students, however, have never existed in a world without a digital thread.  Because of this, I believe my students will have an even more difficult time discovering their unique voices and sense of self. By trying to capture who they are in an "About Me" page and not having space to privately explore their identities, their vision of who they are must experience levels of distortion more profound than what adolescents have experienced in the past. For me, this is even more support for why I need to think carefully about how I interact with my students both in the real world and in the online universe. 

As a teacher, I have always felt the tug-of-war between home life and school life. How much of my personal self do I share with those whom I teach?  On an educator's list-serve I subscribe to, a recent hot topic has been teachers who are reprimanded, suspended or even fired for controversial postings to social networks.These are situations where the teacher is engaged in legal, but what some feel is questionable activity, such as drinking with friends or hugging a stripper. Some feel consequences are necessary, while others believe that what a teacher does on her private time is her own business as long as it is legal.  Should teachers be held to a standard that is different than what those in other professions may have?  Does being a teacher have to play a role in how I behave and define myself in my private life?  Does a private life actually exist anymore?

Ultimately for me, the question becomes, what message am I sending to my students with my behavior? What choices am I making and what values do those choices represent? I am careful about what I write on Facebook, what pictures are posted and what cyber-trail I am leaving. I do not live my life in fear of what others may find, but instead try to be conscious of the online image I am crafting of myself and ensuring that it is in harmony with the person I strive to be in the real world.  When 120 teenagers look to the front of a classroom each day and see me, I want them to find more than someone who knows how to write a compound sentence; I want them to see someone who models for them a way to live.

I am not Teacher Stephanie and Independent Stephanie, selves divided who cannot co-exit.  I am just Stephanie, trying to live without fear of colliding with myself, trying to live a life of truth.

I Am the Tree

I have accepted that I am the tree. 

When I was young, I thought I was the bird.  Don't we all?  I imagined myself on the opposite coast, a fashion designer in New York.  Or in another country, a novelist in London.  Even once I was certain my life was called to teaching, I daydreamed myself in Portland classrooms, Austin classrooms, Atlanta classrooms. I thought to be educated and to be grown up was to fly to another place and begin anew, an identity untethered by my past.

But that was not to be.  So here I am, a girl who loved school who is now in school every day.  A girl raising her family in the same city that raised her.  At times, that has made me discontent.  I have wondered -- why didn't I go?  Who would I be if I had?  Is it too late?  I tend to envy wings the most as graduation nears each June.  My students, whom I love and of whom I am incredibly proud, tend to be birds.  And graduation signals that they are just about to take flight. Often, a piece of me wants to go with them.  Their lives are full of such potential, such possibility, so much left to be written. 

As a teacher, I sometimes feel like I am standing still while the world zooms past me.Yes, in the 54 minutes I have each group of students in my class, we do some inspired work -- sophisticated writing, provocative reading, thoughtful discussion -- but once the bell rings, they are up and out the door, on to the next subject, the next teacher, the next assignment.  And once those caps are tossed into the air, they are up and on their way again.  But not me.  I remain. Out of comfort or compulsion?  I am not always sure.

This week, my students and I have been reading Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles, focusing particularly on the role that time and place play in Tess's life.  Also, we read a blog post by Jim Burke in which he discusses the sequoia redwoods and their ability to shift themselves into odd shapes in order to find the light they need to survive and thrive.  We talked about Tess and whether the concept of thriving is even one she would be able to understand given the setting of the novel.  And then I had to ask myself the question, what light am I seeking in order to thrive?

When I began teaching, I had an article published in California English titled, "It's a Pirate's Life for Me" which discussed why I loved teaching and how the search for treasure and the unpredictable, wild seas kept me engaged.  I believe if I were to rewrite that article now, I would have to use a different extended metaphor. I am not on a journey in the classroom.  I am not seeking a buried chest of jewels; I am reaching for what is illuminating and holy.  I am grounded here -- in a discipline, in a school, in a community.  My roots run deeply into a soil which has nourished and supported me. 

 It was then that I realized, I am the tree.  I am where all those little birds break free from the confines of their shells and chirp from their  nests.  I thrive by being a place for others to tuck themselves away for a few months, but also a place providing them with a perch and a view.  As they grow, they become able to stand on my branches, wings at the ready, and I can feel their tiny toes gripping me anxiously.  Tentatively, they let go, some more capable than others.  After a few seconds, they drop back into my branches to rest and then try again.  Once they have mastered the art of flying, I know I will likely not see them until the seasons have turned, but I hope for them to return, if only to light upon a branch and tell me about the wonders of the world they have seen.  Each time they come to me, I will be here. Another ring of circumference may be marking my insides, but my arms will be another foot closer to the sun.

We learn not only by going, but also by staying and stretching ourselves toward new understanding.  By doing this, we are strengthened and able to provide shelter to those who need it while they ready themselves for flight.

While I may have known this intellectually, I am finally learning with my heart that we each have our own purpose.  The birds need the trees.  Plus, aren't the redwoods one of the seven wonders of North America?  I'll take that.

Puddle Jumping

After a week of being quickly herded from the safety of one dry building to another due to the rain, the boys were ready to stretch their legs and use their outside voices on Saturday morning.  We trekked across the street to the school playground with our gear -- a football, a baseball, a mitt, a skateboard and scooter.  But the truth is, we didn't need to bring a thing.  Scattered across the blacktop were perfect puddles begging the boys to indulge.

All week they had been told, and rightly so, "Stay out of the puddles!"  Chad has to make three trips a day to the school for drop-offs and pick-ups and trying to do that in the persistent rain with an almost-three-year-old in tow is not a challenge that needs escalation.  I echoed his position when I first saw Lucas headed for the puddles.  As parents we are often told of the great dangers in mixed messages.  If Dad says no, Mom must say no, too, to avoid decreasing Daddy's authority.  If a TV show is inappropriate to watch on Monday, it is inappropriate on Tuesday; otherwise, the expectations for our children are unclear.  If we say do not lie, then we cannot lie in front of our children and still expect them to adhere to our rules.   But this time, I broke the rules.  And really, I don't feel too badly about it.

In my classroom, I notice that one of the struggles students often have is knowing when they can break the rules.  I don't mean the "No gum in class" kind of rules; I mean the "Sentences do not begin with because" kind of rules.  I find that my students have been told so many times by so many people what they need to write, read, solve and produce, that eventually they became almost incapable of functioning without a mandate to do so. Writing assignments are the worst for producing this sort of anxiety in them.  How long should it be?  Can we use the word I?  Where does the thesis need to go?  How many examples should I give?  They often believe life would be so much easier if I provided a neat checklist that they could mark off as they went:  Thesis? Check!  500 words? Check? Eleven sentences in each paragraph? Check!

But real writing, and real life, does not always work that way.  One of the signs of a mature writer is knowing when certain practices are appropriate and when they are not.  Profanity may be acceptable, and even demanded, when crafting a short story featuring seedy characters.  It, most likely, is not as acceptable when writing a proposal for your employer.  One of the qualities of a mature human being is the ability to consider the possible impact of a particular action and then to determine whether or not the action is appropriate, necessary or permissible.

I want my students to go into the world, not hemmed in by rules and regulations, but confident in their own sense of discernment and determined values.  I want them to write with the same confidence, knowledgeable enough about writing conventions, audience, purpose and voice to be able to choose when to follow the "rules" and when to create their own.

I want the same for my sons.  Puddle jumping is not an absolutely negative activity.  In fact, it is one of those childhood pleasures most adults wish they had partaken in more often.  No, on the way to pick up your brother is not a good time to soak your feet and splash everything within three feet of you, including your daddy.  But a sunny, after-the-storm Saturday filled with nothing but time to waste -- perfect!

Process Over Product

When somebody asks me what I teach, sometimes I want to say, "People."  I know the question is usually referring to the subject matter or curriculum -- "Honors English I" or Romeo & Juliet are the expected responses.  I wonder if this is because in the day-to-day world of teaching we focus heavily on product, and the product that first comes to mind is not always the student.  We create lesson plans, then collect assignments; we tally points and track test scores, ultimately determining a final grade to print on a report card.   Ironically, we then get frustrated when our students become point-mongers and grade-grubbers rather than valuing their educational experience for how it develops them as human beings.

In AP English Literature this semester, I have been emphasizing process over product.  (Alabama football has been a daily topic of conversation in my home since August, so Coach Saban's coaching philosophy has obviously influenced me!)  I know that a grading system is necessary and that test scores aren't going to decrease in significance anytime soon, but can't we work toward success in those areas without making the class entirely consumed with them?

S. walked into class on Friday and said to me with sincerity, "I just have to say thank you for yesterday's class (when we had discussed some "great questions" raised in literature).  We never get the chance to contemplate some of these big ideas and it was nice to have some time to think and discuss issues that are at the center of our human lives."  I love teenagers, but more often than not, their worlds revolve around themselves.  I tell them this is natural and that they will grow out of it (I hope!).  So, when a student takes the time to thank a teacher for a day's activities which  revolved around thinking really hard about unanswerable questions, I had to take notice.  What made the impact?  Discussion is not new in my classroom. Sharing ideas in small group also occurs frequently.  So what was it that made a student actually demonstrate gratitude for time spent in my class?  And she was not the only enthusiastic one.  As I had traveled the room the day before and eavesdropped, I heard discussion after discussion that was questioning, insightful and, best of all, personally meaningful for the students.

I believe what has made the difference is changing our focus from the product to the process.  I am asking them to care about how they are learning and how they are thinking, asking them to be the one who takes an idea to the next level, to be the one who raises the inspiring question or makes the most insightful connection.  The focus has shifted from students completing assignment after assignment for me to students thinking for themselves. Students are not being assigned a particular set of chapters for reading; instead, they are reading at their own pace.  Students are in discussion groups with other students who are at the same place in the novel that they are -- no penalty or punishment for not being as far along as someone else.  Students are being asked to respond, react, reflect to their reading in authentic ways that make sense for them as individuals -- through charts or art or poetry.  I can see that when the students believe that what they think has value, they are willing to share, and they are willing to consider the ways that others think.  This becomes an environment rich for teaching -- minds open, hearts willing, souls stirred, curiosity peaked. 


I know not every day will be one of intellectual euphoria.  I know that there are still students in the class who are just putting in their time.  My optimism does not blind me to the realities of teaching 17-year-olds in a public school. However, I still believe a shift, however small, has occurred.  In the small world of C28, we are drifting away from amassing points in a gradebook; the points we are concerned with are the ones made in the texts we read, the discussions we have and the writings we craft. And through this focus on process, the product will be what we desire -- perhaps a fine grade in the course or a perceptive, engaging essay -- or, even better, a fine, perceptive, engaging person.

Did You Get That On Film?

My mom called yesterday and told me that while re-storing her Christmas decorations in the garage she had come across some of my childhood toys and belongings.  "I found a diary of yours," she said quite casually.  Heart. Stopped.  Remember, this is the same woman who has told me to be careful about what I write more than she has told me any other piece of advice.  I have started and stopped so many different journals in my life that I have lost track of many of them. I always expect one to spring forth from a once-hidden nook and expose some wild secret.  Maybe that moment had arrived! But then, I breathed.  I am 36 years old, I thought.  I cannot be afraid of acknowledging who I have been.  Any diary she has found was from another life, one that has shaped me but no longer defines me.  And then she said, "I'm pretty sure you wrote it when you were in kindergarten."  Any lingering fears were now gone -- what could I have possibly written in kindergarten that I would be ashamed of my mother reading?

It actually was not the content that she was caught by, but the fact that at five years old I had kept a diary of legible, coherent entries at all.  "Who does that?" she exclaimed. 

Later in the evening, my husband and I watched a short documentary piece on Coach Nick Saban.  Any of you following Chad's blog know that he is an Alabama Crimson Tide fanatic and looking very much forward to attending Thursday's National Championship game, so any coverage associated with the team becomes mandatory viewing.  The documentary focused on Saban's childhood in Carolina, West Virginia, a town of 500.  It was a sweet piece on a coach often described as gruff or unfriendly.  The tenderness with which his hometown people spoke of him was sincere and let us see a different side of him.  One anecdote that stood out to me, though, was when Saban's childhood friend recalled a time when they were young and he came over to Saban's house.  He found Nick watching 8 mm film of a football game they'd played.  "Want to watch film with me?" young Nick asked his buddy.  Not exactly what kids usually want to spend their afternoons doing.  Unless , of course, watching film is what you are meant to do for the rest of your life.

On New Year's Eve, my family and I watched Travis Pastrana break the world record for jumping a car over 250 feet across the Long Beach Harbor. As we waited for the climactic moment to arrive, we were shown home videos of Travis as a boy, maybe four or five years old, taking off on a motorcycle.  Even at a very young age and well before he could even hope to have a license, Pastrana was already driving toward his future vocation.

No matter the vocation we choose, risks are involved.  Saban is about to coach the biggest game of the year in college football and every decision he makes will be scrutinized.  Travis Pastrana risks his life with the stunts that he performs and must find peace with his very possible demise each time he climbs onto a motorcycle or into a race car.  But when we see footage of them pursuing these dreams as young boys, we don't criticize their lack of sophistication or the mistakes they make. We don't wish they had stopped and turned their attention to other activities. We find the vision of a child engaged in what will be his life's work tender and heartwarming.

As a teacher, I am responsible for guiding young minds and hearts.  This is a risky endeavor at times.  When I comment on an essay or critique a presentation, how will my words impact my students? When I write and share my ideas in a forum like this, will it in anyway influence their perceptions of me? Their parents' perceptions?  My colleagues' perceptions? How much of myself can I reveal without making myself too vulnerable?  I am just beginning to let go of the writing I did in my younger days and not let the lessons learned in various stages in my life haunt the person I am now.  I am still trying to determine how I can pursue truth in my writing and maintain my identity and respect as a teacher.  But one thing I know for sure, even if my mom doesn't have it on film, I was writing my life even back in kindergarten and I cannot let a little apprehension keep me from the big game.

Again, With Passion!

Today I spoke with a woman who works in retail.  She shared with me that her manager is not much of a motivator.  Recently, the store fell just shy of their monthly sales goal.  "Why," this woman asked, "didn't our manager tell us we were only a few hundred dollars short?  Why didn't she call all of her friends and family to come in for an end-of-the-year spree?  Why didn't she tell each of us employees that if we bought one item, the store would make its goal? Why didn't she do SOMETHING to help us succeed?"

The type of passion and enthusiasm it would require for a manager to do such things is woefully lacking in many a workplace.  And when it is lacking in leadership, you can be sure it is lacking in the flock. Selling clothes may not be saving starving children or finding the cure for a debilitating disease, but that does not mean it cannot be something that is done with ambition and enthusiasm.  Making the goal is not only about the money; it is also about a sense of accomplishment and pride that the entire team enjoys after reaching a particularly high standard that has been set for them.  Such accomplishment is what helps us put our feet on the ground each morning instead of pulling the covers over our heads!

As we end one year and begin another, we are tempted to throw off our old selves and morph into new beings.  Ones who eat well, exercise regularly and live in a peaceful, highly organized homes.  We want to lose weight, throw out the clutter, stop biting our nails.

This year, I am encouraging each of us to add something into our lives rather than remove what is already there. How incredibly different would your 2010 be if you discovered your passion? And what if you took steps to act on that passion each day of your life?  What if you then made it your career?  Or what if you took your current career or role you have in your life and approached it with a renewed fire?  The change it would make in our lives, and then the lives of others, would be awesome in the truest sense of the word.

Being a teacher in these times can be discouraging -- greater accountability, increased pressure, more restrictions and all with less support.  Sometimes it can be tempting and even stress-relieving to complain about how impossible the standards set before us are.  But imagine what would happen if, instead of stopping at the reasons why we cannot achieve, we went on to imagine and passionately pursue every avenue to make success attainable?  What if we decided that each and every day we would approach our profession with passion and eagerness.  In the end, if we reach our goal, it becomes a realization that the number isn't what matters; it's the unity and strength we get as a team of people, staff and students, who work toward it together. And if we don't reach the goal, we still have our individual dignity and a collective sense of pride.

Every year, I welcome over 200 ninth graders into our GATE Program.  And among all of the information and advice I give to these college-bound, sometimes grade-obsessed students in our first meeting, I always include an exhortation for students to decide what kind of people they want to become, what passions they must pursue in their lives to be fulfilled as human beings, and then, if they make their educational decisions based on those ideals, they will not be disappointed when they leave high school.

This attitude, though, cannot stop when we are 18.  Today, at 36, as the ball drops and people kiss their way into 2010, as my children fall asleep and slip obliviously into a new decade, I need to ask myself those same questions: What kind of person do I want to be?  What passions must I pursue to be fulfilled?

And I am pretty sure that if I add all that passion, enthusiasm and fulfillment into my life, surely a bad habit or a few extra pounds will be pushed out.  We can always hope!

Happy 2010!