Well, seems staring at the screen isn’t going to produce anything to write about this morning, so I am simply going to bid everyone a happy Wednesday. Can’t believe we are down to 20 days. Sorry for the non-post this morning, a little tired and uninspired. Catch ya tomorrow.
Happy Wednesday.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
*Warning: explicit language
He just showed up in class six weeks ago, a young black man from North Carolina. He is one of five kids of color in my fourth period class, and the only black kid. He introduced himself as Jaheem. Soft spoken, he shared that he was out here living with his cousin and her husband who are stationed here at Fairchild Air Force Base. I welcomed him to class, quietly wondering how he felt in his new environment. And I also wondered about the circumstances that placed him here, three-thousand miles away from home, away from his family. But I left it at wonder; I didn’t want to pry.
It was two days before we started state testing, and we were just getting started on our introductions for our Be A Voice speeches. I asked him to think of a topic, encouraging him to list out things that made him mad, things that made him sad, or things that he wanted to change. I wanted him to find something for which there was some emotional investment, something that he needed to get off his chest. He agreed and he set to work listing out things that mattered to him. After a time, he came to my desk and shared his list. And while there were a number of things that could have served as topics, one in particular caught my attention for he had included it in all three categories. Rap. I asked him about it. He said, without equivocation, “New rap is trash,” dissing on mumble rap and overly explicit lyrics, lamenting the loss of lyrics that meant something, that told a story. I encouraged him, then, to pursue that, noting not only his knowledge of but also his emotional investment in the topic. He nodded quietly, agreed, and returned to his seat. As he did, it was the first time I noticed his tattoo on his right shoulder, Sandra. And I wondered. Who is Sandra?
And then we started testing; even kids who come to our school the day of testing, we have to test. I apologized to Jaheem for so abruptly throwing him–at least that’s what it felt like–into the mix. Welcome to Washington. Welcome to CHS. Here take this test. It will determine your future. If you don’t pass it, you will not graduate from high school. As many of you know, I already have issues with standardized testing, but this really rubbed me the wrong way; even so, there was nothing I could do about it. Jaheem had to take the test. He did. But he struggled, saying he had never done anything like it before. I empathized and told him just to do what he could. He was the first one done. It didn’t even take him two days, and I knew that he likely didn’t pass. I thanked him for completing the test, and asked him to read or work on his essay while the rest of the kids continued testing. He read some. He wrote some. And he slept a lot. And I let him. And as he slept with his head on his desk, his shirt sleeve slid up, and again, I spied “Sandra” on his arm, and I wondered. Who is Sandra?
Time got on and we finished testing. And I was getting to know Jaheem. I found him a polite young man, full of wisdom for one so young, and I was glad he was getting comfortable with me and the class. He didn’t share much during Smiles and Frowns at first, but now he was sharing every day, and we were getting to know the young man from North Carolina. One day he got to class early, and I noticed a twinkle in his eye, and he came straight to me, asking if I knew what “Build a Bear” was. I nodded. He continued. “I built one for my Mama, this weekend. I even recorded my voice saying, ‘I love you, Mama,’ so when she pushes the button she will hear me. I am sending it to her for Mother’s Day.” He was so proud, and I was pleased that he wanted to share that with me. Things seemed to be going well for Jaheem. And not for the first time, I wondered if Sandra was Mom.
And then the test scores started coming in. And Jaheem did not pass. He wasn’t even close. But now, only a month after he arrived, he found himself in a hole, at a deficit, for the hill to graduation just got real steep. He had been labeled and sorted. Just like that. And though I wasn’t surprised–very few kids can take it so quickly and pass–I was concerned for this young man whom I had gotten to know, who had showed that he was more than a score. But the data base would not, could not reveal that truth. So, I was truly bummed when I shared the news with him, trying to be upbeat about it, letting him know that there would be other chances for him to pass. But pass what? Pass an institutionalized, standardized measurement that claims to know the weight of his worth? What about the things the test can’t measure? Do they not count? Look at Jaheem’s rough-draft introduction below. Is there not more to this young man than a score on a test? Does he not seem to know the way of things? (I allowed the explicit language. Heck, I encouraged it. It’s authentic. Truth has to be).
“ just fucked a bitch i forgot her name “ is that what lil pump has in mind when he think of women in society today ? well how about when ugly god once repeated bitch throughout one of his songs repeatedly is that how he feel about females these days ? well i think that’s not how we should treat our younger generation of females or any females at all. A very inspirational rapper once said “ a women once brung you into this world why disrespect one – tupac shakur “ see the difference between these rap generations? I think the new generation of rap should slow down on disrespecting women that they claim they respect. They claim they respect there mother, their daughters, grandmas and aunts but yet still disrespect them by using words or even saying hurtful verses to disrespect any female.
I am not sure if Jaheem will be here next year. I am not sure if he will pass the test. I am not sure if he will graduate. But I am sure that he is more than a score. And I have tried to let him know that. And I think he knows, but in truth I think it’s not the most important thing in his life right now. He is here. He is not at home. I now know why. I think he wanted me to know the story, so he told me, but it is not mine to repeat, so I won’t. But I can share who Sandra is. I finally asked. “That’s my Mama, Sy. That’s my Mama.”
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will…
…begin with Smiles and Frowns
…work on our voices, share our truths.
…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Tuesday, all. Sorry if the language offended. Hope you understand why I left it as is.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
The sun calls. Always has. Even when I was a student, this time of year was always a challenge for me. I just wanted to be outside. Still do. If not a teacher, I would be outside working with my hands. And on a beautiful morning like this, my tractor parked at the gate calls, and I want to work. I love work, and the work never ends, especially in spring when green explodes, and I cannot keep up, but I am compelled to try.
And it is a similar compulsion that drives my work in the classroom. It is work that is never done. We just run out of time, and the cycle sets again. With only twenty-two days remaining, we have what seems a lifetime’s work to get done, but we won’t; we can’t, yet we will do what we can to get as far down the trail as possible. That’s all we can do. And so, the kids will be digging in to get their speeches ready, and I will roll up my sleeves to share the load, and we will get there together, wherever there may be. And though it may look a little different for each in her mind, I hope they are all left with some image of the year that captures the struggle and the triumph of what our journey’s been, their own art of work.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will…
…begin with Smiles and Frowns.
…work (make art).
…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Monday, all. I hope you all find art in your work.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
By the end of the day, I was in pretty rough shape. My head was pounding; it hurt to swallow; it hurt to talk. Not sure why. Allergies? Spring cold? Brain tumor? Hypochondria? Regardless, come 6th period, I was ready to call it a day, and I told my kids so during Smiles and Frowns. So, they decided that they would take things in hand, and I could just sit back and relax. And that’s what happened.
Jacob volunteered to take the lead. He had come in during an earlier period and witnessed the activity, so he said he could take the helm. And he did. And, for forty-five minutes, he led the class through their stand-and-deliver presentations, where kids shared and peers reviewed. I watched and marveled at the moment. Such a moment. Thirty kids. Presenting. Getting feedback. Connecting. Growing. And for no grade. No carrot. No stick. No compliance. Just commitment. To their learning. To themselves. To their community. I didn’t even need to be there. But I was, and it is a moment I will not soon forget. It is a moment I will try to replicate for the rest of my career, for it felt like pure learning, for there was joy–for all. And why shouldn’t there be? Why should learning ever be without joy? I am not equating joy with “easy.” To be sure, there is nothing easy about presenting to and getting critiqued by one’s peers. Nothing. But there can be joy. And there was. Truly.
Of course, though they were supremely compassionate about my state, they were not so compassionate as to completely let me off the hook. They had caught wind that earlier in the day–before I contracted my terminal ailment–that I had sung a Sappy Sy Song, and they wanted theirs. I declined. They pleaded. I caved. I sang. Quietly. Of course, my ailment was likely caused by my awful singing voice, but in the end, we do what we do for kids. Here’s the song. It helps if you know Flo Rida’s song “My House.”
Said it before, and I’ll say it a million times more: Kids really are the best humans.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will…
…begin with Smiles and Frowns.
…complete Stand-and-Deliver presentations.
…have Community Circle.
…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.
Do. Reflect. Do Better, and….make joy possible along the way.
April was a blur. There’s no other way to put it. Yes, it’s common to hear many teachers say, “This year is going by so fast. I can’t believe it’s already _____”. But due to a few factors, this past month seemed to speed by faster than Usain Bolt. First, we had spring break. Next, it was a week of SBA (Smarter Balanced Assessment) Boot Camp. Then, with two weeks left we ended the month with the SBA state test. During those ten instructional days some of my thoughts wandered into questions. Did I really teach this month? Did I have any sort of impact on my kids? Did I really do what was in the best interest of them, their growth, and their learning in my class? As I watched our kids work day after day, I realized my thoughts were shifting from me and what I had done to them and what they were doing.
It seems that our students listened to the information, to the advice, to the tips-and-trick-of-the-trade we had talked to them about during our Boot Camp week. While we didn’t really want to give up even more class time, having gone through the state testing cycle for a few years now we felt like we owed it to our kids to talk to them about what we’ve seen, what we’ve learned, and what we would recommend they do. We did what we thought was best in hopes that they would remember and apply that information when the test started.
Then we started our designated two weeks of testing not sure if we’d need all 10 days. In the past we haven’t. Even though our students only work on the parts of the state test during their Language Arts period, usually the vast majority were done by day seven or eight and the number of students needing more time was small enough that we handed those test tickets over to other test coordinators to decide a time and place for those kids to finish. This year, as each day passed, we realized that we would need to use all 10 of those days. That’s what we promised the kids. That’s what they were (verbally) counting on. That’s what was best for them.
Despite the fact that after these two weeks the number of not-yet-finished may be slightly higher than in the past, I honestly don’t regret anything I did throughout April. Why? My kids gave their best effort each day, took their time, used their knowledge and studied the resources I provided. And now we can get back to our “normal” and embark on a new and exciting path of discovery in our final 33 days.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
When I first started mountain biking twenty five years ago, I discovered a simple truth. It never gets easier; you just go faster.
Acknowledge and accept the pain. You’re growing.
When I coached cross country, I shared the same truth with my runners. It never gets easier; you just go faster.
Acknowledge and accept the pain. You’re growing.
When I first started presenting as an educator, I discovered a simple truth. It never gets easier; you just get better.
Acknowledge and accept the nerves. You’re growing.
When I teach my kids about presenting, I share the same truth with them. It never gets easier; you just get better.
Acknowledge and accept the nerves. You’re growing.
You’re growing.
We grow not in comfort, so we must seek discomfort if we want to grow. But discomfort need not be excruciating. So, I seek to make that which can be excruciating: public speaking, less so.
This is how I do it.
Last week, the kids composed and shared a Sappy-Student poem about our classroom community. They stood in front of the room and shared. I asked them to think about Poise and Voice. And that was it. I just wanted them to get up there.
This week, I have asked the kids to complete the statements below.
They will then share all of them from the front of the room at the podium. We had a chance to get started yesterday, and the kids rocked it, on both sides of the room. The presenters faced their fears, and the audience helped their peers. We gave them feedback on their selected skill, something they did well, and something they might consider next time. And, importantly, there will be a next time.
We continue today, and I have a front row seat. I have the honor of watching kids grow right before my eyes. And it’s almost too much. How did I get so lucky?
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will…
…begin with Smiles and Frowns.
…grow as speakers.
…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Thursday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
“Sy. Sy, I did it. I wrote the whole thing in like 10 minutes…
IwasabouttofallasleepwhenIhadanideaandIsatupinbedandtypeditoutonmyphone, and…
When Meg finally took a breath, and I was able to process the whirlwind that came from her mouth, I discerned that she had finally found her topic, that she had finally gotten her introduction done. Meg never gets things done early, and she rarely gets things done by my deadlines, but she always gets them done. And though I do know the value of meeting deadlines (and the arguments against giving kids too much leeway), I also know Meg. I have spent the last 155 days learning with her. And in that time of learning, I have learned Meg. Meg the student. Meg the person. This is what I know.
She will not be placed into a compartment.
She is a fierce competitor.
She has a heart as big as the moon.
She will not stand for injustice.
She is well-spoken, but never soft-spoken.
She is a mathematical whiz.
She is a brilliant writer.
She does not like school.
She is from a broken home, but she is not broken.
She can convince you of anything–or at least she tries.
And, she will give you 100% if you give her the freedom to do so.
The freedom to do so. That is what I have most learned about Meg. Try to rein her in, and she will flee. Try to restrict her to the beaten path, and she will tromp off into the woods. Meg has to be Meg. So, I have let Meg be Meg. I have given her the freedom and granted her the grace she needs.
No, she is not the model student. She talks too much. She “wastes” time in class. She shrugs off most practice. If one were to base my effectiveness as a classroom teacher by observing Meg, I would fail. But if my “failing,” allows kids like Meg to succeed, then I will fail again and again.
Learning is messy. Learning is complicated. Learners are complicated. They do not fit neatly into the compartments that we imagine, that we force. And so, it is I who have learned this year. If we are not learning as much as the kids from our 180-day experience, then we are missing out. But learning is not simply noting. Learning is acting, allowing, bending, understanding. Meg taught me that.
She stayed after yesterday to read her intro (more like essay–it was at least 300 words) from her phone. She was only going to read the first couple of lines to give me a taste, but she couldn’t stop, and I didn’t want her to. I was transfixed by her light, and I just let her go, let her glow. And she did. And, of course, as I would expect knowing Meg, her speech topic: Live Your Life. Yes, Meg. Live your life, kid. Live. Your. Life.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will…
…begin with Smiles and Frowns.
…practice presentation skills: eye contact.
…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Wednesday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Lost it. My fault. Got distracted. And before I knew it, I was back where I was: spending way too much time writing lengthy comments on my kids’ work. Old habits die hard. Maybe they never die.
I didn’t mean to lose it. Of course, I didn’t. I know better. And–most of the time–I do better. Most of the time. But even as progressive as I imagine and profess myself to be, I still cling to old habits; I remain tethered to an imagined master who holds the strings of tradition and convention, and I play the puppet in a pathetic play.
And whether it’s my having to compile evidence of student growth for TPEP (our teacher evaluation here in Washington State) or my imagining an audit of my work from some unknown but feared outside entity (which has never happened and never will), I perform. The strings make me dance. And so, I capture–painstakingly and thus inefficiently–my feedback to my kids by writing down lengthy comments that are grounded in the criteria of the standard, that are written for the eyes of an educator. For the eyes of an educator. What is wrong with me? What educators? In my twenty-two years, no one–no one–has raided my file cabinets, digging into the comments I write to my kids. No one’s been impressed. No one’s criticized. No one. And yet I play. I perform. And no one is in the audience. So, I am done. I vow to be done with the sham, the show. Yesterday, I cut my strings.
And I didn’t crumble to the floor. No master reattached my strings. No. I took a few tentative steps. I walked. I danced. I found my groove. And it was a familiar feeling, a liberating feeling. I was free.
I just simply met with and talked to my kids about their writing. I asked them questions. I made suggestions. I looked into their eyes. I listened to their spirits. I walked in their shoes. We shared in moments–as writers, as humans. We learned, and we grew. No show. No strings. Just connected moments.
Here’s the deal. It’s not that we didn’t share in these moments before. We did. All the time. But, in this moment of honest of honest disclosure, they were made less-authentic because I was too often worried less about my kids’ learning than I was about capturing that learning for eyes that did not exist. So, I spent more time writing comments to ensure that the magic was being captured, instead of just letting the magic happen, letting the magic be between my students and me. My students and me. That’s my groove. One does not need strings when he’s in a groove.
I’m not sure all that made sense, and I am sorry if I am less-adept or perfect than maybe you imagined, but in the end, I am just simple Sy underneath the Superman shirt. I fail. And I succeed. Only to fail again. That’s the reality of a Do–Reflect–Do Better existence. That’s my groove.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will…
…begin with Smiles and Frowns.
…connect through our work.
…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Have a groovy Tuesday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
The world listens.
The world connects.
The world waits.
Yesterday, I had the humble honor of presenting at the 2nd Annual WATAC Spring Conference. The theme for the conference was Vision and Voice: The Future Is Now. Along with Lynne Olmos from Mossyrock, I was asked to present on the power that social media can play in elevating our voices as educators. I began with sharing the “why,” and Lynne provided the “what” and the “how.” Below is my believed “why of it” that I shared with award-winning educational leaders from across the state.
I stand among visionaries.
Giants.
Redwoods.
The tallest trees in our forest.
Those who sought the sun.
Those who grew because you had to.
You had no choice.
Your vision compelled your climb.
And as I look across the canopy,
I am inspired by the the hope each of you bring to education in our great state.
I am honored to be in your presence.
I am humbled to brush branches and wrap roots with you.
We need your vision.
But…
Vision without Voice is just…well, vision.
We have to release our vision to the wind,
so it may carry our voice.
We have to share our brightness,
so it may help light the way.
And so, I believe…
As visionaries, we have if not a responsibility, then an opportunity to share our voices.
We are not here by accident.
There is something in us, each of us, that placed us at this conference this weekend, in this room today.
We did not receive our awards, we did not assume our roles as leaders for doing things the same as others.
We are here because we believed better was possible–always possible–and we have all, in our own ways, big and small, made an impact in education.
Someone caught our voices on the wind. And they listened.
And so then, when we share our voices, we make possible our vision. We have to share. We have to.
Because when we do…
Our voices make real our vision, our work, and work wants witness.
And when our work has witness it has the potential, it has the power to better the world.
And just as the book bears no meaning until its words are lifted by the eyes of the reader.
Our work, our vision cannot better the world until it reaches the world.
It is not real until it is received.
And so we have to deliver it.
And we can.
Today, we have opportunities to share our work in ways we could not have imagined then. Tomorrow,we will have opportunities to share our work in ways we cannot imagine now.
I never imagined. And it all started with a dare.
The world listens.
The world connects.
The world waits.
It really was a great experience to share a bit of my why, and some of the Project 180 story. I hope more educators will elevate their own why’s through social media. I want to give a big shout out to readers Elise Foster, Abe Moore (Paige, Amber, and Lynton), Mary Wade, and Melissa Turenne for providing me with your testimonials about my work. Thank you. Always. Thank you.
I also want to thank my co-presenter Lynne Olmos for shouldering the what and how of our presentation. I am so glad we finally met. And finally I want to thank Alecia Sing and the rest of the WATAC leadership for giving me the opportunity to present. Thank you.
It was a great weekend. I got to hang out with some awesome educators, including National Teacher of the Year Mandy Manning, along with other ESD 101 eduheroes Alecia Sing and Jeff Wehr. Humbling.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will…
…begin with Smiles and Frowns
…write, conference, and revise speeches or Passion Papers.
…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Monday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
She couldn’t stand, so they stood for her. They stood by her. She was last to go yesterday, last to share her Sappy Student Rhyme. She modeled it after Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood,” titling it, “Sy’s Class.” This did not surprise us. She is a huge T Swift fan, sharing yesterday during Smiles and Frowns that the concert she is lucky enough to attend is only 21 days away. More, she sings Taylor’s songs to us all the time. And so, we were surprised when Savannah got up there and froze. She could hardly talk. She started to shake. She tried. She sat down and cried. Caught in a crisis moment, the kids looked to her, to me, and then to each other, and six of her peers came to the rescue, stood for her, stood by her and helped her deliver her poem.
It was a proud moment for our us, and it reflected exactly what we have worked so hard to establish this year: community. Ours is a place where the divide is less wide between teacher and student, and among all. A place where we are just humans learning and growing together, sharing in our struggles and successes. It is a beautiful place, a place full of many beautiful moments as kid after kid shared their Sappy Student Rhymes, honoring the people they’ve stood day after day. I was gushing with pride. I am so honored to learn from and with these awesome kids. They fill me with wonder and hope. Kids really are the best humans.
Savannah did not meet the requirements. She did not stand. She found no poise. And she had barely a voice. But she did not fail. We did not fail. And as the SBA scores have begun to roll in, and I have the undesirable duty to share with a small number of kids that they did not pass–their learning and worth reduced to a single data point, I think about what we learned as a community yesterday. I think about the things that we cannot capture in a standardized test or a grade. I think about the things that the kids will carry with them into their futures, and I am proud of the experience I have built with them this year. I am sorry that some have to have that diminished by an outside force, by a blind lens that does not, that cannot look into, that cannot see them. And for them, my hope is that our experience together shields them from such things as they move forward and carry with them the things that are not simply measured. It is that which I hope holds weight, that which I hope registers on their scales. The only scales that matter.
Proud of my kids.
Today’s Trail
Different day, today. I am on an interview committee, so I will not be with my kiddos. Heartbroken that we are losing Maddie Alderete, team member and P-180 contributor. But life calls and pulls us in different directions sometimes. Will write more about it later, but not sure we can replace her. Damn, Life. What ya go and do that for?
Do. Reflect. Do Better.