Morning, all. Day two of conferences. Had so many great conversations yesterday with parents and kids. Anticipate the same again today. Here is what I handed to and discussed with parents during conferences. I was particularly pleased to include how I address kids’ social-emotional learning, an area that I believe is undervalued and under-served in education. Have yet to meet a parent who does not want me to make their child’s social and emotional well-being a priority.
My hope is that by calling greater attention to this important aspect of kids’ educational experiences, parents will come to ask about it as readily as they ask about academic learning. But one can do more than hope, so that is why I am trying to place it in front of our work, place it at the center of our conversation. It matters.
Morning, all. Short post to keep pace with the passing 180 days. No kids today or tomorrow. We have parent-teacher conferences across the district. Because teachers are available, they actually count as school days. Looking forward to talking to parents.
They come, they go. Sometimes, I know why. More often than not, I don’t. Some have been with me since day one, others seem to drop in for a few weeks–sometimes, a few days–and then they are gone. Ghosts. I live among ghosts.
Of course, I am not talking a high percentage. The majority of my roster remains intact, but kids disappear. They always have. And it’s always bugged me, haunted me. Teaching, above all, is an investment in people, and, as such, we cannot help becoming emotionally attached to those in whom we invest. Most of our investments carry a 180-day guarantee. They are with us the entire year, and though it hurts when the “contract” expires in June, and they move on, we can somewhat prepare ourselves, steel ourselves for the moment. But this is not so for the unexpected, often unexplained departures that create hollow spots in our rooms, in our persons. It really hurts.
I “lost” two to the fog this week. Enveloped. Vanished. Two spirits turned to ghosts. And there’s nothing I can do about it, except pull the remaining spirits in my room closer. But of course, on the other side of that blessing is the curse that comes in June when they, too, flee into the fog.
Ah, the teacher’s life. Beautiful. Painful. Fulfilling. Haunting. I imagine there’s nothing really quite like it.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…building community with Community Circle (supposed to happen on the first Friday of every month, but I put it off till today, which is sort of a Friday for the kids; we have conferences for the next two days).
…reflecting in our Journey Journals.
…discussing Why with Sy.
…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Wednesday, all. No “real posts” for the next two days without school. But I have something else cooking that I will share with you soon. Have a great day.
I’m not a good dancer. Would rather get a root canal than have to dance in public. Still remember–vividly, painfully–my first public appearance in 7th grade, 34 years ago, when Kelly Wright pulled me away from the wall, which I had been holding up all night, and onto the floor. Had no idea what to do, so I followed the crowd. Never did get it right. Awkward. Clumsy. Self-conscious. Ugh.
But, in a different sense, in a different way, in a different time, and on a different floor, I have learned some steps along the way, and even if I can’t cut a rug, I can move pretty well in the classroom. My kids have taught me to dance–so to speak.
Of course, I am not speaking literally here. I am not dancing with my kids. But I am not not dancing either, for it is choreographed, each requiring a different step, a different tune, a different beat. They lead. I follow, and as the year goes on, I learn the moves.
I know what a thumbs up means from S.
I understand why T passes each day in Smiles and Frowns.
I anticipate J’s fun fact each day as he grins his delight in sharing.
I know E has to draw; it’s her oxygen, so I let her breathe.
I know S has to help with something, anything, so I find her jobs.
I know M will begin every Performance with “I can’t” always to end with “I can.”
I know J’s sarcasm is love.
I know N’s just being here is a dance in itself.
I know, because they show, and I pay attention. And eventually, I come to know the subtle and not-so-subtle moves of each as we daily dance through our year. And then, the music stops, and they leave me behind, but not without, for they have left me better than I was with memories of moves that will make me a better partner for next year’s troupe when the dance begins again.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.
…taking control in writing through hooks and context.
…reflecting in our Journey Journals.
…discussing Why with Sy.
…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Tuesday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better. (and maybe dance a little along the way)
Time is a trickster, a mirage, a con. He lulls us into security with the promise of all the days ahead, and we enter into the year thinking we will reach far ends, distant lands with our kids. 180 days seems a lifetime in September. In March, it seems a blink, a mission impossible. Of course, when one considers kids first and content second, it only plays into time’s hands.
But I cannot help it. Are there things to get to, to cover? Impossibly. Is the state test coming up? Sadly. Lots to do. But there are kids in the room, too. And I am devoted to them, and, as such, there are times when that devotion is at odds with the calendar. We can plan content, but we, at best, can only predict kids. And even then, our predictions can only hit half the marks as kids and life take twists and turns that were not clear in the crystal ball.
And now with a mere 63 days ahead, I fret a bit about my choices this year. Should I have “contented” more and “kidded” less? What ends await? What will my kids take with them? Should I speed up? Should I push through the mountain pass even though it’s not clear? And though maybe I wonder and worry aloud, I am just making noise. I already know the answers. The voice in my head speaks clearly, “You will consider kids. Time be damned. He is but a construct. Your kids are real. They set the pace. They create the calendar. Listen to your kids.”
Of course, this “voice” may simply be a convenient rationalization for a guy who seems unwilling–maybe unable–to acquiesce to the dictates of time. But time tells lies. Doesn’t it? In all my “time” as a teacher, I have never found my experiences nor my kids marching uniformly to time’s drum, reaching the same place in the same way at the same time. Time is an impossible journey. We cannot keep up. But we try. I try. Every single year, I fall victim to time’s tempt, and I think maybe, just maybe, this will be the year that I keep pace. This year is not the year. Time be damned. Maybe next year.
Can’t explain it. But I’ll try. Yesterday, I felt a moment. It was palpable, nearly touchable. I didn’t experience it. I felt it.
I’m not sure if it started with Ryan, the mechanical wizard who otherwisehates school, sharing–as he does now daily–that his smile was being in my class.
Maybe it was my wonder at Brennan’s business brilliance as he shared his work during our “Sittin’ with Sy” session. He talked beyond the three-allotted minutes. Usually I cannot get him to elaborate on anything. And yesterday, I found myself in a “who-is-this-kid?” moment. I am still stunned by the confidence and enthusiasm he exuded.
Or possibly it was Dominique’s dive into sharing her native culture with her classmates as they sat and stared in wonder as she explained pow-wows to them and her role as a dancer. Dom is short, but yesterday, she was 10 feet tall.
And, of course, there was Leonie our foreign exchange student from Germany who was getting me to say–well, to try–the most difficult German words for foreigners to pronounce, recording me with her phone, so she could share it with her parents, whom she misses terribly. We laughed and laughed.
Maybe it was the other Ryan, the awkward kiddo who was badly bullied earlier in the year (see “Broken” http://www.letschangeeducation.com/project-180-day-71/), who excitedly shared his draft with me, taking careful measure of my feedback as we talked about his next better.
Or maybe it was the quiet moment after, as I paused from chasing my tail all period, and I looked out on my kids and felt. I just felt. It was there. They were there. I was there. We were there. I’ll never forget it. I tried to explain it to my kids, and I wasn’t sure I was succeeding until one of them said, simply, “We know Sy.”
These are my new FAQ’s. Yesterday, inspired by one of my Twitter follows Amy Fast, an assistant principal in Oregon, who encouraged us to ask students how they are doing, I made a small tweak to my conferencing-with-kids approach.
In an ongoing, not-always-easy effort to create time for one-on-one conferences with my kiddos, I recently created a schedule to meet with half my kids each week on Wednesdays and Thursdays. I want this to be an intentional must in our classroom culture, a sacred routine. I have come close many times to making it so, but I have allowed “things” to get in the way, and we end up with more misses than hits, and…well, it’s never quite stuck. This year I vowed to make it so, and with only 65 days ahead, I think–maybe–I moved closer to making my must a reality, and Amy helped.
Keepin’ It Simple
Past efforts have often gotten bogged down with my trying to make the experience too formal: keeping record, tracking data, etc. And while these things carry value, they also create cumbersome, often clumsy conversations. And, as I am woefully aware, such things have ruined the routine–before it even became a routine. So, after further processing and reflecting on Amy’s tweet, I decided to make it simple.
First, I wanted to set a different tone. “Conference” sounds so formal. So, I changed the name to “Sittin’ with Sy.” Names matter, and I wanted one that would set an easy tone with my kiddos.
Next, I considered what I wanted the content of the conversation to include. Already, a staunch believer of the people in the room being the most important thing in the room (Smiles and Frowns), I wanted to start with the person in the conference. “How are you?” It’s not that I didn’t already “check in” with my kids, but I wanted it to be clear to all that this is where it all begins. From there, it really comes down to two things: work and help. “What are you working on?” “How can I help.” Simple.
Finally, I had to protect time. So, I used a timer–have done this in the past, but I am renewing my “get-to-everyone” vow, so I have to use the timer. Three minutes seems to be just about right–give or take.
Yesterday, I sat with a fourth of my kids. I asked them how they were doing, what they were working on, and how I could help. I will sit with another fourth today, and I will once again keep it simple. Just me and the kids talking. Simple.
Hit a milestone today. Since I began Project 180 a little over three years ago, I have written 700 posts. As I think about that number, it’s hard to imagine that I have found that many things to write about, especially at 4:30 AM. And though there are certainly days when it is hard to find material and /or inspiration, I keep plugging along, one post at a time. Of course, at times, I wonder how much longer I will continue–if I want to continue, but I always find myself back here at the keyboard each morning, sharing my journey. And for now, I can’t imagine quitting my routine reflection each day. It has helped me grow as a teacher, and I want to believe, at least on a minor scale, it has helped others along their own ways, too. So for now, I am going to continue the journey. Thank you for being here. Some of you have been here since post #1. I appreciate everyone’s kind, consistent support. Could not have done it without you. Thank you.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.
…writing introductions for our This Is Me project.
I asked my kids to pay attention this week. I asked them to observe the tone their teachers take and set while conducting the learning experiences in their classrooms, further asking my students to note their own responses to the different approaches. Of course, this includes their experiences in my classroom and the tone I set. I told them it’s not about singling out or calling out any teachers; it’s about noting their responsiveness to the various approaches they encounter during their day.
Why? I want them to be better writers, communicators. I am trying to make a case for the importance of audience awareness, and its impact on how we write. Writers, like teachers, set the tone. And that tone invariably impacts the response of the reader and, in the classroom, the learner. Approach determines response. Intuitively, they know this, and experientially they have come to know it better. To this point, I suggest to my kids they know how to approach their parents as well as they know how not to approach their parents when they want something. They get that, but in my experiences with young writers such knowledge does not always transfer to their writing. I want that transfer. I want them to consider not only the “what” and “why” of their writing but also the “who” of their writing. That, I believe completes the formula for “how.” To that end, I offered this yesterday.
What + Why + Who = How We Write
This is how I want my writers to approach writing. I want them to come to understand it’s not just about putting pen to paper to complete a transaction. It’s about putting the pieces together to create a connection, to make meaning with the reader, not for the reader. Readers make their own meaning. My hope as you are reading this is that you are not thinking about what I am saying but rather what you are thinking, which I hope has already found its way into your own writing experiences, a path to your own understanding, the truth of your own response.
So, today, we write. The kids have to revise one of their written requests from last week (to a friend, parent, teacher/coach, principal). But this time they have to take their writing beyond the what and why; they have to consider who and how that will impact their readers’ responses, as they use rhetorical appeals and convey tone, all parts to the puzzle of effective communication.
Of course, I want this lesson to go beyond writing. I want it to be a part of their living, now and later. I want them to understand that life does not occur in a vacuum. I want them to understand the push and pull, the give and take, the cause and effect. I want them to understand that approaches are consequential. And so, as they write their requests, as they observe their teachers, I want them to be aware of their own approaches to better understand the world’s responses. And, then, I want them to use it, to own it, to grow from it.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Smiles and Frowns
…revising our writing to demonstrate audience awareness.
This is just a short shout to all who dare different, who see beyond the status quo, who humanize their rooms. Thank you for all that you do to better education for kids. I know it is not always an easy path, but that means it’s likely worthwhile as you venture out to find better. So for you on this fourth day in March:
“March forth, friends, chase your better, dare your different. Kids need you.”
Thank you. You are making a difference. You are not alone.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…reconnecting through Smiles and Frowns.
…analyzing and revising “Requests” for rhetorical appeals and tone (Performance).
…reflecting in our Journey Journals.
…discussing Why with Sy.
…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Sorry for the lame post this morning, all. Tired today.
