So, as some know, I have a few names: Syrie, Sy, SuperSy, Super Syrie, Silly Syrie, Stern Syrie, and the latest…Sy the Utensil Guy.  I’m not exactly sure how/when this began, but it is my newest hat.  Kids have learned that I have a stash of plastic utensils, and at all times of the day, they come to me seeking spoons and forks.  It generally begins with Carissa’s daily diet of mac and cheese during second period, and from there I get a number of visitors over the course of the day interested in my cheap cutlery.  At first it was only my students; then it became my students asking for their friends, and now on a semi-regular basis, it’s kids I don’t even know. But familiar or not, I fork over the forks.

So, what’s the deal?  Why the new hat now?  Well, for one, kids are hungry.  And, for better or worse, I allow them to eat in room 219.  And while some of my colleagues can’t even imagine letting kids eat during class, for me it’s a necessary no-brainer.  Let ’em eat.  Let ’em be people.  This is part of the equation.

Recently, the cafeteria announced that it would no longer provide utensils to students who were not eating school lunch.  However, for 25 cents, they could purchase a “spork.”  This is the second part of the equation.  But, I am not blaming the school; it’s simple economics in a world where funds are finite.  I get it.  It makes sense.  But it does not change the fact that kids need things.  Yes, they could–probably should–bring their own from home, but they are kids, and I have a soft spot for the little stinkers, even those I don’t know.  And so, when I can, I give them what they need: pencils, pens, paper, notebooks, books, and sometimes, when I can spare it, food.  I gave Steph a banana yesterday.  How can I ask her to give her all if all that she’s thinking about is food?  I had it. I gave it.  Simple stuff.

So, by now, I am getting used to my new hat.  Of course, my stash has drastically diminished in recent weeks, and what I thought would last me all year, will be gone in a week or so, but as I tell the kids, I am crazy rich.  I am a teacher.  They pay me stupid amounts of money.  Buying them forks is the least I can do.  #therichlife  #pocketssodeep

Happy Thursday, all.

Monday I mentioned that my helping kids with their speeches  would be the most challenging and satisfying work I would do this week.  I should have also said it would be the most exhausting.  For four 55 minute periods, I strive to be completely present in scores of conversations, ranging from “I don’t know what to do my speech on” to “What if I use a simulated story about my deceased grandma’s view on our right to vote.”  And these are rarely quick-question, move-on-to-the-next-person conversations. They are make-and-hold-eye-contact, seek-to-understand, question-to-clarify, maybe-get-lucky-and-inspire-them discussions–one right after another, a constant line until the bell rings. Many even after the bell rings as kids linger wanting more.  Most of the time I make them walk and talk with me as I make the way to the staff bathroom on my 5 minute potty break, my 5 minute intermission before the next act begins.

Of course what I would like to do, what I need to do is get caught up on my grading and planning during this “student work time.”  But what I like and need take a back seat to what I love: working with kids.  So this means I am perpetually behind–sorry parents that I don’t have the latest grades in Skyward yet.  I would do it after school or in the evenings but I have others in my life with needs too, others who also deserve my being fully present.  But sadly this is a struggle, for I have yet to find the “off switch” and at the end of the day; it stays with me, ever-present in my mind, and my students don’t help.

Last night, Eva gave me homework.  “Have my topic for me tomorrow, Sy.”  After a number of conversations with miss Eva, and numerous pleas to let me off the hook, she has persisted in seeking my help to find a topic.  Of course, I did not make the decision any easier by telling the kids that they had to truly care about their topics, that they had to have “fire in their bellies.”  So, it’s partly my fault, and as it goes, last night during my college class when a group of my students are presenting, I find myself distracted with Eva’s topic, and before I know it, I am turning over the grading sheet, scribbling down some ideas for her topic. Alas, it never ends.  Never a break.  And at the end of the day, I am spent, hoping that my night of sleep is deep, for if I wake up, it begins again.  I can’t remember my last deep sleep.

But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Not sure I have a choice.  Eva gave me homework.

Happy Wednesday, all.  Thank you for your support.

“Morning, Meg.  Did you read?”

“Uh, I only read the first two chapters.  When I have a lot of homework, this class is my safety valve.”

This is not an out-of-the-ordinary conversation in 219.  With four sections of honors language arts, I serve students who are taking mostly advanced courses, which generally translates into their having a lot of homework–at times, overwhelming amounts.  That in mind–and my being flexible to perhaps a fault, I have created, as Meg suggested, an outlet of sorts in 219 for kids when the pressure’s too much.  I always accept late work–without penalty, and importantly, my reactions never go beyond disappointment seasoned with understanding when kids don’t get their work in on time. My class is important–maybe–a little bias here–the most important.  But it is not more important than any of my kids–ever.  And, in the end, that is what I teach: kids.  It just happens that in 219 I do it within the context of language arts.  So, when I make decisions, I make decisions with kids in mind first, then content.

Of course, my approach is not above reproach, for many of my peers think I am ruining kids by being too flexible.  And though there are times when I wonder if my approach is the very best thing for kids, especially when I am dealing with the hassle of late paperwork, my gut keeps me on this particular path, pushing away any lingering doubts about the cost outweighing the benefit.  Deep down I believe that flexibility doesn’t hinder responsibility; it promotes it, for true responsibility comes when individuals have the freedom to discover the implications of their own choices.  I don’t think holding harsh late-work policies over kids’ heads teaches responsibility; I think it only forces compliance, and that is not commitment.  I want my kids to be committed.  I want them to make big-boy and big-girl choices.  And then, I want them to own their choices.  I have found that doing so creates a level of honesty that makes the experiences in 219 genuine, real.

Meg was real with me.  She owned it.  She did only read the first two chapters because those are the only two that she could reference in our discussion yesterday.  She contributed where she could, and respectfully–honestly–bowed out when she couldn’t.  She owned it.  Isn’t that responsibility?

Have a terrific Tuesday.  Thanks for listening.

Morning, all.  Ready or not, Monday’s here.  Gonna be a busy week in 219.

1. Complex Sentence Practice: distinguishing between independent and dependent clauses.
2. Night Discussions: segments 1- 3 today, segments 4 – 6 on Friday.
3. Essay of the Week: Last week we watched a video of a powerful speech delivered by a young lady at Lewis and Clark High School during their Diversity assembly.  The young lady shared her experience as a Muslim-American.  The kids will respond to the comments by some on YouTube that she embellished her speech.
4. Preface for Injustice Speech: Finally, kids are putting pen to paper–well, fingers to keys–for the first major step in preparing their speeches.  Most have created a simulated situation in which they have assumed a particular persona and assigned us a specific role as an audience, so context is necessary.  For example, one young lady is addressing the wrong, the “injustice,” of photo-shopped images that are so prevalent in advertising, especially ads targeting girls and women.  She is assuming the persona of a former magazine editor who was fired for acting on her conscience and blowing the whistle, exposing the publication’s practice.  As the audience, we will be a group of young women to whom she is apologizing and calling upon to help stem the madness of this harmful societal trend. The preface will help her set the stage before she delivers her speech. This will take up the bulk of our time this week.

My favorite but most challenging part will be working with the kids on their prefaces.  Having ideas is one thing; effectively bringing those ideas to life is an entirely different thing.  But it’s a challenge I love.  We will work hard; we will be frustrated; we will grow, we will achieve.  Love it.  Can’t believe they’re actually paying me for this.

So, I discovered that a discussion that I posted to Edutopia is “trending.”  And while I am not exactly sure what that means, I don’t think it’s a bad thing.  I was told the number of “shares” has made it a trend, and so far, it has been shared over 9,700 times.  I am excited to be reaching wider audiences, and I wanted to share it with you.  In addition, I received notification this morning that my article on growth mindset was just published by the Washington State Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development (http://wsascd.org/wp-content/uploads/March-2016-CQ.pdf).  And while all this is exciting and great, it pales in comparison to the generous support that my loyal few have shown over the last two months. That, to me, matters most.  So, thank you to those who read and share my babble.  Truly, I cannot do it without you.  I am more grateful than you’ll ever know, and I’ll need even more support as I wade deeper into this.  I never have been a strong swimmer.

     “Syrie!  We have to talk,” asserted Stephanie as she marched toward me, finger pointing, eyes wide.

     “What’s up, Steph?” I stammered, backpedaling as she came on, a mini drama unfolding as second period began.

     “I’m done.  I am not coming back.  This is it”

    “What happened?”

     “I read it.  I read it all,” she charged.  “And I am living on only two hours of sleep right now.  First The Book Thief and now this!  I am done.  Not coming back.”

     “Couldn’t put it down, huh?” I responded.

     “No, I knew I could only endure it once, so I finished it in one sitting because I wasn’t gonna be able to go back to it.” she fired, stepping closer.  But retreat was no longer possible as I was backed against the whiteboard, eyes searching, seeking help from the rest of my students as Steph’s passion poured out onto the floor of 219.

Of course, as always, the scene was better if one was there, and it’s even better if one knows Stephanie.  She is truly a diamond among gems, a soul that elevates all of us to greater heights.  I am just sorry that I broke her heart.  I am even more sorry that I am gonna break it some more, for there are more sad stories to come. It’s the Holocaust.

The day before, I had assigned the memoir Night by Elie Wiesel.  This is after our watching The Book Thief as an introduction to our Holocaust unit.  It is a short book, only 115 pages, but it carries an immeasurable impact as it takes one through mankind’s darkest hour, relating the nightmare that Elie lived during World War 2.  Truly, it grabs hold and does not let go–ever.  And even though I gave the kids a reading schedule that covered two-and-a-half weeks, suspecting that some would certainly finish the slim volume sooner, I did not expect that any would finish it the night I assigned it. Steph finished it. And obviously it had an impact. I am sorry that our kids have to face such terrible truths from the past, but I know the more terrible truth of not knowing or forgetting.  Elie wrote the book so the world would not forget, hoping if they read it, they could not forget.  Those who read it do not forget.  And as tragic and traumatic as Stephanie’s experience was, sadder stories still will play out over the next two weeks, for some kids won’t read it.  Yep, despite all that I will attempt to do to motivate them and inspire them, despite Steph’s dramatic infomercial, some kids will not find the motivation to read it, and that, to me, is the real tragedy–my broken heart.  Sorry, Steph, that I had to break yours.

Happy Friday, all.  If you have not read Night, you need to.  We cannot forget.

Love my kids. Truly. It is they who make my day, the reasons I do what I do.  But sometimes I do not like their behavior, and the little stinkers make me grumpy.  Yesterday, 6th period, I got a little grumpy in response to some inconsiderate behavior during a film, and in a rare scene in 219, I let that grumpiness–more aptly annoyance–bubble to the surface, and I assumed a different role: Stern Syrie.  The kids are used to Simple Syrie, Super Syrie, and even Silly Syrie, but I think some were taken a little aback when Stern Syrie appeared on the stage.  To be sure, it is not a role I relish, but it is one I keep in wait and willingly play when the occasion calls.

Yesterday, he made a cameo appearance, a surprise guest whose part changed the narrative of the day, and while it was only a minor part, a brief appearance, it certainly affected the general mood of the class, which was not only unfortunate but also necessary.  Unfortunate because a couple of kids left less than happy with me at the end of the day.  Necessary because  it was a reminder to the kids that their behavior matters and that though there are times when I do want us to be peer-like partners in our learning experiences, there are times when I have to be the adult in the room and set things straight.  Fortunately, such times are quite rare in 219, and my kids’ behavior is stellar the other ninety-nine percent of the time.

Of course, I like to believe that is no accident.  I work very hard to create that culture through the relationships that I develop with my kids.  But I also believe that relationships have to be real, which means–and I tell my kids this early on in the year–that there will be times when I am unhappy with them and times when they are unhappy with me, the mark of any important relationship in our lives.  Yesterday was one of those times.  And it won’t be the last, and that’s okay. Experience has blessed me with the wisdom of knowing that relationships are investments, and if we make enough deposits, the few withdrawals we have to make won’t drain the account.  Today,  the show will go on in 219 and Stern Syrie will not have to make an appearance any time soon, maybe even the rest of the year.  And that’s great because Super Syrie doesn’t readily share the stage.

Have a great Thursday, all.

How do I teach them everything they need to know?  How do I make relevant to their lives–both now and later–the things we do and learn?  How do I push them, stretch them, without breaking them?  How do I get them to understand that my earnest intent is not to do something to them but for them? How do I…?

Of course the list goes on, the list of concerns and questions that are ever-present in my mind as I daily–sometimes hourly–attempt to make the best decisions for my little darlings in 219.  Truly a torment.  Yesterday, out of concern that we are not writing enough, I decided to breathe life back into “weekly essay.” As one might expect, it wasn’t necessarily warmly received.  You see, I dwell in a world where, for many, any writing is too much writing, so it was no great surprise to me that my fellow dwellers in 219 didn’t raise a cheer at the news. However, despite their not-so-quiet protestations, I stood steadfast, for I know that, like it or not, it is good for them–now and later.  I call it the broccoli factor.

Green is generally not the most loved color on one’s dinner plate.  In fact, many avoid the color all together, and this is seemingly true for young and old alike, but it seems especially true for the young, who wanting and having many so many other palate-pleasing options generally avoid if not not outright shun, the less savory parts of the meal.  True, too, they–the young–don’t often get a choice as their dutiful, diligent parents make them eat what is good for them, a perennial parental battle.  But we–the parents–take up arms anyway, and fight the fight for we know it is good for our kids.  And this is how I feel when I put on the plate the less savory parts of the curriculum, in this case–writing.  And sadly, it is often a battle.  But some fights are worth fighting.

Writing, I believe, may be one of the most important skills that kids learn in school.  It is both a gate-keeping (getting in the door) and a ladder-climbing (advancing in one’s career) skill that can have lifelong implications. But it’s hard to get kids to buy, much less own, that at this age. Still, I fight the fight. But, to be clear, it is not always an easy fight, for teaching writing is perhaps the most difficult thing to teach.  It is a demanding experience for both students and teachers, so much so that it generally is not given its due place in the curriculum, sometimes getting avoided all together. Or on the other end, teachers fall into the assigning-versus-teaching trap.  It is easy to assign writing.  It is not easy to teach writing.  So teachers often overcompensate by assigning and not teaching, or they undercompensate by generally avoiding it. But this cannot be.  We cannot neglect that which may in the end be the most important. We cannot let generations of kids leave the table without the proper nutrition they need to reach their necessary potential.  We can no longer perpetuate malnutrition because it’s hard for teachers or disliked by kids.  We have to feed them writing.

So, as an ongoing effort to do different, I am seeking to strike a careful balance between assigning and teaching writing. For the assigning part, practice is necessary.  We know.  We know that if kids are to become better writers, they have to write.  But that also means that they will have to write more than I can possibly read or grade.  So what to do?  Well, for the teaching part, I will give them feedback on each essay of the week, on a specified element that they and I will focus on to help each progress and improve as a writer.  For example, this week the emphasis is on organization. Here I present a criteria-based performance standard in the form of a rubric, which I will use to assess their writing on a 4-point scale (4 = exceeds standard, 3 = meets standard, 2 = below standard, 1 = well-below standard).  In addition to the scale number, I will give brief, descriptive, here’s-something-you-can-do-to-improve feedback. It is manageable for me and it is also manageable for the kids.  I can give feedback without reading the entire essay (I cannot read 25,000 words a week), and the kids can take into consideration and put into practice one aspect that will help them improve as writers. They will earn 10 points for completing the essay, and the other possible 4 points will come from the performance scale, for a total of 14 points.  With this approach, the kids are writing consistently, and they are getting feedback consistently.  To keep our sanity, I set a 250 word limit.  I want them to eat their greens, not choke on them.

In the end, this may not be the perfect approach, but it is my best go at present.  A “go” that I have tried to make in the best interest on my kids’ health–now and later.

Happy Wednesday, all.  Anybody put pen to paper yesterday?

Sy, I got your postcard.  Totally made my day!

~Destinee Bradley, Sophomore, Cheney High School

At CHS, another cool thing that we do is send kids postcards, praising them, giving them recognition, letting them know we care.  For the first five minutes of every staff meeting, teachers write postcards to kids and then the office staff addresses them and sends them out to the kiddos.  The messages are short, sometimes general, sometimes specific, but they make a difference; as Destinee shared with me, they make a day.  And what’s great about that is that the cost is so little.  Literally, it takes me 10 seconds to write a postcard, a smile price to pay for such a big benefit.  I wonder if Destinee and the rest know that making their days makes our days. And in the age of “likes” on social media, the power of pen to paper may still impact and connect better than all.

When is the last time you received a handwritten note from a friend or loved one?  Remember how it made you feel? Now, when is the last time you sent a handwritten note to a friend or loved one?  Wouldn’t you want them to feel that way?  Sometime this week put pen to paper, address and stamp the envelope, and send it.  Doesn’t have to be long or profound.  It just has to be.  I understand that just “thank you” goes a long way. Guaranteed you will make a day in a way that is rare today.  Do Different. Do something small to make someone big.

Have a great Tuesday, all. If you are so inclined, comment on this link to let us know how you made someone’s day this week.

Last week I shared this link to Kasia’s video on bullying.  Today I am sharing it again because it will be shown to the entire CHS student body at our Diversity Assembly.  Kasia’s message went “viral” at CHS, ultimately catching the attention of the administration, who then approached her about the possibility using her video as part of the assembly.  Anxiously, she agreed, confiding in me that she was nervous about the whole school seeing her video.  I told her to bask in her moment, to be proud that her hard work and powerful message were being recognized.  I can’t wait to witness it this afternoon.  Nothing greater than a kid’s moment. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPa_kz6QJKM

Happy Friday, all.