Five come to mind. I think about them more than I’d like. Hard to get away from the weight, for I carry them with me. I cannot ignore them. But it seems I cannot help them either. I have failed to reach some kids this year.

If I am honest, there have been a handful for each of my twenty-three–sometimes, two handfuls. And it has never sat well with me. Sometimes, I cannot reach them academically. Sometimes, I cannot reach them emotionally. Sometimes, it’s both. All times, it registers as a failure, as the year closes and they move on. I never reached them.

This year is quickly closing; with a mere fifty-two days ahead, it seems a mission impossible for a few of my five. Oh, it’s not that I won’t try. I will. I do. Even at this moment, I am filled with “I-can” enthusiasm, but I know this daily dose of dynamism is fleeting, and it may only be the caffeine, as my sails soon lose wind to the reality of the sea on which we float. And though I try to cast a lifeline in their direction each day–some days more diligently than others, they haven’t grabbed it yet, and they are drowning before my eyes.

In this, I have to imagine that I am not alone. I have to believe that all teachers experience these rougher waters, too, as they make their way through their year, through their career. We cannot reach all kids, all of the time–a truth despite some of the rah-rah rhetoric that seems pervasive in our profession: All kids can learn! Yes. But maybe not in the box we place them. And even for those of us who try to “break the box,” there still remain circumstances outside our control. Some kids we will never reach. And that weighs–even saying it seems blasphemous, a defilement of our sacred oath to help all kids. But if I am saying it, I must on some level believe it, accept it. And how do I reconcile that? How do sit down next to “John” today and encourage him if I don’t believe I can reach him? Am I the reason he is out of reach? Maybe. And that’s scary. How do I fix that? Will I ever have that banner year in which I reach all kids?

I don’t know. But I will try. Guess, really, it’s all I can do as an imperfect being in an imperfect world. All any of us can do, as we find our ships listing at times in these troubling waters of our paradoxically impossible voyage to reach all kids.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…integrating quotes.

…conferencing about writing.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all. For all the teachers out there who find yourselves listing in troubled waters, I understand, and you are not alone. Thank you for sharing the waters with me.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Learning takes time. Learning a skill takes a lot of time. Writing is a skill. Writing is a process. Writing is an art. And learning to write does not happen overnight.

And yet, in the fast-forward, get-it-done-so-it-can-be-scored, follow-the-formula situations we place our kids, we seem to either be unaware of or not care about these truths, which then leads me to believe, we don’t honor perhaps a bigger truth: nothing is harder than teaching writing.

Okay, I am biased. I get it. I teach writing and so my lenses lean to this truth, and as such, I could not possibly know if it’s harder than anything else. So, fair enough. I don’t know that. But I do know this. Teaching writers is hard. Really hard. And here’s why.

It’s Personal

Writing, even academic writing, is a personal investment. It is from us; it is of us. It is ours. I used to tell kids that they were not their writing, and while there may be some truth to that, it undersells the investment. A writer is her writing. But it is not a static self; it is a dynamic self, changing and growing with each experience, but because it is personal, such growing often presents pain, for growth necessitates feedback, and humans tend–with any creative investment–to react emotionally to critiques of their work. It’s theirs. It’s personal.

So, then, writing is not so different from the other creative work that students do? Well, yes and no. In my experience the large difference is, that unlike most other creative endeavors, there looms not the contrived, artificial, high-stakes experience that portends fate and pretends divinity over writers, publishing their results, holding their diplomas. And though I reject such nonsense. I cannot deny that such nonsense has not seeped into my classroom, its nefarious presence taking hold as I struggle with the dilemma of time, the necessity of feedback, and the personal aspect on the eve of the test, which sullies the experience, transforming learning an art into playing a game. And I resent that, for I feel it forces me to move away from a being a writing teacher to playing a BS artist. It’s wrong, and it needs to be righted. But as we continue to develop technology for the sake of convenience (computers scoring essays so they can be returned to school in a timely manner so kids who fail have time to fail again) we are only moving deeper into madness.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…the game craft (sorry, feeling a bit, snarky) of writing.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

It was easy. And I prided myself on being able to do it so well. I could keep a class quiet, even silent. I was good at it. But that was long ago, in a classroom far different, as a teacher I now barely recognize.

Today, I live in noise, a constant buzz of energy, both productive and not-always-so-productive. I embrace both, for it’s a room alive, it’s a place of human learning. And young humans are noisy, vessels of restless, “angsty” energy who need release. And since I give them freedom, their freedom inevitably finds that release. They’re human. They need it.

But noise is not chaos. Chaos disrupts, dismantles, and destroys a culture, and the only thing I protect more than the humans in the room is the culture in the room. My kids have the freedom to make noise but they do not have the freedom to create chaos. So, I keep them in check, which in the noise-is-needed classroom takes some creativity sometimes, especially later in the year. So, yesterday, I tried something different.

Right now, most of my time in class is spent making my way around the room conferencing with my kiddos about their writing. Such engagements become engrossing, and it is easy to lose focus on the rest of the room as I zoom in on the kid in front of me. As one might imagine, this grants even more “freedom” to my other kids as my attention is elsewhere and my gentle, occasional reminders of volume control are too few and too far between, and noise tempts chaos as one speaker’s increased volume increases the other speakers in the room, and we soon have a full-blown rock concert in room 206. And something has to be done. Something that honors both the kids and the culture. So, with that in mind, I turned to my old friends respect and responsibility.

“Okay, chicos, we gotta do this differently. The volume is getting too high in here, and while I don’t want silence, I do want to make sure we are not disrupting others to the point where they can’t do their best work, so I need your help.

Please choose a partner. You have 30 seconds. Okay, congratulations, you now have an accountability partner. They will help you keep your volume in check, and, in turn, they will do the same for you.

We all have a responsibility to be mindful and respectful of our neighbors’ needs to learn, so let’s all hold each other accountable. Okay?

Let’s work.”

And…it worked. Wasn’t perfect, but it was significantly better. I could focus better on my conferencing, kids kept their volume in check–without being babysat, and we all made progress with our work. I needed something. I leaned on my kids. They responded. That’s the culture I work to cultivate–with my humans.

Today’s Trail…

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…crafting introductions

…reflecting in our Journey Journals

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Not finding the words this morning. They’re there. I can feel them. But they hide. And though I can sense them on the edge of my being and I earnestly call them forth, they hesitate, they wait. It’s a game we sometimes play. They will not come. They will make me come to them, as if to say, “If you raise us from the shadows, you must own what you say, reap what you sow. We will not come.” So, I must go to them. But this morning I pause, for I have learned a pen too eager for words not ready can be trouble. So I will wait. But I don’t want to.

I want to share my deepening dilemma with allowing the stranger that is standardized testing into our room as it disrupts and defiles our sacred space, my fight-or-flight teetering on a precipice offering danger with either step.

If I fight (and I want to), I risk raising the storm outside my room, an invitation to more stranger danger as I call attention to my reason and resolve and a battle’s begun, from which I will not back down but of which I cannot win. Can I afford a pyrrhic victory?

If I flee (and I won’t) and hide inside my room, the stranger will come anyway. And in its coming, it will not care a whit for the names and the stories behind them, as it seeks to name them numbers, winners and losers. And I, I cannot readily reconcile such an uninvited violation of the humans I harbor in this space made sacred, this home we occupy. Can I just stand by?

I don’t know. The answer waits. Words for another day.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…crafting an introduction.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…discussing Why with Sy.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all. Sorry for the “strange” post this morning. Struggling with this. Thank you for letting me try to find my words this morning.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

kids:
they dance before they learn
there is anything that isn’t music.

from “Keepsakes,” William Stafford

I have done it at least a hundred times. Sat in a circle with kids, sharing, listening, and building community. Long before I began Smiles and Frowns, I did Community Circle with my kiddos. And though each session was itself gold, last week was my most golden yet.

But first, here are the basics of Community Circle. As the name suggests, we sit in a circle around the room. We used to move all the desks and sit on the floor, which added a comfortable intimacy to the activity, but it was…well, the floor. Now, we just arrange the desks.

We establish, re-establish our simple guidelines: be great listeners (no talking while others are sharing, and making a visual connection with the speaker), snap or clap agreement, share appropriate answers, ask for a “comeback” if you are not ready, and pass if you choose. The right to pass is imperative. This should be something kids want to do, not something they have to do. Some kids pass. Most don’t. In my experience, they are eager to share.

And, then, we get started. I pose a question/prompt, and we go around the room until everyone has a turn, and we move on to the next topic. We do it for roughly forty minutes on the first Friday of each month.

This month, we moved it to last Wednesday because of the three-day week created by conferences. It started as any other Community Circle: kids shared; we listened; we built community. But then, on a whim, during third period (my second class of the day), I pushed the kids. And they responded.

“Would you rather sing or dance in public?” I have used this “Would you rather” dozens of times with past classes, and kids have simply responded, “sing” or “dance.” But, this time, finding myself seated next to Marlena, an accomplished ballerina, I said, “Okay, do it,” when she said “dance.” Her mouth dropped open; she looked to her peers whose own expressions revealed their wide-eyed knowing of what was about to go down: they would actually have to sing or dance.

All eyes were on Marlena. She moved her desk, went to the middle, and danced–beautifully. The ball was rolling. And it didn’t stop. Kid after kid sang or danced, or both–and not always beautifully, but my gosh we had a blast. Of course, the kids didn’t have to. I never make them do something they do not want to, and the right to pass is sacred in room 206, and some kids certainly–understandably–used it in later periods. After all, who wants to sing or dance in public?

Turns out, most of my kids did, some completely shocking me. I could not believe they stepped out of their closely-guarded comfort zones. From there we settled into more serious topics, ending with, “When is the last time you cried and why?” From the frivolity of dance to the vulnerability of tears, we learned each other last Wednesday, creating community, building bonds.

Of course, some might suggest that we were wasting valuable instruction time with such nonsense as singing and dancing. But once, before we taught them differently, kids moved and sang without apprehension, without prodding, with joy–because they found it natural, normal, necessary. And then, we showed them the “sense” of things, and they stopped dancing. Wish we hadn’t.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…reconnecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…writing introductions for argumentative letters.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…discussing Why with Sy.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

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.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

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.

Have a great day.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

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.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.