Life Long Love of Learning

I spent half the day today at a high-risk high school. That is to say, the low-income high school my boyfriend teaches at. And I was so nervous. I teach 7 and 8 year old who barely come up to my hip. Two of them come up to my chest. Today I knew I’d be surrounded by bigger, older, tougher kids. But, kids nonetheless. So naturally I baked brownies.

And naturally, I got lost roaming the halls trying to find Mr. Smith’s classroom, a front office, anyone to point me in the right direction. Two police officers later and I was pointed in the right direction of the Health Science and Research Main Office.

The student working at the front desk knew who Mr. Smith was — she had him next period. She told me she really wanted to ask me a question but didn’t want to be rude. I told her to ask me anyway. She whispered, “Are you Mr. Smith’s girl?” I spent the next two hours blushing and smiling.

And while Max taught an economics lesson that was way over my head with mostly engaged 12th graders, I noticed the smile had faded from my face after hour 2. I caught myself as I walked up and down their rows. When I’d walk by, they’d hide their phones, make screens go blank, resume taking notes, and almost stop their conversations. Max was a slave to his whiteboard, furiously writing notes and problems, explaining content, going into new content, working inexhaustibly on teaching.  He was teaching beautifully, he was working the students, he was engaging, he was dynamic.

But to this moment I don’t know if the students were learning.

“How did you know to do that?” Mr. Smith asked.

“Cuz of the formula,” replied the student at the board. “What is the formula?” he countered. And she told you it’s function — some xyz economic term that was, again, beyond me.

Maybe that was the point of the lesson. Maybe that’s the point of economics. But what did the student learn? Why we use that formula? Certainly she demonstrated what the formula was and how to use it. And that was the first of my scariest moments for the day.

Mr. Smith escorted me around the rest of the HSR hallway, I mingled and conversed with a variety of other students — all who were fascinated by the fact that teachers aren’t actually robots and actually might have lives after school! Who knew. I visited with Ms. German, Mr. Kosoff, Mr. Davis. I graded some of my own work for my own productivity’s sake.

A short period and bell ring later, we made our way to the auditorium. An assembly that consisted of pie-ing teachers and peer turned into a lecture on choices and teen pregnancy and drop out rates and “cooling” as school. My friends began rolling their eyes and simply said, “Welcome to Carver.” And I felt the feeling that took my smile again. Another one of my scariest moments.

I was scared by the statistics I was looking at. In the face, in the flesh.

On top of being towered over by 70% of the students I met.

On top of the students lingering in the doorways and halls not in the assembly.

And on top of the security guard who escorted me to my car.

Who then asked for my number.

And how different is that security guard than the guys in Mr. Smith’s class who jibed that they would “steal his girl” from him? When does it change?

Is this the future my students are looking at? Is this what happens next?

And with that realization, I recognized the feeling that wiped the smile from my face 2 hours after being at Carver.

Sadness. Despair. Is what I’m doing at my grade level going to influence them enough to sit quietly in the back and absorb as much as I can like the girl with the pretty red braids in Mr. Smith’s 3rd period? Or is this an inevitable? How many of my girls will make it to 12th grade without a baby? How many of my boys will make it to 12th grade without a criminal record?

I choked back tears on my car ride home. My next hurdle is telling this to Max honestly and tearlessly.

Per usual, I’m conflicted. Today was one of those days where I walked in kicking ass and taking names, and walked out kicking ass and taking names. Four of my four lessons rocked. Like, knocked it out of the park. ELA centers — boom. Science — inquiry-based. Math — top-tier of Bloom’s. Paragon — project-based.

My humility amazes me.

And once those kiddos left the classroom? Parents called. Homework packets for NEXT WEEK copied, collated, stapled, done. Assessments made. Student work hot glued and hung up. What doesn’t she do?

But my heart is still breaking into a million pieces tonight.

You see, my baby, Xavier, left my room screaming crying at the end of the day.

Xavier is one of my adopted students. I really enjoy interacting with the kindergartners and first graders — they’ll be coming my way, after all. Seems worth it to get a head start building relationships with the little ones. So Xavier is my kindergartner of kindergartners. Yet my little one is 5 years old going on 15. Example:

“Xavier, you smell nice. Why?”

“I’m wearing cologne Ms. J”

“Why.”

“It’s for the ladies, Ms. J, it’s for the ladies.”

No. I can’t. Example 2:

“I’m going to miss you over the weekend Xavier! What are you going to do with three days off?”

“Gotta make that paper ya know?”

No. I don’t know. And neither should you, you are five!

As it turns out, Xavier is grown because he is largely responsible for himself. He dresses himself. Draws his own baths. Feeds himself. So when I read with Xavier or practice his letter sound s with him, I coddle the little nugget. I treat him like the child he is, and he loves back on me as much as I love on him. At the end of the day, kids just want to be loved.

Over the long weekend, Xavier got his ear pierced. A nice diamond stud now adorns his right earlobe. Today he walks into school and a new leather jacket. Rewards for his good behavior from the previous week. His destructive future flashes before my eyes. Today he ended on yellow.

He runs down the hallway, “She all up in my business! She gon’ get in my face!” I see the art teacher go after him and try to calm him. I’m about to start tutorial. They’re outside my door. Of course I get involved. Ms. Gamblin is telling him to calm down, of course my baby can’t. I tell him to get a drink of water. (It’s physically impossible to cry and drink water at the same time — try it. Best elementary teaching trick EVER.) He ducks into my room. He refuses to get in the car with his carpool. Why? “It’s in my backpack, they can’t see it, Imma get a whoopin. I’m not goin’ she’ll be all in my business!” His behavior tracker.

Just as I tell him he can stay with me as long as he likes, Ms. Jones from the front office comes in, “Ms. J he really does have to go home.” After she tries to persuade him to leave, he ends up getting carried out of my classroom, kicking and screaming. I want to cry with him.

How is it that I can have an amazing day in my classroom with the 24 that I’m responsible for from 8 to 4, but still feel like a failure? Why can’t I protect my students from every harm? Why can’t I ever get it right?

Based on the fact that my last post was three months ago, it’s evident that my job consumes my life. The beauty (and irony) of that fun fact is that I really dig it.

At least now I do.

I’m currently sitting in a coffee shop on one of my precious Mondays off with teacher editions and curriculum maps working as very nice coasters for my latte — I will get to planning eventually today! What am I planning for this week, hmm?

After a professional development on integrating design into education, I thought, duh, that’s how we all learn. Why am I not teaching this way? [Side note: This is something I want to explore more deeply, alas my time management skills are telling me to focus on on topic in order to attempt lesson planning at some point today, rather than tomorrow.] Why am I not teaching through exploration and creation?

Because at the end of the day it all comes down to the test. The dreaded four-letter acronym that haunts elementary school teachers. The three-letter assessment that determines your college-readiness. The one-letter-and-something-you-have-as-a-pet that deems you fit to perform surgery.

Aside from these tests, when are we tested (in the standardized sense) in life?

I can tell you about the biology test I passed this weekend when I had to feed the neighbor’s cat. This coming after I killed our own  pet plant a week ago, I am again entrusted with a living organism. Would I have enough knowledge of cellular life to care for this meowing pile of fur? Would I have to memorize definitions and steps to measure the kibble into the kitty dish? Did I actually fail this test, after feeding him at 1 PM rather than 8 AM?

I can tell you about the chemistry test I passed as I made my grandmother’s chicken noodle soup for the first time on my own. Simmering and stewing. This flavor becomes that when those are added to these. Let’s also chalk this one up as a math test as well, for the amount of measuring and adding and dividing I did to make the perfect soup took something else out of me.

I can tell you about the test of my patience when conversing with various parties invested in my students’ futures. Yes, she did steal his pencil. No, I did not punish him for picking his nose. Yes, her pigtails were pulled. No, I did not send her to the nurse. Yes, I will be sure to have my students tested during our ELA block despite the lack of foresight. No, I will not compromise on the grade that he earned.

But how many standardized tests have I taken in the past 9 months?

Zero.

So what am I actually preparing my students for?

I know I have an answer to that. I know that application of the skills I’m teaching them need to be assessed, I need numbers and data to drive what I do and track and monitor and evaluate. But what if I just gave them some blocks and said, go for it?

I think that’s why I’ve always really liked Legos.

I don’t feel the need to draw a conclusion at the point. Besides, I’ve just been distracted by the list of internships at the High Museum of Art. Ah, back to design after all.

Carpooling to school in the morning, Rachel turns to me and says “We need to make a list of the things we actually do as teachers. People just don’t get it.” I agree.

We, as first year teachers:

• Create a friendly classroom environment (which is harder then it looks when you spend 7 hours a day with 6 and 7 year old who seem hell-bent on destroying every little thing you put in front of them—from tissues to pencil erasers to text books to posters on the wall).
• Manage parent concerns (“My son is on permanent punishment until he gets his horrendous grade of 85% back up. What are we going to do about this?” Well, I’m going to continue to give him consequences until he sits down, raises his hand, and stops distracting others in class so he can actually learn.)
• Lesson plan (on a monthly, weekly, and daily basis now that we are at the end of October and finally have half of our curriculum needs).
• Manage student behavior (Yesterday, I had a student leave the classroom, only to come flying back into the room screaming at the top of her lungs in the middle of our math lesson. All in a day’s work.)
• Create routines and systems for students (from a Parking Lot of wayward hands during a lesson, to I’m Done! work for my high achieving students who rush through their work, to Tattle Teddy notes where my kids tell the Tattle Teddy who pushed who and who stole who’s pencil every five minutes of the day, etc).
• Deal with small problems (“He said Jayden and I were boyfriend and girlfriend and that’s gross!”)
• Deal with big problems (“He called me a b****!”)
• Communicate with administration (about aforementioned problems).
• Keep students invested (what crazy thing am I going to do next to make sure my students are awake and entertained while I attempt to teach them about fact families?)
• Track student progress (visually in the classroom, in the books for the school, and with parents who hover).
• Grade on a daily basis (otherwise I’ll end up elbow deep in a pile of papers at progress report time).
• Implement policy X Y and Z as covered in the staff meeting.
• Standardize test my students.
• Give diagnostics to new students who joined my class last week.
• Align the curriculum with Common Core Standards.
• Align what I’m teaching with the curriculum.
• Teach kids how to learn to read.
• Teach kids who know how to read how to read to learn.
• Differentiate instruction.
• Behavior narrate.
• Give rewards for academic behavior.
• Give rewards for classroom behavior.
• Give consequences for classroom behavior.
• Get to know my students.
• Catch up my students who are behind.
• Advance my students who are ahead.
• Reteach to my students who are on level.
• DRA my students every 6 weeks.
• Sleep.
• Eat.
• Breath.

In my classroom, we end the day with shout outs. The scholars use a form: “I want to shout out _______________ for ________________ when he or she _________________.” Then we give the person being shouted out snaps, and send them good vibes. Now, it’s my turn.

It’s the end of October. I’ve been teaching for 13 weeks at DPA as a 2nd grade teacher. During the first 11 weeks of teaching I spent 16 hours at my place of work. I worked a 5 - 9 job. I had little to no time for myself.

Luckily, I’m surrounded by an awesome support system. On the administrative said, I have my principle and my curriculum implementation specialist (CIS, aka VP) at school, who I feel comfortable enough to turn to for guidance and a shoulder to cry on when it really goes wrong. Plus I have my MTLD with TFA who showers me with compliments every time she observes me, even though I know what a mess my classroom is half the time.

I’m lucky enough to live with a fellow first year teacher, and she keeps me sane as my personal life falls to shambles with this job. She is my live-in support system. She understands when I need to vent about X Y and Z that happens in the classroom or at school, but she also gently reminds me that I need to take off my teacher hat and be a normal person every once in a while. She makes sure that I go out and have fun, after all, we’re 22!

Across the hall I have Collin, and upstairs and across the street is Jeremy. And Joy. And Ansley. And about twenty other TFAers who live in the “TFA Dorm” of Atlanta. I’m surrounded by fellow first year teachers who we all use for support, ideas, and ears to whine in about our classrooms. Collin was genius enough begin a Wednesday night ritual of going to Jack’s Pizza and Wing after school. For me, it’s a non-negotiable for me. You see, Ms. J doesn’t do Wednesdays. Stevie does.

The 11 classroom teachers at my school are young (and witty and sarcastic) so I actually want to hang out with the people I work with after school. I feel guilty missing Applebee’s on Fridays of pay weeks because I want to go and laugh at the crazy things that happened with Brandon and Brandon in Ms. P’s first grade class. I want to hear about how my adopted kindergartener wore cologne to school “for the ladies, duh Mr. Walker.” And not only are the stories great, but I genuinely enjoy these people’s company.

Then there’s the TFA trifecta.

I would probably have lost my mind if it wasn’t for David and Rachel teaching at my school. Rachel is one of the 1st grade teachers, and as she said during our first week of training, she may be small, but she’s scrappy. She has some of the best trained first graders I’ve ever seen. And something has to be said about her work ethic—she was almost always the last one to leave the building during our first 10 weeks, laminating, making centers, hanging student work. No wonder her classroom looks like something out of Pottery Barn.

David is one of my fellow second grade teachers. He worked at Bolton with me this summer at Institute, and when he was hired I prayed he’d be my fellow 2nd grade teacher. David is sweet and supportive when you need it (and I need it, like, 24/7), but has a sense of humor and is a great male role model for his students. He’s saved me a whole bunch of times (i.e. when Malachi called Devin a n******, when Olivia had her first of multiple meltdowns, when I owed Demetrius special lunch and had to leave campus for McDonalds, etc).

This is a gratitude post. I’m shouting out those who keep me sane on a day to day, weekly, and monthly basis. Because as all my first year teachers know, this job is nuts. So shout outs all around, especially to my mom and dad, who are able to pull me out of the quicksand of teaching to remind me to book my flights home for Thanksgiving and Christmas and Homecoming. I’m giving you snaps, and sending you good vibes.

The one word that pops into my head about the first week is: humbling.

Days 1 and 2 I could ask them “Can we learn?” and they’d shout out “YES WE CAN!” with enthusiasm. They’d give me a beat before reading and sing with me, “We’re gonna read baby read! We’re gonna read baby read!” I’d ask “Scientists ready?” and they’d bang on their desks and reply “Scientists ready!” as they put on their scientists goggles. Before math I’d ask “What class is this?!” “THIS IS THE CLASS. THAT WANTS TO LEARN. TO DO THE MATH AND BUILD A BETTER TOMORROW!” And before Paragon, “What are we doing today Explorers?” “CLIMBING. THE MOUNTAIN. TO COLLEGE!”

My class was great at getting their investment piece down, but after Wednesday I lost it.

They lost their nice teacher and got a mean teacher.

I lost my voice Wednesday on from hollaring over them and at them.

It was miserable.

I was miserable.

But there was a progressive increase in compliance and behavior management throughout the week. I do need help with behavior management. I thought I had it nailed during Institute—HA was I wrong. Point me to the right seminars, talks, workshops, etc. and I’m there.

I do know a lot of what I’m doing wrong — my instructions aren’t explicit, my consequences aren’t consistent. But I’m also afraid of giving a boat load of consequences so early and calling home (my most severe consequence before being dismissed from the classroom) because I’m afraid it’s going to reflect on me as a teacher—as a bad teacher.

Also, plot twist, there’s no technology in my classroom, whereas all the other teachers have SmartBoards.

How did people teach before this technological age?

I feel like my kids need the visual examples and me modeling problems, but I have no idea how to do it and transition from one subject to another without them losing it.

If the first week of teaching was an ocean, I didn’t sink, but I was no Michael Phelps (which, you know, with an ego my size a small part of me expected to be).

Today, Day 1 Week 2, was a WHOLE lot better. Content and a set schedule worked in my favor and in theirs. But I’m still convinced I’m not going to teach them anything worthwhile. What happens from here?

Teaching science just got a whole lot more interesting #SharkWeek2012

Anyone know if this type of typography is copyrighted or can I use it in my classroom?

Teaching my students the 4 layers of dirt