It’s a journey I propose
Friday was orientation.
It was a get-to-know you kind of day with a lot of name exchanges. We talked about the program, it’s structure and met with the work group I’ll be primarily matched with for the summer. A good group of folks. I’m excited about all the prospects, or as a friend once said, the fluttering of possibilities. They are everywhere.
In an especially Berkeley moment, the director of our program read from a Nikki Giovanni poem, from the book Those Who Ride the Night Wind.
I liked it and wanted to share.
It’s a journey that I propose.
I have heard from previous visitors
the road washes out sometimes
and passengers are compelled
to continue going or turn back.
I am not afraid.
I am not afraid of rough spots
or lonely times.
I don’t fear the success of this endeavor.
I promise you nothing.
I accept your promise of the same.
We are simply riding a wave
that may carry or crash.
It’s a journey
and I want
to go.
- Jeff
One way
Three years ago, almost to the day, I flew across the country to become a teacher. I remember asking my cousin, a teacher for 15 years, what a lesson plan was a week before I left. I had no idea what I was doing.
Thankfully, I’m a quick study and I picked up what I could from the scant training I got from TFA. Five weeks isn’t enough to do much, let alone learn the basics of classroom teaching. But it gave me something to work with, and I dedicated my life to learning more and getting better. I was humble and asked a lot of questions and was friendly with everyone I met.
It paid off. I found success – more than I expected.
I fell in love with my students, which turned out to be a damn good motivation when it comes to working hard, long hours.
I made some real friends, most of whom will invite me to their weddings and all of whom I will miss deeply.
And I learned a lot about myself. I more intimately know my limits – when to go and when to stop. Maybe more importantly, how to tell when to do what.
I’m on a plane now, going home. It’s a one way flight and it feels different than all the ones before. All the Christmas vacations and Spring Break getaways – those were just temporary escapes. This feels natural, like it’s what is supposed to be happening right now.
That’s reassuring, since I feel so unsure about leaving it all and starting over.
I created something beautiful there and now it’s over. At least the reality is over. The reverberations will be felt for some time. I’ll carry it with me to my new school, to my studies, into my future.
I’ll unpack what I can use and keep stored away the things I no longer need. Every once in a while I’ll take everything and lay it out to remember what it was like to be ambitious and naïve. And I’ll feel inspired to do it all again.
In fact, I already do.
- Jeff
Play with words
Many of my best ideas are not my own.
Teachers, as it goes, are thieves. We borrow and steal ideas – attributing them when it’s fitting and modifying them to be our own when it’s working. Then, when it makes sense, we share what works and it becomes part of our collective practice.
Through my three years teaching, I’ve taken a lot. Paying close attention to my mentors and their classrooms, my ears perk up when I hear a good idea. Familiar with the ins and outs of a middle school classroom (at my school, anyway), I can tell what will work and won’t. I pass on the ideas that seem short term and artificial, knowing my students will ignore it or feel limited by its use.
But when I hear an idea that stands out, you’ll see me writing it down for later reference and, after some deliberation and forethought, making it happen. Everything is an experiment. Sometimes it works like I imagine, other times it fails - unsalvageable. But most often, it just needs some adjustment to work for me and my students.
Such was the case with a recent acquisition. It was an idea I heard during my first year teaching, but it took a while to integrate into my classroom. It required space and some front-loaded time and patience to create. Like the refrigerator magnet poetry that made its way into every college dorm/20-something’s kitchen in the 90′s, this was an attempt to make words, and putting them together, fun.
At this age, a student’s vocabulary is expanding at the rate of nearly 7 new words a day. They aren’t writing these words down or repeating them in new sentences. They are hearing them used in dialogue, without definition. My school learning group recently read an article that made clear “people develop vocabulary effectively and almost effortlessly as long as they see words in meaningful contexts.” Adopting a more robust vocabulary is not something that needs to be done through repetition (although that might work at first).
Based in this research, most schools require teachers to post their content words in the classroom. Called a “word wall,” this space is meant to expose students to vocabulary that fills their classroom discussions. These word walls are usually bland things, written on index cards and stapled to the wall. So in an effort to accomodate my school’s word wall requirement, and add a level of meaning (and even fun) to the process, I took on this new idea.
The picture really tells it all. Basically, white index cards are cut to size for a variety of general and commonly used words and conjunctions. Once the common words are ready, just apply magnetic tape (get a role from a craft store for $2.99). Then, as your vocabulary list grows, just add colored index cards, cut to size, with the new words written on them. Suddenly, you have a life size word wall, fit for a kitchen fridge but applied to a classroom whiteboard.
I call it Playing with Words, and the kids love it. During the morning free time or after a test is done, or when I need a kid to refocus, they get to play. Some of the sentences are poorly crafted, others just plain inappropriate. Every now and then, though, I notice a new sentence and it makes my day.
It was a great idea that I took and made a reality and I’m glad I did. On a small scale, it made the words we use in class more accesible and fun.
By now, you’ve decided if this idea is something you like. If you do, take it. You can steal it, change it, try it and scrap it. Then share it.
- Jeff
Oprah baby
At some point during Oprah’s recent farewell saga, my mom sent me a text message.
“You’re an Oprah baby.”
It was one of those moments when my head actually pivoted, turning to the side. Huh? Perhaps her comma was missing.
“You’re an Oprah, baby.”
Maybe she had adopted Oprah’s name as a new brand of person. I was going to be the equivalent of Oprah one day? The thought has passed my mind a few times, so why not? But this was unlikely.
Then, in a matter of moments (it came and went quickly) I clung to the reality that perhaps my mother was, in fact, Oprah.
But alas, I was wrong on all counts. It didn’t take long to realize what she meant. Oprah’s first season on the air was the year I was born. The Oprah show followed soon after, on September 8th, just a few days before my birthday.
Aligning stars aside, my relationship with Oprah is strong. Anyone who knows me knows this. They can attest to my ongoing defense of her antics, my special edition DVD of her 20th anniversary (which, I might add, many people have borrowed over the years), and my fond recollection of her advice. I love her. I just do. I mean, I’m not alone, so it’s not as if I’m novel or anything. I just happened to develop a strong rapport with a television personality who happens to be really charismatic. Not out of the ordinary.
As a young kid growing up, I watched Oprah on a daily basis, coming home from school and hearing her listen to people’s stories, sometimes giving advice, but often just listening. I think I learned a lot from her. Empathy, compassion, emotional intelligence. She, along with my family, gave me a solid footing when it came to relationships with people. I saw people’s mistakes and triumphs on television and understood the importance of what she was doing for those people, and for me.
I was exposed to people’s stories from a young age and didn’t seem so surprised when the reality of adolescence set in. Divorce, poverty, coming out. All these challenges, wherever I saw them, were not unfamiliar or isolating. I had seen them all before and knew I was not alone in facing them. And that’s gotta be her appeal for most people. She made connections when we often are forced to do it alone, or not at all. For all that, I’m grateful she exists. Like many historical figures of importance, Oprah isn’t perfect or alway right or a saint but I can take from her what is useful and leave the rest.
I haven’t watched her show in years. Since college, she has become just a portrait or headline, usually accompanied by a story about her give-aways or proclamations. But despite this distance, she has remained relevant.
I think of her, among others, whenever I’m faced with challenges. How would Oprah handle this? How would she react? I don’t really know, and don’t really care. I find the fact I’m even asking the question means I’m on the right track. If Oprah inspired anything in me, it was to think, to consider, to ponder.
- Jeff
The boxes are multiplying
They have a life of their own. One by one, sometimes even two by two, they appear in my bedroom and in the basement. I’ll walk away for a moment and then return and there’s another box. I guess that’s what happens when you spend an entire weekend packing. Delusions have taken control and the future that awaits me is becoming more of a mirage than a reality.
Am I really moving? Is there going to be a life waiting for me on the other side? Will it be better? Different, that’s for sure. But not too different, at the rate I’m holding onto things.
Letting go of this life is one thing, letting go of the physical representations of this life – quite another. The little things are easy for me to discard. I’m donating or trashing a lot of my clothes and knick knacks. There’s a vacuum in that pile I found on the side of the road (thinking I was rescuing it for a better home) that never worked. Stuff like that I don’t mind leaving behind.
It’s the sentimental stuff, and the fancy stuff, that I have a hard time parting with. Like this desk I’m writing at right now. I love it. It’s kind of funky but I love it. I’ve written some good stuff here. And my mom helped me paint it green and black, which is really unique and cool. And there’s the purple shoe bench I found (and this was definitely a rescue mission) and restored. These are the things I’m having a hard time just selling off.
Thankfully, I don’t have to. My work is providing some relocation money (whoever heard of that for a teacher?) and so I’m shipping some of my favorite things just because. As my Memorial Day packing weekend comes to a close, here are a few tips for folks moving cross country (or any far distance) that I found helpful:
- PODs are expensive and there are a lot of hidden fees
- Amtrak ships boxes (not furniture) to and from any Amtrak station – $250 for 500 lbs
- Greyhound has a shipping service that does ship furniture for about $1 a lb + fees
- Fly Southwest – you can take up to 200 lbs for just $100 in baggage fees
- Sell everything you don’t want (even the little things) on craigstlist – you’ll make $
And if you’re not moving any time soon, look around. You’ve got it good. Now stay put with the things you have and don’t get too attached – you may not have it for too long.
- Jeff
Saying goodbye
I went to the dentist yesterday and had a great time.
That’s not the typical experience, but, you see, I’ve got a pretty special dental hygienist. Her name is Mary and she’s awesome. From the moment our eyes meet we’re laughing and talking. There’s something about her that puts me at ease, which is good when your mouth is forced open for an hour straight. We talked about California and craigslist and I gave her tips for how to get a good deal. I learned about her other jobs (she works two!) and how she took care of her mom before she died. I felt like she was a friend. A friend I see every 6 months. Not really a friend at all, but someone I could be friends with, and that’s saying a lot. You don’t meet too many Marys.
So when I was getting ready to go, the goodbye was kinda tricky. I wanted to say ‘see you next time,’ but there’s not gonna be a next time. So I said goodbye. We hugged. It was sweet, if not strange for the people waiting in lobby.
And it all got me thinking about starting over. Moving to California is going to be good for me, but it’s still going to be hard. It means saying goodbye to everyone I know now and finding new people to fill my life with. Sure, I’ll have friends when I get there (those are kind of built into the deal), but will I meet another Mary? And if there’s the chance that I do, how long will take to find her?
All the “periphery” people who fill up my life here in Philly (the dry cleaner who knows my phone number by heart, the hair stylist who knows my mom’s name) are going to be gone. When I get to California, I’ll be looking to replace them, but I never really will. I’ll miss them. As weird as it sounds, I’ll miss them.
So imagine how hard it will be to say goodbye to the real friends – the ones who drive me to work everyday and dance with me in the morning at school and tell me jokes while I’m teaching and make pottery with me and run with me.
It’s going to be harder than I’m making it out to be. I need to accept that or else saying goodbye is going to be a messy affair. At least I’ve already said goodbye to Mary. That was a first step. Like practice. Who’s next?
- Jeff
I’m having a great weekend, actually
I think I’ll decide that for myself, thank you very much Weather.com
(See blue sidebar)
Compare & contrast
If you’re going to make a comparison, make one that will push me to be better.
Don’t compare my school to one with bad policies and teachers who don’t have lunch off, or places with administrators who don’t give teacher’s a place at the table. I don’t want to hear about the school that has deadlines before ours, or extra paperwork or less support. I know they exist – several of my friends teach there.
But comparing us to them doesn’t inspire me or motive me or make me want to work any harder or feel any more content in our current condition.
Tell me about the school with 100% retention and a principal that observes classrooms every day. Tell me about the school where teachers are given the chance and the mentoring to be leaders in their school. I want to hear about a place where a teacher’s time is precious and sacred – given time to prepare and plan at school, and rewarded and recognized when they do great things in their classrooms. How about telling me some stories where the end of your sentence isn’t “it could be worse….” as you trail off and walk away.
Why not it could be better.
And then stand there.
“Got an idea? I want to hear it!”
“This doesn’t make sense? Let me explain it to you!”
“You feel overworked and burdened? I understand, so let me help you.”
Tell me that. Tell me all the things we could change or improve and be humble about the fact that we are on our way to being a better school. Take credit for our amazing staff that you hired and kept for two years straight. Reference the fact that your school vision allows kids to go on field trips every month and your school only has fights here and there. Talk about our positive school culture and the fact that we can get our kids laughing out loud or quiet in line if we need to. If the hardest thing we deal with every day is when Titiana does splits in the hallway, we’re doing alright.
But stop comparing what we do have with things that are less, worse or harder. It doesn’t make me feel grateful. It makes me feel stagenet. And in a place with so much going for it, we have a lot to lose by staying still. We should be moving forward, looking forward and finding ways we can get better.
Compare us to something great and we’ll get there.
- Jeff
Four weeks and the next four years
We just finished our annual round of state tests in reading, math, science and writing. It was four weeks worth of proctoring and silence. On the days they felt restless and were searching for some purpose to their task, I tried to minimize the tests as something unimportant. I told them these tests don’t define them – that their scores, if believed to be a reflection of themselves, would just limit them.
But as much as I don’t want to care about these tests, I have to. The undeniable truth is that they have an enormous effect on my student’s educational trajectory – influencing their lives in ways that will have a long-term impact on the choices available to them so that they can determine their own life outcomes.
I’m not being dramatic. Unlike my educational upbringing, my students have to navigate a complicated system of schooling that includes a variety of options: charter schools, public magnet schools, neighborhood schools and the quickly-growing popularity of cyber school. For my students, these tests can mean the difference between attending a high-functioning, challenging and safe school or a crappy one. The truth of the matter is that many of Philadelphia’s best schools have requirements based on these tests.
I have one student, Brooks, who I have no doubt could be dropped in college and hold his own. He is bright, articulate, curious and really tall. At 6’3’’ Brooks carries himself like an adult, and people treat him like one. Despite this, I still think he should go to high school, but the point remains: he belongs at a school that will provide him the rigor he needs to stay stimulated and on the path to college.
His dream school, a place called Central – a high-profile high school that dominates as a pretty kick-ass institution – denied him admission based on his test scores. In a letter to his family, they cited his proficiency in reading as the criteria that barred him from making the cut. He was not advanced (the highest category). Granted, this is a competitive process with other variables involved. Attendance, grades over time, recommendations, interviews, visits – they all play a role. I don’t doubt that Central took time choosing their students and that it was likely a painful process. I’m sure that they believe Brooks will end up at another great high school near by. There are others, after all.
But what if he doesn’t? What if he ends up somewhere that will neglect his talents and drive? Someplace that sees his height as his strength rather than his mind? I hold onto a lot of hope that wherever he ends up, he will thrive. He’s been in hard situations before, so I’m sure he will adapt and find a path all his own. But I have 60 other 8th graders who are navigating the same system and having an equally hard time. They don’t have Brooks’ test scores or grades or charisma. So where are they going to end up?
I’ve spent that last few weeks writing letters of recommendation, calling charter schools to get information about lottery dates, emailing the district to get updates on their status, and feeling completely overwhelmed. How are families, and my kids, expected to figure all this out on their own? And how can I possibly try to convince my students that these tests don’t define them. It’s one thing to be optimistic, and it’s quite another to lie. These tests are important. Very, very important.
But they are only important because we’ve attached to them some very real consequences. The future of students like Brooks depends on these tests, plain and simple. More than a barometer of how much he has learned, these tests serve as a predictor of where and how much he will learn.
- Jeff
I’m going to put it in a mahogany frame
This is my student Casey.
It’s a little soon, but he painted a self-portrait of himself and gave it to me as a going-away gift.
I’ve decided I will be hanging it above my desk in my new classroom next year.
- Jeff
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