Decisions
Sometimes decisions are made for you.
I started applying to leadership programs in the fall, and have spent an enormous amount of time since then thinking, writing, interviewing and waiting. And here we are – 8 essays, 11 interviews and 2 trans-continental flights later.
If you think I’m tired, I am. I put myself out there in a way few people get the chance to. I was analyzed and dissected and prodded. And with that close examination, I was forced to take a good look at my own self. It was an introspective process that took place under a microscope. I made myself vulnerable and and some decided I was ready, others did not. In the end, I was rejected from KIPP and NLNS and accepted to Columbia, Berkeley, EdPioneers and a teaching position in Richmond.
No one is keeping score, thank god. But if they were, I’d be surprised if they didn’t think I won. I’ve learned so much about myself, my ambitions, my strengths and the places I still have to grow. And I’ve got a great year ahead that will give me some time to figure out who I am and to get a better idea of what it means to be a school leader. I’ll be enrolling in Berkeley’s Principal Leadership Institute starting this summer. I’ll be joining the staff of Leadership Public Schools – Richmond as a high school history teacher in the fall, and will graduate the following August with a M.A. in School Leadership and my administrative credential.
From there, who knows.
Actually, I’ve got a pretty good idea.
- Jeff
Little man
I got some hard news this weekend. It’s never easy to hear sad things about people you care about, especially when there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m hoping everything’s ok, but your mind kind of makes up its own story, if you know what I mean. You try to be positive, but there’s a part of you that kind of knows how things are gonna turn out.
If I spend too much time inside my own head, everything just starts to get even more fuzzy and confusing. So I tried to find something to relate to, or an experience to give me some perspective.
I thought of one of my students, Nadir. His dad died last year from cancer. I don’t remember which kind, but it had been killing him for a while. In the end, he died from a flu or something. But I guess they still blame it on the cancer, because that’s what he told me.
He was 12. And his mom tells us that he does everything his father used to do. In the winter, when it snowed, he went out front and shoveled the sidewalk clear. When his little brother got sick, he sat with him and checked his temperature with the back of his hand.
“He’s like a little man,” she told us.
In times like these, when I can finally relate (even if on a completely different level) I want to take him aside and just ask him some questions. I want some advice.
How did you get through it?
Did you cry a lot, or did that make it worse?
Do you still think he’s around sometimes, and then remember he’s not?
What do you wish you had done with him before he got sick?
But I wouldn’t. He’s 12, after all, and I know he tries to be strong. Underneath it, he’s just a little boy and I know it wears on him.
I’ve just got a feeling that he’d have some really good advice.
- Jeff
Amen
I took my students on our World Religions Tour field trip yesterday. We visited a Mosque, Synagogue and Buddhist Temple. It was, as it was last time, the best day all year.
The boys wore yamakas and everyone took off their shoes in the mosque and the temple.
They sat on pillows to meditate but started laughing half way through because they all don’t know how to concentrate yet.
They touched the Torah, which we all learned is made of animal skin.
Then they ate a kosher lunch and really liked it but they all wanted more cookies so I snuck my cookies to the kids with the best sad puppy eyes.
They sat on a giant prayer rug and watched one of their Muslim classmates demonstrate the prayer.
All the while recording their observations and asking questions like, “is it acceptable to marry more than one woman?” as they shattered stereotypes and cleared up misconceptions.
And the whole time they sat still, in suspension, not because we told them to, or threatened them with some consequence, or yelled. They sat there because all they wanted to do was learn something about something which they knew nothing about.
By the end of the day, what was foreign or maybe would have been called strange or weird, or even stupid – what might have caused confusion or fear, or worse yet, but all too common, hatred – was now all too improbable because the unknown was now a little less mysterious.
Which means the next time they see a Buddha in a Chinese restaurant or talk to a woman in a hijab who won’t at first look them in the eye or notice a little hat on the crown of a bearded man’s head, they won’t say “that’s weird,” or ask “why would someone do that?”
They will just know what it is. Or they will be brave enough to say, “Hi, I’ve got a question.”
And the wall that once separated them will have become a bridge, and they will, being the curious, spontaneous, brilliant people they are, walk across.
- Jeff
Unplanning the lesson plan
I write lesson plans every weekend. It takes about 2 hours to plan for 5 days, 2 preps a day = 10 unique lessons total. Mind you that’s just the plan. Then I have to create the stuff that makes the learning happen; the worksheets, the passages, the activities, the homework, the research, the assessments. It’s a process, but I actually enjoy it. I get to exercise my imagination in new ways on a weekly basis. With my students, there are few limits to what I can try – so even the risks aren’t as risky as they seem.
Every lesson starts with an objective – the learning goal we’ve got laid out beforehand – and you go from there. But sometimes, all that planning goes out the window. I’m starting to think it might be better that way.
Today, we were reading our most recent History Book Club novel, Does This Make My Head Look Big? and identifying examples of conflict. We got to a part when the characters (16 year old girls in high school) were impersonating one of their teachers. I looked around and they were all in it. They were in the story and reading and loving it. And it was 2:30 on a Friday and my room was kind of hot and muggy and I’m sure all that was on their mind was the weekend ahead. But they were reading with me – choosing to read with me. So we stopped reading.
And for the next 15 minutes they took turns impersonating their teachers.
For 15 minutes today, my students weren’t reading. They were characters in a book. Couldn’t have seen that coming and I sure didn’t write that in a lesson. But damnit it was the best teaching I’d done all week.
- Jeff
We know more than we think
Today I did something odd. I volunteered to go back to TFA.
As an alum, I don’t have to attend the monthly weekend courses that first and second-year corps members endure. It’s part of the program, so there’s not too much room for complaining. Except when it’s a waste of time, which happens from time to time.
I didn’t go back for self-torture. I went back to see if I could help out. The social studies team leader wanted me to lend my thoughts and feedback to other teachers in the program. It was an impromptu commitment (I don’t make those lightly), but it turned out to be totally cool.
I mean, the session itself wasn’t very meaty. It was a lot of work time and me randomly talking to strangers about their teaching. But I loved it. And in some strange twist, what I said was actually valued. Not that I’m not used to being treated well, but I’m not used to being treated like the professional I obviously am. As a teacher, our work is often casual and collaborative, which (while awesome) can also risk feeling unimportant. Not that it’s really unimportant, but just because we don’t lend this kind of work as much legitimacy or reverence as the corporate board room or even a lunch meeting amongst lawyers.
Despite this, we all know the work of teachers is important. And putting myself out there with other teachers felt good. It reminded me of everything I’ve done and pushed me to think about what else I could do. No doubt the teachers I spoke with had some gems to share with me, as well. I kind of wanted to stay and make a day of it, but that wasn’t on the agenda.
By the end, I had given a handful of young teachers, like myself, a bit of inspiration to start reading books in their history classrooms. I told them about my practice, where I messed up, what I will different next year, and we traded ideas. With the flick of a jumpdrive, I gave them every document I had made.
I’m not sure if they will actually do anything with it. But I’m not sure if that really matters.
Someone said recently, “It’s not what you know. It’s what you share.”
Since I probably know more than I think, I should share every chance I get. Lesson learned.
- Jeff
Donors, Choose Me!
I teach social studies, but really I teach history. Maybe a little geography. But my kids don’t learn the state capitols and they don’t necessarily know the difference between an ocean and sea. In fact, I’m not so sure I do. But this type of nonsense (the stuff a lot of people tend to value) doesn’t really interest me.
For the first two years I taught, my curriculum was lacking something more important – reading. Sure, we read, but it was little stuff, and we didn’t build on any skills. It was about content, not becoming better readers. There was a whole world I hadn’t explored and I was determined to do some exploration this year.
I instituting History Book Club and set the goal of reading three historical fiction novels throughout the year. The novels would be connected to our unit of study and leveled to push my students as they year went on. We started the year with an easy and high-level read, and now we’re moving on to longer and more demanding texts.
So far, each grade has read (or is finishing) two books. And all of those books, every single one of them, has been funded through DonorsChoose.org. An amazing organization, Donors Choose has changed my classroom and my teaching. I now have access to actual books that I can teach with and my students can read. They love it. I love it. And I hope you do, too.
If you’re feeling so inclined, and would like to support our reading, I’ve just started a new project to fund our third book of the year. Check it out at my teacher page at DonorsChoose.org and browse other teacher projects while you’re at it. We need all the help we can get.
- Jeff
Breaking the ice
Quite literally.
I went on a jog the other week and noticed that the Schuykill River, just about 1/2 mile from my house, was frozen over. It’s a sizable river, and so I was surprised that it managed to actually freeze. The depth of the ice, unknown at the time, captured my imagination. From that point forward, all I could think about was breaking that ice.
I’ve got a little OCD stuff going on and sometimes I’m consumed by the need for a sense of satisfaction. As a kid, it came in many forms. There was a time when I couldn’t pass a drain without unclogging the leaves and branches that plugged it from flowing. After a storm, I’d run outside and look for the drains I could unblock. Totally weird, right? Or the period of time when I couldn’t stand people’s forearms from touching. I mean the little crease on the other side of your elbow – you know that super sensitive spot people sometimes tickle. Well, I couldn’t stand it when that little space was touching. Still confused? Do a bicep curl with your right arm – that’s what I’m talking about – when that little crease goes away and touches your forearm. It drove me crazy.
Now that I’ve shared all that with you, I can share my newest craze: breaking/cracking/standing on ice. I love it and it’s one of the best parts of living in Philadelphia. Ok, that sounds kinda sad, but whatever.
You can imagine, then, my excitement when I discovered that a whole river had frozen over. I got on my bike and went on a mission. Looking for some giant rocks to throw, I was determined the break the ice. I documented the exercise below, to which I hope you can find some satisfaction, too.
Attempt #1
Attempt #2
Attempt #3
- Jeff
When it snows
With the inclement weather as of late, I’ve heard a lot of talk about how we teachers react to snow days. Personally, I love ‘em. I can’t imagine not loving them. Any constraint I might show at the announcement (or anticipation) of a snow day might cause some serious medical problems. Instead, I scream and shout and – for the 5 minutes following the news – get a little crazy. If I had hair to let, I’d let it all down.
But that’s just me. I have no doubt that there are others out there (teachers, leaders, even students and certainly parents) who aren’t as joyous. They have their reasons: students need to learn, we don’t want a longer school year, where am I going to find a sitter at this hour? Fine reasons, indeed. Worthy of attention and thought and reflection, these concerns are real and, to an extent, I share them.
Take for example the fear that our students are not learning today. First of all, I think it’s awfully presumptive of you to think they can’t learn without you. They are totally learning. They are exploring their neighborhoods and homes during times when they usually are tucked away in classrooms, behind books and indoors. They are interacting with people and spending time with family who they really don’t see that much during the week. It’s awesome. They will probably get into fights and resolve them. They are probably watching a daytime talk show that’s about some interesting dilemma. They are probably making their own snacks and lunch with what they can find in the fridge and cupboard. Sure there’s no accountability or word walls where they are right now, but there’s definitely something happening. It sounds like I’m making excuses, but I’ve got to believe this isn’t time wasted.
I could even see myself, thought – on something like the tenth consecutive snow day – getting a bit agitated. But today, right now, on our third snow day of the year, I feel relief. The largest contributing factor of that relief is that we, as teachers, work really hard. I find myself exhausted on a daily basis, and not because I don’t take care of myself or manage my time. In fact, I’ve got a pretty balanced life. Yet, the energy output during the school day is such that I return home completely deflated, emotionally drained and ready for a quiet night akin to what old men do in retirement. That is my reality. And so when I get news of the possibility of more rest, it’s satisfying. It has nothing to do with a hatred of my job. It’s not that I don’t want to be at school. It’s that I want to be at home. I suppose those are related, but I posit the relationship is more complicated than we make it.
Let’s not be confused: when I shout for joy it’s not because I hate my job. It’s because I love myself.
With that said, I hear there’s a snow storm coming on Wednesday.
- Jeff
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