The Visit

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Yesterday a piece of yesteryear walked into my classroom.

My class had just returned from music, and they were settling down to begin our weekly meeting when the door opened, and in walked a student who’d been a part of my class five years ago.

I’d seen this young man from time to time when driving home, or on an errand. We’d both waved, but I hadn’t had words with him since he’d been in my class as a ruddy-faced twelve year-old. As he stood before me I was taken back to a vision of he and his friend during a three-legged race on field day, he’d stumbled and fallen; his friend picked him up on his back and finished the race with this boy hanging off his shoulders—and laughing the whole way.

The boy of yesteryear hadn’t changed with the exception of being a little bit taller—all right, a lot taller, and the faint traces of a mustache gracing his upper lip. Also, when he spoke it was evident that his voice had lowered just a bit, but he was still that kid I remembered from my classroom so long ago.

I recalled the difficulty he’d had in school, the times he’d struggled to complete assignments on time, and the hours I worked with him after school to get him caught up. There were days he completely exhausted me... but if I’m honest, I’d have to admit that I loved every minute of working with him.

While my current class of students continued with the complements portion of the meeting, this young man and I talked for a few minutes.

“I’m going to graduate high school a year early, Mr. Z.”

“Really?” I responded. “How are you planning to do that?”

The boy smiled sheepishly. “I decided to take extra classes and fewer electives to get the credits I need to graduate.”

I blew out a breath, “That must have been quite an undertaking.”

He grinned as he told me of the lessons of hard work he’d learned as a sixth grader, and how well prepared he was now. “After being in your sixth grade class, high school is easy.” He chuckled, and after a few more minutes’ talk, he agreed to have a little chat with my class about his story of working hard, and doing what you should.

When the class finished the meeting and had returned to their desks, I introduced him. He stood and his voice was a bit quiet at first, but grew rapidly with confidence as he told them the benefits of working hard and doing what you’re supposed to. He told them about endurance and always trying your best.

“When I first started the sixth grade, Mr. Z asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I think I said something like, ‘I want to be a video game tester.’ But that’s not what I’m going to do…I’m going to be a pilot or a lawyer. I’m going to do something with my life.”

I couldn’t have been more proud of this boy as he answered a few questions from my class and then told me he needed to go. I told my students to take out their math assignments and we’d start to correct them. As he turned to leave, this young man gave me a hug and said he’d be back to visit again.

Then he was out the door as quietly as he’d slipped in.

Though we corrected our assignment and did the math lesson for the day, my mind kept slipping back to this boy—now a young man of seventeen—who’d made a change; one who’d decided somewhere along the lines that being ‘okay’ or average was simply not good enough. A kid who realized that college is vital in today’s society. A boy who’d been carried during those critical moments of adolescence by parents, teachers, and friends during those times that were the most influential.

I don’t think I could be any more proud of him.

Just Like the Ending Scene of a Movie

Pin It There are moments in life that - no matter what words we use - will never adequately convey the power of a moment.

This was one of those moments...



If I ever have a movie made about my life, I think that I want this to be the final scene.

I Want an Alien for Christmas

Pin It It was a little over a week in the planning.

My team and I had to come up with something for our school Christmas sing-in, which we’d perform on the last day before the kids were to leave on break.

I’d jokingly thrown out, “I Farted on Santa’s Lap” as a possibility for the past three years in a row, but it’d never been considered with the least bit of enthusiasm or possibility of happening from my team…

…and this year was no exception.

However, I guess this was understandable coming an elementary school environment; you just know that you’d get a plethora of shocked intakes of breath from parents, copious giggles from children, and you’d hear the song caroled down the hallways and in the lunchroom for months to come.

It would give ‘deck the halls’ an entirely new meaning. Yeah, in other words the entire staff’d hate me.

Still, it’s fun to throw out the idea for the song every year, just to watch it crash and burn in a fiery inferno.

Yet even with this particular song being off the table, the fifth grade team has always managed to dredge up something that totally rocks…after all, my team and I are all about awesome and substandard just won’t do. Yeah, being a perfectionist with narcissistic tendencies is always a huge asset in regards to this.

It was about two weeks ago that we sat in our weekly meeting and kicked around ideas for this year’s performance. After all, our debut of “The Santa Claus Rock” last year would be pretty hard to beat.

After a few minutes I said, “Hey guys, I’ve got the perfect song for this year.”

My team waited for the usual proposal. I made it, it was shot down, and then threw out my real idea.

They loved it; it was so astonishingly overwhelming that they just couldn’t say no.

I came home and scoured the information superhighway in search of a karaoke version of this particular little tune, only to learn that one didn’t exist.

Curses.

Being resourceful, I pulled out my guitar, I looked up the chords online, and three practices with the students later, we were standing in front of the rest of the school ready to blow them away with our high school musical-ish performance.

Granted, in retrospect I wish that the gym hadn’t been quite so big…the roof-shaking rocking we’d performed in the classroom just wasn’t quite as strong as it had been in that vast space.

But still we were awesome.

Without further ado, I present the fifth grade in their entire splendor and glory…yours truly on lead (and only) guitar.




But now I’ve already begun to think about possibilities for next year’s presentation, mostly because I realized somewhere along the way that we’ve again set the standard for coming up with something amazing, and besides, I have to beat out my first grade teacher friend, Abe Yospe, when it comes to performance awesomeness.

...and he can be a tough act to follow.

Where Everybody Knows My Name

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The same thing always seems to happen.

A voyage approaches with the tick tocking of the clock high up on the wall—ever coming nearer; it waits in the wings for its cue to take center stage.

I sit alone in my classroom; I’ve been here getting ready for the substitute for both Monday and Tuesday for quite a few hours.

My lessons plans finally reached page six before I decided that enough was enough—planning for every possible scenario was no longer an option at this point. I slumped back in my plastic swivel chair, listening to the well-known music that outlines my little world, and the familiarity it affords…the commonalty it brings to me and the little niche I’ve managed to carve into this place over the past few decades while on this spinning world is comforting.

I organized all of the assignments and items for my students into piles, and breathed out a heavy sigh. I rubbed my eyes and remembered that I really should look up the directions my brother sent me last year to reach his flat in New York—as well as print my flight itinerary and boarding pass.

As I read over the directions in the email from a year ago, I felt recoil in my guts which seemed to signify the arrival of something new and foreign to my little world. Something strange to the place I have come to know and find comfort.

I thought of the bustling streets of New York, the chaos and rushing of thousands of people to whom I did not know, and those who did not know me. All too soon I’d be lost amidst a sea of faces—nothing more than a face in the crowd.

I looked around my classroom, at my students’ desks—some crammed with their varied jumble of this, that, and the other—small extensions of themselves while they’re not here.

Man, but I’m going to miss them.

I’m going to miss this little place where, like what’s said the theme song of Cheers, “Everybody knows my name.”

The clock still ticks from its place on the wall, reminding me that there is still a lot to do, and sitting here is no longer a luxury I can afford. Time still trudges onward.

My thoughts turn to my brother, my sister-in-law, and my nephew all waiting for me in New York. When I do, I feel the flicker of excitement rising.

The red-eye will taxi from the runway tonight, and when it does, I will be in it bound for a week in the Big Apple.

Should you find yourself in this grand city in the next seven days, I’d love the chance to meet you…but if you’re there and you’d rather not, that’s okay, too…for now we’ll just see each other as faces in the crowd, but I’ll tell you what…

I’ll smile.


P.S. If so, drop an email to teachinfourth@yahoo

And yes, I left the .com off on purpose…I didn’t want spamming.

I'm no Superman...

Pin It Oh, this will sound an awful lot like that posting from this past May.

Mostly because it is very similar.

I’m a regifter at times; I am also a reposter sometimes, too.

Of course, I changed it up because parts of it didn’t work this time, but as I was writing this post, I thought to myself, didn’t you already write something like this already?

After a quick blog search I saw that I indeed had.

So I edited, tweaked, and rewrote.

Now, here it is - refitted and reworked - what I’d already written about today’s experience.

Yet it’s still coupled in some of the original packaging (video and photos). You know, just in case you wanted to take it back to the store for a full refund…

This morning I awoke—not to my alarm, but nearly four hours earlier—to the throbbing pain in my skull. My head was pounding, and it felt like someone had been using my brain as a punching bag.

In fact, do you remember that scene from The Wrath of Kahn? You know, the one where Kahn puts that little worm into Chekov’s ear and it burrows its way into his brain?

Yeah, you could say that it felt something like that.

I took three ibuprofens and two Tylenol—my own little migrane cocktail and put my head on ice deciding that I would be fine—after all, I was a teacher. I wasn’t just any teacher either; I was the hero…the one who never missed school because of being ill or anything like that. I guess you could say that I usually pictured myself as something like this as I traversed the distance from home to work:



It was a few hours later that I awoke still to the pain, but I was determined to go to school. Today was the day for school pictures. You don’t miss the day for school photos! After all, could you imagine a shot of the entire class with the teacher absent from it?

Yeah, neither could I.

I got ready and drove the torturous distance to work. I even rolled down the windows and breathed in the cool morning air, hoping to alleviate some of the pain throbbing in the confines of my skull, but it did little to nothing to lighten the agony. But, being the teacher that I am, I put on my ‘game face’ and went into the classroom. I smiled, I tried to be excited, and I even tried to joke around with my class as we crammed an entire day into our early-out Friday, making it feel akin to the last ten minutes of getting ready for house guests, but it felt like I’d already had a double-kryptonite power shake for breakfast.

By 11:00 - and a visit to the school restroom to vomit - I came to a stark realization…



I am not Superman.

And you know what? I realized that nobody expected me to be either.

As the pain kept increasing, it became progressively harder and harder to stay. Light hurt. Sound hurt. Thinking started to hurt. My students had seemed to sense earlier that something was wrong because I caught a final few words of the class president before I’d entered the classroom from our three-minute break earlier in the day. She’d said something about Mr. Z having a migraine and they all needed to keep things quiet and not make it worse.

Well, despite their efforts, it got worse.

I’m happy to say that I made it through class photos, but shortly afterward I admitted defeat, turned to the office staff, and allowed my Friday parent helper, Jaqs, to take over as sub for the rest of the day and drove home amidst pain, vomiting, and wanting to crack my head open with an ice pick and letting the insides out.

Five hours later my migrane was finally gone, and I felt better. The world was again a beautiful place. Tonight will go to the Rooftop Concert to listen to Dustin Christensen. Tomorrow night I will voice at ComedySportz.

Next week?

Next week I will again be Superman...but I’ve realized that being Clark Kent is okay, too.

Bonsai

Pin It I did announcements at my school today.

I do this on occasion, usually when my principal is out of the building.

I’ll be honest here, when it comes to announcements, I pull out all the stops.

I use my ‘Mr. Voice’ Voice—the one I reserve for ComedySportz. I combine this with some rockin’, kickin’, upbeat, get-your-blood-pulsating-in-your-veins-music through the intercom system as I belt out:

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to Amelllllliiiaaaa Eaarrrrhhhheaaarrrtttt Elemmmmmeeennnntttaaarrrrryyyyyyy!”

I’m pretty awesome…well, to kids under the age of twelve.

I usually try to keep things upbeat and pulsing until the end as I announce birthdays, upcoming events, kids who were caught being amazing around the school, and stuff like that…and then I bring it down.

I play some Kenny G.

Okay, maybe not that; however, I kill the tunes and then always try to share a poem or a thought of some type—sometimes something ‘ish’ I’ve written from my blog—but a kid version. This is the time when I encourage the kids to be kind to others and remember that they are teeming with awesomeness. I try to help them remember that they are in charge of the choices they make each day and help them to remember that they need to make good choices—but it is only they can make that choice as an individual.

The message I shared today was about appreciating their teachers. I decided to share this because we had seven or eight teachers out of the building—training up in Salt Lake—and I was thinking of the third to quarter classrooms in our school where substitutes were going to be instructing for the day.

I didn’t want the kids to eat those poor souls alive.

I talked about being appreciative. I told them about writing their teacher a note or having another way to let them know they cared because these people became teachers because they wanted to make a difference.

I told them that their teachers loved them. I let them know that this is why teachers do everything that they do.

I signed off, letting them know that the choice of how they would behave today was theirs, but Mr. Z had all confidence that they would make good choices—after all, each and every single one of them was teeming with awesomeness.

I hung up the intercom. I walked the empty hallways back to my classroom. I reached the door.

When I arrived I saw one of the boys standing just inside the door, looking out the small side window. When he saw me he cried out, “He’s here!” and then vanished back into the classroom.

Puzzled, I opened the door and was greeted with a scream of “Bonsai!” from 28 prepubescent children and found myself practically slammed against the wall from the blunt force impact of the group hug that followed.

How can I not love being a teacher?

Especially when I love them back so much?

* Bonsai is our class' awesomeness yell of the week...heck, it probably will be for the whole year. And, just if you were wondering where it came from, it was mentioned in our Treasures book basal reader and was subsequently a pop culture media reference as well.

Yeah, the kids love it, too...




BTW, Don't forget that this Saturday is Christmas in September...

The Visitor - Oddities, Grims, & Bangles...Oh, My!

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I was in the midst of teaching my fifth grade class about the proper way of going about presenting literature responses when the visitor arrived, pushing her way through the classroom door, amid a spangled array of baubles and bangles. She stood for a moment, blinking from behind her thick spectacles and wild tangles of disarrayed hair.

I at first assumed that she was a parent who’d come in for her child’s birthday and the student had failed to inform me of this paltry little detail, so I stepped aside and allowed her the opportunity to present the class with her child’s treats; however, it didn’t take me long to realize that this was not the case whatsoever.

The visitor soon began to utter with ethereal-like tones as she beckoned the students toward the floor in front of her, and commenced to make predictions of the future, mutter incantations, and gabble on and on about something called a grim as she gazed at the ‘portents’ of the leftover dregs of her afternoon coffee break.

The class decided that it was best to humor her; they were polite, answered her questions, and were even willing to nod in agreement at some of her pronouncements of being late and other forecasts that nobody could ever know about occurring.

I snapped a photo or two of this crazy lady to send down to the principal in the event that she were an escaped lunatic or something from the local nut factory. I can only assume so, and I was glad that none of my students were harmed as she whipped her shawls about her and made a dramatic exit out the door, muttering time and time again that my class needed to protect me that crazy grim-thing…

Heavens, I can only wonder why my classroom seems to be a magnet for these types; after all, this isn’t the first time that an occurrence like this has taken place. Why only last year there was some gal by the name of Stargirl who wandered into my classroom, and the year before we were exposed to a truly horrific woman by the name of Spiker. Perhaps even more odd was my first year at this new school when we met a woman I'll simply call Donna because the name she went by was far too long to try to write.

I have only one thing to conclude…my classroom is most certainly becoming flypaper for freaks.

Now I just wish I could get rid of this big, mangy dog that keeps following me everywhere I go…I think it’s a stray.

This Post has no Title

Pin It I fought my way through the depths of Walmart on Saturday evening.

Moving through the school supply aisles was like trying to claw my way out of the seventh level of Dante’s Inferno; there were melees of carts careening in all directions. Sets of beleaguered parents consulted with school lists as their confused children blocked the walkways like the buffalo in Yellowstone National Park. The shelves around them looked like war-ravaged aftermath—or something comparable to the Los Angeles looting during the riots of 1992.

I felt relieved that I didn’t give out class supply lists, but rather furnished my students with the basic necessities they’d need for the school year: glasses of water and crusts of bread.

Of course, I know that to some parents this is a rite of passage into the new year: buying the newest morphed generation of the Trapper Keeper and the retro Casio calculator watch which is as much a sentimental journey for themselves as a supply run for their offspring.

However, who am I to stop the forward ambling of progress?

I dodged down a few deserted aisles and was able to pick up my various and sundry items—rather quickly I might add—and within the space of another 10 minutes or so, I fled the store to the safety of my vehicle. I shut the door and settled back in the driver’s seat with the feeling like I’d just escaped from drowning,

I should have waited until midnight…

Today came—and went—rather quickly I might add, bringing with it the ominous realization that tomorrow, yet another school year would begin.

School.

I’d thought I was done with the major preparations before the tidal wave of students would arrive on the morrow; however, after a slew of thought I realized that there was still so much yet to be done.

Fast-forward some 9 or so hours later to where I stumbled out of my classroom just minutes before the alarm system armed itself, with my eyes glassy and a feeling of being completely and utterly worn out.

I slumped in my car and drove toward home, the miles of road stretching before me as I listened to the silence.

It sounded nice.

Tomorrow will come. I wonder tonight if sleep will evade me; it seems that it always does this time of year. Chances are I will lie there and think about my students…I will wonder about them as they spend their last few hours either in giddy anticipation or in downcast hesitancy of the new school year and the death of their old friend, summertime.

Will they be sleeping soundly tonight? Will they awaken with that selfsame feeling of newness that the first day of school seemed to always bring for me when was a kid?

I read over an email or two, wrote this post, and then I readied to close my computer for the evening. Before shutting down I decided to check Facebook; I saw that a message had been sent to my Adventures & Misadventures of Daily Living page.

It was a photograph from Megan Wade.

I stared for a few moments at the image filling my screen, all the while the neurons in my brain made their connections in regard to what it all meant…and then I started to laugh, my energy slowly returning.

Tomorrow will come, and I’m so ready to meet you, Joey. I’m excited to start our educational journey, and to begin our plethora of adventures together…

Letters from Your Twelve Year-Old Self

Pin It For the past ten years I’ve had my students write one of the most important letters they will ever compose.

You see this letter is to a very important person: themself.

When I started teaching a decade ago, at the end of the year I had my students write a letter to themselves, which I then had them seal in an envelope with a current photo. This envelope is returned to the school to me as one of the final homework assignments I give for the school year.

I then put these letters in a large, manila envelope and place that envelope in a storage box I only open twice a year; once to put a new set of letters in, and once to take an old set of letters out to mail.

About three years ago I sent out my first batch of letters, and a few days later one of my old students showed up in my classroom. I hadn’t seen this boy for quite a while, yet here he was. He smiled and I asked him how he was doing. It didn’t take long before he cut to the chase.

“I got a letter today, Mr. Z,” He said with a bit of trepidation in his voice.

“Really?” I responded. “Who was it from?”

He sat down in the chair across from me, and exhaled a deep breath. “It was…from me.”

There was a longish pause as we both sat there, not saying anything. Finally I asked, “So, what did your twelve year-old self have to say?”

The young man before me shook his head. “I don’t know, I didn’t read it…I don’t think I’m quite ready to read it yet, either.”

He paused and looked around the familiar classroom, as if reminiscing over days gone by. “I don’t remember what I wrote all those years ago, and I just wasn’t ready to read it…so I decided I’d come and visit you instead.”

He stayed for quite some time, and then eventually left. As he was leaving I told him that there was no rush, he could open his letter when he felt ready; after all, his twelve year-old self had waited this long, and could surely wait just a little bit longer.

Monday and Tuesday of this week my graduating sixth graders from six years ago will be getting their letters from their twelve year-old selves in the mail. On Tuesday my fifth graders will be writing letters to themselves that will sit in a box and wait for them for seven years.

I can only hope that these kids will give themselves the type of advice and reminders they are looking for in the future; after all, this could be one of the most important letters they will ever receive.

Gettin' A Life...

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If you’ve followed this blog for a year or more, the ad above might look familiar…

You see, every year I challenge my class; I challenge them to turn off their TVs sets, video games, and all gaming systems along with abstaining from attending movies for one full week. In the place of these electronic diversions, I challenge them to spend more time with others: playing outside, reading, writing, and enjoying the company of their friends and families.

We call this the “Turn off the TV and Get a Life” challenge—an idea I picked up a few years ago from John Bytheway. This will be the 10th year of my class taking this challenge, and the great thing is this challenge has now spread to the entire fifth grade at my school.

However, what I’d like to know is if you’d like to take part in the challenge with us.

Would you do it?

Could you do it?

One full week devoid of video games, movies, and all forms of television…

Now, I’ll be honest with you…there are a few day when I come home from school, beaten and tired – wanting nothing more than the brainless eye-candy of the tube, but for this week, no matter how badly I want to watch a movie, I won’t.

Those students at my school who are successful with this endeavor, we will celebrate their accomplishment on Friday next week with a par-tay. So, what IS the party? It will be afternoon fraught with board games, teamwork activities, and things one can do without the aid of a television or any type gaming system.

If you are successful, you are more than welcome to join our entire fifth grade at our celebration; whether it is with us physically in our classroom—or from afar in spirit.

So, now comes the big question…will you do it?

April Fool's Day - The Prank (A Bit of a Repost)

Pin It It was 4:30 in the morning one year ago tomorrow that I woke up with a fiendishly clever idea. This idea was so brilliant that I couldn’t help but begin work and keep going until school was nearly ready to begin at 8:20. I wanted it to be awesome.

You see, one year ago tomorrow it was April Fool’s Day, and I had decided that I wanted to play a little prank on my class. I had never played a practical joke on my whole class before (at least that I can remember) and I thought that I’d do one this particular year.

Why? Just because.

So, I did a little research.

Fever for the Bieber

Pin It Today we were hit by a snowstorm. Teachers were late to school because of the adverse conditions. People were stuck on the sides of the road. My class had our Christmas party.

Needless to say, the festivities were festive, the excitement was exciting, and the drama was dramatic.

Gotta love 5th graders.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I really should have my blog be required reading for my class. Even after my dandy gifts post, I got more than my fair share of candy, tree ornaments, and knickknacks and paddy whacks. Sprinkled amongst them were a few fantastic gift cards, another homemade magnet – this one of a guitar to add to my ‘Z’ and iPod set from the same student (which I didn’t take a photo of, unfortunately, and I’m not driving back out to school to do so). I also got probably one of the most creative gifts this year…I’ll post a photo of it below.

I have to admit, this gift was pretty cool…

As school was starting, I had a certain girl in my class ask if I liked Justin Bieber. I won’t lie…there are a few songs sung by this teen sensation which have me tapping my feet, and even singing along with on the radio. Heck, I even learned to play “Baby” on the guitar—mostly as a joke, but also because it would catapult me into the realms of awesomeness with my class.

Oh, it did.

Imagine 20+ students singing along as their teacher accompanies them on the guitar but nobody really knowing any of the words—only the chorus.

It. was. Bieberful.

“Sure, I like some of his music…” I responded.

She smiled and held up my Christmas present with a flourish; a Justin Bieber poster…

I was touched. I was moved. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“Wow, Justin Bieber!” Joey said with shining eyes. “Can I have it?”

That would be a negatory there, Ghost Rider…

I’m still trying to decide what to do with it. Another teacher said that I definitely needed to put it in my classroom. I’m thinking of perhaps adding the following message…

I’ll have to let you know.

I'm pretty sure that I’ve got the fever…Mr. Z-ber.

Oh, and just for fun:

The Keys to the Kingdom

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I left my classroom to pick up a few copies from the printer in the faculty workroom. I meandered down the hallway, reaching into my pocket for my keys to unlock the door. That’s when the ominous sound of my classroom door shutting behind me paralleled a sudden realization.

My keys were in the room.

I sprinted back, seized the door handle, and turned.

It was locked.

I looked through the small mesh window and saw my school keys, car keys, and cell phone all sitting on an empty student desk. I groaned inwardly and nearly started to laugh at my own stupidity – it was either that or to start crying.

I could still plainly hear the music – playing via my laptop through the wireless speaker system – blaring through the metal fry-sauce colored door. And play it would so continue doing…that is, until the laptop battery died.

Like most schools, each teacher’s room is keyed differently, and there are certain doors educators cannot unlock even if they did have their keys with them. I now had to be careful choosing which doors I went through, for certain pathways would limit my maneuverability. For starters, if I went down to the east end of the school, I’d have to pass through what I call the blast doors (which actually are fire doors). If I were to pass through them, my pathway would be limited to a single hallway with a set of bathrooms and two drinking fountains.

I carefully made my way around the school, checking doors – hoping to find a room with a phone. Not that a phone would have helped tremendously, as I only have three phone numbers memorized; one is my parents’ old landline that they had disconnected years ago, another is my own cell phone number (not much help in this particular situation), and the lastly is 911.

Now, no matter how trying it is being locked out of one’s classroom, I don’t think it warrants a call to the emergency services unless it includes being held at gunpoint, having a bomb strapped to your body, or being in the midst of a heart attack.

Unfortunately, I was not privy to any of those options. So in other words, I was doomed.

After the initial feeling of helplessness, I decided to carefully check the doors of the school to find one with a phone…the office, faculty room, other teachers’ classrooms; all were locked. However, I did have a bit of hope in the realization that I still had access to a drinking fountain and a bathroom if either need arose. And if I were to get too hungry, there was always the two trashcans in the hallway – one might even have some leftover Panda Express from the faculty luncheon after our meetings on Friday.

I was covered for survival.

I was just about to give up hope finding a phone, head outside, and walk the ¾ mile or so to one teacher’s house – after all, I was pretty sure I knew where she lived, and I could only hope that she’d be home, and have the necessary numbers I needed for the after-school coordinator, principal, or custodian. I put my hand on the library door, fully expecting nothing. After all, this door always seemed to be locked, sometimes even during school hours.

As the handle turned in my hand I felt a surge of relief wash through me as I made my way to the librarian’s desk and her two-line phone.

Now, I had nobody to call.

I sat for a forlorn minute or two, trying to formulate whom best to try to get a phone number for, and how to get it (there was no phone book). I finally decided to turn on one of the archaic computers and do an online search in the vain hope that I would be able to gain access to a phone number or two that would be of aid.

That’s when I saw the emergency information forms.

Someone had inadvertently left a handful of these forms on the library counter. I snatched them up – after all, this was most certainly an emergency.

I was in luck. The emergency contact of one of the student janitors was our librarian.

I dialed her number with a feeling of glee, only to learn that she and her family were up in Park City.

Curses!

To make a long story short, she did have a few phone numbers at her disposal that I eagerly wrote down, and it was from there that I commenced on the great phone tag epic adventure which lasted much longer than I’d have liked. However, one teacher had another teacher’s number who most assuredly had a key that would open any other teacher’s classroom in the school; she made the call for me, and I called her back a few minutes later to learn of the possibility of said educator coming to my aid.

Eventual success.

About ten minutes later I found myself rescued by this teacher, and was once-again in the sanctuary of my own classroom; music blaring around me via my laptop and wireless speakers.

I snatched up my cell phone and keys, putting them in my pockets.

Lesson learned.

I headed down to pick up the copies from the printer.

It was out of paper.

A Day in Photos - First Days & Getting Ready

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Stephanie asked us to take a photo of how we get ready for school. I don't think that this was what she intended, but I decided to show some of what needs to be done before a regular year...

Classroom 18 - The Prank

Pin It It was 4:30 in the morning two months ago that I woke up with a fiendishly clever idea. This idea was so brilliant that I couldn’t help but begin work and keep going nearly until school was nearly ready to begin at 8:20. I wanted it to be awesome.

It was April Fool’s Day two months ago, and I decided to play a little prank on my class. You see, I’ve never played a practical joke on my whole class before (at least that I can remember) and I thought that I’d do one this year.

Why? Just because.

I did a little research.

It seems that back in 1976 an astronomer, Patrick Alfred Moore, pulled a prank on BBC radio listeners. He stated that as Pluto passed behind Jupiter, it would cause decreased gravity temporarily on Earth.

Hundreds of people were completely faked out. It was brilliant.

I decided to recreate the hoax—after all—I’m all about keeping things green and recycling whenever possible. Also, this idea was much too good to NOT use.

I copied the HTML code from the Wikipedia as well as the NBC website. I put this code into Dreamweaver (my webpage creation software) and began to rewrite portions of the sites…after all I wanted it to look real.

I changed the dates, added information, and made the Wikipedia site not state anywhere in it that this was a hoax which happened in 1976, but rater a late-breaking story which had been on the 11 o’clock news the night before; therefore, many of the students may not yet had heard of it. Since these sites were not ‘live’ but rather clever imitations, I had to use only my computer.

I had these webpages already pulled up on the Promethean as the kids came in that morning and it went from there.

I could tell you all about the experience, explaining it brilliantly, but I think it would be better to show you what truly happened.

Just know that you are coming in about 5 minutes into the actual joke. I thought it a bit too long to keep the portion of ‘the setup’ about website accuracy, having multiple sources to check and recheck information, and the explanation about time zones.

I love it.

And yes, the parents all signed consent forms for this to be posted online; when it comes to embarrassing their offspring, it seems that parents are just awesome like that.

Repost - Stars

Pin It As a teacher there are students who slip in and out of a classroom, as well as in and out of a life. I’d wondered about this particular boy over the years, how was he doing? What was he up to? What kind of an individual had he become? I won't lie, I was moved when he showed up in my classroom on this winter evening...mysteriously finding his way into a locked school building.

These are the moments which matter - these are those small times when being a teacher is worth every single moment where we'd struggled.

Originally posted on Wednesday, January 23, 2008

I had a friend who needed to cancel our evening plans, which led me to stay at work a little bit later than usual tonight. As I entered grades, visited with a few other teachers, organized the room, and began to get ready for the next day’s teaching, my classroom door swung open. Standing there was a student I hadn’t seen for quite a long time…I’ll call this boy, ‘Joey.’

As Joey strode into the room I found myself surprised to see him, especially so late in the evening. How had he gotten into the school? Why was he here? Joey walked straight up to me and threw out his arms, embracing me in a bear-type hug. It was then that he began to talk. I couldn’t believe just how big this boy had become since he’d been a chubby little fourth grader in my classroom some six years before. He’d become a fine young man, now in his second year of high school.

Joey talked, expressing several times just how much he loved being in my class as a 4^th grader. He reminisced about the voices I’d used for read-aloud, the assignments he’d had fun with, and just how much the room had stayed the same…though it was just a little bit smaller than he remembered. His face grew somber as he turned and looked me in the eyes. He began to thank me for the countless hours I’d spent on him; hours of working on assignments as well as tutoring him with reading.

He took a deep breath and then said, “I wanted to tell you something else…I wanted to let you know that I’m a good kid. I’m not perfect and I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but when I started to drive to the school tonight to visit you, I thought about how proud I was of the fact that I am a good kid, and I wanted you to know that. I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything like that, and I hope you don’t think I’m being prideful, but I’m not doing drugs, I’ve got a lot of good friends, and I’m nice to people. I’m proud of myself and I wanted to let you know that, too, because, it was you who really made me the person I am today. I can remember all of the long hours you worked with me and helped me to love school. The things you taught me about being a good person. Well, I just wanted to thank you for that.”

It wasn’t long before Joey’s cell phone rang…it was his mom. He needed to be home for dinner soon. I walked him out of the school; before he got into his car he gave me another hug, once-again expressing his gratitude. As I watched the taillights of Joey’s rover vanish into the darkness, I climbed into my own car and made the trip home over the icy streets of town, my head a flood of reflection. I had thought about Joey—on numerous occasions. He’s the type of student that teachers often think about…wondering: Was all the time I spent on him wasted?

I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me as I drove home; thankfulness for the time I’d chosen to spend on this particular child who had struggled with education for so many years. It was this same boy, ­now sixteen, who helped me to realize that the time we invest in others, though it may tax us to our very limits, can make the biggest difference. This time we spend is NEVER wasted.

In the words of Loren Eisley:

One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean.

Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?”

The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.”

“Son,” the man said, “Don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach, and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”

After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said, “I made a difference for that one.”

Tackling the beast

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I walked into the room and was blown away from the sight which greeted my querying eyes; I quite simply couldn’t believe the state of the area. It was a mess. I couldn’t remember leaving it in such a disconsolate condition; however, I’d jetted out in a flurry and headed out to a Hurculean summer of impossible goodbyes and cross-country exploits that it was entirely possible.

I had not been to that the classroom for the duration of the entire summer. More so, since the custodial staff had moved everything sitting on the floor in order to clean carpets and wax floors, the room was unequivocally declared as a scene of national disaster.

I felt like crumpling down in a mass of overwhelmedness and just letting the room trample over me; I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Please, just let it be fixed.” I thought, wishing that it would indeed be magically put back together the way I envisioned when I opened them, like something Professor Dumbledore had done in the most current Harry Potter movie.

But alas, Hogwarts my classroom is not

I couldn’t cast a spell to take away the heaps of papers and piles of boxes which had gathered from the other teachers leaving my team last year; and I had no potion to sort out the remaining odds and ends left by students which had mysteriously magicked themselves onto my desk—all in all which made it look more like a demilitarized zone in office warfare.

I had none of these resources at my disposal.

At this point I have to ask, have you ever noticed how being depressed and complaining never solved any problems? How it never accomplished anything? How it never actually made you feel any better? Well, not in the long term?

My point exactly.

So instead I set my iPod (I seem to do this a lot, don’t I?) to a favorite playlist, and as an alternative to complaining, set to work.

As I gazed about the room, I remembered something my good friend, Jaqs, had once said; something to the effect of, “Start off by doing whatever it is that will make it look like the most difference has been made with the littlest of effort.”

This was good advice as I spent the next six hours salvaging, sorting, organizing, moving, deciding, redeciding, resorting, and finally, standing back and appraising.

So, is my classroom ready?

No.

Is closer to being done?

Absolutely.

However, I still have two days to work on it; forty-eight hours to tackle this beast and make it appear that I am the teacher who completely has it all together.

Bring it on.

This, is magic.

Moments that matter

Pin It There are moments.

Moments that occur in our lives which can define us.

It is through these little instances that our lives become intertwined with others, where we mix the colors of our life sketches together for short or extended periods with those which may or may not be family members. It is in these small, perhaps seemingly insignificant moments that we mold ourselves—or even those around us—into the type of individuals we will all one day become.

These are the moments which matter.

I switched on my computer this afternoon and logged into my Facebook account—I wanted to check the activity on the site when I noticed that an old student and boy I’d mentored several years ago had tagged me in a photo. I clicked on the link and was a bit surprised when I was greeted with this image:


I scanned the photo and started to read over the descriptions; as I moved the mouse over the picture, I noticed that names would pop up—squares which had been tagged by people, as friends or acquaintances of theirs who’d fit the description of said box.

When I scrolled over one of the boxes a name popped up I recognized.


The name was mine.

I sat, staring at the screen for several moments in bewildered silence.

I was speechless.

I hadn’t seen the young man who’d done the tagging of this particular image for quite some time; but I thought of many of the experiences we’d had in the mentoring program over the years—all of the good times—as well as the struggles and hardships over the five years I’d worked with him as a young boy growing into adolescence.

I have not been his mentor for a few years now. I have not been his teacher for even more of those years—yet there was something I did which made a difference, something he still remembers.

I am still speechless.

I am reminded of what I said a while ago when someone asked me what my future goals were in regards to my life; to this I responded: I plan to one day take the ultimate photograph, to have a student come back after graduating high school because I made a difference in his or her life, to see each kid in my class feel a sense of belonging, and to get up each morning with a smile on my face and project that into the lives of those around me.

These are the moments…

Roller coasters and goodbyes

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I had a hard time today as the moment came inauspiciously nearer for the winding up of our learning; the end of our year together. This year’s class was harder for me to lose than students in years past for some reason.

Why is this?

To be honest, I’m not so sure myself…

Perhaps because this was a new school for me as well as an entirely new grade; in many ways I felt like a first year teacher again…for some reason there’s something special about a teacher’s first class that the others seem to lack. This class felt an awful lot like that.

As we watched the video of our class activities throughout the year, the students were all singing along with the music set to video. The year was unfolding before us all—emblazoned on the screen of our darkened classroom; as my students’ voices blended with that of the music, I felt tears rising in my eyes.

I was going to miss this motley crew of little people who’d all come from different worlds. Forced—by circumstance—into one classroom, and who’d had a teacher who expected them all to become friends with each other.

Several of them balked. Many of them complained. All of them survived.

As I watched them together today—as well as last night—it really hit me just how close this class had become over the course of nine months; individuals who were strangers and wanted nothing to do with each other, but rather wanted to simply play with their ‘other friends’ in different classes were now connected. They were attached. They had become friends.

The music ended and the class started the ritualistic and notorious shirt signing—as well as the “Zs” drawn on everyone’s foreheads—a tradition started some 8 years ago which didn’t die when I moved schools; far too many students followed me who’d had older siblings. I had a sneaking suspicion that that little ‘tradition’ would continue at the end of each year for many more years to come.

The bell rang and my class was given their teacher placements for next year—the instructor they’d have for nine months after a nice, long summer to forget all they’ve already learned. There was a bustle of chaos as happy friends cheered when they found they’d be in the same classroom, and gloom when they found out that they’d be in a different one from the friends they’d shared so many life experiences with..

My students all wanted to be in the same place. They wanted to be in the same classroom. They all wanted to be together.

For the second time I felt tears pricking my eyes.

As I was kneeling down to sign someone’s shirt, Joey ran up behind me and wrapped his arms around my neck. He just held on. For a long time, he didn’t say anything. A moment later he whispered, “I’m going to miss you, Mr. Z.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.” I whispered back to the boy hanging around my neck like a Superman cape.

As suddenly as he’d come, his embrace was broken and he vanished with a crowd of friends, all uttering the chant of “See you after summer, Mr. Z!”

In a flurry of backpacks and standard reports, the students trickled from the room in twos and threes; finally, the classroom was silent and I found myself alone.

I cried.

I was saddened to end this last adventure; to conclude this most recent chapter in a story which was still full of so many blank, unwritten pages.

I didn’t feel like doing anything; as a result, I moved a few items about the classroom in a deadened sort of way; my body was merely going through the motions of doing something.

A feeling settled over me, like a physical force which pulled me down to a chair behind a desk littered with remnants of the school year. It was starting to feel like one of those days where you just sit in the house and eat straight from the mayonnaise jar with spoon.

The door opened.

A brown-haired boy I recognized came through it; he was in the fourth grade—soon to be the fifth. He saw me sitting at my desk and strolled back to where I was; a reserved smile on his face.

“Mr. Z, I found out who my teacher is going to be for next year,” he said in breathless awe.

“You did?”

The boy dug a wrinkled envelope from his backpack and brandished it proudly; from inside he pulled a typewritten letter. He unfolded it carefully and pointed to the name printed on the crisp sheet of ashen paper.

Mr. Zimmerman

I gave this boy a sincere smile, still feeling a bit melancholy with the rollercoaster of a day it had been. “I’m glad you’re in my class,” I told him. “I’m excited for next year.”

“I am too,” he responded with a thrill of elation in his voice, like standing there in my classroom were more than he could handle. For a moment I thought his face was going to split wide open—wide as his smile was stretched.

He carefully folded his letter and sacrosanctly slid it back into the envelope where it was again deposited into his backpack. When he finished, he lingered for a moment or two, uttering, “Well, I’ll see you next year!” and then headed for the door.

After a few steps he paused, and turned with a grin. “Mr. Z, do you know the best part about walking?”

“About walking?”

When I admitted that I didn’t know this choice little tidbit to the secret of strolling, he promptly replied, “Your arms can just do whatever they want…they can just flop around and it’s okay.” He grinned and then added. “It’s gonna be a great year, Mr. Z.”

With this he opened the door and vanished

“It already is, Joey.” I replied. “It already is.”

Congratulations, it’s a…

Pin It It’s been nine months; full gestation. Tomorrow the contractions will be induced. After labor, new life will exist and move into the world.

Sixth graders

The clock steadily rolls past 10, and I am yet awake.

I sit in quiet introspect tonight as the icemaker drops a few more cubes into the holding chamber in the freezer, the mechanics of the refrigerator silently hum as the fan in the living room makes a slight clicking noise as it turns in an endless circle.

It’s been nine months since I posted another blog about sleeplessness in Utah; about the night before the first day of school. I find myself having traveled that long tunnel and now I am looking back through it to the light which now glimmers so dimly from the other side. It seems an eternity ago that I wrote that post.

So much has happened since then.

So much has changed.

Twas the night before the last day of school.

Seems sorely familiar doesn’t it? So long ago, and yet as recent as the last time I’d listened to Natasha Beddingfield’s, “Unwritten.”. Which—consequently—was tonight at our class program.

It was only a moment ago that I was setting out on a new adventure at a new school, with a new classroom and a whole new group of students.

And here I am again, standing on the threshold of yet another grand, new adventure.

Saying goodbye.

The year has soared on lightning wings; a part of me cannot believe that it happened as quickly as it did, yet it has. And here I am…again.

Sleeplessness in Utah.

Strange that the source of said wakefulness is the same; yet different at the same time.

However, this time it is not the anticipation which is making me wait...

...it is the saying goodbye.