Let's Blame the Schools

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I’ve heard things like this for years.

The students can’t read as well as they should: It’s the schools’ fault.

Our kids aren’t as proficient in mathematics as they should be: The teacher isn’t doing his job.

My child can’t write very well: It’s all because of Ms. So-and-So’s lack of teaching my child properly.

I’ve heard these types of things for years.

In fact, when No Child Left Behind was passed, I was in the infancy of my own teaching career. I do remember it being something that people were excited about—just like any other promise made by politicians. For example, when George Bush Sr. announced, “Read my lips, no new taxes,” the crowds went wild.

Could he make good on his promise?

I think we all know the answer to that.

Being an educator, I saw NCLB going into effect through different eyes than the cheering crowds at the pronouncement of George W. Bush that—in a nutshell—all American schoolchildren would be proficient in both reading and math by the year 2014.

Really?

The other day I saw an article to which I haven’t been able to relocate. In it the author asked a few questions such as: Do we expect police officers to end all crime by a certain date? For firefighters to stop all fires? For doctors to end all illnesses?

Let’s be realistic here…we don’t. However, we expect them to do their best and strive as they can to make this world a better place for us all.

Right?

While this editorial of sorts is not meant by any means to have the solution to the educational dilemma we face as a society, I do wish to address some basic concerns, as well as share some thoughts, that I’ve had for a long time.

First off, let’s get one thing straight…are there poor teachers in our schools? Of course there are. There are these proponents of apathy in every career field that we have available to us. These are they who clock in at the assigned time, and are gone the moment they are permitted to do so, putting in no extra effort other than the basics that are required—it’s the nature of the beast. Sadly, these types of teachers are those who cause all those in the field to be painted with the same negative stereotypical brush.

But you know what? I’ve worked in two different schools in my educational journey, and in these two schools I’ve seen very few of these types of teachers. Furthermore, these teachers do not ‘fly under the radar’ by any means. The other teachers know exactly whom they are, as does the administration (who often are trying to help them to do better), and many parents in the community usually know how to spot them. However, I’ve come to discover that these types of individuals are far and few in-between as a general rule. Sadly though, it is these types of teachers that tend to be remembered in our own varied backgrounds and experience. After all, we can all remember that awful teacher we had, and how much we hated that particular class or year in school.

Yet, in all honesty, most teachers that I know do their job, work hard, and often stay extra time at the school; frequently they will take work home because there simply isn’t enough time in the day to stay caught up. My first principal, Cindy Wright, once told me, “Teaching is one of those careers that will consume your entire life if you let it.” She then told me about finding balance and realizing that there is a time to go home and stop thinking about work. Even now - years later - I still find myself struggling to follow her advice…I worry about my students who are not achieving, I’m continually planning ways in which to better engage them, and putting in countless hours off the clock to make sure that this is happening.

Of course, not all teachers do this—but for the most part, I think a majority of them are doing the best the can, day in and day out. Most of them went into teaching because they wanted to make a difference; after all, one usually doesn’t go into education planning to get rich.

My own teaching career has been a rollercoaster of assessing, remediation, and more remediation. I’ve not known a year in teaching where I was not continually assessing students, and trying to think of ways to move them along further down the boulevard of knowledge.

It was a few years ago that I remember chatting with a kindergarten teacher. This teacher told me that in her class she had kids who came in knowing their first and last names (as well as how to spell them), all names of the basic colors and shapes, kids that could count to 10 or 50, and those that could even tell you all the letter names in the alphabet and basic sounds they made.

I was blown away…

She then went on to tell me about the kids who’d come in knowing hardly any of these things. When asked what their mom’s name was, they’d simply reply, “Mommy.”

Already—even in the first year of school—these two groups of students are clearly at an advantage and disadvantage in their education. In talking with a few parents about how their kids had learned these basic things, many of them gave responses like, “I have them watch PBS programs like Sesame Street,” “I read with them all the time and talk about the book,” and probably the most important of them all, “I spend time talking to them, explaining what all these things are.”

Even these, the simplest of things, can make a huge difference.

I remember talking to one parent (not in my school) in regards to this and her response was something to the effect of, “Teaching my kid? That’s not my job, they learn that stuff when they go to school.”

Already, this woman’s children are more at a clear disadvantage than many others.

I thought about Jimmer Fredette this morning. I thought of how skilled he is in basketball, too. To watch this guy on the court is like watching poetry in motion.

Now, whether or not you like Jimmer is totally irrelevant. The fact is he’s a better basketball player than I will ever be.

But why is this? Why aren’t I as good as Jimmer?

Oh, I imagine that a lot of it is simply athletic ability and hand-eye coordination. This plays a big role. However, I think that there’s something else, too.

Practice.

I’ve played basketball before, and I’m not bad, but I’m not that great at it, either…mostly because I never practice. The reason I don’t practice is probably because it’s not important enough to me to invest the time to do so.

But what if I wanted to become better? What would I need to do?

Let’s say that I sign up for a basketball class with a coach, and he shows me different methods and skills I can use in my playing.

So, while I’m with him, I do what he says. “Now practice this at home.” He tells me.

I go home and sit on the couch. Since I know he’ll be checking in on me the next time I go to his class—and he’ll ask me if I’ve practiced—I head outside for five minutes, shoot a couple of times, dribble the ball with my heart half into it, and then stop because my favorite television show is slated to come on.

I drop the ball and count it as time served.

Now, compare that to someone else who goes to the same coach, and gets the same instruction that I did—we’ll call him Jimmer. Jimmer heads home and then spends an hour each day on the court, trying to master the skills he’s been taught. He keeps shooting until he can make the shot and practices dribbling with both hands.

We both return to the coach, and both report that we went out and practiced.

And really, we did; however, one of us was trying with all his heart and wanted to get better, while the other one of us was just serving time.

So, who is going to become the better basketball player?

Every year I have students in my class who do something quite similar to this. I have the student that is taught a skill, given an assignment, and then goes home—knowing that this is practice of what he’s already been taught. Often it either gets done halfheartedly (to get it over with), or he comes back the next day having not finished it at all, but armed with a barrage of excuses. Now compare this to the student who not only completes the assignment, but the one who tries their very best and goes above and beyond.

Who is going to become the better reader, writer, or mathematician?

Now, let’s change up the scenario just a little bit. Let’s pretend that after my basketball class I went home, and there I have a friend that’s better at basketball than I am who says, “Hey, how about if I watch you practice and give you some pointers? Maybe even practice with you for a while?” After all, it’s more often easier to do something when we have somebody at our disposal with a little more knowledge than we do.

Chances are, I’m going to get better at basketball because he’s going to see the errors I’m making, and he’ll point out the places I need to improve. In other words, he’s going to help me to hone my skills as a ballplayer.

Compare this to coming back home after practice, trying to remember what the coach said, and applying it. Whether this practice is with all my heart, halfhearted, or not at all, none of these will be nearly as powerful as having an expert there along with me, helping to guide me as I try to improve.

Now, if you put this in an educational context, you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.

Can parents make a difference? Indeed they can.

In fact, I’ve noticed over the years that those students who generally excel in school, who are the higher readers, and those who comprehend math concepts are the students whose parents are involved.

Not always, but nearly always.

The students who are behind in assignments, are lower readers, and are poor academic achievers as well are usually—but not always—those with parents who are not involved.

Having a parent there with you can make all the difference, but it does take patience, effort, and most of all…time.

A past colleague of mine received a letter from a parent that informed her that she didn’t appreciate homework being sent home. She also went on to let the teacher know that it was the teacher’s job to educate her child. She said that when her child came home from school, that this was her time to spend with her daughter, and they couldn’t be bothered with things like schoolwork.

I thought that this was kind of funny…after all, when we go to a doctor we don’t fully expect that the doctor will be the one to heal us in a moment or two; however, we follow his directions when he lets us know the things that will make us better: we rest when he asks us, we take the medication he prescribes, and we make sure that we’re doing what he recommends because we want to get better.

Education is not something that happens only during the time school is in session, it happens in a thousand little moments all throughout life. It is a constant and consistent thing that should be nourished and helped along the way.

Also, education is a partnership.

The coach, the mentor, and the athlete are all working together for the betterment of the athlete, in much the same way that a teacher, parent, and student are working together for the education of the child.

It’s a win-win-win team when all are doing what they should.

Now, before I conclude, let me address one more little thing: The parent who works hard with their child and still sees little to no progress.

Well, back to Jimmer.

While Jimmer most likely has more athletic ‘talent’ than I do, I can still become a better basketball player than I currently am. We all have different areas in which we excel. A parent who has a struggling student—and all three parties are working hard to overcome it—shouldn’t be discouraged by this. After all, in comparing our own levels, we should well be aware that if we compare ourselves to how well we’ve done in the past, we are more likely to have an accurate marker of our achievement and progress. If I judge my progress based solely on Jimmer’s ability, and how close I am to matching up to him, I will always find myself lacking and become discouraged.

There are those of us who simply struggle. However, having something like a learning disability gives us a challenge to work at and then finally overcome. Just be aware that the more we ‘dis’ our ability, and compare ourselves with those around us, the more discouraged we’ll become. We need to keep plugging away. We need to keep taking those shots from the 3-point line trying to make it. We should keep on dribbling that ball. After all, it’s through the consistent practice and work that we’ll find ourselves discovering that we have more ‘ability’ than we perhaps originally thought.

One more thing about Jimmer and then I’m through; it was something he said at a basketball camp to the hundred or more kids who attended. He challenged them to reach for their dreams:

“I set a goal…I went out and worked as hard as I possibly can every single day, I saw my dreams start to come true. Now, I’m from a small town, I’m probably from a smaller town than almost all of you guys that are in here…no one thought I could go up and play in the NBA, no one thought I could be a division one basketball player. No one thought I could be reaching these dreams that I’m reaching today. But I did! And the biggest thing is, it’s because I went out there and I worked as hard as I possibly could every single day…My challenge to YOU is to go out and do it. Go out and reach your dreams. Whatever it is, it doesn’t have to be playing basketball…like I said, instruments, schoolwork, it doesn’t matter what it is, I challenge you guys to set a goal…that you want to reach later on in your life. Write it down, okay? Then post it up, right above your bed. So every single night, you’ll see it and you’ll be thinking about the goal that you want to accomplish. If you guys really put in the effort every single day, you guys can do it and I promise you that.”

—Jimmer Fredette

Police officers are not able to end all crime. It’s impossible for firefighters to stop all fires. It’s unrealistic to expect doctors to cure all illnesses. We shouldn’t expect everyone to be to the same standard by a certain time, either.

However, should we stop trying to do any of these things?

Absolutely not.

It was Dory from Finding Nemo who reminded us that we simply need to ‘keep on swimming’ in order to make progress to finally get to where we need to be.

...and that is exactly what I plan on doing.

So, Just What do You Give A Teacher for Christmas?

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With Thanksgiving finally over and Christmas allowed its full reign of supremacy (or during the onset of that dratted “Teacher Appreciation Week”), many parents find themselves struggling with the age old question...yeah, you know the one: What in the world can I get for that teacher who is educating my child?

Well, perhaps, after throwing up your hands in frustration (figuratively, not literally) and racking your brain for ideas you finally decided to turn to the Internet in hopes to find something - anything - that will help you as you try to find the perfect gift. Well, I’m here to yell you that you’ve come to the right place for the answer. But before we begin, please remember that most teachers don’t expect lavish gifts from their students—a hand drawn picture or a sincere ‘thanks’ as they exit the classroom can be the most valuable and cherished gifts your child can give, and these will most certainly be treasured by the teacher than many others simply grabbed off a shelf at the local Walmart and thrown into a shopping cart.

In a word or eight: gifts are nice, but they really aren’t expected.

With that being said, let us move on to what I call The Needed 9—I would have called it the Terrific 10, but 9 was all I was able to come up with for now…what can I say? It’s late and I’m tired.

Rule 1: If you wouldn’t like this gift, then there’s a good chance the teacher wouldn’t like it either.

Most people tend to forget that teachers are real people. They have interests, lives, and even things that they do outside of school. There are only so many paperweights and green neckties with 2 Teach is 2 Touch a Life 4 Ever emblazoned upon them that one can stomach. Sometimes, what a teacher wants is something that doesn’t have anything to do with school, but rather with them as a person.

Really.

Rule 2: Candy is a big no.

Candy is probably the WORST gift you could ever give. Many teachers are finding it difficult to stay in shape when trapped in a classroom all day—couple this with the fact that they sit, correct papers, and enter grades long after the students are gone. When they’re given boxes of Hershey’s Treasures for Christmas and four our five chocolate oranges you’re not doing them any favors; plus the fact that these things are, quite simply, about the most disgusting things on the planet.

I take that back, that title is reserved solely for Peeps.

However, if you do choose to get your teacher something in regards to sweets, remember that quality has much more value than quantity after you’ve reached a certain age…Heck, I remember being a kid and when given a choice between a pint of Ben & Jerry’s or a full gallon of Snow Star (the Safeway generic, flat, nasty ice cream) I’d have taken the Snow Star every time. When I was a kid the formula was simple:

More = Better.

This type of logic only works until puberty hits—or perhaps young-adulthood. The point is that somewhere along the lines one starts to develop taste and the cheap and nasty just won’t cut it any longer.

If you are planning on getting your teacher something along the sweet lines, try for something they like. Do a little digging, do they like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or caramel-dipped apples rolled in Skor and Butterfinger? By finding out just what it is that the teacher likes through a little covert research, you will more likely give a gift that is remembered and valued. This is a much better alternative to those items dropped into the trash on the teacher’s way out of the classroom, or given freely to nieces and nephews who’ll eat just about anything provided that there’s sugar in it.

Rule 3: Knickknacks are a waste of everybody’s time, shelf space, and money.

Look around a teacher’s classroom. There are often little hints as to things that they like. Don’t go straight for the ‘knickknack paddy crap’ shelf where they’re displaying all of the porcelain dogs and Garfield mugs that have accumulated over the years—and are now gathering a layer of very thick dust. These are only there because the teacher didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings. They’re worried that Joey will come back after fifteen years and not see the shot glass he picked up at a roadside truck stop in Nebraska, and feel crushed that his teacher didn’t save it for all these years.

Can I just start now saying that I, as a teacher, don’t appreciate stuffed animals and toys? Things that tend to clutter shelves are not really my forte – and most of the other teachers I know don’t like having shelves teeming with this that and the other—a smorgasbord of the strange and dollar store.

As a friend of mine once was eloquently observed, it never looks attractive when it appears that “the Knickknack Fairy threw up all over the shelves.”

So remember, if you ever walk into a teacher’s domain and think, “Wow, they have a lot of crap in here.” don’t be a contributor to the problem and pawn off more stuff they’ll have to display in the future. Believe me, they’ll thank you.

Rule 4: Mugs and ties = Lame sauce.

The mug with the teddy bear on the side sporting messages like, “Teachers bear the love of others.’ Just about make me puke. They don’t end up in my home, but usually wind up as proceeds in the box that makes it’s way to the local thrift industries store at least once a year.

I know; I’m crazy.

Just a quick rule of thumb, if it has a cutesy run-of-the-mill saying stamped on it, it’s probably lame.

(See again Rule 1).

Rule 5: Ask about the obvious.

One good thing to remember is that you can nearly always drop subtle questions and get the teacher to talking about their interests in books, music, or even the type of beverages they enjoy; doing this can ensure that you pick something they will most certainly love…a CD they’ve been wanting to listen to, or a book they just haven’t had the time to run out and get.

One teacher I know got a case of Diet Coke with lime for Christmas one year. She went on to say that it completely made her day…it was a gift she said she’d never forget.

Rule 6: Handmade is always appreciated.

What’s something that you can’t seem to go wrong with? Well, for me, it’s often something my students have made with their parents. I just can’t tell you just how much a pair of wooden bookends mean to me fashioned into the letter “Z.” Not only are these useful, they mean a lot because the boy who made them put in the effort. He even wrote a message on the bottom that I would find myself reading from time to time and remembering his quirky mannerisms and the good times when he was my student.

Other memorable gifts have been a pair of knitted gloves with open fingers for photo shoots when it’s cold, homemade magnets of the letter Z, a stuffed ‘Hobbes’ a student copied onto graph paper and then changed the measurements to create a more ‘real world’ sized version. These are just a few of the items that have withstood the test of time and have found a place of permanent residence in my classroom.

Rule 7: Gift Certificates are nearly always winners.

Even if you don’t want to take the time to figure out what a particular teacher likes, you can never really go wrong with a gift certificate to the movies, a restaurant they like, or an online venue like iTunes or Amazon. With these a teacher can pick what they’d like, or what suits their taste. However, getting a gift certificate to Jason’s Deli with no balance on it is probably not the best option.

It does send quite the clear message though…

Rule 8: Purchase something for the classroom itself.

One great item that you can always give that has lasting longevity is something useful for the classroom. For example, take a look at the teacher’s set of guided reading books and find a few titles that are starting to show signs that they aren’t going to last much longer...books being handled by students over the span of years - no matter how carefully they treat them - tend to wear out. Replacing a few books saves a teacher quite a bit of money and gives your child a gift they can use as well.

Another great way to get your child involved is to have your son or daughter select a few of their favorite books for the classroom library (provided your teacher has one), and then have them write a message inside the front cover (one they wouldn’t mind other students reading). The great thing about this type of gift is that it provides new book titles your child and their peers are currently reading - those the teacher may not yet be aware of. Also, it will be a present enjoyed by many others and not just another knickknack to sit uselessly on a shelf. (See Rule #3).

Rule 9: If in doubt, don’t.

Some people get that feeling inside right before they give a gift. It’s that little Jiminy Cricket voice which seems to whisper, “You really shouldn’t give this as a gift.”

That, my friends, is intuition. I say we should listen to this voice far more often than we really do. If you question whether or not a particular gift will be liked, just say no. Trust me, it seems that 9 times out of 10, that little voice knows exactly what it’s talking about.

Well, that’s about all for the moment…the Needed 9 that will (hopefully) help you in your quest to show that educator how much you appreciate them. But never forget, though gifts are nice, the best way to show your teacher you care about them is to tell them.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go dust and sort my porcelain unicorn collection…

P.S. Just for the record, one of my all-time favorite gifts from a student, I’ll call him Joey, was this.

Waiting for Superman

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This morning I awoke—not to my alarm, but nearly an hour 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.

Heroes - Ron Firmage

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There are people who drift in and out of our lives as the years trudge relentlessly onward; some of these individuals flash for a brief moment of time, like a star blazing through the atmosphere, while others remain constant like the rising and setting of the sun, lighting the way for those in the world around them. These are the people who inspire us to be better; they lift us when they discover we’re in low moments, they give to others in want, they look for what needs to be done and simply do it – oftentimes without waiting to be asked.

Teacher Ron Firmage is one of these individuals.

I first met Ron eleven years ago – back when I was just a budding teacher myself – straight from the chute at BYU, with a head full of dreams and an overwhelming enthusiasm that teaching always seems to inspire.

The Crush

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I remember back when I was in the seventh grade—a pubescent boy in the beginning stages of acne and that gawky period in life we all have to endure for a season—or two. This was the year I found myself on the third floor in Ms. Flickinger’s homeroom.

Ms. Flickinger was my favorite teacher that seventh grade year; there was just something about her quirky mannerisms and enthusiasm that drew me in, and made me love school. Of course it probably also had something to do with the stories she told about her cannibalistic goldfish, or maybe it was due to the fact that she caught me after I’d completely plagiarized my report from the encyclopedia; instead of nailing me, she let me know with subtle hints that she knew and wanted me to know that she knew.

You know?

I never plagiarized another paper after being in her class.

There’s something about having a teacher like Ms. Flickinger that makes the year go so much easier, a magical something that helps you to look forward to getting up and going to school each day. Okay, I have to admit here that I had a little bit of a crush on her – you know, just to be honest.

After my eighth grade year, Ms. Flickinger moved to another school and I went to high school.

But I’ve never forgotten her.

Fast forward to now.

I’ve been a full-fledged teacher for just a breath over a decade now. This past week I sat in my classroom reading over my students’ journal entries. As I reached the end of one particular entry I came across a P.S.

Maybe I shouldn’t have told that goldfish story…

Home Visits

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The afternoon sun blistered down from a nearly cloud-barren sky as I drove the neighborhoods around my school. Upon reaching the first designated address, I stepped from my weakly air-conditioned vehicle into the sweltering summer heat.

It was time for home visits.

Now, undoubtedly some of you are wondering just what home visits are…well, to put it simply: they are visits to someone’s home.

Yeah, pretty self-explanatory.

I decided to start doing home visits a few years ago when I transferred to a new school. My incoming students (as well as their parents) had absolutely no idea of who I was, and I could think of no better way to introduce myself than to personally swing by. This way I could let the kids know just who I was, tell them how excited I was to have them in my class, and drop off their first two homework assignments of the school year—due the first day.

I already can tell what you’re probably thinking. Teachinfourth, you really give homework during the summer? Before the year even begins? The answer I give to that question is a hearty, “You betcha.”

As I see it, being required to do homework before school starts sets the standard for the rest of the year, and gives the students a basic idea of what to expect in the days ahead. No only that, many of the students are bored after three or four weeks of vacation, so homework is a way of fixing this little predicament.

Okay, the assignments are fun, too. After all, I don’t have a heart completely made of ice.

Home visits can be—like I said earlier—a lot of fun; however, you never can be too sure just what it is you’re going to get in regard to parents (most of whom I’ve never met) or students who are—more often than not—surprised to see you at their house…after all, teachers belong at the school, seeing them someplace else is usually cause for something like a brain aneurysm.

I approached the door of my student’s home and knocked soundly. A moment later, the door cracked open and I immediately recognized ‘Joey,’ one of the boys who’d be in my class this year. He looked sheepishly through the crack in the door, and upon seeing me, a look of recognition flashed across his face, followed by a glaze of excitement.

I let him know that I was coming around for a short visit to meet with he and his parents, and to drop off his first homework assignments. I asked if they had a few minutes of time.

Joey’s eyes widened a little, and he stammered for a second before admitting, “I’m not wearing any clothes right now, Mr. Z.”

How does one respond to something like this? After all, I know that when somebody comes by my house and I’m not dressed, I usually put something on before answering the door—or I don’t answer the door at all. Of course, maybe he wasn’t ready for the day because it was simply too early—one o’clock in the afternoon can be such an early hour for some people, or perhaps it was just too hot to get dressed.

From the interior of the house Joey’s father told him to go and put something on. The boy turned and walked down the hall, inadvertently causing the door to swing inward, revealing him walking down the hall wearing nothing more than a pair of Fruit of the Loom.

And this, my friends, was just the beginning.

It was nearly 4 hours later that I finally completed my last call, and slumped down in my car with a migraine beginning to pulse in my skull. The visits were fun, the day was long, and I had met with 20 of 26 students and/or their parents. My mind careened through the varied reactions I’d received on doorsteps including everything from bewilderment, awe, and pure unadulterated excitement as groups of students and their friends shrieked like they were attendees at a Justin Bieber concert.

Home visits, just like those Christmas presents from your eccentric Aunt Rhonda, make you realize that you just never know quite what you’re going to get.

P.S. If you’d like to do one of the class’ assignments, you can view that here.

Image garnered from: http://www.examiner.com

If I Were A Woman

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If that title didn’t catch your attention, I don’t know what will. In fact, already in my mind’s eye I can see my dad catching his breath as the title of the post shows up in his reader, and his heart skips a beat.

No dad, it’s nothing like that.

For the past several years I’ve had this idea. It’s a perfectly, awfully wonderful idea, too. You see, back in 1983 master storyteller, Roald Dahl, published a delightfully horrible book, The Witches. It’s a story that starts out giving a warning to children about witches and how they are indeed real.

Dahl goes on to give a set of helps so that children can recognize these witches who walk among us. Of the things he says to look for, he lets the reader know that witches are completely bald, and must therefore wear wigs to hide this fact. He lets us know that witches have to scratch their heads continually because these wigs are so itchy. He tells the reader that witches have no toes, and therefore will often wear shoes without points to them, or will be forced to cram their feet into pointy shoes that are quite uncomfortable. He mentions that witches have long, curved fingernails and they hide this fact by wearing gloves. And lastly, he tells us that witches will often crinkle their noses when around children because children smell like dogs’ droppings to them.

Brilliant says I.

The story goes on with the following:

For all you know, a witch might be living next door to you right now. Or she might be the woman with the bright eyes who sat opposite you on the bus this morning. She might be the lady with the dazzling smile who offered you a sweet from a white paper bag in the street before lunch. She might even — and this will make you jump — she might even be your lovely schoolteacher who is reading these words to you at this very moment. Look at that teacher. Perhaps she is smiling at the absurdity of such a suggestion. Don't let that put you off. It could be part of her cleverness. I am not, of course, telling you for one second that your teacher actually is a witch. All I am saying is that she might be one. It is most unlikely. But — and here comes the big "but" — it is not impossible.

Can you already see the brilliantly, brilliant idea which had formed in my head?

Of course you have. For you also my friend, are nefarious.

Could I just tell you that if I were a female schoolteacher that I’d start the school year off wearing gloves every day? Could I share with you that I’d scratch my head all the time, and try to look like I were being secretive about it? Might I share that I would act like I were around a skunk when standing next to one of my students? Could I let you know that I would wear the most ugly shoes I could possibly find?

Oh, the deviousness of me.

Then, after the first week of school, I’d start read-aloud time; The Witches would be the very first book I would read to them. When I reached the part about the possibility of their teacher being a witch, but how it is most unlikely, I’d laugh—something akin to the Wicked Witch of the West. I’d tell them that it was absolutely absurd—the idea of therereally being anything such as witches. Then I’d scratch my head with my gloved fingers and crinkle my nose.

I’d love to teach second grade just for this.

I know; I’m a terrible person.

Image garnered from geeksofdoom.com

Sufficient was the Day

Pin It I love my job.

Don’t get me wrong.

But some days are just hard.

There are moments when one feels like a glorified babysitter: dealing with problems, trying to get the kids to be nice to each other, tutoring long after most others have gone, as well as trying to teach the curriculum during the course of a day which is much too short already—and yet far too long in the same breath.

As I left the building this evening, the sun was rapidly making its descent into the western skyline; a barrage of color ignited the azure horizon with rusty blood and saffron.

Another calendar day was done. Another battle fraught with hard work completed. It was now time to go home and recharge for yet another voyage into the fray on the morrow.

Yet, I felt content for the day. A wholesome meal was only moments away, and a drive home fraught with the music I love.

I climbed into my car and put the keys into the ignition. It was then that I saw the torn piece of notebook paper held under my windshield wiper, fluttering lightly in the gentle evening breeze like eggshell sparrow wings. It had been hastily torn from a student’s notebook.

I climbed from my car to investigate.

I read.

I grinned.

I was invigorated; the batteries were already starting to recharge.

The sunset was twice as beautiful as it was before.

Sufficient was the day.

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…

March 3, 2009

Pin It Life is how we respond, isn’t it?

Silly question, after all, I already know the answer.

Today was one of those days which required a response from me.

The other teachers had left the school long before I did.

I was going through piles of student work, old assignments, and various items which had magically seemed to find their way to my desk.

As I worked to reduce the pile, the headache I’d had for the past several hours seemed to get a little stronger, as if just to let me know that it was there, and far more powerful than I was.

I found myself getting irritated at the fact that I was still in my classroom. I was surrounded with tasks screaming for my time and attention—each seemingly wanting to be completed first.

I also found myself thinking of my kitchen counter back home, strewn with piles of receipts and items necessary for tax season.

There was simply too much going on inside—and outside—my head.

I fumbled for my iPod. I selected my playlist titled, “Feel good music” which never fails to alter my mood when it’s getting dangerous. However, this time the music it did nothing. I instead found myself getting annoyed at each and every one of the songs; I switched it off.

The resentment was coiling in my guts, like a snake waiting to strike. I really found myself questioning what I do and why I do it. Memories of my staying long hours after school to track assignments and correct student work came back to mind.

That was not the teacher I wanted to be again.

I finished up and left.

Outside the inversion of pollution did nothing for my mood—or the migraine throbbing inside my skull.

I drove home, and upon arriving there were just as many—if not more—tasks waiting to be done. I blew out a sigh and began to get to work…

That’s when it happened.

Somewhere, somehow, a little realization occurred within me.

It happened as my headache started to melt away like mist burned off by the early-morning sunlight.

It’s going to be okay.

Things are going to get better.

The tasks don’t all need to be done right now.

Things are good. Life is good. I am so glad that I am a teacher.

What is it that I want to do with my life?

Teach.

So now I sit at my keyboard, typing these words. Not just typing, but smiling while I put these thoughts down on the digital canvas before me.

I am finished.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks for understanding.

Goodnight.

I have 27 children

Pin It By 7:55 in the morning I have a few of them asking me to help them with the homework they either didn’t do, or struggled with the night before.

On an average day, I have to sit down with at least one of them to have a talk about being kind to or patient with those around them…for some reason they just can’t seem to get along all the time.

I make sure they’ve eaten their lunches, that they wash their hands after going to the bathroom, and that they pick up after themselves when they make a mess.

I read to them nearly everyday. I do a half-a-dozen voices for the chapter book we're reading. They break out laughing every time the Earthworm talks in James and the Giant Peach. If ever I tell them that we don’t have time to read that day, they panic. Reading is important.

We gather as a group and sing together while I play the guitar. When I remind everyone not to pick their noses, they giggle.

Today I had one boy who wanted me to feel his forehead because he was sure he had strep throat and wondered if he had a temperature.

I had 12 of the kids try to sit right next to me at lunch today. When I moved down the table, so did they.

Today I had to have a talk with one of them about cheating; how that putting down answers when we're correcting isn't right. Another boy got the pep-talk during recess so as to start doing his homework on a consistent basis.

I listened to stories about what they did with their friends, the best part about the weekend, and the book or movie they’ve just finished.

I try to get them all to do their best. Lecturing doesn’t seem to work, so I try building them with the “you can do it” speeches. Some of them do not seem to listen, however, most do.

I try not to feel judgmental when they tell me things I’d rather not know.

I care about them all.


I am their teacher.

9-11

Pin It I remember hearing something on the radio about a terrorist attack on my way to work. My roommate had said something about it too when I was still just waking up…however, since my head was still groggy, I didn’t catch much of it.

I was confused.

When I got to school, I turned on the TV in my classroom; I was in for the shock of my life. Seeing what was happening miles away in New York, had me riveted to the TV.

My life had come to a standstill.

I couldn’t believe it.

A parent came in and started to explain why her son hadn’t done his homework the night before…

I heard nothing.

I felt nothing.

It was like a piece of my soul had been torn out, as well as my peace.

How could I be expected to teach a class of 4th graders when something like this had just happened? How were teachers able to do it when Challenger exploded and a school teacher, Christa McAuliffe died—along with the 6 astronauts—before the eyes of all America?


Somehow, I managed it.

But it was on my mind all day.

It’s now 7 years later.

I still think about it too…

I wonder; will I be ready when my time comes?

You only have one first day...

Pin It One of the best parts about school today was a comment I got from a fellow blogger who said, “Those fifth graders only have one first day of fifth grade. You only have one first day of your 8th year of teaching....how cool is that?”

It got me to thinking.

I thought about it all the way to school.

When the kids came in and the day began, I said something like this; “I want to know if any of you are like me. I don’t want you to raise your hand. I don’t want you to shout out if it is the same. I just want you to think about this, and decide if we’re a little bit the same…

"Yesterday, my sister and I had dinner and I thought about school.
We watched a few episodes of “Smallville” and I thought about school.
I went to bed, thinking about school.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time thinking about school.
I think I had a nightmare about school.
When I woke up and took a shower, I was thinking about school.
I went down for breakfast and thought about school.
I brushed my teeth and made my lunch thinking about school.
As I got into my car I sat there with the engine running. I thought to myself, once you pull out of your parking space, summer will officially be over and you’ll be back at school.
I took a deep breath, I smiled, and drove to school.”

Several of the kids nodded.

“I also felt just a little bit scared and excited at the same time. Scared because today is not only your first day of fifth grade…it’s my first day of fifth grade too. I’ve taught 3rd, 4th, and 6th grades, but I’ve never taught 5th before…we’re all in 5th grade for the first time together.

“I also think that some of you are a bit scared because you are at a brand-new school with new kids you still haven’t made friends with yet.

“Some of you are scared because you don’t know where the drinking fountains or bathrooms are…or if you got lost, could your find your way back to room 18? There’s something which scares us all with not knowing where we could find a bathroom if we really needed it, after all, what if you were about to explode? I just want you to know that I know what you’re feeling because I had those same feelings too…but you know what? I know where the bathroom is now, and that makes me feel a lot safer here. We’re going to take a little tour of the school to find out where these things are, so you’ll feel better too…those of you who have been at this school for years, I’m asking you to be patient as we show the new students to the school these places—after all—you’d want to know where they were in a new place as well.”

I could go on for pages about the first day, but I won’t. There’s no need to bore you with the various and sundry details which make up an entire school day.

Suffice it to say, a comment by one of the kids summed up the day, “Whoa! It’s already lunchtime? This day has flown by!”

Time flies when you’re having fun.

'Twas the Night Before the First Day of School—Part II

Pin It It’s 9:00.

Before I know it, it will be 6:00 and I will not have slept for most of the night.

I remember last year on the night before school started; and how I was not able to find that particular place where dreams met reality.

I don’t want a repeat of that again…ever.

One would think that hitting the eight year mark would take care of before-school insomnia, and perhaps this year will be different—but to be honest, I don’t want to take that chance.

I started to look through my house to find some sleeping pills. I can’t remember the last time I used one, but I figured that tonight would be a god night to make a little preemptive strike with a little NyQuil P.M.

Still waiting for the troops to kick in.

While making home visits

Pin It

Today I decided to do home visits. For those who may not know what these are, a home visit is when a teacher visits the home of his students to assess possible problems, to meet with parents, or to get to know pupils before the school year begins. These visits were for the sole purpose of meeting the kids at my new school before back to school night.

I dressed up as I usually do (white shirt and tie) with the subtle addition of a sports jacket, plotted out the course which would save the most gasoline, and headed out to meet the new students of AE school of Elementary Academics.

The first few students were home, and parents were surprised at my visit…not a shocked surprise, or even the type of surprise when you enter a darkened house and suddenly discover the birthday party someone secretly threw together—even though you asked them not to. This was more of a pleasantly impressed surprise which rates up there with experiences of going out to dinner with friends, and your server knows your name and brings you a Dr. Pepper without being asked.

It was fun.

I saw a few kids whom I already know, and several I did not. There were some houses which I stopped at where knew someone was inside, however, seeing a dressed-up stranger at the door treated me like one of the Mormon missionaries…you know, hiding and pretending they’re not there; however, little did they know that I could clearly hear them as they were trying so hard to appear absent. The clincher was the phone conversation I heard through one door which went something like this:

Boy: Yeah, Mom? It’s me. This guy just knocked on the door (pause). I don’t know who it is. (pause) He’s all dressed up like a Jehovah’s Witness or something. (pause) He’s got an envelope in his hand, so he could be selling something. (pause) Should I call the police?

People just don’t seem to realize how flimsy front doors and walls of houses really are.

One particular door on my visits opened about halfway, and I heard a familiar voice whom I’ll dub as “Joey.”

“Hey, Mr. Z!”

“Hello, Joey. Are either of your parents here? I need to talk to them as well as you.”

“Yeah, hang on.”

(Parent arrives whom I’ll dub as “Joey’s Dad”)

“Hello, Mr. Joey’s Dad. I just wanted to let you and your son know that I’m out doing home visits before school; I wanted to let you know that Joey will be in my class this year.”

Joey’s eyes widened and I thought, just for a moment, that they might shoot out of his head. “Are you serious? Really?”

Joey ran up to me and gave me a hug. “This is great!”

“I wanted to give you this,” I held out an envelope. “In this is a letter for you, one for your parents, and your first homework assignment.”

Pause. The subtle settling in of reality.

“Homework?”

I smiled. “Yep. I didn’t want you to get bored this summer…and if you have any questions, call the school or use the email address, okay?”

Joey looked down at the envelope again, running his fingers across it, as if he were reading Braille. He smiled, “Homework…cool.”

During the course of my visits, I ran across one set of parents in their yard. I discovered they had transferred their kids to my new school from the old one. They made it a point to let me know, “You’ve already gotten three of our kids, Mr. Z. You know, to really get the real experience you need to have the last two as well…that way, your collection is really complete.”

Even after five hours of phone calls and visits, I found myself smiling. The whole reason for these visits was purely to meet my new students; however, it quickly transformed itself into a serious ego-stroking.

Did I mention that it was fun?

Why teaching?

Pin It “Mr. Z?”

I turned to my student who stood before me. “What’s up?” I asked, putting aside the papers I’d been correcting.

“Did you always want to be a teacher?”

I sat back in my chair. “Why do you want to know this?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve just always wondered.”

I took a deep breath. Now, just how to answer this? Should I be honest? It would probably be much more fun to tell him that I’d considered becoming a mortician or perhaps a professional food taster.

I went with honesty.

“No, I could get another job if I had wanted to. In fact, wanted to be an author…or maybe a movie director.”

“Really? Can teachers do that?”

“Yep, it’s perfectly legal.”

My student walked away, shaking his head saying something like, “Whoa…I didn’t know that.”

It was this small conversation which brings me to today’s blog…just why did I choose teaching out of all of the professions I could have for my life? I’ve thought about that question quite a bit over the years to tell you the truth. I believe it stems back about forty or fifty years ago when I was a missionary. I had been sent to Missouri with the idea that I would return to Washington after two years and become a successful author, touring around the United States to promote my new books and to do signings. Of course, there’d be the world premieres of movies my books had been adapted into…in fact, I had already completed over half of a screenplay for “Take the Long Way Home.”

Yes, I was going to be famous.

While living in Poplar Bluff (Pop-lar bluff…not Pop-U-lar Bluff) one of my companions and I started volunteering at Sacred Heart Catholic School. My companion and I helped out in many different classrooms from 1-6^th grades, however, it was here that I became acquainted with Ruth Trotter, first grade teacher extraordinaire.

I wish there were words to express how I felt in the presence of this woman. She was nothing short of amazing. I looked forward to working each week with the kids at SH, but none more than the 1^st graders of Mrs. Trotter’s classroom. On every visit I’d be tutoring kids on Math facts, fluency, or reading aloud to them. It was a high point of each week for me, and the more time I spent in Mrs. Trotter’s presence, the more I began to realize that I loved teaching.

When I was moved to another area (after 9 months) I couldn’t foget the experiences I’d had in working with students and how much fun it was. When I came home another 9 months later, I enrolled in college to finish my general education classes. When thinking of career paths which I might follow, only one stood out.

Education.

People have often asked me why I decided to become a teacher. I’d often joke that it was for the big money to be made, and all of the single female teachers. It really isn’t though. It’s for the students I get to see grow on a daily basis. Some of these kids take a little bit longer than others, but I see nearly all of them grow and change. They come into my classroom as little kids, and leave as middle-schoolers.

I will forever be thankful to the teachers I’ve had in my life which made a positive impact on me.…Otamay Hushing, Robin Flickinger, Sherri Frizzell, Ed Mooney, and most importantly, Ruth Trotter. As I look back on old photos of my first days as a teacher, I think of these kids who are now much older than they were as 3^rd or 4^th graders. I think of these students, who one day, when somebody asks them, “Who was your favorite teacher?” Will respond…

“Mr. Z.”

Thanks, Mrs. Trotter.

My friends, Jan and Hazen.

One of my "first" teaching experiences.

Father Mike McDivitt, Hazen, & I.

Sacred Heart Catholic School.