Teach What You Love?

Of course, I created a Poetry Recitation Unit within the Speech and Drama curriculum. Why wouldn't a poet include what she loves most of all? I spent months researching poems for my children to recite. Clips of "famous" poets reading because one thing I want my students to learn is that there is more than one way to read poems. Not just "Ms. Beck's Way". Many different styles, breath, perspectives to watch, model and learn. And certainly more accomplished, better published and better writers than just their old teacher.

So, imagine my consternation to learn that my students had never even heard of Maya Angelou. What in the what what? It just never occurred to me. Maya Angelou has been a staple of my classroom instruction since the dawn of time. Her picture hangs over my desk and within the collage of images I created on my walls. Never heard of Maya Angelou? How can that be?

Now, I do have one student whose mother is absolutely thrilled her daughter is reading "Phenomenal Woman". That was quite heartening. But, the other young women just looked at me with a blank stare. Of course, I assigned them the task of researching this poet with their parent for today. I don't have computers in my classroom or I would have directed them immediately to research. But, that's a topic for another essay.

The point is... sometimes it's hard to teach what you absolutely love because when the work is not respected as you hoped, it can be rather demoralizing. However, how grateful I am to introduce my students to Gwendolyn Brooks, Nikky Finney, Juan Felipe Herrera, Richard Blanco, Matthew Zapruder, John Ashbery, Sandra Cisneros, Langston Hughes, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Frank X Walker and Bianca Spriggs. Local poets mixed in with nationally renowned poets. Everything in between.

The sixth graders are doing their own exploration of Shel Silverstein. I decided that because I always teach kids to NOT rhyme in poetry because they'll sound like Dr. Seusss, they should hear what good rhyming poetry can sound like. And, because the content is perfect for these young, young kids. I always forget how young they are. Have learned a lot from this first quarter class.

I just pray that planting these seeds will take root as they grow. Exposing them to the world's most beautiful poetry cannot be a bad thing. It's just taking a bit of a toll on this poet's soul. But, once they recite their poems... I just know it will be all worth it.

New Quarter

As I spend my Saturday planning the last unit of the Speech and Drama nine week elective course, I must admit my feelings of sadness. Here's the thing. I love my pickles. It takes a few weeks to bond (let alone to learn all of their names: ha!) and now... in two short weeks, I must bid farewell and greet a whole new batch of pickles. Sigh.

I guess "da flip side" of this situation would be if I had a group of pickles who I did not like... every nine weeks, I get rid of them and get a "do-over". But, alas. I haven't met a class I haven't adored. What in the what what is wrong with me anyway? I just get so attached to my kids. The more I learn about them, the more I love them. We've bonded. They've "gotten" all of my procedures and quirks and rhythms in the classroom. Oh, if only this course was even a semester long... how much more deeply into the curriculum we could delve.

Because I am "creating" this curriculum, it is quite a dynamic process. I find these awesome opportunities (educable moments) as I go along and it's not uncommon for me to be pulling up research and lessons even an hour before class filters into my room. So, I guess from that perspective, the cyclical nature of the rotating nine weeks is good because this quarter will be even better and more polished than last quarter and next quarter, I hope to achieve mastery. Perhaps there's a nostalgia for this "first" group because they were my "test" group. I "tested out" some lesson plans. Some I will toss away completely. Others, I will repeat. I have such an affection for this first group for being so responsive to whatever it is I created and "tried out".

But, it's not as if I won't see these first quarter pickles in school or that I won't have opportunity to teach them again in seventh grade (if they're sixth graders now) and eighth grade (if they're seventh graders now)... but still.

I'm going to miss this first quarter group so much. With that, I take a deep breath and look forward to greeting a whole new class of shining happy faces.

 

Alecia Whitaker Author Visit

One of the things I love about my career of teaching is how I can merge it with my career as a writer. Of course, it's a natural blend... I'm an English teacher. This year, I have the honor of teaching Speech and Drama, a concentrated aspect of the Language Arts Curriculum. This nine week elective explores the world of Shakespeare, provides opportunities to perform speeches, dramatic duets, monologues, read full-length plays and what I'm most excited about... our last unit... poetry performance.

So, when The Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning reached out to me to bless my classes with an opportunity for an author's visit, I jumped at the chance. Of course I did! How often to middle school students get to meet a real, live published writer? (aside from their old Drama teacher: ha). But, I'm not famous. Alecia Whitaker is, though. And, even though she currently resides in NYC, she is a born and raised Kentucky girl.

To prepare, my students and I brainstormed questions to ask Alecia. Oh, they did such a good job. I was so proud of their behavior as they filed in to the library to watch Alecia's presentation. She was amazing! Engaging, funny, down-to-earth with interactive demonstrations that got my kids on their feet, actively engaged.

But, the best part? The Carnegie funded enough books for each and every one of my students to receive their very own signed copy. You should have seen their faces when they opened the first page  and saw their own names inscribed with Alecia's signature. In fact, the next day... kids raced in to school asking, "Do you have my book? I can't wait to read this book." One student said, "I've never actually read an entire book, but I'm reading this book!" That was the shining moment of the entire experience.

So, as I drag them through the laborious process of writing our thank you notes... "Why we gotta write notes? My mama said it's enough to just say thank you" to which I responded, "Whatever your mama does is perfectly fine, but in my class we take the time to write out notes. Imagine how excited Ms. Whitaker will be when she receives a big envelope I'm mailing all the way to New York City and all of these beautifully decorated, carefully created thank you cards spill out".

And... I shot an image of the famous red doors of the Carnegie Center on the screens for the students to see the building and promoted all of the wonderful opportunities they have available for them. Right here... in good old Lexington, Kentucky.

With that, they put their heads down with construction paper, markers, scissors and glue sticks and got to work. Then, they walked out of the classroom, clutching their very own copies of Wildflower to their chests.

All around, an awesome experience.

http://www.fcps.net/news/features/2015-16/wildflower

Call a Parent

I'm a parent-calling teacher. I try to call every one of my students' parents to launch the year just to establish a relationship... but I also have this thing... if you act up in my class, I call your parent. In front of the entire class. Right then; right there. I call.

Because to "send a child out" of my room is stupid. I don't understand the philosophy. We teachers are in charge of teaching... if a kid "acts up", sending him "out" tells the rest of the class you don't have control. And I have control... not of much, but at least of my instruction.

Okay, okay... I understand that sometimes teachers have to "send a child out" from time to time in order to teach the rest of the class. And don't think for a minute that I don't consider the rest of my class when I'm dealing with the one or two or three kids who are there to make trouble. I do! In fact, I look directly at those who are there to learn to reorient myself and remind myself of my mission...

to teach.

And yes... I did lose my temper today with a particularly rambunctious class today. I said, "My instruction is a privilege; not a right. If you choose not to participate in my elaborately planned lessons... that is your decision. But, I can provide you with the same material in the form of 'seat work' versus my fabulous lessons".

Perhaps that is stupid... of course it is! I know! I have a teenaged son myself. I get it. But, that's mostly what I "get". These are kids. Kids who come to class with their own agendas that don't always align with mine. Their job? To test me out. My job? To win them over.

So when they talk back and tap tap tap their pens or "act up", I am stern... I also call their parents because it's more effective to deal with discipline parent-to-parent. I say "parent-to-parent" vs. "teacher-to-parent" because of two reasons... I am also a parent and I'm a school mom. If my kid (and when my kid) acts up... I want to know. Right then. Right there.

So, that's what I do. I call.

Home Training

No home training? That's okay... I provide it at school. Home training. The knowledge to not blow your nose into a crumpled piece of notebook paper and leave it behind for your teacher to pick up. (yuck and yes... it's true) To walk into a classroom in an orderly fashion, to raise your hand to speak, to say ma'am and sir, to not talk back.

I remind my pickles... "I am a mother. I am somebody's mother. Now, I ask you... would you want your mother to be treated the way you treat me?" and that gets them every time. Oh, I'm not beyond guilting my kids into acting right. Not one bit. And it works. The class goes quiet. A few mumble, "No". All get into line.

Home training. Perhaps all of my students have parents who hammer manners hard. Of course they do! But, middle school kids like to flex their muscles. I call my seventh graders "the middle school sophomores" because that is exactly who they are. They are not intimidated like the sixth graders and they don't have their heads on right like the eighth graders. They're mouthy, rude and disrespectful. So, I mama them to death.

Because, really... that's what we teachers are... school parents. We see our kids as many hours (if not more) than their own parents. So, it's up to us to teach basic skills and manners. It's not just academics we teach to this age group... especially not to middle school kids. It's good old fashioned home training.

At school.

Not a Hero

For inspiration, I remind myself that in order to be a teacher hero, one must teach in the face of adversity. No one makes a movie about a teacher at a privileged school (except for maybe "Dead Poet Society, but even that was about a subversive teacher trying to institute change from within). So, as I gear up for this week, I know that the struggles I will face will help to strengthen me as a teacher and will most importantly, make a change in my students' lives.

Teaching this age group is a process of planting seeds. Little seeds that will take root further in their educational paths. When they delve more deeply into Shakespeare's work, they will have some working knowledge of the Elizabethan Era. They will have heard at least two Langston Hughes poems. Know who Maya Angelou is. Seen a clip of a Greek Chorus from "Oedipus Rex". Read play versions of classic American short stories such as "Legend of Sleepy Hollow", "Tell-Tale Heart" and "The Gift of the Magi". Gotten up in front of their peers to perform speeches, monologues and dramatic dialogues. Know how to shake hands, meet eye contact and say, "Nice to meet you".

Skills that will develop over the course of time. Wisdom that will be understood later in their maturation journeys. Perhaps teaching like this is going "above their heads", but standards and expectations must be really high in order to engage these students' attention.

So, if in the process, I have to battle against barriers in the classroom and against home lives that are less than desirable... the rewards will be all the more sweet when my students grow up and achieve. I know this to be true since I've been teaching for so long. I've seen my previous students soar in their lives and come back to me with the ultimate "teacher paycheck". Their life successes. And if in the process, I achieve the ultimate label of "teacher hero", that will be awesome.

However, I don't need a teacher hero movie made about my life or a book deal offered in order to be successful. Every day, my little ordinary instructional lessons are the meaning and point of the work I do. I've just never taken the easiest paths. I seem to always choose the road less traveled. And according to Frost, that makes all the difference.

hablas español

That's it! I'm so embarrassed, but I must confess. I absolutely MUST learn to speak Spanish. It's the one gap in my otherwise impeccable "highly qualified teacher" status. I am mortified to admit that when I even begin to enter "translate" into google it immediately comes up with Spanish-English, I spend so much time learning a few words, a poem, a monologue my Spanish speaking students can read, it's ridiculous. I'm trying so hard, but I cannot/will not be able to meet my students needs if I can't speak to them! And! This is MY fault. My stupidity. This, from a first-generation Sesame Street kid. I should know better. One year of high school Spanish has gotten me nowhere! Enough already!

Okay.. so, I've learned the phrase, "Buenos Dias, mi estudiante favorito" that I absolutely butcher, but my kids giggle with delight when I greet them with that. Today, one of the poets I so adore and had the privilege of meeting posted, "Abrazos!!!" and I had to "translate" to learn it meant "hugs".

What an idiot I am. Seriously.

Those who know me... know I mean business. When I say I'm going to do something... I do it. I don't ever just lament my lot in life. I change it. I will sign up for a class at our local literacy center to learn Spanish already. And I will immerse myself until I get it. And sigh... at my age... it's gonna take a lot. Unfortunately, our old addled brains don't acquire a new language easily... not like kids. But, I'm determined.

And oh... how I admire people who read poems in two languages. It's just so beautiful. It is certainly not too much to ask of myself to take the time to learn another language. It's not.

Mostly because there is nothing I won't do for my kids.

Teacher's Teacher

 

I didn't just decide to return to the classroom this year... it's been a two year process, actually. January 2013, I registered at the University of Kentucky in order to acquire the six post-grad credits I needed in order to renew my teaching certification, as I did not want it to lapse. Then, I served two long-term sub positions beginning November 2014 until May 2015. Here it is... August 2015, and I'm lucky enough to be back in the classroom full time with a renewed certification and optimism as well.

The courses required could either be education classes or English classes, so I chose to pursue Fiction Writing in line with my "other" career as professional writer. I had published several poems and essays in various journals and anthologies and even published two books of poetry, but I was new to the world of fiction writing. So, that is what lead me to my teacher: Gurney Norman.

Gurney was poet laureate of Kentucky, has written several books novels and has served as a professor for thirty years. For the good old Wikipedia reference, please visit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gurney_Norman

to check his university bio/contact info: https://english.as.uky.edu/users/gnorman

What these sites won't tell you is the kind, generous and brilliant professor Gurney is. Not one teacher in undergrad or graduate school ever took the time and patience with my studies as Gurney has. He is the ultimate story-teller teacher, spinning tales of his own childhood spent with his grandparents in the Appalachian Mountains and his young adult life in Palo Alto, California with those weird kids who played in a band called The Warlocks and those two boys, Hewitt and Packard who hung around. He encouraged us to write the ordinary little stories we use in conversation because the details in those stories are the jewels for fiction.

Gurney honors me by reading my work. He still does. We have stayed in communication via emails and visits to discuss our work. I am privileged enough to be asked to write a study guide of sorts for his novel Divine Right's Trip. The process of writing that work was a delight. I was able to put on my "teacher glasses" to explore a critical analysis of the novel in question format. Now, what's interesting about this experience is that I did not read that novel before I signed up to study with Gurney. Instead, my friend recommended it to me once I had launched in class. Talk about the strange alchemy of the universe... it is a novel that spoke directly to my heart and lead me on a journey into my own counter-culture experiences traveling with the Grateful Dead and Phish. It's also a novel full of purposeful symbolism and a true work of literature.

What I love most about Gurney is that for all of his accomplishments, what he says he is most proud about his life is his role of teacher. That is such inspiration for me. He is the ultimate teacher's teacher. And I could not be more proud to call myself his student.

Can't Adopt Them All

Last week, I was hit with a stark reality about one of my students who is in a dire circumstance. My response? I ran sobbing to my husband, "We need to apply to be foster parents now". Of course, he responded by researching the process that would take more time than we had in order to take this child into our home.

And then... perspective bounced us back. My husband used to tease me when we first started dating. "We'll need to buy a farm house to take in every one of your children." However, that is simply not possible. The reality is... I can only be a school mom. I can love my students and nurture them as best I can during the school day. But, we can't take in every single child who is in crisis. It's just not possible.

I always say I have one biological child and one hundred and fifty children a year. And that's true. I adore my pickles. But, there is only so much one teacher can do. Accepting those limitations is a reality so many teachers understand. I don't think there are many teachers who don't devote their entire beings to their students. We have a stash of granola bars and crackers, candy, tissues, band-aids on hand at all times. We spend our own money on our classrooms when we are paid pitifully. We come into school early. We leave late. We take on extra duties all the time. There is no limit to what we teachers give and give and give every day. I am not the exception to the rule.

Last week, I had to float to other teachers' classrooms to teach while we did a three day motivational training program at our school. It was wonderfully informative. To see the time, consideration and devotion other teachers put into making their classrooms inviting and beautiful was so inspiring. And seriously? If you think decorating concrete walls is easy... you just don't know.

And this is not specific to inner-city teachers. Last week, my son went on freshman retreat at his (very expensive, private) prep school. The first thing I did when we went to pick him up was to go to his teachers and hug them and say, "Thank you". Three days on a bus to an adventure with a gaggle of children, responsible for their well-being and directing them through this retreat was a thirty-six hour marathon. Good thing this weekend was Labor Day. They'll need an extra day just to restore themselves enough to walk back into the classroom next week.

I am just so proud to be a member of this club: Teachers Who Make a Difference. We can't take them home with us, but we can make their days brighter with smiles, love, laughter and devotion. And that will have to be enough.

Restorative Medicine

In order to brainstorm a topic for this post, I scrolled through my previous posts only to find the common theme: exhaustion. Ha. And of course. I have to smile remembering when I first launched this career and "observed" a teacher years and years ago (before I student taught). I thought to myself at the time, "This is a cool gig. It doesn't seem that taxing and you get to read and write literature and share your love of academia with kids. This is definitely something I can do as I get older."

And part of it is true... I can do this gig until I get older. But, I am older... twenty years older than when I started. What is not true... it's not a relaxing gig. Not one bit. That part, I misunderstood completely. Teaching is physically demanding. Mentally challenging and taxing to one's patience.

Of course, everyone knows the teacher "jokes" about having to train one's bladder to pee between classes and only having fifteen minutes to eat lunch and not really having summer's off. Those realities we all know. Here are some other facts. I spent six hours in ninety degree heat driving around neighborhoods to do "home visits". There was simply not enough water to drink to replenish the dehydration that comes with six hours in that temperature going from home to home.

Moving into a new classroom and decorating it took days and days and days to do. I spend every waking hour researching, creating and designing lesson plans. In between, I created a new classroom website that links to my writer's website and back and forth. I call parents whenever I can. I get to school at seven a.m. every day and when we had Open House last week, I didn't get home until eight p.m. Weekends are spent planning and grading and grading and planning.

My classroom is adjacent to the band room so it so incredibly loud. That means my ears ring and my voice is hoarse from projecting over them every day. Finally, my new support shoes gave me blisters on the top of my feet (from the "cute" strap) so the next day, I wore flats that gave me bleeding blisters on my heels.

I'm grateful to be young enough still to push through these physical demands. No matter my body was so sore this weekend, I could barely make it through grocery shopping. I've lost eight pounds since the school year started (and that's a good thing, for sure!).

So why physically tax one's self in a "professional" career? Because there's simply nothing else I'd rather do. The rewards of student success heal every blister, restore hoarse vocal chords and laughter is the best medicine. That's the secret weapon of teaching... I don't think lawyers or doctors or business people laugh as much as teachers. Children laugh more often throughout the day than do adults, so when  you spend all of your time with children... you get to laugh.

And that makes all the difference.

Wing and a Prayer

What I love about this gig is that I can do what I love most: design and create a curriculum. From "scratch" almost. Of course, I have the state curriculum guidelines, but this group of kids... their range and experience makes the word "differentiated" an instructional challenge.

I have spent hours and hours and hours researching dramatic duets that are at their reading level, of high interest and yet, still appropriate for their age. Then, in order to be efficient with my classroom time and management, have tried to study the rosters of kids I've know for barely three weeks to pair them. It's a rough sketch... it will change once I'm sitting in front of them, of course... but some structure needed to be put into place to put an effort into efficiency. Those who don't speak English or have challenges that completely inhibit them from reading/speaking will be the pairs' "directors".

Just now, I had the crazy idea to take Romeo and Juliet's balcony scene and the fight scene and break it down (not change words)... just edit/whittle... and create six opportunities for pairs to try. Not all of the pairs will be offered these Shakespeare scenes.  I'm seriously throwing this out there to see what works. They have been singing Sonnet 18 for three weeks... it's not completely out of context...

but it may be beyond their reach and so what? Even if they merely stumble over the words... exposure. Perhaps it will be a shining moment. If it begins to be too frustrating by mid-week, we'll switch gears and grab another duet.

I'm off to buy plastic swords. That should entice the boys. I hope.

Befuddled

Middle school kids definitely confuse me. Today, after teaching (and participating) in dramatic play on the black top to demonstrate stage directions, the kids said, "You should be the phys ed teacher, Ms. Beck". I laughed, "I am the least athletic person in the world." Their response? "But you always play with us... phys ed teachers just direct us. They never actually play with us".

I raised an eyebrow and said, "But I'm an English teacher, you guys. I teach English."

That confused them. "English teacher? What do you mean, you're an English teacher?"

Drama/theater/public speaking... that's the curriculum I'm teaching this year. I've sung Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 with them every single solitary day for the past three weeks in order memorize it. And yet, they don't connect that my class is merely a concentrated aspect of the language arts curriculum. Weird... and what? I guess they've just never been introduced to William Shakespeare yet. They don't have a context in which to refer in order to understand my pedagogy.

Another confusing scenario from this week... I zig left. They zag right. When I have the kids up on their feet doing interactive, engaging activities (kinesthetic learning)... they act like fools. So, this afternoon (in exhaustion, I must confess)... I decided my last two classes would do silent seat work. Their task? After I taught the parts of a stage, I gave them a blank template and colored pencils to create and draw their own set designs. Absolute silence. Concentrated energy. After about ten minutes of just staring at them (I was too tired to even go to my computer to work. I just sat at the front table and stared into space)... I got up to walk around to check their progress.

Kids who can barely read and write... were drawing the most beautiful set designs. Creative. Inventive. Beautifully executed. I was blown away. Absolutely stunned.

Maybe I should switch gears and become an art teacher.

However, I feel blessed... I can use phys ed and art and music and  literature within the Speech and Drama classroom. Not a bad gig at all.

Strangers Stopping Strangers

... just to shake their hands. That was the first lesson I taught my pickles this first quarter of Speech and Drama. That's right. The fine art of a firm handshake, direct eye contact and learning one of three phrases to master: "Nice to meet you"; "Nice to see you"; and of course, "How do you do?" with the appropriate response.

Not because my students don't have class... oh, they have class. They operate with dignity and respect within their own spheres. What don't know how to express it. The words, customs and phrases they lack is what teach. The same phrases/behaviors I taught my own son. Because the reality is: good manners will take you everywhere. First impressions count. Meeting one's eye and a firm handshake imply your ability to succeed and conduct your sophistication in "polite" society. Not that it is superior to other forms of greeting. Every culture has its own customs of greeting. However, there are socio-economic disparities in every culture in every culture and the upper eulachon of those said cultures all share common etiquette. Those are the skills I strive to impart upon my darling pickles for the most easily attainable behaviors that will, after practice will become rote.

Every morning, I stand hall-duty near the breakfast line. I have always expressed how much I love "duty"... especially morning duty since I am an early-teacher vs. an afternoon-teacher. Whenever one of my pickles approaches, I extend my hand for that shake/greeting and they already respond in kind. What a wonderful way to launch the day. Perfect instructional strategy of repetition breeds mastery without tedium of rote recitation.

And... it just makes my whole day to greet them. They inspire me every moment of every day.

No Rest for the Weary

After an arduous start to the school year (while also launching my son in a new school), you would think I would have taken the weekend off. Alas, that is just not my nature, I'm afraid. In Friday's meetings, I learned a lot of new information about my pickles, so I spent that afternoon and evening brainstorming to revamp my lesson plans to better serve them. I was delighted by facebook "team building" with my new colleagues that punctuated my work with laughter and shared jokes. I swear, this is the most cool group of teachers with whom I have ever taught. Really cool, down-to-earth, funny people. I'm so grateful

Saturday was met with domestic chores... vacuuming, bathroom scrubbing before I took my son shopping for more school clothes and good (albeit matronly and not-very-cute shoes) for my aching feet. I don't think I  sat down one time during the first two weeks of school. Well, okay, once. When I was so frustrated with a class that instead of saying, "I cannot believe I'm actually begging you to let me teach." Instead, I bit my tongue and simply sat down. The class went immediately silent. They had yet to ever see me sit. After about three minutes of silent contemplation, patience (and prayer), I got back up and jumped back into instruction. So, ya... ugly, good-support shoes are going to be a saving grace for me in the upcoming weeks. And to think... I'm such a diva, I used to actually teach in high heels "back in the day". sigh. These days, I can barely wear my cute flats.

Today, I shopped for groceries (after planning the week's meals) and for more school supplies. I ran endless loads of laundry and organized my domestic world as best as I could to make this working mom gig run more smoothly for next week.

In between, I stole a few restorative moments. My son and I had lunch at a restaurant before shopping. And he was so nice all day (of course he was... he was getting new clothes!). My husband and I spent Saturday evening together at the pond, tiki torches and candles cast a lovely glow and I finally relaxed. Today, I watched "Louder Than A Bomb" for inspiration before I stole a forty minute nap after I got a pedicure. Again... my poor feet.

And now... that Sunday dinner has been served, dishes washed, my lunch for tomorrow packed, my car loaded with all of the supplies for my classroom, I can sit back and contemplate.

I heard a funny quote last week: "Teaching is a nine-month-long sprint". Indeed. It also happens to be the only career that completely contains my brain. And for that, I am grateful.

Sprinting in my ugly shoes is exactly what I am delighted to do.

Baby Steps

At the end of the day, when I am exhausted and overwhelmed... I must reflect over the amount of content my classes have covered in a mere seven days of instruction. It's amazing. Head-spinning, but inspiring. Yes, I hit the ground running and these pickles have run just as hard. For the most part. Of course, there are some classes I still haven't "reached". But, the trick to teaching is to focus on the classes that are succeeding and dig deeper to reach those who just haven't yet gotten there. Most importantly? To believe that I will... I will reach every student who graces my classroom.

Teaching is hustling if you do it well. Reflecting over what worked and what didn't work is key. Dynamic lesson planning is integral to meeting each and every student's needs. Because Speech and Drama is a somewhat new content for me, I spend every "free" moment researching, reading, brainstorming. Could I be any luckier? This is a dream for an academic.

Balancing academics and "fun" is a struggle for me right now. I know the kids just want to have fun. I mean, this is their elective. I get it. So, there is little to no homework... but there is a lot of class work. When the pickles return on Monday... they are going to give their very first speeches. It took a lot of instruction (teacher lead) to reach this point where they will "perform" (student lead). I just know that it will all be worth it after the students feel the success of overcoming their fears, anxieties and insecurities in presenting public speeches. Empowering.

So, when a student who could barely pick up his head and mumbled everything actually smiles now and will be able to present his speech: that is a win. When another student apologized for his behavior in class and I reminded him every day is a clean slate: win. When a student actually spoke above a whisper: win.

The key is to focus on the successes and not the struggles. Counting blessings instead of listing grievances.

Label Me

When I accepted this position at this school, a teacher friend of mine begged me not to. "You will always be perceived as a 'bad' teacher if you go there. You will be labeled".

If that's true... so be it. Label me. As the teacher who makes a difference. The teacher who takes on the "worst" schools with dignity and pride. The teacher who digs in and teaches with lovingkindness to children who so so need GOOD teachers.

And I am... a good teacher. Actually, I won't even be modest. I am gifted and talented at my craft. The reality is... at those "utopia" schools, whomever teaches those students won't really make a difference. Those children will succeed regardless of who their teachers are because they have strong family and community and economic support.

My students do not have that. They deserve the BEST teachers. If we are going to change our country... we must do it from the ground up. I have never been one to voice my political views on social media or talk talk talk. Instead, I walk the walk. Over the course of twenty years, I have served the most needy children in Ohio and Kentucky. Children who have very little privilege. Children in poverty. Children in the foster care system. Children who are struggling.

For the one hour a day they are in my classroom, I give them everything I have to give. I never once lower my academic standards or my expectations for their success. Ask them to RISE and they will. Devote every waking moment to researching, writing, creating lesson plans and then being dynamic to reflect over what worked and what didn't to better serve them is what I do best.

It is my honor and privilege to serve this school. Label me the teacher who cares. The teacher who overcomes obstacles and barriers my students suffer to educate them. I teach them how to shake hands properly and make eye contact. How to say, "Nice to meet you." How to raise their hands in class. Then... I teach them the most beautiful poetry Shakespeare offers. Ask them to stand in front of class and learn how to give public speeches. Direct them to embrace dramatic monologues and act them out. Through the process, empower them to be productive members of society.

Because they deserve nothing but the best.

Keep Your Head Up

Okay... what in the what what? I am struggling! Seriously! And really? Okay, so I have this seventh grade class that just. hasn't. bought. in. I mean... really hasn't "bought in" and I'm perplexed. I haven't met a jar of pickles that hasn't loved me as much as I loved them. What did I do wrong? What haven't I done? Most importantly... what do I need to do?

So... first strategy of attack. I called every single parent in the class yesterday afternoon. One of those, "Just wanted to reach out and introduce myself since I'm new to school. Your child is an absolute joy and I'm so delighted to have them in class this quarter". Phase One.

Phase Two: plan "Fun Friday". Instead of hammering hard... I'm going to play into their strengths. They want to tap a beat? Drive me crazy by tap tap tapping with their pens on the desk while I'm lecturing? Okay... time to unleash Shakespeare Sonnet 18. I already copied the poem in text. I've got the music. We will read it. Listen to it. Sing it. Then, I will group them up. They can turn it into a rap. Translate it into Spanish. Act it out. Go crazy!

But first... my secret weapon? Good old Tupac. And thank God for him. These pickles are already dazzled by the photo of him I have on my collage wall. They exclaimed, "Oooh! Is that Tupac? I love Tupac!" Ooooh, child... you weren't even born before he died.

But I was. I was alive when he was alive. I was introduced to his poetry by my very first pickles and it's time to unleash my secret weapon. "Keep Your Head Up". 'cuz that's what I'm gonna do. That's what I'm going to inspire them to do. We are all gonna keep our heads up.

Phase Three... I'm going to go to the computer, take attendance and pretend that the song "magically" popped up. On those fabulous speakers I have that BLASTS music like nobody's business.

Then, Ms. Beck is gonna show her skills. I'm going to sing sing sing. Dance dance dance. We're gonna Tupacalypse Now. Share the love. Become inspired.

Then... we're gonna show Shakespeare who's boss.

Or perhaps remind them...

I'm the boss.

Regroup

Okay, time to "take stock". The first two classes rolled without a hitch. I'm on pace with them and will continue. The next two classes went fairly well. I know what direction we're heading. It's the last two classes that flummoxed me. Unexpected events occurred. The last bell, I didn't realize it would take all bell to organize the bus dismissal procedures/paper work, so I didn't have "seat work" for the students to be contained, so of course... chaos ensued. Not the way to start a first day/set a first impression.

Last night, I came home depleted. Exhausted. Demoralized. Mentally, I listed my "options". Of course, it helped that I didn't have a voice. I strained my voice by talk talk talking too much. So, in silence, I stewed. And really, that is better. I think "venting" sometimes makes it worse. Sometimes, silence is best. What I focus on, expands. Best to focus on what worked vs. what didn't work.

This morning, I woke up and wrote in my journal to think. Then, I got to work. Looking at the notes I took at the end of my classes, I regrouped. Created a new document to differentiate instruction. Printed the document and "chunked" the material in more easily digestible parts. We will get through the material. I will not lower my expectations and standards. I just need to do what I did with my son when he was a baby learning to eat... start more slowly. Drench it in Ranch dressing and "trick" him into eating. Of course, this is a metaphor. But, the idea behind it is the same.

Equity/ not equality. That was a lesson we learned in PD. I just didn't realize what it meant until yesterday. I will place support after support after support in place. I will dig even deeper to get there. I will allow my students to grow and develop with my lovingkindness. I will figure this out. I have to.

My students are shining stars that deserve the best from me.

First Day of School!

And I'm ready to roll! To curb my anxiety, I remind myself... this is the day all of my hard work and determination will pay off. I'm going to float with students! Chaos, confusion, fear... all the feelings my students will be experiencing and it's my job to lead. With grace and dignity.

So, when I answered a colleague's question of whether I had taught Drama before with "no".... I have to remind myself: YES I have! What was I thinking? Drama is part of the English classroom. I've also taught Arts and Humanities for years. Drama was a huge component of that curriculum. Finally... I'm the story-teller teacher. Drama is nothing more than produced story-telling. I've got this!

And weird... today marks my twenty year anniversary of the first time I walked into a public school classroom. Twenty years ago? Doesn't seem possible, but it's true. This will mark my ninth year of public school teaching over the course of twenty years. In between, I've been a professor of English, a writing instructor for workshops and a long-term sub. Teaching is like breathing at this point. I just need to remember to launch on my stories and all will be well.

Of course, I overly prepared. If I move through my first unit in the time I've allotted, it will be a miracle. I practice dynamic teaching. Not everything is set in stone (well, it is on the long-range plan document I was asked to submit), but I know what every experienced teacher knows. Learn your kids' interests and levels and work from there. Even last night, I was jotting down notes and ideas for today's lessons. What do I love to do more than anything else? Research, write, create lessons and implement them. So, reminding myself to not get ahead of myself is key.

Focus on the task. Stay in the moment. Enjoy the ride. What a long, strange trip it's been. I'm just so grateful I got here. Today! Today! First Day of School: hooray!

Balance

As I hustle to launch back into my career in teaching, I feel like I'm neglecting my son. Of course, that's to be expected. I'm simply not physically in the house as much as I was. His school begins a week after my school begins. Because he's fourteen, I didn't have to arrange elaborate daycare plans. But, the long days last week and the beginning of this crept up on me. I should have planned better.

So, imagine how grateful I was to receive the email last night that he will be at golf tournaments the next three days. Okay... at least, I did something right. I got him involved in golf. I reached out to a school mommy and arranged for my son and hers to get together on Friday at the pool. I emailed the organization where my son will be volunteering and asked if he could spend a few hours there next week to get started. Check. check. check.

My teaching career has suffered neglect in my life. When I got pregnant, my husband and I moved to another state and I resigned my career in my favorite high school. I stayed home with my son until he was three. Turning my back on my teaching career was not hard for those years. But, oh! was I excited to return to teaching when my baby turned three and was old enough for Montessori school. The thrill I felt the first morning I drove to school. Freedom! Teaching! However, I had a hard time balancing then. I remember when his teacher called after the first few weeks and said, "Aren't you at all concerned about your child's progress/transition in class?" Of course I was, lady! Because my husband took our son to school and I picked him up in the afternoons, I primarily met with the afternoon teacher. I didn't mean to neglect the morning teacher. I had to hustle to achieve balance.

Five years later, I had to resign my career in teaching again. For six years, I've been home. I definitely felt the pain of neglecting my teaching career. Of course, I taught writing workshops and launched my writing career... but, that's nothing compared to committing to a public school life. This transition is definitely difficult. I want to be completely present at school. I want to be responsible to my family. The typical working-mom struggle. Both sides of my world require intense organization and preparation. My brain is overwhelmed. I write lists for home when I'm at school. I write lists for school when I'm at home.

And finally... there's one other baby that is being neglected. My writing. I wonder, though. If Facebook existed when Trollope was alive, would he have written his novels? I think not. My mornings are better served writing (at least these little essays if nothing else) than scrolling through the interwebs.

Eventually, though... I believe I will strike a balance. I'm certainly not the only mother in the world to do so.

Staff Community

In any school, it's the staff that makes the difference. I have never felt as welcomed in a school as I have in this school. The teacher with whom I did home visits is one of the most kind, considerate and positive people. She texts me to "check up" on me. My first team meeting, one of the teachers approached me to share that nine years ago, he observed me during his teacher-training. When moving the previous teacher's stuff from my room so I could move in, the entire team jumped in to help. This team is also organizing a getting-to-know-you potluck picnic next weekend. For once, I'm not dreading a work event. I'm already planning a recipe.

The administration is incredible, too. Professional, caring, dedicated. I am honored to serve with this staff. I have to confess... it's a dramatic change from the previous two schools I substitute taught this past year. What a long, isolated year it was, really. I felt like an outsider (which I was). I ate lunch alone. Except for a few kind people, no one came in to "check in" with me. Administration ignored me. I never felt part of their school communities. I guess it makes sense that I didn't land a position with either of those schools this year. I'm where I'm meant to be. And welcomed with open arms.

This dynamic supports welcoming our students with the same generosity of spirit. I can't wait until next week to swing open my door (and my heart) to a new group of pickles.

Love this double-entendre. Indeed, this staff has class.

To Da Roots

The universe has a way of speaking, doesn't it? Right now, I am in the process of accepting that I am intended to serve the same students I've always served in my teaching career. And I'm grateful. But what an ordeal. I know the best teachers need to be at the perceived "worst" schools... but this... this... I did not anticipate. Not. One. Bit. And, what's more weird? I'm excited. Inspired. Determined.

I accepted a position in a school whose students I am honored to serve. Not the "utopia" school. Back to my roots... and even deeper. I have the honor of continuing my life's work to serve in a school I believe in with a staff that is beyond-supportive, doing home visits and caring for children to whom I have always been drawn. (good grammar/bad writing)

See, I have this thing about "environment". I truly believe that the room and its "vibe" sets the tone for expectations and behaviors. So, when presented with the opportunity to teach in a classroom with no windows; no white boards; no bulletin boards; stinky, scratched up walls filled with the previous teacher's stuff in boxes everywhere... I freaked out.

Even the furniture is not what will eventually be there... and there's less than six days until my pickles walk into my room. The large, windowless, rectangular room is filled with outdated "computer lab" furniture that is "ordered" to be replaced with tables and chairs. The previous teacher's boxes stacked wide and hide throughout the space. No teacher desk. No computer. No windows (repetition intentional). And again... did I say there were no windows?

Miraculously, I have been graced. A dear friend posted help for me and my community responded beyond my wildest expectations. A teacher's desk, a massive white board, old windows, a custom-built stage were offered. My head is spinning and my eyes are full of tears. Could I be any luckier? I helped the previous teacher move her stuff out. My team swarmed in and helped. My principal showed up to assess and lend support.

If this is my task: let me serve it well. Because before and beyond all else.. I am serving children. In need.

And that is my task.

Job Search Dreams

Wow! Searching for a permanent teaching position for the fall has given me some really weird dreams, that's for sure. Anxiety, uncertainty, shameless self-promotion and a horrible fear I will end up as a teacher-without-a-classroom fuels these dreams. Last night, I dreamt I was teaching at a school that did away with all arts programs and instead, created an aromatherapy room. Not that I'm opposed to aromatherapy! It was just one of those illogical, scrambled dreams. I'm used to the back-to-school dreams where I walk into a classroom of a hundred kids and have forgotten my lesson plans. Dreams where I forgot my clothes. Those kind of dreams.

I guess this dream about doing away with all arts in schools was inspired by last night's television broadcast. When I was serving as a long-term sub at the utopia school, I created a lesson plan competition. The students were asked to write, create, film, produce and edit a thirty second PSA to promote the idea of the importance of keeping arts alive in all schools. The winner of the competition was interviewed for the local news, which aired last night. The PSA will run throughout the summer on the television station.

http://www.foxlexington.com/newsroom/top-stories/videos/performing-arts-school-students-produce-psas-4127.shtml

I am so proud of "my" pickles. Seventh graders! Incredible!

Today, I will counter my night dreams with continued daydreams of returning to the classroom.

Full Circle

In February, I taught the idea of the importance of public speaking. I used poetry as an example. I said, "Even the worst poems (like my own) sound great when you put yourself behind that poem and belt it out with confidence." I then expanded the idea, "Conversely, even the world's greatest poem sound terrible if you mumble it quietly like this..." and I launched into Shakespeare's Sonnet 18. I know this sonnet "by-heart" from a drama teaching gig about fifteen years ago. Imagine my surprise when I began reciting (mumbling), "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..." when first, one student began singing it, then another, then another until by the end of the sonnet, the entire class had sung it along with me.

I stood there in awe, tears welling up a bit. Overcome with emotion. "How do you know that? Who taught you that?" They responded that their drama teacher had put the sonnet to a melody to teach them to memorize it. I was dazzled. What a brilliant teacher. How incredible, too. I mean, I didn't know that before I used that particular sonnet as example. Seriously, I couldn't have planned that lesson if I tried. It was magic.

I relayed this experience on facebook in my delight teaching at this utopia school. Many people "commented" to give credit to that particular teacher. So, I made it my task to meet this incredibly brilliant woman. She is amazing. One of the most kind, caring and dynamic teachers at school. I made a point of stopping by to sit in her rocking chair on my planning bell from time to time to chat with her and just breathe in her drama room space.

My last day at that utopia school, I stopped by her room. She invited me to stay, asking me to paint a canvas that would be used as a prop for a play she was managing for a local theater company. Of course, I agreed, even though I haven't painted in a long time. And how stupid. Why haven't I made time in my life for painting? So, I picked up a brush and delved into my task. Her class filed in and guess what? It was the day for the kids to recite Sonnet 18. There I stood, blissfully painting away singing along with the sonnet.

It was a full-circle moment that left me centered and grateful to have joined the best school I had ever served. I left the paint on my hands all day to remind me of how peaceful painting is for me. What an incredible meditation that centers my being. I won't let that much time pass again depriving me of one of my favorite activities of life. Time to brush the dust off my studio and delve back into my art.

Mother's Day Post

I would have been very upset with this idea when I first became a teacher... but I know it to be true. Being a mother makes me a better teacher. I am more patient, understanding and have a better sense of humor. Especially in dealing with redirects on behavior issues. I just don't get as frustrated as I did before I became a mom. After raising a son for fourteen years, I have experienced a LOT of crazy behaviors! I'm sure I am in for a wild ride getting him through high school... which will make me an even better teacher, too.

The idea that being a mother makes me a better teacher does not mean that young people who are not parents are not good teachers. Of course they are. I was a good teacher in my pre-mom days. It's just... parenting gives me a deeper understanding and empathy for students. And because I've almost always taught high school, I would never have been equipped for this latest gig which included teaching elementary aged students. So, I'm grateful that age, maturity and maternity were on my side in this latest teaching situation.

Although, I am grateful one thing hasn't changed from my pre-mom teacher days to now... one of my students wrote in her farewell letter, "thank you for treating us like we're humans and not just some dumb kids who you are forced to teach". You're welcome, pickle. I have always treated my students like the little PEOPLE they are. Dignity and respect. Care and concern.

Human Nature

It occurs to me that teaching has shaped my personality in a way.  I remember (twenty years ago) when I was a student teacher and I "acted" out a scene from a book. My university professor was observing and he commented specifically on my dramatic nature and encouraged it. He said that one of my strengths was my authentic exuberance and lack of inhibition and that I should rely upon that to engage my students.

Today, my middle school students worked hard on revising proficiency testing styled essays. When each student approached the desk, I made a big fuss over exclaiming, "Yes! Score Four!" Big high five. "So proud of you!"

Same with my littlest students writing haiku. Their task? To write three haiku during the bell. As each student brought their first attempts, I naturally exclaimed about the beauty of their words. I do what I call "Ms. Beck's Poetry Dance". I can't help but to stop, sigh and breathe in a particularly beautiful line. That enthusiasm encourages them to write more, more, more.

(I do have to laugh that I taught my elementary kids to "Haiku Haiku All Day" to the Grateful Dead tune. Just a giggle as an aside)

But, I have to wonder... would I be as exuberant and dramatic in my nature if I didn't "practice" it in the classroom for so many years? Certainly people who work in "grown up" office settings don't belly-laugh as often as teachers. They don't "act out" scenes or exclaim over their clients' successes with dances and songs. How different would I be if I wasn't a teacher?

Teacher Prayer

Okay, Universe, I give it up to you. I am grateful for my blessings. Love my family, dogs and friends. I do not take for granted the opportunities I have been provided. I devote my life to serving others as a teacher and in the community. I pray under the elm tree. Appreciate my life. Allow joy to flood my being. Thank you.

This is the prayer I almost posted on Facebook, but then decided it would be misinterpreted or perhaps just too "unsacred" of a place for such a sincere sentiment. I am ending my long long-term sub position Friday and out into the land of interviewing for that elusive permanent position for next year. I've gone to some very promising interviews already, but it's the beginning of the interviewing season for teaching, so I'm strapping on my seatbelt and getting on the rollercoaster.

I must trust that the universe has a plan for me that is beyond my control. That is the advice my teacher-guru-friend gave me the other day. The right school will offer me a position in the right place at the right time. In the meanwhile, all I can do is hustle and put my best self out there. Beyond that, it's not in my control. Especially since the BIG district in town is on a "hiring freeze" until May 15. So, that means no school can even post a position, let alone offer a position until after that date.

And with my son's prep school commitment looming... that's not a lot of time.

I did choke back tears yesterday as my little elementary students walked out of my classroom for the last time, clutching their three haikus they wrote during the bell. Oh, I'm so funny. When I was first confronted with such little people, I was baffled. After almost three months, I'm endeared. I've never met a pickle I didn't adore. Even little pickles. Especially those dimple-knuckled hands clutching poems. They're that little.

I will walk out of the school doors on Friday with a smile of gratitude for the wonderful experience I've had serving these students. I will focus on the open doors that will welcome me in the fall. I pray.

Too Close for Comfort

Yesterday afternoon, our new neighbors made their appearance. We have been really excited to meet our new neighbors who just bought the house next-door, so we walked over to introduce ourselves. We met the husband who was there to cut the lawn. He explained that he worked in an ER and his wife was a teacher. Imagine the look of dismay when I exclaimed, "Our son attends that middle school" and then, the look of relief when I clarified, "but, he's an eighth grader. He won't be at the same school next year."

I had to giggle. Of course, he looked relieved. I would be horrified if one of my students lived right next door. Not that I don't love my students and delight in seeing them out in the community. But, to live right next door to one of my own students? That's a bit too close for comfort. We teachers need to have a bit of privacy. Especially in our own homes. It's one thing to invite students over once they've graduated and grown up, it's entirely another thing to have to come home from working hard in the classroom to seeing one of your own students in your backyard.

What's even better for this teacher is that she teaches sixth grade. Our son never had her as a teacher, as she just started at his school this year. Our son plans to attend private school next year, so they won't even be in the same school system. This teacher is safe. Not that I would expect her behavior at home to be much different than at home... that's not what I'm saying. It's just nice to have boundaries.

I will forewarn them about the "epic" birthday party my son has planned in two weeks. It's going to be a movie-on-the-pond party and also a farewell to his school party. He plans to invite forty kids. I will make sure our new teacher neighbor is aware of this event so she can make herself scarce, if she's so inclined. Otherwise, imagine her dismay to look out the window to see forty students from her school running wild in our backyards. I'll give her a chance to hide.

Figuratively Literal

Ha! This age group of kids cracks me up. Mostly because they don't understand figurative language. When I launched this gig, I started calling my students "pickles". For the first time ever, one student took offense. "I can't be called a 'pickle', Ms. Beck. I'm allergic to pickles." What? Allergic? Seriously? Apparently so, according to her health plan at school. So I replied, "Okay, then. I'll just call you what you are. You are my BEST student". Now, every time I say, "Pickles" she always responds, "And your BEST student".

Today, I told the writing majors that I was reconsidering their topic ideas for flash fiction. First, I agreed to allow them to write murder mysteries. Then, I started thinking about their one-act plays. I said, "I don't know if we should write murder mysteries. No offense, but you kids do much better when you write what you know. When some of you wrote about anything to do with the law, courts or hospitals, your plays went awry. And listen, John Grisham was a lawyer for years before he turned his attention to writing legal thrillers. I can't write legal thrillers. I don't even know the jargon. I've never been to law school. So, I'm thinking we should stick with gritty realism."

I received a groan. After three months, I "get" them now. So, I clarified. "When I say 'gritty realism', I don't necessarily mean you have to go for the emotional juglar. You don't have to write about personal painful stuff. You can write funny stuff. Most embarassing moments. Light-hearted topics. It doesn't have to be heavy. It just needs to be authentic."

Later, a pickle approached me. "Do you have an idea for me to write about?" I replied, "I don't have your ideas. Where are your ideas?" When she frowned, I told her to take a "zen moment and contemplate the universe". Now, I've got a kid wandering around the classroom, looking thoroughly confused.

A group of kids came into class late, which happens often at a performance arts school. However, they were very loud and talkative while the rest of my students were quietly tap tap tapping at the computers. A pickle said, "You are being very rude and disruptive. We are working."

I looked up from writing this essay, raised an eyebrow and said, "Good thing you are my 'best' student then, huh?"

The Drum

"What do you do to relieve stress from school situations?" This was the question I was asked in an interview. Of course, my first response was, "I write. I keep a journal and I write." This, because I am a writer and a writing teacher. I then talked about practicing silence... my spiritual quest to learn to listen more and talk less. I concluded that I like to walk my dogs and that my husband and I are boaters, so we like to take our family and friends boating.

What I forgot to mention was my drum. Perhaps it's because I haven't gone to my drumming class lately. Too much stress. What a mistake. Learning West African drumming and buying a djembe are honestly the best stress-relievers there are for me. The reason? Because it's the only two hours of the week where I can't think about anything other than the rhythm we are practicing. It's that complicated when drumming to polyphonic rhythms. Like being on a roller-coaster. You have your rhythm and then the next group layers their rhythm and the next layers a third rhythm while at the same time, our teacher keeps time with a tambourine attached to his foot and adds solos with his djembe on top of it all. Add a djun-djun and some claves or a cow-bell and chaos ensues. Either that or the most exhilarating music I have ever heard (or made).

When I was in middle-school, I wanted to choose drums for band. However, I got stuck with the clarinet. So, learning to drum at this stage of life is a gift to my little girl self. Playing in the school band was great, though. Participating in a group to make music together is just so satisfying. But, there is nothing like the joy of banging on a drum. Especially hand-drumming. It's physical. Visceral. Real. No room in my brain to worry or work a poem through or dream up lesson plans. I am completely present in the moment of the rhythm.

So, with this reminder, I am inspired to return to my weekly drum class. Another reason is because I have been blessed with the world's greatest drum teacher, Tripp Bratton. Not only is he incredibly talented, he is brilliant. He knows the history of rhythms and teaches us. He also happens to have one of the kindest faces I have ever met. It's because of his soul. He is a kind and generous soul and it radiates from every pore of his being.

It's time for me to return to the drum. I'm so grateful for the interview I had. It reminded me that all professionals experience stress and we need to work our tools to relieve it. If I'm super-stressed out now teaching full-time while working full-time to find a job... I must find time to drum. My soul will thank me.

Guyute in the Classroom

Today, I taught one of my favorite lesson plans about the philosophy of aesthetics... using my beloved Phish to demonstrate. That's right. Phish found its way into academia and I could not be more proud of how well it works.

First, I discuss ekphrastic art and the triangular relationship between the artist's intention, the art itself and the audience's response. I explain how sometimes, there is a huge distance between what the artist intends and how the audience perceives the work itself. "For example, if we were all at the Cincinnati Art Museum, staring at a Van Gogh painting, why can't we ask Vincent what he intended?" Yes, because he's dead. Dead, I tell ya. We can't ask him. Well, even if the artist is alive, we might all perceive art very differently from each other because we all come with a different set of life experiences.

Then, I read the children's story, "Once Upon an Ordinary School Day" written by Colin McNaughton and illustrated by Satoshi Kitamura. It's a lovely chilren's book that demonstrates the lesson when an extraordinary teacher walks into an ordinary classroom and starts booming music, asking the students to draw what they "see" in the music. Then, after each child has several big pieces of white paper, pencils, crayons and markers, we begin.

I use the orchestral piece "Guyute" performed by the Vermont Youth Orchestra because the kids are always blown away that kids their age were the musicians. Although it's eleven minutes long, I've yet to have a class that hasn't written and drawn images. Mice, mountains, blue skies, thunder, kings, queens, dancers, volcanoes. Completely contained within their own response to the song. When it's over and I have asked the students to share what they "saw", I then pretend astonishment.

"None of you wrote about an ugly pig? Really? No one?"

I pass out the lyrics of the song and explain. Not only is this a song about an ugly pig named Guyute, it is also a rock and roll song originally performed by a band called Phish and then, composed to orchestral music by Trey Anastasio.

With the lyrics in hand, I launch on showing them the song again (this time, on the big screen).... Phish in its finest. Every single class always delights in singing along. They love the light show. They exclaim about the balloons and beach balls. Because today I taught it in a performing arts school, for the first time ever... kids got up and danced with me. Full-throttle, hands in the air, dancing with delight to Phish!

Finally, I explain. "Now sometimes, there is a much closer relationship between art and the audience response. For example, certain tones should create specific images in your mind. Get a clean piece of paper. This time, there is a 'right' answer. Listen to the music and draw what you see." I play "Andre the Giant" a calypso style song replete with steel drums. When the first student draws and island and a palm tree, I make a big fuss. "That's it! You've got it. That's the right answer". Of course, I let all of the kids lean over to "see" the "right" answer.

Then, I conclude by revealing, "And ladies and gentlemen, would you be suprised to learn that song was performed by the very same guy? That's right. Trey Anastasio. See why I love him so much? He's brilliant."

Because we had about fifteen minutes left in our "bell" today and because we have a keyboard in the classroom, the piano major students took turns playing for us. Mozart, Bach, ragtime.

I hope this happens once again....

 Thank you, Trey

Shameless Self-Promotion

One thing I have learned from my career as writer that I have (obviously) implemented in my quest to return to career as teacher is shameless self-promotion. Of course, I have. And it's weird. I started this "teacher blog" because one of my classes here is "required" to keep their own blogs. Because I'm one of those teachers who actually does every assignment the students do, I decided to launch this blog. When I say, "do every assignment", I mean it. When I assign an essay, I write one as a model. When I assign study guides for novels, they are written by me. But, I am having a cynical moment. My Facebook and this blog have become one, big walking advertisement: Teacher Extraordinaire. Hire me. Look at my displays. Look at my white board. Look. Look. Look.

And sigh. I mean, listen... "back in the day" we teachers didn't have these venues. We simply showed up to schools, hand-delivered our resumes, made old-fashioned phone calls and prayed. When we got interviews, we showed up and talked. No on-line applications, emails, fancy websites, blogspots. A handshake and a prayer got you a gig. Not anymore.

And thank gravy I launched a professional writing career and learned these "tools of the trade". I do like keeping a blog. It forces me to write at least these little essays every day. That and my private journal are the only writing I'm doing these days. I'm under so much stress and pressure serving as long-term sub here and there and interviewing and praying for a permanent gig for next year... I'm not writing. Ye gads. The world's gone mad. Not writing? Deep breath. It will cycle once again.

Finally, I love the irony of it all. I'm serving as creative writing teacher while not writing. Hopefully, the full-time job of looking for a full-time job will end and my mental space will empty and creativity will flourish again.

In the meanwhile... at least, I've been doing some high-quality teaching. These pickles are rockstars.

Wall of Fame

In each and every school I teach, you can always find me easily. Look for walls plastered with kids' work. The "Wall of Fame". Because I am a visual artist as well as a writer/teacher, I love decorated work. Poems decorated. Collage. Found word poems. I am known as the "display" teacher. Past students always say, "Oh, I knew where your room was, Ms. Beck. I could tell from the hallway". My husband treated us with pizzas for Shakespeare's birthday last week. I said, "Just look for the hallway. You'll find my room".

Not only does it please my aesthetic sensibilities, it creates a sense of pride in my students and the parents love it. Schools should be plastered with beautiful, carefully crafted student work. It's cheerful. It's productive. It's also motivating. And so much better than boring concrete walls.

I love when students slow their pace to look for their own work on the walls. Not only that, but they are learning. Stopping to read poems and not even conscious of it. What better way to learn than to read their peers' work?

As I prepare for rounds of interviews to secure that coveted permanent teaching position for next year, I pulled out my good old-fashioned portfolio. Not so much to see my resume, awards and letters of recommendations (that's all "on-line" now anyway), but to see the pages of displays of students' work. And it's a good device for interviews. Who doesn't love browsing through "scrapbooks"? Especially English teachers. Show-and-Tell.