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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Letting Go

The Universe has been speaking, but I haven't been listening. No, let me clarify... the Universe has been screaming and I've been ignoring it. Until today. I suddenly woke up this morning and heard the words in my soul, "Let Go". Clearly. It is time for me to let go. Disclaimer: (umm... I'm not a mom of little girls, so "Frozen" is not what I have in mind here) ha.

I have tried to control situations that I simply cannot control. Like a wind-up toy, I awaken each morning with a renewed sense of energy and by the end of the day, have felt wound down. Instead, I am going to chant "let go, let go".

I am a substitute teacher, which means that I cannot control everything that happens at school or in my classroom. That does not mean I do not have control over carefully cultivated lesson plans, but I do not have control of schedule changes. The dynamics at this utopia school are what they are and I must accept that. Be grateful for this opportunity and let the rest go.

I have worked hard to polish my resume, update the on-line application system and send out emails to principals. Now, I must let go and wait to see who contacts me. I cannot control how a huge school system operates. Cannot control which schools will have openings. Cannot control how/when/why I will or will not get a permanent teaching position for next year. In the meanwhile, all I can do is let go.

I am away from the house so many hours, I do not have control over every single domestic task. Some things are just not going to be accomplished like they did when I was at home. I'm letting go. The furniture will get dusty. The bathrooms will be cleaned less often. But, the walls will not crumble and the roof will not fall down in the process. It's okay. I can let go.

I write poems; write books and submit them for publication. I cannot control what will be accepted and what will be rejected. I must let go. Believe in myself. Put my head back down and work again and in the process, accept what will be.

Finally, no matter my facial expressions or the work my students produce or how hard I strive to serve this school, I cannot control what other people will think of me. I must let it go. I am done overanalyzing every little thing. It will drive me crazy. Let go.

And when I let go, I believe that I will better enjoy the process and I believe that is the key to life. Enjoy the ride. Nothing is forever; that much, I know.

Teacher Schtick

We teachers have shticks that keep our students engaged. For example, not only am I the "story-teller" teacher, I also call my students "pickles". I'm the "Jolly Rancher" teacher as well. I do not reward students for the right answer with Jolly Ranchers. I dole them out for random treats and when I catch a student doing a random act of kindness. I also tell them, "Raise your right hand and repeat after me, 'On my honor, I will not choke'". Of course, that also gets a laugh.

Pop-up Music Moments. Sidewalk chalk Haiku days in the Spring where we write our poems all over the concrete walkways to the entrance of the school. Spider Moments. If a bug of any kind is found in my room (including spiders), we gently scoop them up into a tissue and free them outside because every life deserves a chance. "Be free, Spider. Be free". No stomping or squishing. Freedom.

Botox... I joke around about wanting Botox so my face doesn't reveal my expressions. Yesterday, a student brought in a brochure about a natural alternative to Botox that her mama sent. She said, "Since my mom has been using this stuff, I honestly can't read her expressions. It really works, Ms. Beck".

Zip-Zap-Zop is my "classroom game" we play from time-to-time. This, after the name game we play at the beginning of the year. Chants such as "Writing is not an event. Writing is a process". When we walk through the hallways, I say, "Tip-toe, tip-toe like anywhere a mouse can go" which is my method of teaching prepositions. "Get going with the get-go" is another phrase. "What-in-the-what-what" and "For all the world" are my alternatives to profanity.

I tell every class, "You are my favorite class. Seriously, my favorite class". But, I tell that to every class. Of course, they find out and pretend indignation. But, they still light up when I tell them they're my favorites.  Clutching their essays or tests or writings to my chest and telling them, "This is the best gift you could ever give me. Your words. I can't wait to read. Thank you".

And when the writing is good, I break into my "poetry dance". I dance around a bit and sing, "'cuz you are so smart. My kids are so smart." Ownership and belonging... what kids crave. My pickles. My delight.

Finally, once I know my students well... hugs, love and laughter. Lots of laughter. More love.

Rainy Days

On rainy days, it's good to remember the blessings of life. I'm not just talking about the weather. I'm talking about the teacher blues. Having been "hit" with some professional disappointments, I can decide whether to let that take me down down down or get back up and get going with the get-go. And sometimes, that's easier said than done.

But, moments like teaching (In Just-) and looking out my classroom windows to see children jump-rope running are just so inspiring. Announcing the "winners" of our classroom PSA contest promoting the importance of keeping the arts alive in public schools to be aired on our local television station is exciting. Preparing elementary children for their first public reading this Saturday melts my heart. Walking up to the steps of the school to find a heart made of dandelions placed on the concrete delights me with a smile.

So, when the literary journal I so wanted to place my poems in declined me... I used it as an example to my creative writing students of "a writer's life". We must accept rejection as part of the process, tuck it away and keep submitting. I told my kids, "So, if I ask you to write yet another revision... accept that. Writing is not an event. Writing is a process." This is a mantra we chant regularly.

Today, I am focusing on my teacher's mantra: "I'm so grateful to have a classroom in which to float. I'm so grateful to be a teacher. I'm so grateful for these students. I'm so grateful for today." Concentrating on the present. The moment. Today.

Alchemy of Poetry

I don't know how it happens, but it does. When poets write (or read) in the same room, it's amazing how certain themes and strains wind their way through lines of poetry without purposeful intent. It's magic.

In class the other day, I assigned an e.e. cummings poem as inspiration to focus on form. We poets put our heads down to write. I write along with my students. Great opportunity to get some of my own poems written. Imagine my astonishment when circling the room, I leaned over one student's computer to see the same melancholy tone I had written in my own poem. I raced over to my computer to print. We read our poems and the class was blown away. How had this young poet and I had captured the same feelings... even using some of the same words to write our poems? We hadn't talked about it. And... what's even more weird? Our melancholy poems were radically different than the rest of the class's Spring-themed poems of hope, happiness and sunshine. We wrote about regret, shame, sadness. Our words were just so aligned. The feeling in-tune.

Last night, The Teen Howl Poetry rocked the mic. Again... without pre-planning, themes began to emerge. These poets don't even attend the same schools or even live in the same counties, yet... fireflies, carnivals, Kentucky culture, angst, magic linked the individual poems into one collective collage. Some nights, it's "ripping the Band-Aids off" nights. Last night was surreal. Like floating in a Miro painting. How does that happen?

I like to teach what I call "paired poetry". Today, I will practice it with my students. Two students are paired. Without discussion, the first poet writes a line and then folds the page over. The second poet writes a line. They go back and forth until each has written ten lines. Then... the magic. They open the poem to find one long poem collectively written and inevitably... it works. Somehow... some way... the poems become linked. Words are repeated. Ideas are echoed. How does that work?

The alchemy of poetry. The divine Muse that hovers over our shoulders and whispers into our ears. The magic of words.

April Showers

Some days, I must admit, I really wonder what I'm doing in an elementary/middle school. These children are just not my favorite age group. I don't have any experience (outside of raising my own son) with kids THIS young. Perhaps I made a mistake taking this gig. Even if it's only a long-term sub assignment. Maybe it's the wrong placement for me.

Yesterday, my little students groaned in protest about April Poetry Month. "You haven't taught us anything but poetry since you've been here." This particular class only comes to me once a week. Many of our meeting times have been cancelled due to very important Dance Performances and Choir Performances. Understandably... these performances are assessed. My once a week pop up creative writing class is only a chance for elementary students to float in my writing world. Much like an elective of sorts.

However, I felt dismayed. Certainly we haven't JUST written poetry? In fact, we haven't. We began writing letters. We moved to writing words to create our Writer's Toolbox. Those words can be used in any form of writing. Not just poetry. But, I persevered. Actually, I had to smirk. I wonder if this teacher has a copy of "Love that Dog" for me to give him? That would be the perfect book for this grumbly non-poetry writing kid.

And then, in the space of time during my very quiet, isolated lunch, my door opened. A tiny little dancer entered the room. "Ms. Beck? I wrote my Poem for My Pocket, but I don't understand it. Could you explain it to me?" I opened her folded pocket to find in careful little cursive writing one of the most beautiful poems I have ever read. A poem I had never even seen before. What delight.

After that lovely moment of poetry analysis she conluded, "And you know those poems you showed us yesterday? Well, I had never heard poetry like that before and you know what? It inspired me to write my very own poem... the first poem I've ever written. I wrote it last night."

At that moment, it started pouring. Both the spring shower outside my window and within my heart. After the little tiny dancer left my room, I cried.

Perhaps I am in the right place.

Poem In Your Pocket

In order to prepare for April Poetry Month, this week I asked fourth and fifth graders to research poetryfoundation.org to find "their" poem. Their task? To read, read, read poems until ONE magical poem jumps from the page and inserts itself into their pockets. What's worse? No copy/paste onto a word document to print... GASP! They had to write the poem exactly the way the poem appears on the page. That's right, folks. Write in in colored pencils or markers onto lined paper or index cards provided for the occassion.  And even more? To read a little background information on that poet. Learn about that poet. Love that poem.

Groans of agony. Torturous task. Horrible teacher. Read? Write? Is she mad? Mean? Why?

And then, this strange thing happened. A quiet settled over the room. Students immersed in words. Ahh! The big moment! That poem. That one poem that sings. Hits them in their solar plexus. That poem they just can't live without.

To see the delight in their eyes when they ended the class bell, inserting their poems into their pockets or slid into their boots or tucked under their hair ribbons. Little people's hands waving multi-colored, hand-written poems. "Look, Ms. Beck. Look at MY poem. My Poem in my Pocket!"

April is just going to be a great month.

Diggin' Deep

I wrote about terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad days we teachers sometimes experience. You know what gets me through? The students. No matter how low I fall, these kids lift me up every single time. Unbelievable.

To see a kid's eyes light up when he's discovered a magical thing happen in the process of writing his novel. Ahh... yes. That moment. The reason we writers write. When the characters take on a life of their own. When the plot twists on its own accord. Sounds weird? Try writing a novel. It happens and when it does, it is the most exhilarating experience ever. To see the joy emanating from my student's eyes was more than enough to make me dig deeper and recognize how blessed I am to be a teacher.

Then, I open Facebook to see one of my past students on a local television show, broadcasting his latest culinary endeavors in his career. I post, "You are a rockstar! I am one proud teacher." To which he responds, "Ms. Beck, I hope I can always make you proud". Again.... joy.

Tackling my emails... I find my current student's latest draft of his one-act play that is good enough to submit to the Kennedy Center's student play contest. His note of gratitude for the opportunity inspired me to open his email attachment and read through the current draft. What did he do? Took every single note I gave him and revised, rewrote and polished what was already the best one-act play of the class. He dug deep.

I'm inspired to dig deeper.