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.

Plants, Windows, Art

This particular classroom has spectacular windows, so the first thing I did was to raise the blinds entirely. I'm known for the open blind classrooms. In fact, students would know if I had a sub if the blinds weren't opened for the day. They began to recognize the light versus dark classrooms that have become really popular lately.

I also noticed a conspicious lack of plants in this classroom. With these windows one could grow a jungle in here! I do understand that some people are plant people and others aren't. I'm definitely a plant person, so I brought one small plant to add a little life to the environment. You should see the library in this school. The librarian is a plant person and the entire space is so alive and green. It's a pleasure to go to the library every Friday. I asked the librarian if the plants were hers or if they were here when she took this gig. She confirmed... she's the plant person. She cares for them. Then, she so graciously gifted me a clipping of a plant I particularly admired.

In one school I once taught, there was a huge absence of art in most of the classrooms. No framed prints. No student collages. No art. None. Now, I know that because I'm a visual artist, I'm probably a bit more hyper-aware of art in the classroom. But, I find it to be so important to the classroom environment. I was delighted to sub in a classroom where the teacher allowed the students to paint all over the walls. The room felt alive and vibrant. In another, the teacher hung prayer flags and had smiling Buddha statues.  In this classroom, I smiled to see a darling piece of art I once saw on Pinterest... it's one of those melted crayon pieces where silhouettes of musicians, dancers, artists and writers sit at the bottom of the rainbow. I asked another teacher about the piece and she confirmed the teacher for whom I am subbing created the piece herself. Brava! It's just great and brings such life and color to the space.

Because our classrooms are almost an extension of our homes, I believe it to be really important to make our space as inviting as possible. I am grateful my current classroom is decorated so beautifully in colors the teacher obviously loves. She's hung paper lanterns and strung a long banner across the windows. Inviting pillows create a reading corner replete with a matching lamp. I brought a spice jar filled with cut daffodils from my own garden to rest on my desk yesterday. Almost every student noticed.

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.

Botox Teacher

I really need to get some Botox. Not for vanity reasons, but because my face is just too expressive. I am an open book. If I had a good dose of Botox, perhaps not everyone at school could read my face. It would be like a mask, something I believe is necessary as I delve into the wonderful chaos of staff meetings and planning meetings and department meetings and how many meetings about meetings about emails do we teachers really need anyway?

Apparently more than my patience tolerates. I do like that my students can read my face, though. They can tell with one raised eyebrow or one serious frown when I am disappointed or merely redirecting their behavior. That is rather effective, I must admit. Especially as it does not interrupt my incredibly important lesson plans. I can use body language and not miss a beat in continuing instruction. If perhaps a student would be so bold as to pull out a cell phone and hide it behind her purse while I'm reading a very important poem, I can gesture easily and not miss a line.

I read John Ashbery's poem "... by an Earthquake" today because when my students came into class and asked what was troubling me, I chose not to gossip. I will not. Never. Ever. speak a single, solitary word about another teacher in my classroom. It is unseemly. Unprofessional and unnecessary, really. Instead, I chose to read Ashbery's poem. Poetry as Botox. And what a great poem for the occasion, really. "B, in love with A, receives an unsigned letter in which the writer states that she is the mistress of A and begs B not to take him away from her" and so on and so on with the A, B, even X characters in this poem.

I could discuss teacher A who betrayed teacher B, but really... Ashbery's poem is just so much better than any story I could ever tell. And who really cares about my experiences anyway? That is what I absolutely love about being a teacher. Instruction is honestly the most important task of life. There are no hurt feelings, no disappointments, no frustrations that can steal my joy from instruction. For fifty blissful hours, literature is the sole purpose of life.

And perhaps my expression of delight is more important that a good, solid dose of Botox.

Extended Family

One of my past (read "grown-up") students couldn't come to the pond this weekend to visit. She has her graduate school thesis to revise. (Finish that thesis, honey! Finish). Another student reached out, needing some family time this weekend to celebrate his good news. He's landed a great job out of town. How honored I feel he wants to carve time out with me before he leaves. I'm hurrying to cobble together the ingredients to prepare his favorite dinner. I know what he likes to eat because he spent every Sunday night eating dinner with us for two years after which, he tutored my son in Math. He also served as our faithful dog sitter for the past several years. Other students were my son's babysitters.

How grateful I am to have an extended family that consists of past students. How amazed I am they still want to spend time with old Ms. Beck. I only have one teacher in my life that I still connect with. And that's not a high school teacher... that's the teacher with whom I studied just last year.

These relationships have enriched not only my own life, but my son's. I'm so proud he sees his mother in another role, "teacher". See, mean Mom is also a person with a career she did so well, students still flock to our home. Race to say hello at the grocery. Come to the pond for a lazy summer day floating and picnicking after completing yet another tour in Afghanistan. Ask to come over to rehearse a poetry recital for a contest in college.

Actually, when my son was really little, he thought I was famous because we'd see students at restaurants, grocery stores, even the carpet store. Ha. I let him have his illusion as long as it lasted. In reality, my high school students were working these part-time jobs which is the only reason we'd see them out in the community so much.

I do think it's because I treated my classroom as an extension of my home that my students feel comfortable still reaching out. And it is my delight to welcome them with open arms.

Snowflake Teachers

I know. I know. Nobody wants to hear about snowflakes, particularly after so many Snow Days and especially on this first day of Spring. But, English teachers do like their irony.

Teachers are like snowflakes. Each is unique. Each has his/her own area of expertise. Once, an older teacher told me, "Remember, you aren't the first English teacher your students had and you won't be the last. Stop worrying so much. They'll get from you certain skills and gain other skills in other classes."

What a relief, really. For example, I'm the poetry teacher. Slam poetry. Sonnets. Rap and hip-hop. Blank verse. Free verse. Gimme verse. My dear teacher friend is the queen of non-fiction. (yuck and really?) It isn't until this advanced age that I now appreciate the love of non-fiction (and ironically, after writing creative non-fiction in blogs for years now: ha).  However, we both love nothing more than teaching a good, old-fashioned Shakespeare play and we adore novels.

One teacher I know teaches Philosophy as well as English. I could teach (and have taught) Art History and Creative Writing in addition to my vast experience as a "traditional" English teacher. I was so intimidated by the teacher I'm substituting for these days who is the Queen of Digital Technology. When I wailed to my husband, "I don't know all of these I-Movies, Powtoons, Movie Maker, Prezi stuff!" he reminded me, "Honey, that's HER comfort zone. You float in what YOU are good at."

And how grateful I am to have "stepped into her shoes" for the past several weeks. I have learned SO much about the wonderful uses of technology in the classroom. The incredible, inventive methods for transforming a personal narrative into a Digital Narrative. Researching Famous American Authors and presenting them digitally replete with background music and voice-overs. Reducing an incredibly intensive Argumentative Research Paper into a thirty-to-sixty second Public Service Announcement. Such an amazing gift to receive as I transition back into the classroom.

*Snowflake image credited to Professor Michael Peres. He has a love/hate relationship with snow, but takes the time to magnify and photograph the beauty of individual snowflakes regardless. Again with the irony.

Roller-coaster Teaching Days

Lemme get the job. Lemme get the job. I'm not going to get the job. I'm not going to get the gig. I love this school. I hate this school. No, I really love the job. I can see myself teaching here. Maybe I'm intended to teach somewhere else?

These are the messages that have run through my head all year as I launched into the strange world of long-term and daily subbing... all in order to "ease" my transition back into the classroom full-time next year. Ha! Ease? More like jump into the fire like an idiot and hope I don't get too burned and pray, instead I'll leave the day as ON FIRE as I started (yes, that happens more often than not).

And sigh... I'm awfully old to be "aspiring". Perhaps not, though. We writers are always "aspiring". We write poems, workshop the death out of them, order them, re-order them, read them aloud, and pray they turn into books and then... submit them to contests in hopes of publication. I even had the audacity to write three YA novels in the past few years. With every "rejection" note I received in my efforts to garner an agent, I am one step closer to the big HIT.

I remind myself... if my "pickles" love my stories in the classroom, surely kids will love my words on the page, right? That is... if my words stand without my facial expressions, gestures and dramatic voice. Dare dream.

That is what I'm daring to do these days... dreaming. To teach in a school where I can actually dig in and make a difference. Establish myself as teacher and develop relationships that will help kids. Get paid to do this weird thing I lovelovelove... read, write, analyze literature. I mean... talk about books all day? Read kids' words? You've got to be kidding me. It's the greatest gig in the world... if you can get it.

My greatest joy? Sharing my FAVORITE books and poems with kids. "You've never read dot dot dot? You've never seen fill-in-the-blank-poet read? Ooooh! Let me show you! I can't wait to share with you!" And with today's technology... it's a click of the button and there he/she is! Reading aloud on the screen. I remember when we English teachers FOUGHT over the ONE book in the library with the recordings of the ACTUAL writers reading his/her words. Those days are long gone....

but the roller-coaster days of aspiring are not gone. I'm holding on tightly... screaming my head off in part-elation; part-fear.

Teacher Blues

Okay, I have to sprinkle a lil cynicism into this blog or you will think I'm full of .... well, full of it. Teachers get crabby, too. We have bad days. We get headaches. Tired. Short-tempered and even say regretful things at times. At the very bitter end of today, I actually said to a student when she approached me, "If this is an 'I' statement, I don't want to hear it. Seriously. I have a blinding headache." Bad teacher. Bad, bad, bad. I will, of course, apologize to the poor child (even though she does tend to be a bit narcisstic). Sorry, folks. But, it's true. SOME "gifted and talented" children do lean toward the side of narcissism. However, most of the time... I just shake my head and smile. They're young. They're just kids. They'll learn. Today, though... it got the best of me.

Another thing that just got to me today? The Bully Teachers. These teachers exist in every school I have ever taught. They're everywhere. The trick? To avoid them at all costs. It's one of the main reasons I always advise my student teachers to stay OUT of the "teacher lounges". Because Bullies only exist in groups. It's what we teach our students... they are too cowardly to stand alone, so they inevitably surround themselves with a group of like-minded crabby McCrabbies. Negativity breeds negativity. It's contagious.

When I was a first-year teacher, wizened old Ms. Bell who only came in to teach to "earn her gambling money, honey" told me: "Listen to me. Don't you go listening to hateful teachers around here. I've heard you from next door and honey, you are TEACHING these children. There will be teachers that will hate on you because you're young, beautiful and have a pep to your step. Stay away from them and keep on keepin' on. These youngsters need teachers like you. Don't you ever let others try to drag you down."

Twenty years later and Ms. Bell... I still listen to you. I do have a natural energy. I might be a little more chubby than I once was, but I still pay attention to fashion and just do this weird thing called TEACHING. I put my heart and soul into my work and love all over my students. So, Bully Teachers can keep on doing what they do... I steer clear, clear, clear. I will NOT apologize for having a good attitude and grateful to do what I've been called to do in life. Teach!

But, today, a suffered from a horrible headache. My feet hurt from these stupid new stylie shoes. I was hungry and tired. My eyes were blurry from reading too many student papers in a row. I let the blues drag me downdowndown as I left the building. I cried a little on the drive home. I climbed into my bed and rested for an hour (after I took two aspirin). I let myself feel sorry and sad and beaten down.

Because like every ordinary human being... I got the blues.

All Students Have Parents

I know this title seems obvious, but it bears stating. Sometimes, teachers need to remember that the annoying, obnoxious, head-splitting monster sitting in their classrooms is someone's darling baby. Keeping that in mind helps a teacher approach students with lovingkindness. Of course, expectations must be set. Redirects are launched. Rules are followed.

But, when we teachers remember each and every one of these students are the love of a parent's life, patience is better followed. And patience is something every teacher practices on a moment-to-moment basis. Deep breath. Consider, then speak. Are comments intended to help a child succeed? Is criticism provided to strengthen a student's skills? This is the role of a "good" teacher.

Our job is to not demoralize a student, but to build him/her up. And children have bad days, too. There are family dynamics that must be considered. Kids come to the classroom not in a vacuum, but in context. I used to tell my high school juniors when they came into my classroom wailing about having a fight with their mamas, "Good. You need to have conflicts with your moms. How else are they going to let you leave for college? If you had a perfect relationship with absolutely no problems, mamas would never let you leave the nest. Fly, birdie, fly".

That may seem unnecessarily flippant, but it's true. As my child transitions into adolescence, I realize that his autonomous, growing-up self is striving for the independence he needs in order to leave home. I have many moments where I tilt my head at his behaviors. He makes mistakes. He errs in judgments. But, he's learning. He's maturing and growing and testing out his new independence.

However, in the process, I pray each and every one of his teachers see the darling baby I still see in his eyes. He may be five foot nine inches tall and awkward and gangly... but he was once a squishy, yummy baby. He's still MY baby.

And that reminds me... each and every one of my students is someone's baby, too.

Due Dates

I just had an interesting conversation with the creative writing majors today in response to their concern, "What if I don't have my draft ready by tomorrow?" This, after I gave them an entire week (aside from my brief, stupid stories to launch class) to quietly write, write, write.

"Listen, kids. I hate to tell you, but when you are 'real' writers, submission dates are exactly that. You don't submit your work by the due date, editors and publishers are not even going to consider your work and you will never get published. You must understand the importance of due dates."

Okay, that may seem harsh. They're only middle school students. But, the same is true for expectations of high school teachers and college professors. They expect student work by a certain date. So, I'm preparing them for reality, right? Preparing them for their future educational careers. This is my job. And I know these students have a lot of pressure on them. I get it. But, I also see a lot of wasted time, fooling around (much like any other middle school kids). Sometimes a little pressure is a good thing.

And... these are writing majors. This is what they have chosen to do. I'm not that strict with the elementary kids who come in once a week to float in literary arts. Actually, they spin my heads with their creative, wacky little selves I'm surprised quality instruction even occurs. But, it does. Set expectations and kids will rise.

Pacing documents. Due dates. Expectations. Responsibility. The dreaded H word: homework. This is the reality of a classroom. Interesting how the sound of fingers tap tap tapping on keyboards floods the room today. No giggling. No whispering. Glasses on. Heads down...

because mean Ms. Beck laid down the law.

Driving Music

No matter if I have elaborately constructed lectures to deliver or just filling in as substitute teacher for a random pop-up day, I love to blast music and bliss out on the drive to school. It serves to clear my mind and to inspire my heart before entering a long school day.

I remember the first day back to school when my son was three years old. I had taken those years off from teaching to raise him and oh! the joy of getting behind the wheel, turning up the stereo and jamming on my way back, back, back to the classroom still makes me smile at the memory. What freedom! What joy! What a sense of purpose in life, really. Not that staying home for my son's first three years of life wasn't purposeful. I wouldn't do it differently in hindsight. It was just such a wonderful sense of accomplishment and happiness when we reached the stage where he was better served in a Montessori classroom and Mommy could resume her career in teaching.

Ms. Beck was back then and back again this year. I just love my role as teacher. I can't help being so damn happy, even though it irritates the hell out of some other teachers who look at me with squinted expressions of confusion. I don't have the time nor the inclination to explain to them how lonely and quiet staying home for six years has been. Again, I don't regret the time I spent away from the classroom. It was absolutely necessary for my family. But, oh! how grateful I am to return to the gymshoe, chalkdust, stinky wonderfulness of school hallways.

But, I did stop to wonder what parents and students would think as I jam to my music on the way to school. And then I reminded myself. Who cares? What crime is it for a teacher to bliss out to tunes to amp up enthusiasm for the classroom? I do have to laugh... perhaps it is unusual for a teacher to love her music so much.

As long as I keep the windows up and a smile on my face... I say, do whatever one has to do to do this weird thing called Happy Teaching!

Storyteller Teacher

Like Frank McCourt (but not as famous nor as brilliant), I am a storyteller teacher. I guess it makes sense. I'm a writer, so I like to tell stories. I didn't realize until this latest stint how many funny, strange, even sad anecdotes from my life are woven within instruction. This class really loves my stories. "Tell us another story, Ms. Beck" and of course, I oblige.

My pickles' favorite stories are ones from my adolescent angst, of course. They love the stories about my famous unrequited love affair with Rodney Bedner. (names are changed in this blog, but I use the actual names in the classroom). Oh, how they love to hear about how I lovedlovedloved Rodney Bedner and how instead of asking ME to prom, I was devasted when he asked Nancy Kapple because she had just gotten her braces off. I mean, really? Because she had dazzling white teeth? Now, is this fair? I dramatize the pain and agony and especially the injustice of this slight. Then, I finish the story with the moral. "You know what, kids? I'm glad he asked Nancy Kapple to prom because she's dead. She's dead, I tell you. She's dead and I'm alive so I'm glad she got to go to prom with Rodney Bender. I mean, at least she got that. Sometimes in life, we don't know why things happen when they happen. But there is always a reason."

They are usually thunderstruck. Ah, the beauty of old age. So easy to share life experiences with kids and dazzle them by ordinary events like the inevitible death of us all. I don't know if many of my stories have specific morals, though. Perhaps I'm not wise and sage enough. In fact, now that I contemplate it... I realize some of my stories don't even have endings. They're just stories. Ways of connecting me to my students. Definitely humanizing.

And that is a major point. I strive to be a person first; teacher second. I remember (here I go with stories again) when I was a student, teachers didn't seem to exist outside of the classroom. They didn't have first names. They didn't have families, homes... and certainly never used the bathroom nor went to the grocery. I felt really disconnected from the formality that once dictated classroom behaviors. I don't want that for my students. I mean, I don't need them to know I pee, per se. But, I do put my entire name on the board and tell stories and expose myself as an ordinary human; not just (JUST) a teacher.

Sorry... no more time for stories now. Pickles are walking in and I've got old school Jackson 5 cued up for a surprise Music Pop-Up Moment. Oh, how I love the classroom.

Bus Duty - Lunch Duty

Oh ya. You know you're back in school when you are assigned Bus Duty and Lunch Duty. I have to confess. I love these duties. Crazy? Perhaps. Maybe it's because when I first began teaching in Cincinnati Public, we weren't responsible for these duties. Of course, my students didn't have yellow buses. They rode the Metro Buses to and from school and because our school was so big, we staggered the students coming and going. Also, we had our own security team (and metal detectors). That was "back in the day". So, when I first came to Kentucky, I was confused about these duties. What I learned is that they are the best times to actually chat with your kids.

Especially the end-of-the-day Bus Duty. Kids are HAPPY, not worn out like the teachers and therefore, it's rather inspiring. At this school, the teacher with whom I was assigned for Bus Duty tells jokes. Every day, the kids ask for his joke and he was always prepared. Then, they would attempt to tell their own. Now, some of these kids are fourth graders and hilarious in their mangled joke telling. We would smile at their long, twisted, confused jokes and laugh at the end... just for the sake of getting to the end. Other kids couldn't wait to pitch their ideas for stories, practice their pirouettes, or just play games on the phones they were able to take out of their pockets for the first time all school day. I forgot how little they actually are until I saw one little boy rolling around on the hallway floor and a little girl sitting with her legs apart in a skirt. Little kids. Funny kids. Completely unaware of social mores.

This school's cafeteria is inordinately quiet and well-behaved. I'm used to a bit of rambunctiousness at lunch time. Nope. Not at this school. Oh! And there are specified "allergy peanut" tables. I laughed to see one kid use his chicken nugget as a character to make it talk. I looked again and realized the nuggets are in shapes of letters. Easy to make a C a talking character. Other kids wander around aimlessly, trying to find their place in the universe even though the tables are assigned. Some kids have elaborate lunches carefully prepared by conscientious mommies replete with orange flowers. But, every day, someone inevitably has a story to tell me or a round of "Happy Birthday" is sung. The teachers' response? They clap along.

Of course, since this is the Creative and Performing Arts School, I do keep waiting for a kid to bust out a music device and for all of the kids to jump up on tables and start dancing. Ha. Gotta love my generation. FAME! I'm gonna live forever....

Hanging with these kids certainly makes an old teacher feel that way.

Bonus Ice

It really is the little things. Work can be hard. Life can be hard. And so it goes. I try to find little things to brighten my day. One little thing I have found at this dream job is Bonus Ice. Yes, bonus ice. Anyone who knows me (or has been in my classroom) knows that Ms. Beck is a water fanatic. But, I love icy cold water. Live for my ice. I know, Kentucky Friends... it's the Northerner in me. Love me some ICE. So, to find out that the teacher's lounge has a refrigerator with an ice dispenser is like finding gold to me. I can fill my water jug with as much ice as I like.

One afternoon before the bell rang, I told the class, "I'm going to get some Bonus Ice. I'll be right back". Bonus Ice? they asked. "Well, you know how well we teachers are paid. On top of that, they give us free ice! This is the best school EVER!"

And although this really is one of the best schools I have ever served, the Bonus Ice is honestly a check in the pro/con list of schools-I-want-to-teach-next-year. I used to freeze water bottles half-way so that I would have icy cold water all day long. But, when the Science Teacher explained how toxic it is to freeze water bottles, I stopped. Now, I carry my son's old camp water bottle filled with ice to start the day. And... I can top it off as much as I like.

Aside from my morning coffee, I quit caffeine years ago. No more Diet Coke for this teacher. So, ice water is my staple. I tease that "I have to earn my wine" ummm... not that teachers EVER drink wine. That's a joke. But, in my journey of aging, I have learned that water, water and yet again more water is key to my overall health and well-being. Even when I was YOUNG, I loved my water. I'm just the ice water teacher. That's me.

So, with Bonus Ice to look forward to every day... I am inspired to race into the classroom on FIRE with new ideas, lesson plans, brilliant students and love for literature. All while well-hydrated.

Self-fulfilling Prophesy

A friend wrote on her facebook page, "What would happen if we treated all children like they were just as gifted and talented and special as anyone else? What if they all have the same opportunities?"

I responded, "My entire philosophy of teaching and raising a child. Self-fulfilling prophesy. Tell them they are the best and they become so. I've seen the results over the past twenty years. All children have the potential. It's up to us to believe and communicate our beliefs and expectations."

And it's true. I would actually bold-faced lie to inner-city students that I had chosen them to be in my class because they were the most intelligent, gifted, wonderful children in the school. Then, I taught them at the highest level... as if they were in a private school. Was my lie a lie? Was it wrong to lie?

My answer? What harm is there? I mean, who are we to tell ANY child he/she isn't capable of reaching the highest potential? Isn't it more about expectations and life experiences that inhibit children; not their own talents, intelligence and "giftedness"? What child isn't gifted in some way?

I have experienced watching children grow up and reach the stars in their careers and personal lives. Kids who came from the worst backgrounds can RISE! That is not to say it's just what we tell them. They have to WORK. Nothing comes without hard work and determination.

But, it is my responsibility as a teacher to BELIEVE first. Communicate that belief to them and then... they will believe.

Life comes with its own challenges. None of us exist without battling against hardship. Why would we parents and teachers not love, support, encourage them? It's our responsibility. It's their right to have people in their lives to lift them up.

My sister-in-law told me the funniest little story about how her children watch the television show "Modern Family" and then assign what roles our own family would play if we were those characters. Who would I be? Gloria, of course. I laughed and laughed. And I agreed. I come from the Gloria philosophy of parenting. Why not love all over my child and believe the best in him? Life will throw our children the worst and they will fail at some of their endeavors. It's inevitable. Shouldn't we parents and teachers be the rock of foundation for their own self-beliefs? "They" say the messages we tell our children are the inner voices they carry throughout their adult lives.

I want my son and my students to hear my words of encouragement and to carry those words in their inner-most beings. "You are smart. You are capable. You are beautiful. I love you."

Can you tell me any child deserves less?

Teacher Paycheck

Oh, ya! I got paid today. My Teacher Paycheck. I was checking out of the grocery when I turned to see a young mother and her two children. Because her face was familiar, I smiled and said hello and was greeted with, "MS. BECK! Is that you, Ms. Beck?" Hugs, laughs, joy. Eight years after I taught this young woman, she remembered me. "You were the best English teacher I ever had. I'm serious. I was just telling my husband the other day about you and how I wished I would run into you somewhere." Of course, I always remember their faces, but most of the time, I have to ask for their names. Once they tell me, memories and details flood. It's funny, too... when I see these grown-ups (even years and years after I taught them, the longer I gaze into their eyes, the better I see the child I once taught). Some of my oldest students are in their thirties now.... and I can still recognize their baby faces as we chat.

The best part? "I'm in college, Ms. Beck!". Now... that's exactly what I want to hear and that's the real paycheck, indeed. Oh, how I love my pickles... from the days of their young, adolescent angsty selves to their grown-up persons.

A few weeks ago, I ran into one of my pickles at the grocery. He was brilliant in high school. He's since graduated from college, is working as a business manager and is applying for his MBA... at Harvard. This from a kid at one of the "inner-city" schools I once taught. Yep... it's true. Tell them they are the best and the brightest and they become so. Self-fulfilling prophesy is alive and well.  I'm just proud to have been a small grain of sand in the beach of his academic career.

A few months ago, I was walking down the sidewalk to the library and was greeted by another young man in the same manner. He was one of my pickles in a high school. Grown, but still the same. What was most telling to me, though? The life lesson that propelled me back to the classroom? The look of disappointment when he asked where I was teaching these days and I replied, "Nowhere. I'm writing these days."

"Oh no. I have kids, Ms. Beck. I was hoping you'd be their teacher someday."

I held onto that one comment as I launched back into the classroom. It inspired me beyond what he probably realized.  Whenever I doubt myself... I think back over the years and years of children I have had the honor to teach and remind myself of all of the incredible life lessons they will teach me.

I am so inspired to learn.

Name Trends

I know every generation has their favorite names for babies and that trends come and go. However, this particular group of kids seem to all have the same few names. I mean, I have too many kids named: Emily, Emma, Taylor, Kayla, Kylie, Sophia, Sophie, Emilia, Amelia, Isabelle, Isabella. Try learning kids' names when they are all the same. And another trend? The addition of the second name "Grace". Anna Grace. Sally Grace. Alice Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace.

Not that they aren't beautiful names. They are. But, I wonder. Are these kids who all share the same name trending to creative and performing arts kids or is it coincidence?

I have a silly mnemonic device game I use to learn the kids' names. We stand in a circle and make up a song as we go along... "Tying with Taylor, Acting Amelia, Kicking Kayla" ending with "Bump with Ms. Beck" replete with body movements that become silent indicators when I see the kids in the hallway. I will motion "tying" when I see Taylor and she responds with the cabbage patch movement for Bump with Ms. Beck. (okay, yes... this game is from the 90's, but it still works).  Imagine my consternation when there wasn't a single J name for "Jump with...." No J's? So, I assigned a Jump with Emma to break up the hundred million E names. The jump adds variety to the song/dance activity. And how many mnemonic attachments are there to an E name, really?

I looked at the grade book list when the kids were presenting their Author Studies. The teacher conscientiously  wrote for me the names they like to be called on the side. Sophia's "real" name is Nina S. I asked, "Like Nina Simone?" She smiled, "yes". I said, "Well, honey... there are a million Sophia's at this school but only two Nina Simones. You and the original. I think you should claim that name." Call me crazy?

Who am I to comment on names, though. I go by my middle name "Elizabeth". You would, too if your first name was "Barbara". Barb. Barbie. Babs. B. I've been called all of those names. Now, it's Elizabeth. Liz. Eliz. E. or weirdly, Beth. I have never claimed "Beth", but I'll respond to any of the other derivations of Elizabeth.

And... my son's name is Carter. I know he's not the only Carter in his class.

But... this class's names are just so incredibly different from my previous teaching experiences in the classroom full of names like: Aiesha, Jamal (oh! there's my J name already), Tyrone, Kendra, Kiana,  Tomica, Antwan, Antonio, Darrell, Dorian, Shuntella, Sharion, Shanequia and Charnequez.

My goal? To teach many more years to watch generations of name trends.

Vertical Alignment

I remember a conversation I had with a friend when Facebook first started. I was trying to wrap my brain around what it was.... this, in the time before "social media". She said, "It's stupid. You can post anything you want, like 'I like Krispy Kreme'". I was confused. Krispy Kreme? The point, of course, was that Facebook allowed people to write their own opinions, thoughts, ideas. Only... at the time... I had this big idea about the INTERNET. I thought it was IMPORTANT and certainly not the place for Krispy Kreme comments.

Little did I know that would be the least ridiculous thing I would read on Facebook. Years later, I appreciate the use of teaching responsible social media in the classroom. I'm excited my new students are required to create their own blog spots and to use it wisely. Facebook is still verboten in the schools, but blogging is okay. I'm relieved about that, as well. My new students are way too young to get wrapped up in social media. It would suck their brains dry. Blogging, on the other hand, allows for a more thoughtful approach to expressing ideas and opinions on the internet.

So, with that in mind, I'd like to share an example of what an intelligent, thoughtful blog looks like. This is from the high school creative writing teacher's blog. She and I do what is called "vertical alignment". We collaborate together to teach the highest quality instruction to the kids who move from my middle school classroom to her high school classroom. I blog. She blogs. Our kids blog.

Here are her words: https://teachlikeeveryoneislistening.wordpress.com/2015/02/28/teachers-who-plant-the-forest/ Teachers Who Plant the Forest

What I especially like about this particular blog essay is that she refers to a teacher we both know. A woman who has inspired both of us in different ways. The connections circle around and around, which is a reflection of life, really. If the internet (social media) has done anything well... it's allowed for stronger connections between people.

And that is a little more significant than a love for a donut.

Music Pop-Ups

Some of my favorite moments in the classroom are what I call "Music Pop-Ups". School can be really hard. Students work diligently and feel stressed out, no matter the age. What I have practiced is a good, old-fashioned dance moment time. I blast (appropriate) music between bells or before school or even (scandalous!) during a class bell when I feel like we could all use a refresher. It's good for the soul to move one's body and to sing along with a great tune.

I was delighted last fall when a student randomly walked into my room with a portable speaker (music system) what do we old-fashioned teachers call them now? Anyway... he walked in to a quiet class, turned on the music and blasted "Grand Master Flash". Imagine my quiet class's amazement when instead of reprimanding the child for interrupting instruction, I started singing right along: "Don't push me cause I'm close to the edge/I'm trying not to loose my head... It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder how I keep from going under!" When the song was over, he quietly walked back out of the classroom and we all turned our attention back to our work. What fun! What a blast of healthy mental inspiration, really!

During this latest gig, I tried it. The kids were feeling grindy and burned out by the end of the week, so I turned on a song and we jammed. It only takes four minutes from instructional time and with how fast I walk, talk and move.. it's time well-spent. Not wasted. Everyone smiles by the end of the music pop-up.

There is probably good brain research I can cite to support this claim. I'm sure the research will prove that listening to music uses different parts of the brain at the same time and fires up synaptic nerves, etc.

What I know is what I've experienced. Everyone enjoys a random music pop-up from time to time. It creates community (one of my primary tenants of good teaching). It refreshes the soul. It's just good fun.

A Drawing of Lois Lowry... Only I Can't Draw!

I'm a high school teacher. I don't know middle school kids as well as teenagers. So, when I accepted this assignment as creative writing teacher, I'm not sure I understood I'd be teaching fourth to eighth graders. Okay (shh!) I've never taught kids this young before. Other than raising my own kid, I don't have experience in this. So, I'm winging it.

Imagine my complete amusement when a child presented her Author Study yesterday without any sense of irony. "A Drawing of Lois Lowry"... only she couldn't draw. She videotaped herself drawing stick figures and then, erasing them. I could not help myself. I barked out a loud laugh. If she had intended the irony, it would have been hilarious. But, she hadn't. So, she was completely baffled at my amusement.

With indignation, she asked what was so funny. I said, "But you can't draw! This is hilarious." I did not mean to be snarky or rude. I thought it was brilliant. Ironic as hell. The fact she didn't understand what was so funny made it endearing to me. Her response was a further irony: "Well, can you draw?" To which I answered, "As a matter of fact, I can. I was a Fine Arts major in college." Finally, she laughed. We laughed. The class laughed and we bonded in a moment of unintentional hilarity.

I gave her 100%. How could I not?

Mary Poppins of the Teaching World

Sometimes, I reflect on my disjointed career in teaching as a bit like Mary Poppins. I popped into Cincinnati Public for several years. I popped into Rockford College for one year before popping into schools in Kentucky for almost six years. In between, I pop in random workshops in my community. And then, poof! I'm gone. Sans umbrella. Perhaps I should purchase one for this new pop in.

I never intended to be a Mary Poppins teacher. I actually thought I'd retire from my career in teaching old-school. You know... working in one school for a hundred million years where not only do your past students come back to visit, but you also have the privelege of teaching their children. I'd retire with a big celebration and then maybe come back to sub from time to time; old, withered, telling the kids, "Back in my day, children" blah blah blah.

That's how it was with teachers when I was growing up. But, it was also how families lived as well. You'd get married, buy a house, have kids and either die in that house or retire to Florida. Our generation doesn't have that luxury. We move from state to state for careers. We buy and sell homes. We just don't stay in one place as the norm. In fact, the few friends I can think of who live in the same home they watched their babies take their first steps are the exception to this new norm.

So, with that in mind... perhaps its not so unusual to be a Mary Poppins in the teaching world.

Return to Teaching

Wow. Six years have passed since I left the career of teaching? How did that happen? I mean, I know how that happened. I just can't believe how quickly time flies, the older one becomes. Yikes!

Now, it is time to resume my career in teaching. MY time. I love writing, but I would be dishonest if I didn't admit that there has been a big hole in my life without a classroom. I'm just one of those weird people who loves to teach. I mean, in my perspective, one has to do something to earn an income and to be a productive member of society and I can't think of anything else I would rather do than teach. (what's with all the "one's"?) So proper! Ha! Back to my role as "Ms. Beck" I guess.

So, I spent last year taking six post-graduate level credits in order to renew my state certification. This fall, I launched into subbing in order to ease back into the world of education and what a wonderful journey it's been! The experience has fueled my desire to claim my role as teacher again. Shew! What a relief, really! I mean, subbing is not always the best gigs to get. But, I was lucky. I landed two dream jobs and feel inspired to pursue my goal.

Check back... it's been a wild roller-coaster ride and I will have many updates to come.

Teacher Pickles

I have always called my students “pickles” hailing back to my early days of teaching. My students loved those stinky, garlic pickles wrapped in plastic they bought from the corner store to suck all day. Teenagers are like pickles; they are sour in temperament, sharp in odor, but I cannot get enough of them. I love them. Pickles have hard rinds, but are still green-fresh inside. The light that shines from my students’ eyes with exuberance and joy are cucumbers of spring.

I wrote that passage in an essay published in Pluck! Literary Journal last year. As I return to teaching all these years later, my new students delight in being called "pickes" as much as my previous students. Some of my new students now call me "Ms. Pickle" in response.

The point is students love terms of endearment. Developing strong, healthy relationships with students is the key to success in teaching. A teacher cannot give hard, honest criticism on their work without first establishing a sense of affection between us. It is integral to the process of teaching.  Children crave a sense of belonging in the classroom and it is my joy to provide that for them. Classrooms are an extension of our homes, really. We invite students in to do their best work and we teachers must push them to succeed. That cannot be done unless they are comfortable, feel loved and valued.

Calling students "pickles" is a badge of honor my students wear. They know that I "claim" them as my own and value each and every one of them. Of course I do. My role as teacher is to serve students. To help them to suceed. To work for them; not against them. When my students succeed; I succeed. That is good teaching.