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.

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.

Talking Back

Wow! And what in the what what? I just said to a student, "Please put your name on your paper." He replied, "It is on there." I handed him the paper. No name. No name. This, after talk talk talking while I was trying to give instructions to launch class. I stopped. Waited. Started instruction again. Talk talk talk. I stopped. Waited. Started again. I said, "Please, do finish what you have to say. It is rude to talk while other people are talking, so I will wait for you to finish." He talked back, "I didn't say anything."

Talking back. It makes me see purple, I get so frustrated. My own son is the King of talking back. He's at the end of eighth grade and is asserting his power these days. I say "white", he says "black". "Up". "Down". "Yes". "No". No matter... he will say the opposite of whatever I say... unless he wants something. Then, he is sweet and light. Agreeable. Kind. Otherwise, I face a talking-back monster.

The irony of all of this? I was the Queen of Talking Back when I was a kid. Seriously, I was the worst smart aleck you'd ever meet. However, I don't remember talking back to teachers. Just to my parents. And oohh... could I talk back.

I just got up and walked through my class to check their work. The child who talked back turned around really quickly, almost expecting me to maybe spank him. Of course, I wasn't even going near him... but that was a very telling moment. I wonder if he talks back like that because he doesn't have much power and control at home? Could that be? Or is talking back a rite of passage for kids maturing into young adults? I know I'm not a strict authoritarian at home and my own son talks back. Now, I'm wondering. Why do some kids talk back and others "yes, ma'am?"

And look at what I found for an image for this essay (see below). Is that right? Is talking back merely explaining? I guess it's all about the tone, really.

Lost Art of Phone Calls

The other night, I did this weird (old-fashioned) thing. I called a parent. Not texted. Not emailed. Called. You remember phone calls? When one voice speaks to another? Ya, that's me. I do this weird thing. I call parents.

I have noticed on many teachers' websites, the phrase "emails preferred". I wasn't quite sure what that was, really. Then, I realized what it means is that young teachers simply do not want to talk with parents if they don't have to. I guess this officially makes me a dinosaur teacher. Emails can be misconstrued. Tones are not reflected in text. Understandings between one grown-up and another grown-up with the shared goal of the benefit of children are best found in conversations where tone is clearly heard. Concern, compassion, understanding are found in voice inflection. Not text.

Am I crazy to have been completely offended when, in the middle of a job interview, the young teacher actually pulled out his cell phone and started texting? I would have been jaw-dropped if I wasn't so conscious of the fact I was interviewing. Instead, I simply gazed at him, turned my shoulders to the other two teachers, paused in mid-sentence and then continued. Texting during an interview? Has the world gone mad? And it never even occurred to him to apologize for the interruption. It must be me. I must be the crazy one.

I stand by the idea that face-to-face or telephone conversations are best for communication. Not that I don't love the convenience of texting in my social life. I do. But, professionalism demands more than an email or a text.

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.

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.

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?