Little Children

While I can't imagine there are too many people left who haven't grieved in some small way over the events in Newton, Connecticut last month, it seems the tragedy strikes a different chord in different people:  mothers and fathers at the thought of losing their own little ones, police and other emergency workers at the thought of being the first responders to what must have been a horrific scene, and, of course, teachers at the thought of jumping into action to protect the children in their care from harm.

Various stories have circulated about the quick-thinking and valiant efforts of Sandy Hook teachers to save their students' lives, but the most noteworthy are the multiple accounts of teachers who deliberately put themselves in the line of fire in an attempt to shield their students from harm.  While I'm not sure if these reports have ever been validated, they evoke a pretty morbid question in my mind:

Were I in these teachers places, would I have taken a bullet for my students?

When I'm playing the Worst Case Scenario game in my mind, I'd certainly like to think so.  I long to have the steadfast faith of the Columbine High School student who was shot for professing her belief in God and, in theory, I would. But humans are  weak, fallen creatures.  It is not inherent within us to submit or sacrifice. When it's crisis time, baser instincts kick in and it becomes every man for himself. To be completely raw, no matter how much of my time or talents or possessions I sacrifice for others, I can never fully extinguish the innate desire to self-serve. So, I can't begin to comprehend the split-second decision to potentially offer it ALL up in one move.

But when it comes to children, it's a completely different story. When I'm babysitting for friends, or helping take care of my nephew and nieces, or helping my students with their work, or interacting with children in any form, the thought of personal gain is washed away.  Children are so precious and are assigned to all of
our care--so precious that even the incredibly busy, earthly Jesus made them a priority (Matthew 19:13-15).   Completely lovable or a pain in the rear end: they all deserve our protection.

As I watched one of my students skip happily to get supplies for the project he was working on today, I knew that, Yes--were an intruder to ever enter that classroom, I couldn't help but make myself the first line of defense for those children.  I imagine the Sandy Hook teachers that defended their students were simply following the drive that had brought them to their career in the first place: loving children unconditionally.

I Got Skills

During my typical family gathering on Christmas Eve this year, a long-buried tradition was resurrected: the game of charades.  After I had acted out my charade and had it successfully guessed by my team, a couple family members immediately remarked how good I was at the game.  I humbly chalked it up to my years of experience playing with the family years ago, but someone had a better explanation: 

"She's a teacher!"

While I would have preferred, "She's a pantomiming genius!", I knew this person was on to something. There are some things I was born with a natural propensity towards, but there is also another set of skills that have been honed quite unintentionally and without any concerted effort as a result of living my life as an educator day-in and day-out. 

 For better or worse, here are the top 4 teaching habits that have translated into semi-useless daily life skills:

1. Multitasking

It isn't unusual, any given day, to find me writing a pass for someone while giving a lecture to a student about his lack of homework completion, all the while ensuring the rest of the class isn't swinging from the rafters.  Accomplishing multiple tasks simultaneously is a necessity when dealing with children, and it's a hard habit to lose once at home.  If I'm watching television, there's probably some other productive activity going on like online shopping or painting my nails.  I've started a new competition with myself in the mornings during the approximately 35 seconds it takes for the coffee to pour from my Keurig to see how much I can accomplish by way of packing a lunch and making breakfast.  It's a pretty worthless aspiration that only buys me a couple more minutes a day, but don't worry. I won't be taking it to the extreme like the people who brush their teeth in the shower.

Although...

2. Flying by the seat of my pants

I'm almost ashamed to admit how little long term preparation goes into the units and lessons I teach, but it comes with the territory of being a special education teacher.  Sometimes, I don't find out the regular ed. teachers' plans until mere periods before I have to teach. Sometimes, half my class is gone or the students are being such psychotic hosebeasts that I have to scrap my plans.  Sometimes, I'm an idiot and plan an instructional lesson the last day before Christmas break and then I get a clue about 30 minutes prior to the class and have to scramble for a fun-yet-educational holiday themed activity. 

Though it flies in the face of everything I ever learned in teacher prep, and it's not going to score me a Golden Apple Award, teaching on the fly has become somewhat of an art for me, and I'm darn proud of the ability. Also, it is another skill that has followed me into the rest of daily life.  I'll never forget a few years ago when my small group was volunteering at a church-based after school program.  Some of us were relegated to cooking dinner in the kitchen, or setting up equipment for games, but I was assigned to the bible lesson session.  Figuring I would just be helping with some good old bible crafts, I was pretty astounded when a kids bible was shoved in my hand and I was told I'd be teaching the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector.  There were probably a few short seconds of panic, but as any teacher knows there's no room for panic when you have a class full of children staring up at you expectantly.  I threw that kids bible open, sped read through Luke 19 in 20 seconds flat and delivered that lesson without a hiccup.  

3.  E-mailing Expert

I probably average 10 e-mails a day at work to parents and colleagues.  One of my neuroses in life is the inability to let an e-mail go unanswered for more than even a couple hours when I know there is someone awaiting my response, but that is complicated by the necessity to tend to my students for 90% of the day.  So how do I reconcile the two?  I Super E-mail.  Using my previously acquired typing skills, I roll out itemized, multi-paragraphed messages free of grammatical and spelling errors and goodness gracious are they well worded! (Okay, I'm really tooting my own horn here, but I'm talking about my e-mailing skills. I think we can both admit it's pretty pathetic).  I've gotten so good at professional e-mails that I tend to all but black out when writing them.  Many times I have to check my "Sent" box to confirm that I composed the intended response, and occasionally I'm quite surprised at the content as if I'm seeing what I wrote for the first time.

4.  Yelling at other people's kids 

Whether it's the community pool or the Sunday school halls at church, when I come across unsupervised children acting like screecher monkeys , the need to behavior manage is ingrained in me.  I was recently at a Starbucks waiting for someone when it was overtaken by about 8 high school boys who proceeded to all attempt to pile onto one seat, wrestle each other, and whoop and scream at the top of their lungs.  My eyes went from huge saucers of disbelief to narrow slits of loathing as I resisted the urge to give them a lecture on human decency and consideration.  It was when I looked around the rest of the place to find no one else bothered (in fact, one older man who was in danger of being crushed by the pile of teenagers was actually amused) that I decided it was time to put away the ruler and let kids be kids.  Still, if ever there's a band of young hooligans in need of silencing, I'm ready to come swooping in with a loud voice, bleeding sarcasm, and a mean stink eye. 

And there you have it.  Not exactly the items I want listed under my legacy as a teacher at my retirement dinner in 2040, but one day you just may be in dire need of a super e-mailing, multi-tasking, improvising disciplinarian, and you will thank me. Just maybe. 

3-Peat

So, Leon--of stuffed animal fame--is pretty good for a laugh, or five, on a daily basis. He's pocket-sized with an elf's voice, five years behind socially, but also has a finely tuned sense of humor that goes beyond his years.  Lately,  his mornings have gotten exceedingly more difficult in terms of focus until around lunch time when the, er, "necessaries" as we ED teachers code them, kick fully into the bloodstream. 

While this has been a source of frustration for work production, it has been quite the blessing on the comic relief side.  If I had a journal nearby at every minute of the day, I'm sure I would have logged hundreds of quotes or notable events by this point, but I think the last 3 days of the school week were really the most worthy of mention. 

Wednesday

Not surprisingly, homework has been a major issue for the crew lately. Leon seems to be the one exception who rarely misses an assignment.  I attempted to make an example of him this week in Resource class by engaging him in a conversation in front of the whole class about the positive effects of following through with student responsibilities.

Me: "Leon, how does it feel that you get your homework done every night and turn it in on time?"
Leon: "Um, okay?"
Me: "As a result, what do you think your grade is in Resource?"
Leon: "I would say a 1...2...3?"
Me: "What? No, no. Your letter grade. You know 'A', 'B', 'C'..."
Leon: "....ABC...It's easy as 123...oh, oh God. I can't believe I just sang that."
Me: "Okay, Leon focus, here. I asked you what you think your grade is in Resource."
Leon: "Um...an A?.. ABC...It's easy as...oh, God. I did it again!"
Me: "Nevermind."

Thursday

Since he had nothing to work on in Resource, I let Leon start a game of Yahtzee with the substitute aide for the day.  I heard him throw the dice into the cup and begin to shake it.
"Shaken or stirred?" he cried to the aide.  Imaginably a little taken aback she didn't answer. "Shaken it is!" And he tossed the dice onto the table.

Friday

Already quite revved up for the morning, I was surprised when Leon went to the bathroom a few minutes into class. This is not part of his typical routine.  I should have known.  Two minutes later he returned, without a peep,  a foot of toilet paper wrapped around his head in a ninja-style headband.  All the adults in the room silently cried tears of laughter, Leon merely smiled and returned to his seat. Class went on. 

The kid had a pretty solid 3-day streak going. I'm almost sorry the weekend interrupted it...Almost.

The Teacher Haters Club

Last weekend I traveled to a pub with a friend to meet up with some of her old friends, and immediately engaged in some conversation with one of the attenders who had clearly had a few prior to our arrival.  When he found out I was a teacher of yet another district with contract agreement woes, he began an assault on the teaching profession, informing me that most teachers make $80,000 a year, and that when a teacher gets his/her masters, he/she immediately makes $60,000 a year.  "Nope, don't make $80,000...Nope, don't even make $60,000 with my masters," I attempted to calmly interject as he went on telling me how teachers have it made, and ultimately spewed out the core issue of the problem (as an ED teacher, I've become quite versed at getting past all the verbal vomit to arrive at the real problem) which was he is miserable in his current job in finance.  I knew there was no point in attempting to defend the long hours, emotional stress, parental strife, etc. because the guy had "ALL ABOUT ME" scrolling across his forehead at that moment.  So, I went for my little back pocket trick reserved for just such moments when friends or acquaintances start whining about teachers' summer breaks and 3:30 PM releases: "So, why don't YOU become a teacher?"

My conversation partner stumbled for a second before sharing that he had actually thought about just that, becoming a professor or something, but nothing below seniors in high school.  If I had been a real snot, I would have prodded  him as to why he wouldn't be able to teach younger children until he submitted to the fact that teaching is a difficult job that deserves some rewards.

As it was, I don't think I would have time, because seconds later others at the table had joined in on the mob action to whip the teacher.  "Blah blah blah teachers make over $100,000 a year...if they're a gym teacher they don't even do anything...so on, so on."  I was starting to get a bit heated at this point, but I managed to calmly throw out that conversation ending, "So become a teacher if it sounds so good!" Finally, I managed the victory of silencing the conversation after the second round.

But I was steaming for several minutes after the whole exchange, and I had to admit that my pride had been hurt just a smidgeon.  While I feel very blessed by my salary, I'm not exactly living like a queen. Furthermore,  I know plenty of teachers who make far, far less than I do to perform the same job, perhaps even a harder one. Also, while I know firsthand that I have a difficult job, I lay no claim to my job being any more stressful or time consuming or unpleasant than anyone else in the working world (except maybe dolphin trainers. I mean, that is a sweet deal right there.)

So, when did this nation decide, amongst all its many economic ills and struggles, that teachers were the greedy, ungrateful, lazy bottom feeders behind it all? Yes, the wave of teacher strikes in recent months seems like an understandable reason to begrudge teachers if one does not know what they are fighting for, but these strikes have not been the catalyst, rather the backlash to the nation's finger pointing.

I don't need to have people lauding me for my career choice, and I don't need my name or the teaching profession in big bright lights.  But I also make an effort not to roll my eyes and baulk when someone else shares with me their line of work, and I would expect the same from other strangers I happen to meet.

Please be kind to your local teachers, everyone.  It's very likely they've already plenty of abuse from an ill behaved child or two that day while simply trying to help and care for him.  They don't need another dose of ungrateful and disrespectful whining.

We Inherited a Zoo

So, I haven't written something here in awhile.  I considered many different weighty, profound topics for my next entry, because it's been sort of a weighty year.  I contemplated the issue of how the smartest group of students I've ever had makes for the most stressful year, the woes of unhappy teachers unions, and life under a microscope as a teacher.

It's been a busy year so far, what with attending far more teacher meetings than I ever have, and also plowing through a 6 week middle school endorsement class.  I just don't have the mental stamina to write one more scholarly article with APA citations, I tell you!

Instead, I will resort to the brainless and comical as it pertains to my school.

So here it goes: my school is a zoo.  Whether it be the result of the drought, elevated animal reproduction rates, or the exterior of the school eroding, all I know is there are more beasts than children in the school right now.

Here is the current line up for the Animal Kingdom Parade!

 The Box Elder!

                                                                             The Centipede!








 





 The Wolf Spider!

                                  And....

                                                         The Mouse!





Okay, so the mouse hasn't made an appearance in a couple of years, but we still find remnants of the past in the form of tiny shreds of Hershey's Kisses wrappers. I'll never forget the time I turned around from my computer to find Ralph--sans motorcycle--sitting a few feet away just staring at me. I think there were a few moments' confusion as to who really belonged in the room.

The mouse is a distant memory, but the three aforementioned critters are alive and well and terrorizing our school.  Spiders have scurried over children's feet mid-class; a box-elder landed directly in my hand while I waited for the copy machine the other day; bookshelves have been broken in attempts to apprehend the intruders.  Teacher pleas for pesticide have not been well received, so I'm thinking it's about time to go vigilante on these mugs.

So I've done some research (would ya look at that?  The brain cells aren't all used up yet!) and here's what I've found out. Some home remedies for repelling wolf spiders include hummingbirds, lavender, and diatomaceous (???) earth. Also, wolf spiders just love trees, logs, brush, and other foliage.  So, I will probably pave the prairie in the school's backyard and put up a parking lot.

For centipedes, one website suggests setting out a sticky trap and catching multiple at once.  The image of a sticky trap full of centipedes has just insured at least one nightmare tonight.

Apparently box elder bugs can never be completely killed off as they have an "unlimited source" and migrant box elders will come from neighboring places to replace the dead ones. Great.

Probably the best way to handle any future mice infestations is to get them on a motorcycle.  I hear those things are pretty dangerous.







This school ain't big enough for all of us. Either all these guys get wiped out soon, or I have a feeling us teachers are going to be carried off by an angry mob of many-legged creatures.

The war begins.

No Superstar

Norman, one of the pocket-sized 6th graders I inherited this year, is a friendly face in the crowd. Literally.  If you happen to lock eyes with him, even accidentally, you are probably in for an ear-to-ear grin and frantic wave. Even if it is a manifestation of extreme social discomfort, it's so precious.  Norman is also the only student on earth to ever fist pump at the mention of a math test. Even his weirdest quirks are adorable.  During his weekly meeting with Brandon, the Social Worker, Brandon had to step out for a moment.  "Okay," Norman replied. "I'll just wait here and do my favorite thing in the world." "What's that?" Brandon inquired. "Talk to myself," Norman answered matter-of-factly.

And talk to himself, he does.  I was fortunate enough to eavesdrop on one of these intimate conversations between Norman and Norman this week as he was creating a title page for a paper.

"Let's see," he pondered, mulling over the directions on the proper format for the title page, "should I put my last name?"

"Yes, yes," he replied, confidently. "I should put my last name. I am NOT a superstar."

Oh, Norman. So wise. If only every middle schooler was as self aware as you.

Getting Mine

To this day when I am reminded of my student teaching semester, nearly 6 years ago now, I nearly vomit in disgust.  I h-a-t-e-d it with a vengeance. After becoming quite the professional at acing papers, and being surrounded by fellow teacher candidates all getting our hands held through fake teaching experiences, I was spit out of the cozy college life back into lousy Lake County all by my lonesome to get my first true taste of the teacher life.

It sucked. I was thoroughly overwhelmed by big, scary, confusing projects on top of attempting to play teacher to kids who were as little as TWO YEARS younger than me in a student teaching assignment that really was not conducive to my program requirements (Way to go, Uni. STILL holding a grudge on that one.)  I'll never forget the post-observation conference I had with my supervisor, when she shared with me that as far as my written knowledge of the teacher profession went, I was solid.  What I needed to work on was the teaching component.  In other words, what I had set out to do all along was not working so well for me.

Okay, she wasn't exactly calling me a failure; and looking back, I'm sure I looked terrified up there, still in the mode of perfectionist honor student, rather than passionate educator.  But I remember being so frustrated at the discrepancy between the potential others saw in me and the potential I knew I had.  I was so confident in my calling and so self-assured in my abilities that it felt like total injustice to be told I just wasn't that great.

I survived student teaching, but my pride wasn't done taking severe blows.  Next, it was the administrators at several schools who failed to see my potential and passed me by on employment.  The only school who seemed willing to take me--my first career experience--was so hard up for teachers they would have hired an armless chimpanzee if it had a valid teaching certificate. Meanwhile, I watched old college classmates who had exerted far less effort and seemingly far less teaching potential, score jobs in really great districts, and my one person pity party continued.

When I was going to get MINE?!

Then, my shining moment came.  I was finally deemed a good fit for a wonderful district and the skills and quality attributes I knew I had to offer were finally put to good use!  I pinched myself to have gotten something so good, and I felt so spoiled that I was content to be low on the teacher totem pole, watching my P's and Q's and playing by the book so as not to lose the best thing that could have come along.  Being employed here was reward enough.

I have to say it really wasn't until very recently, under the perfect combination of achieving tenure and the right supportive administration I finally felt acknowledged. Originally, I intended to come here and gush about how affirming and refreshing and encouraging it is to be told by someone who really counts how valuable a teacher I am; how satisfying the reward is for honest-to-goodness hard work.

Then, I got served a couple helpings of humble pie in the form of two sermons from two different pastors in one day...two weekends ago. 

The first message painted a metaphor of our earthly struggles as an Olympian's grueling training and pursuit of a medal. The only difference: ours is one that can't be earned in this lifetime. The second message was a call to evaluate our lives and identify the aspects that we tend to claim as ours, knowing full well nothing in our lives is truly ours to own--tangible or intangible. To me, the message was loud and clear:  forget the reward, Miss T.  You aren't in line for one this side of heaven. 

I've been so preoccupied with achieving my personal success story in the teaching world that I've failed to remember that it's pretty meaningless as far as my worldly existence is concerned.  And my current circumstances are proof of that fact. Has the figurative pat on the back from administration made me any happier? Has it made my life any more easy and care free?  Nope.  As well it shouldn't. 

The approval of man can only get us so far, and I set out long ago on this career path seeking something far greater than the acknowledgment of others or even myself.  Pride and selfish gain just seem to get in the way of the truth from time to time.

Thank goodness for the "little darlings" in my classroom who remind me quite frequently I'm not so magical as I may think.