Seeing What We Do Not See: Not for Nothing

His parents and grandparents found out he had flunked out of high school at the moment they waited for him to walk across the stage--and he didn't.

He went on to a life of alcohol, low paying jobs, broken relationships.

Around age 48, he got sober and he realized that if he ever ever ever wanted to rise in the work world, he'd need a diploma, so he went back to school at night - he had a family that needed him to.

Grossmont Adult School

At age 50, Phillip Esquibel told this story during his address at his graduation from Grossmont Adult School--his parents were cheering for him, but I swear they weren't louder than I was. (They were glad, but I was crying like a baby. And for the record, some babies cry A  LOT--those are the babies to whom I am comparing my crying output.)

I was at his graduation because a student I'd never even had on my roster asked me to come.

I'd met M in an after-school program our 8th grade history department had dreamed up after we realized that most of the Fs in our classes were because kids didn't seem to have one of the two fundamentals a person needs to succeed--adequate personal drive or an adult able/willing to MAKE them take care of business. We decided I'd be that adult, forcing them to come after school, making them stay an hour doing history work. They could "graduate" from our prison of love and responsibility once their habits or grades seemed established (we had only one or two kids exit). I didn't get paid for this, and we didn't have any help beyond the counselor who called the parents and talked to them about this intervention as if it were not an option. We had such limited success and it took so much of my energy that we only did it this one year.

Imagine my surprise when, seven years later, M came to visit the DP teacher's lounge at lunchtime with an invitation for me to come watch her get her GED at Grossmont Adult School. My heart leaped up that she had gone on to TCB on her own, coming to the realization (at age 20) that this was better done sooner than later. (NB: she invited me, not her regular teachers, to the event, although many of them were sitting right there as she asked me. I felt she had given me a crown or a Major Award in singling me out. It was awkward, but while embarrassed, I felt honored and touched to my core.)

This Major Award is also awkward and embarrassing. 

I had never been to an adult school graduation and had no idea what to expect. It wasn't like other graduations I'd been to. It was small, for one thing; there were far more graduates than guests, even though guest seating was limited and some had to stand. The air somehow smelled a little bit like privation and the crowd was weathered and worn after the long day's work. Love was there, and all kinds of pride. The teachers in particular stood out to me, relentlessly positive, faces beaming, full of the stories that their students had told them of broken pasts healed, language and learning obstacles surmounted, wasted time redeemed, aimlessness turned to purpose, goals achieved, new goals set. The students themselves were full of hope and encouragement; one grad's mortarboard's glittered message: "I'm a g-ma--if I can, U can!"

Much nicer than the glitter of the grandma graduating--but the idea is the same.
BTW, the g-ma looked to be around 50 years old; that told part of her story.

It was the best graduation I've ever been to, better than the Harvard commencement address in Latin (which was hilarious because the student kept slipping into commonly used Latin words and phrases and into Pig Latin so the non-Latin speakers understood his gist) or the 1997 address by Madeleine Albright.

A great speech, sure, but Phillip's made me cry.

It was a validation of the human spirit, of the old saying that you're never too old to start, or it's not how you start but how you finish and dozens more old sayings about tenacity.

And watching beautiful M shake hands, taking pictures of her like mad, I wondered if it was also a validation of that long ago program that we'd jettisoned.

Beautiful M shakes hands, ready for the next step in Life

Or maybe it was a testimony to time given, to high expectations, to the influence of relentless attention, to the power of relationship. September is coming, and while I do love my summers and, like a proper Beach Boy look forward to my Endless Summer, I can pick up my new teacher year with a renewed sense of faith in the power of Love, knowing that while we teachers do not usually get to see the direct outcome of our efforts or caring, we do not love in vain.

Haiku for a Disappointed Parent

Every day is a new day. Every day is a new chance to be better.

A D? (Hmm, your child
Didn't use the study guide
or look at his notes...

...He didn't ask questions
Or write out practice answers
the way others did....

.....I sent you notice
of what would be tested, and
essay questions, too....)

You "know he can do
better--he wants a retake--
Can he please have one?"

Oh, dear parent friend
This is not a driver's test
A D won't kill him

Do you know what? I
know he can do better, too.
ON THE NEXT TEST. Watch.

I do believe in
second chances; just
not on the same test.

Perplexed, Bewildered, Bemused, Mystified, Stumped, Flummoxed, Puzzled

Can't figure it out.

We post students' grades online

Most parents don't check.

(It's true--on our grading program there's a little scroll-down window that shows us how many times a parent or a kiddo has checked grades. A parent can even sign up for free notifications. If I had a kid I'd be so glad to know what was up, because, according to most of the parents I conference with, teens are, ahem, less than communicative with them, something that hasn't changed since I was a tyke. If I were a kid, I'd be checking all the time.)

Bad Manners and No Class

If your doctor makes you angry,
do you barge into her appointments with other patients to tell her so?

If you think your lawyer made a mistake,
do you choose his courtroom time to inquire about it?

Today's hero is my colleague. As he is doing his job, educating the ignorance out of his jillion 8th graders, into his classroom DURING CLASS TIME strides a parent who begins to berate him. My colleague keeps his calm. Instead of reaching for the phone to call for the VP to bounce her out, or the cops, or Chuck Norris, he asks for the parent's work address so he can return the favor. "Really, tell me, where do you work? Sharp Hospital? I will come by to conference with you when you are on the job because apparently that's ok with you."

I want to shower him with accolades and palm fronds and leis and ticker tape and whatever heroes are showered with. I want to carry him on my shoulders before cheering crowds of teachers who have been disrespected in similar ways simply because they are public servants. Why do some parents treat teachers differently than they do other professionals? Could it be because they don't value what we do? I can't stand it when a parent comes by before or after school without an appointment; invariably I am tutoring or counseling kids or setting up my classroom or on my way to or from a meeting or from the workroom. (Why? BECAUSE I AM AT WORK, WORKING. Imagine that.) They always seem a little surprised when I ask if they have an appointment. ???

Parents are ALWAYS welcome to visit my class as observers. I am ALWAYS glad to conference with them at appropriate times. I just wish some parents would use good manners, because they are teaching their children how to behave, and trust me, that is getting to be a scary proposition these days.

Hmm, some people need to work on #1.

Louisa May Alcott, personal affirmations, and nausea

I was nine when I first read Little Women; I wept copiously when Beth died. Her goodness and gentleness inspired me to make a little sign for my desk at school to remind me to be as good as Beth, and as silly as it was, I was in earnest:

    "Be nice and

     be kind and

     don't forget to

     always mind!"

Fast forward to 2012. Kids decorate their school notebooks with stickers, photos, song lyrics, notes, all manner of personal touches slid under the plastic cover. But my stomach lurched when I read a little sticky note one girl had written to herself:

   "Dear Me,

       You are the sexiest one that walked the earth."

                   Love, Me"

Aside from the unmatched grammatical tense, just the idea that, at thirteen, sexiness was her highest aspiration made me feel queasy and sad. 

Such is the pressure on girls to please and attract the opposite sex. 

I think everyone who teaches elementary school and middle school should see Thirteen (2003), directed by Catharine Hardwicke, about the pressures of modern thirteen year olds. What's stunning about this film is it was mostly written by one of the teenage stars of the film. It is not easy to watch. But maybe raising teens isn't easy, either.  

link to Thirteen: www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7AV6nRq9a8

Our culture says, "EAT THE MARSHMALLOW," but....

"It's the kids' job to push against the limits; it's our job to set the limits." --Dr. David Walsh

Click HERE to learn more about the famous 1972 Stanford experiment that showed the strong correlation between a child's ability to delay gratification and her future success in college, friendship, and popularity.

That's right, kiddos--if you can wait for good things, your life will likely be happier than those who are ruled by their impulses. Reason over nerve endings, I say.

The first project I ever made at Teacher School was a little sign that said, "Grandma's Rule: First eat your dinner--then you can have dessert." I had never heard of the Marshmallow Test, but I was right on: Grandma was teaching us an awesome life lesson.

"Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD." --Ps 27:14

The Sanitation Crew, Harper Lee, and My Daddy

My dad is nicer than your dad. For instance, every week on trash pick up day, my dad leaves bottled water atop the bins so the sanitation crew can have some refreshment. (He's also a ten gallon blood donor and buys Girl Scout cookies from whomever comes to the door, plus dogs and babies love him. There's more, but you get the idea.)

He also brings home used copies of To Kill a Mockingbird, my favorite book, so I can give them to special students just because.

Tonight I found a new copy of The Moon Is Down at a used bookstore, and I am gonna have a drawing for it, inspired by my daddy.

His kindness is a constant education for me; I hope to pass on his lessons and legacy.

Three Strikes and Donuts

So how do you get kids to do their homework?

And I am presuming that you assign only meaningful work (no word searches!) that supports the standards, their learning, and will help them grow as readers, writers and thinkers.

Our principal came up with what we call the Three Strikes plan. If a student misses three assignments in my class, I send her to the office. She calls home in the presence of a counselor, reading a scripted message, alerting the parents about the situation.

Usually this is enough to get kids doing their work. God bless these parents!

Three-peat offenders (the office keeps track of how many times kids make the call) are assigned to Saturday School to do their assignments. Hey, if the parents can't or won't do their job, we're here to help.

In my own classroom, I give the class a star each time they have a 100% turn in day. When they have three stars, I spring for the most awesome donuts ever, way better than the neighborhood donuts. And guess what? Peer pressure is on my side, now, especially after one class gets a taste and spreads the word.

Santa, Linus, Compassion, and Education

This past December 9, during my prep period, I turned a corner and found one of our most fabulous 6th grade teachers SOBBING, a student comforting her. The teacher saw me, waved me on. I ran and hugged her and then left them, respecting her wish to continue the conversation with the student.

Yesterday she shared what had happened, her eyes flooding.

"I ruined Christmas," she whispered.

A supporter of all things magical and joyous, a generous soul who quietly gives to her students, a Martha Stewart in the classroom which is tastefully decorated according to each season--there was no way this statement was true, even aside from its hyperbolic breadth; my face told her I didn't believe her.

"Inadvertently, of course. But parents have written and complained that I have no respect for imagination or the magic of Christmas and that I am an insensitive soul."

You see, my "callous" colleague thought it would be wonderful for her students to participate in the Make-A-Wish Foundation's® holiday campaign. She wanted her students to remember children across America who are experiencing medical challenges, to remind her class that thinking of others is important, to help them do something practical and easy to help others. (Can't you just feel her insensitivity and lack of imagination?)

But when a student asked why the class needed to stamp the envelopes to send letters to Santa...nonbelievers hooted, and the student looked to the teacher to call foul, but this HONEST EDUCATOR, who loves all things magical and respects truth and wants her kids to trust her, said something neutral along the lines that "Myth or not, we all can support this wonderful cause."

So. Some kids at age 11 believe Santa is real, that he's the one who, at no financial cost, is able to bring gifts to good kids, who sees them when they are sleeping and awake, omnipresent and omniscient, reaping all the love for the labor and sacrifice of the flesh-and-blood True Givers, flooding him with all the love that is due to others. (Obviously I have a strong opinion about Santa). This teacher's diplomatic reply was brought home, mistranslated: "Mrs. X says Santa isn't real," voiced in front of younger siblings. And the parents wrote mean letters, telling my friend she ruined Christmas for the whole family, that she is insensitive and doesn't care about imagination or the magic of Christmas. Yes, my colleague is so insensitive that she cried all weekend and now tears up if Santa is even mentioned.

Look, tell your kids what you want, but: If your idea of "CHRISTMAS MAGIC" overshadows greater notions of GENEROSITY, TRUTH, and HELPING OTHERS, then you need some schooling about what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown--so take it from the best, Linus himself, and back away from big hearted souls who are trying to make this life easier for your kids and less fortunate kids:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GtOfLlOT84

Macy's Believe holiday campaign benefits the Make-A-Wish Foundation^®. The nostalgic campaign was inspired by the New York Sun's famous "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" editorial from 1897 and includes letter-writing "Believe Stations" in Macy's stores across the country. For each letter dropped in Macy's Santa Letterbox, Macy's makes a $1 donation to the Make-A-Wish Foundation, up to $1 million. And for each letter received on National Believe Day, December 9, Macy’s will donate an extra $1 to the Foundation.

SALON 2011--and lumpia

It happened!

This year's seminar kids had their first salon--with a triple focus on memoir, extended cross-sense metaphor, and irony. Oh, and food...don't forget food, and by food I mean eggrolls, sweet and sour pork, three kinds of homemade cookies, 1.4 million bags of chips, 8 liters of soda, and (cue the singing angels) lumpia. God bless the Philippines.

I had forgotten how much work, and how near hopeless, it is to transform a classroom with fifty dollars, a ladder, and some push pins. Part of the trouble is that the salon was smack in the middle of the day, bracketed by a legitimate and challenging history lesson about Jefferson's original draft of the Declaration of Independence and slavery. Part of the trouble.

But these are pictures I took anyway after my 12 hour school day, amazed at how three hours could accomplish so little. I'll try to get some pics of the event itself, because I must tell you: it went well again, and this time about a dozen parents came (double last year), a letter of appreciation was sent to my principal about the event, and we had lumpia.

I count any event that involves lumpia as a clear and absolute success.

3 F's in May: the Titanic, baseball, and Batman

What I said: "Of course, Mr. X., we can meet for a conference this Monday."

What I thought: "Really? With three weeks remaining? Where have you been the other 33 weeks? You really think grades move much at the last minute? Have you never heard of the Titanic? How about end-of-season batting averages?"

What I said: "I'd like it if you would bring your son to the conference."

What I thought: "That way he can't play us off each other."

What Mr. X. said: "I'll try to get him to come."

What I thought: "Holy parenting, Batman, that's the problem."

What I would like our background music to be during the conference: CLICK HERE

What I wish Mr. X. had learned earlier: CLICK HERE

today's parent conference

THREE parents, one kid:

how can it be that the kid

does not do homework?

success!

I have that "threw a party, people came and had a great time, now comes the clean up, where's my bed" happy/tired feeling.

Yesterday after school, two kids helped me transform an ordinary bungalow into a classy, artsy space. Well as classy and artsy as simulated wood desks and plastic chairs and ugly metal blinds and acoustic tile ceiling would permit. Oh, and my budget--I went to IKEA and bought rolls of sheer panels in a tasteful array of IKEA's customary weird colors (what is up with their color palette, anyway?); a ladder, a dozen prints from American artists, four blue tablecloths and handfuls of push pins later....

...in they trooped, all wearing black like we agreed to. It was gratifying to hear their cries of delight, I've gotta admit.

Up the ramp came our computer delivery for those with power point projects. Our cool tech chick helped set them up.

All but one had their books ready, and all but one had their art projects ready. Pretty good, no?

Two sainted parents arrived, one with fudge, one with a chocolate fountain, both with willing hands to set up and serve as the kids brought a ton of high fat, low nutrient refreshments.

A little Segovia and bossa nova for background music helped us set up, and in ten minutes, we had our salon going!

My biggest fear was that kids would be so food-frenzied that, piranha-like, nothing would be visible but a haze of chocolate and Fritos, that the carpet would be a sticky ant trap and their books and art would be ignored. And I am thrilled to record that my biggest fear did SO NOT come true! Just the opposite! (Well, there was a chocolate haze around some--the boys, especially, were prone to strange asymmetrical moustaches, and one had what looked like brown fangs after multiple trips to the chocolate fountain.)

They sat and read. They looked at the collages and paintings. Little cries of, "You've gotta see T's project!" and "Have you seen J's pictures?" sounded for nearly two hours. A handful of parents came--one cried actual tears as she read a student's story about getting beat up at a previous school--the principal took a tour as well as the library tech and her monitors...

Now one reason I hate cooking is my doubt. I figure people are just being polite when they say they like something, because I lose my appetite when cooking and it tastes weird to me. But today was different. When adults said they enjoyed the event, I believed them. When I got an email from the cool tech chick about how it was a pleasure and she was impressed and she wants to help next time, I believed her.

When we debriefed at the end, I asked what they'd add, subtract, or change, or keep. "Keep the music and decorations!" "Keep the food!" "We need a bigger space!" "Invite more people!" There was nothing they'd subtract!

The cool thing is I hope to host another salon, and I know they will be up for it and even more into it. So I am thinking of having them come as Americans we are studying, having them produce a magazine of that era as the written piece, and as the art piece, maybe the person's photo album. They would dress in character and their conversations would be in character. What would John Brown say to Honest Abe? How would Andy Jackson get along with Abigail Adams? We already know how Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr got on...

For now, I will sleep the sleep of the bone-tired, heart-happy, anxiety-relieved hostess. The taxpayers got waaaay more than their money's worth today. We all did.

are you kidding me?

What kind of parent buys this for her kid, this notebook sitting in the "Back-To-School" section at an office supply store?

What kind of mentality is more self-destructive for a young mind than to equate fun with badness?

What kind of miracle will it take to undo the cultural damage that has spawned the company that believes it has a market for this product?

I am not a humorless individual. But this is one of the most unfunny things I've ever seen.

One Month to Go: ACNE

In history, we are full on in the middle of the Civil War; we finished Glory last week, and Pickett makes his futile charge this Friday at our Gettysburg re-enactment. It seems the kids are enjoying our bungalow's in-class paper wad battles as a means to learn about the War Between the States.

We all are doing our darndest to keep the lid on PDA, senioritis (yes, 8th graders catch it, too), hot pants, and envelope-pushing.

The last month is packed with distracting elective class trips to exotic locations (three separate trips to Disneyland! One to Legoland!), 8th grade Career Day, a school-wide talent show, an assembly, finals--and parents. I teach 8th grade, and parents who have been silent and absent all year suddenly surface, like adult acne.

Like acne, things can get ugly.