"Now you are the student, and I am the master..." -Darth Vader

My favorite masked heavy breather perfectly describes a First Day of School I had a few years ago.

From day one I try to establish an open, trusting environment; my goal is to help each student view herself or himself as "gifted and talented" (although not necessarily the kind that comes with a high IQ). 

As students are filling out their first day info cards, one of the questions is "What is something you are good at?"  I explain that we are all good at something--some of us never lose friends; others can cook for a large family; others can sleep through a tornado; some can burp the alphabet. I tell them they aren't allowed to write "I don't know," but to look for abilities that may be overlooked. That year, I said, "Now me? I may be the slowest runner in the land and I can't do the Dougie [that year's current popular dance]. But I can beat you in Scrabble, all day long!" And so forth. 


Sooooo after the final bell of the final class rang, instead of darting out the door to check their phones, one girl smilingly approached me.

"Miss Munnelly, I'm D. You teach people all day, and now it's time for someone to teach YOU. I am going to teach you how to Dougie!"

And she did.

Best first day ever.

In Summmmmmmmer!!!

So it's summmmmer!!! I've been busy doing summer things. What might that mean?

FUN THINGS!!

RESPONSIBILITIES

   Well, there are some very fun things.
   1. Hawaii for the first time
   2. Catalina Island
   3. The beach



             Some are less fun.
             1. Blood test at Kaiser
             2. Tune up
             3. You get the idea.



    For teachers, there is always a weird tension about summer; as an educator, what's it for?

A. For taking care of all the things I neglect during the school year? (Hello, messy sock drawer.)
B. For having all the fun I was denied every Saturday for 36 Saturdays? (Hello, travel, friends, books.)
C. To relax and get recharged? (Hello, work outs, afternoon naps, evening jacuzzis.)
D. For professional development? (Hello, big ugly giant new writing unit for our school by Lucy Calkins.)

The answer should be all of the above. But that last one....

Toward May, a student monitor came into B-5 and plunked down the huge Lucy Calkins series of writing units thingy on a table. Rationale? The Boss told us it's what his boss wants us to do; not very compelling, if you ask me. We had one (optional) day of professional development about it. I (opted) out. And now The Boss has a new boss. So do I still need to read all this?

It really is big and ugly, isn't it?

I have been guilting about these units all summer. (Yes, I just coined a new word. It's all part of my summer's work.)

In June, I opened one of the four books that comprise it. "Ick, I can't read this now. It's JUNE. I'm packing for Hawaii. This is too heavy."

In July, I opened it again. "Ick, I can't read this now. I am too busy with guests and to-do lists and Harper Lee's first novel that was released second and books for three book clubs and Catalina. I'll read it later."

It's August...
I
am
running
out
of
excuses
and time.

But do I want to use my last precious days of summer reading a unit that The Boss's new boss might not even care about?

Vote now!!

He looks incredibly great, actually...I'm not kidding.

An op-ed piece     By   SUSAN PINKER* in

                                          

                                                         
                                                                              says:

"As extensive research shows, just one year with a gifted teacher in middle school makes it far less likely that a student will get pregnant in high school, and much more likely that she will go to college, earn a decent salary, live in a good neighborhood and save for retirement."

                               .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

The other day my father went the Natural History Museum. After looking up his last name to give him a ticket, the young docent, K., asked, "Do you have a sister named Lola? She was my favorite teacher all through school..."

[Ed.: OK, I could either frame this as "My dad looks good for his 77 years," "I look awful for my half century," or "Students have absolutely no idea that 13 years isn't really that long." (Personally, I think my daddy looks fantastic.)]

"...yes, she made me love history so that I even got a history degree--lots of my friends did, too."

Teachers don't get to revisit students and distill and analyze their positive and negative influence on their students and their lives' outcomes.  That "extensive research" can't really show causality.  Could I measure my efficacy by counting who got pregnant in high school, who graduated from college, who saves for retirement? Is it my personal fault if a kid drops out? There is NO WAY to find out one's influence without asking the students, is there? 

And self -reporting is, as they say, less than reliable.

How can "They" know what would have happened if a kid had this type of teacher, or that kind? How could they know that maybe K. would have become a ROCKET SCIENTIST or a BRAIN SURGEON if she hadn't gotten derailed by the thrills of 8th grade history class where we sang some cheesy songs, took Cornell notes throughout the year, and reenacted the Battle of Gettysburg in twenty minutes? 

Maybe I RUINED HER. Maybe K. was going to find the cure for cancer. Maybe she would have been an engineer and be making all kinds of money, rather than handing my extremely youthful-looking dad a ticket in a local non-profit museum.

But maybe I saved her life. Maybe she was thinking about finding the cure for cancer, but now she will live a beautiful, fulfilling life helping others connect with the past, present, and future. Maybe she would have been miserable in any other field.

I reread that NYT paragraph and find it overwhelming. That much responsibility...that's crazy, people. We place these middle schoolers into cinderblock classrooms (which I find absolutely horrifying--the cinderblock classrooms, not the placing of the kids) and for 55 minutes, five days a week, one middle school teacher can have that great of an impact??? How can anyone be calm about this??? How can we not be more serious, wise and intentional about teacher recruitment, training, and retention??? how? how? HOW???

When I was in middle and high school, taking those career aptitude tests, one of the questions was about how important it was for me to influence people. For me, the answer was super duper important. I really wanted to (and still hope to) make a positive difference in this world--but I didn't think I could actually influence someone's sex life or retirement savings.

That's like, dude, more influence than Oprah. 



I've always felt the responsibility to be a heavy one, an honorable one. But dear Lord, this little paragraph means I want to make sure that YOU love them through me. Help me to be Your arms. Help me to speak Your words. Help me to love them the way You do. Amen.

*from "Can Students have too much TECH, JAN. 30, 2015

The Day I Discovered Motherhood Would Have Killed Me

"Miss M,
(smiley face) I know this paper may not be exactly what this essay contest was about. It's just that as I began to write, my feelings started unraveling. I was about to go w/some cheesy generic story, but I thought this was more meaningful. Just thought I'd let you know.
~H. (heart)"

This hot pink sticky on her paper didn't really prepare me for what I was about to read.

We were participating in the Jackie Robinson Breaking Barriers essay contest and my students were writing about obstacles they had overcome. (I really wanted one of them to win a trip to the All Star game!) I fully expected to read about students facing their fear of heights....of trying out for cheer... of maybe trying to make friends at a new school.

I was not prepared for the baring of wounds, some deep and ugly, many still raw.

R. was born with a chronic condition that leaves him in pain when he eats certain foods.
N., who is Asian, faces stereotypes and racism on the baseball field.
M. has gay parents and deals with slurs and mean jokes regularly.
D. struggles with anorexia--and he is a male athlete.
A. is on anti-anxiety medication at age thirteen.
B. tries to make sense of his parents' divorce and his being "caught between."
S.'s best friend died.
A's dad has been fighting cancer for years.

On and on it went. In the stable middle class neighborhood, my babies were facing all kinds of struggles that they never shared aloud. All kinds of troubles, and all kinds of courage--courage I felt they really were too young to ever have to exercise. Thirty-six kids, thirty-six trials.

H? Her story was about being shunned for being, they said, fat. I could hardly believe it. This healthy, beautiful girl who in no way had any extra poundage was believing she was heavy. I was enraged. Who dares to scar this wonderful lovely beautiful girl? WHO?? I wanted to find them and, er, set the record straight.

I had to walk away from the papers because my soul couldn't take it.

I don't know if I want to participate in the contest this year.

Miracle Fudge, Panic, and a Really Long List

I'm enjoying this vacation, the family time, my belly full of my sister-in-law's Miracle Fudge*, and a wave of panic overtakes me--

in my mind's eye I see a dear student, Z, with his beautiful big smile and spiky hair, launching through B-5's door--and I have nothing planned for him, nothing worthy of him. So not ready!

I do some quick mental calendar work and remind myself that I still have NINE more days before I am back in the saddle. I literally have to focus on breathing properly for the next few moments.

What gives? (And of all my students, why Z?)

This is no one-time event. It happens nearly every break we have. My colleague shared she had a school nightmare the other night, you know, the one where she's unprepared....Are teachers the only ones with nightmares with this recurring theme?

I confess to looking at this list of things to do and getting freaked out:
     design a memorial program
        laundry
        return stuff to Target
       write thank yous
       grade papers
       record papers
       plan our history document-based essays--how to do this???? 
       refocus our Lord of the Flies unit--and get ready for our Big Paper
       gym
       put Christmas stuff away
       bookstore to buy books for two of the book clubs I'm in
       plan an event
       edit my pastor's book
       read for the two of the book clubs 
       have loads of fun


But everyone has to-do lists. I just need to chill out.




*Miracle Fudge. ALL wonderful chocolatey goodness, ZERO calories.**


**Oh, my imagination is really good. It's miraculous because it's so delicious.
     

Chatty Cathy (and Charlie, and Christy, and...)

One of my classes this year has a majority of kids who just like to talk. They sing to themselves under their breath, even, when they aren't talking. There are so many that I am sometimes reduced to elementary school management techniques such as writing the word Q U I E T on the board and erasing letters as a threat to keep them after class right before (oh, I am the Lord's favorite to have the talkers this period) lunch. 

I am not proud of this.

I spent a whole week on interactive lessons wherein the kids were supposed to learn that many people thought our first constitution was too weak and our country was skidding toward chaos....

Me: "So there were two extremes our founders feared. Can you name them? One, two three--"

Class, tentatively and not in unison: "Dictatorship and anarchy..."

Me: "Nice. After what we learned all week, to which extreme does it look like the US was closer?"

Class, enthusiastically as one: "Dictatorship!"

Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!  

My colleague who shares many of the same kiddos observed me and said this batch just likes to bellow out  just to be heard, no thinking. I must cling to that.

The other classes understood the lesson completely.

I am slightly mollified.

Nooooooooo!

Christmas is coming!!

As a kid, I went to two elementary schools, a junior high school, and a high school in the same district I teach in today. I did my student teaching at two schools and as a contracted teacher have taught in three schools in this district, the 2nd largest in California.

I have NEVER worked, as a student or teacher, in a classroom that had air conditioning. (That's a looonnnnnngggg time. I'm hoping to retire in less than ten years.)

Look--a person absolutely can learn in high heat and thick humidity. But for the cohort I work with, thirteen year olds, learning can be a challenge in the most temperate of times. If my 35 kiddos struggle with the Mayflower Compact when it's 75° outside, imagine their difficulty when it's 95° outside and the humidity is at 80%. When I got home from school as a kid, it was to an under insulated home with no a/c. Hot at school, hot at home, I didn't really have much comparison. But most of the kids at our site have a/c. They know better. We've had students vomiting from the heat, suffering from heat stroke, and at least one teacher who was in danger of heat stroke.

Some people think the most beautiful sentence in the English language is "I love you." I think it might be "I forgive you." But right up there are these words I never really believed I'd hear: "Our air conditioning is coming mid-October."


In C.S. Lewis's classic, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Mr. Tumnus tells Lucy that the White Witch has cast a spell on Narnia such that it is always winter, and never Christmas. Well evil Humidity Heat Witch, start packing your bags or whatever it is that evil witches pack: you've been given notice.

Move over, Humidity Heat Witch--Father Christmas is getting me some a/c!!

Super Start

First day moments:

Coolio, the portable a/c a friend lent to me, shuts down before period 1. So sad. My high hopes are dashed.

Coolio sort of looks like this.

No ants this year!!!  A billion hurrahs! I cut and distribute the power pie, insect-free.

Last year they were EVERYWHERE.

As I near the white board, a funky smell reaches me. It is NOT the smell of stinky teenager. It is the smell of something organic. I try not to think about it, and after that class, I put a powerful odor catcher in the offending zone. Dear Lord, please don't let it be what I think it might be.

Truly thought this trouble was behind us. It might be under us. 

Not one kiddo complains of heat (or stinky zone).

Good sports--love them already!

Colleague brings me a gorgeous lavender plant and an uplifting note on a beautiful card.

A visual reminder to stay calm.

At lunch I buy a soda from the vending machine. It is warm. Is Coolio conspiring with other campus appliances to keep me from cooling down?

So glad our fridge has an ice maker. 

Today was a minimum day! ANNNND we got to leave without going to any meetings! WHooP!

I wish. I went to Vons.

Under the heading "Something I should know about you," a student writes, "I'm Batman."

(Tomorrow I will tell him, "No, I'M Batman.)

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Have a nightmare when you are little, and you wake up, run to your parents' bedroom and get some immediate comfort there. I had this year's first school dream--nightmare, really--last night, with no Mommy in sight. Glad the alarm went off, because while I was persevering in my dream, it was NO FUN. (Understatement.)

I'd been last-minute transferred to another site;

Of course no rosters;

Thrown into a classroom that wasn't kid-ready, or me-ready;

After the bell had rung.

Next door was a band room that kept the door open.

On the other side of my room was a huge room that kids could just slip into unnoticed because I had no rosters and didn't know who my kids were.

I was desperately obeying the First Rule of Middle School Teaching: "Stay calm." But there was no way I could obey The Second Rule of Middle School Teaching, "Be over prepared," because, well, last-minute transfer to a crazy room after the bell.

I suppose it could have been worse. I mean, at least I had my clothes on, right??

Pigasus, Pasta, Pennies, and Student Strategy

We hate cancer.  We love competition.

So we love The Olive Garden's Pasta for Pennies competition at our school. The period 1 classroom that brings in the most money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society wins an Olive Garden lunch.

Money goes to research to get rid of this horrible disease

While I have huge reservations about "giving to get" charitable drives, there is no denying that the competition makes it far more about winning than eating. Hm, is that much better? OK, then, there is no denying that the drive to win makes for some wonderful team building.

Our class leaps ahead of Mrs G's class by $40 on the first day. I mention that if each kid in class brings in $10, we'd have $360 (stupid California class sizes); I remind them that I pitch in, too. The kids whine that Mrs W's class always wins. I point to the two first place pennants from The Olive Garden hanging by the door. "By 'always wins' do you mean 'always comes in second to Miss M's class?' " The kids perk up.

That afternoon, our collection box returns from the money counters in ASB decorated as a pig, er, Pegasus, er, Pigasus with a unicorn horn:

AB, NT, and RT show off their amazing creation

So the race is on. Mrs G, a new teacher, gains the lead. My students decide the way to win is to withhold some of the money we bring in; they decide to put only one third of the donations into Pigasus and the rest into this special jar my daddy had bought for me:

I don't keep this on display. But it came in handy for this activity.

We watch as Mrs W takes the lead; the class groans--they had her in 6th grade and know she has very persuasive techniques to make sure kids bring in money! Some kids in another class contribute to Pigasus. We learn that Mrs G's class has a hidden stash too, and our "spies" press in to discover the estimated amount. Some other classes find out about our hidden stash, but do not seem to know how much we have. At some point, the ASB box decorators make Pigasus's nose 3D. (I have no photographic proof....but trust me, it's a thing of beauty.)

The jar is too small to hold all of our rolled coin, loose change, and bills, so we hide the rolled coin and bills in a project on display, a project shaped like a bald eagle; it feels patriotic somehow. The students vote to stop putting more than five or so dollars daily into Pigasus and hoard almost all of it for Friday, turn in day.

Friday, yesterday--Pigasus is almost full. His top won't close properly. His legs buckle. He is taken to the ASB to have his innards counted.

After lunch, five ASB kids--all my first period students--come in. "We have good news and bad news!" N says sadly (but with dancing eyes and a persistent grin), "The pig's legs didn't make it....but the pig did! We won by $200!" It's actually kind of a pain for me, because I have to race out to La Mesa during my prep period and then deal with my fourth period kids drooling over bread sticks they can't have, but Mrs W has offered to help me serve, and frankly, my period 1 kids are so delightful that I absolutely look forward to lunch with them all.

The formal announcement is made over the intercom, period 7, right before the end of school. My period 7 graciously cheers and whoops as if it were they who had won. That's what I love about our school--we are good sports, and in the end, the more we raise, the more research we fund. That's a win-win in my book.

That moment when the high school usurps your curriculum...AGAIN

Last post was about my thrilledness (Humpty Dumpty and Shakespeare give us all permission to invent words) over my highly gifted kids getting into Lord of the Flies. I was exuberant.

(I never blogged about why this unit was a big deal. See, I'd been teaching Animal Farm and To Kill a Mockingbird to my 8th graders for four years when the high school VP emailed my principal and told him those books were now (thanks, Common Core) going to be taught in 9th grade. It was more than lame--for one, I was getting ready to launch AF in a week or so, and two, TKAM is just my favorite. For three, teaching TKAM was so awesome after teaching Elie Wiesel's Night--to teach about a man of courage just brought me joy and was a wonderful counterpoint to Night's darkness. OK, I reconciled myself to writing units for two new texts this year. I asked the VP what the upper grades were teaching and only heard from one 9th grade teacher.

Fine. I spent days creating a unit for Lord of the Flies, and boy did I get excited. Talked to a teacher friend in Texas. Stole a few ideas from a teacher in Pennsylvania. Got some ideas straight from the Creator. Man, this was gonna be waaaay better than AF, waaaaay deeper. You can see read about my excitement here and here.)

Things just kept getting better, especially when I assigned chapter 8 for reading and the kids came in all shaking their heads about the answer to the question, "Who IS 'Lord of the Flies?'" Whoo!!!

After school that day I had a couple of formers come by to visit, sophomores in Honors English at the local high school. "Guess what we're reading, Miss M?" Oh dear Lord, please, no....

I dashed off an email to my principal and the high school VP, forwarding an old email where I'd asked for what the upper grades taught. I told them I'd heard no reply. I told them SOME of what my unit contained--Hobbes, Rousseau, leadership theory, Christ figure symbology, Freud--and got the response: "My best advice is to check with the department head before you select novels."

Are. You. Serious....

If my kids could do this in 8th grade, shouldn't the 10th grade teacher tackle something tougher? Give them Plato. Or just TELL ME WHAT THE UPPER GRADES ARE DOING, AS I'D ASKED. Or ask US what WE'VE done at the lower grades!

Anyway, my principal wrote a response supporting me: "Please understand that we need to keep Lord of the Flies here at DP." I haven't heard anything back from the high school or from him. I am hoping no new news is good news, but it's been a loonnnnng time since I have been that deflated. Gonna press on this year with my plans--comparing Peter Brueghel's paintings to the novels, finding music that goes with each character (compiling the definitive LOTF soundtrack with rationales), writing fine literary analysis papers, and celebrating all of it with a luau complete with PORK (bahaha) and the "islands" creating displays of the symbols and characters chosen from the text: fire, specs, the conch, the beast, pigs, Ralph, Simon, Jack, Piggy......and when they get to high school and the high school forces them to do the same things I had them do already, it will be upon THEM to write a new unit. These kids are ready for more.

And I think I am done giving up the books that work so well with my history course. 

No no no no no no no

He died defending his children and therefore his country 12/21/13

Michael Landsberry
Marine, Teacher, Dad, Hero
Inspirational

(I can't let myself
feel this. It takes such a toll.)
He took a bullet...

Were all his papers
graded? His grades up-to-date?
How about his soul?

 (I keep wondering
what I would do, but all I
can do is wonder.)

Feeding Your Teacher-Soul

Let me lay down some truth:

1) No one understands this job who hasn't done it, but they all think they understand. People will always say stupid things like, "If you complain about grading it, why did you assign it?" They will say stupid things like, "You get out at 2:30 and get all those holidays off." It helps me to remember that if Jesus forgave people for crucifying Him, I should forgive such radical, deep-seated, COLOSSAL IGNORANCE of what it takes to do this job well. Keeps the old blood pressure low.

2) If you care about your job at all, Teacher Brain happens. This is a condition that is marked by the inability to think or talk much about anything else except what happened in the classroom and what you need to get done for school. Where ever you go, you are thinking about lesson plans or challenging students. It can make you verrrrry boring because all of your sentences begin something like, "Last Thursday in period 4...." In extreme cases of Teacher Brain, you dream about school all the time.

Now teaching is the most important job besides parenting. And I love it. But the Two Truths have made me doubt what I do at times.  Look, forever being misunderstood and isolated by my career's idiosyncrasies is no way to live my one precious life.

So here are some ways I've found to feed my Teacher-Soul.

a) Unplug. Choose one night a week to go screenless. No grading allowed. No planning. If at all possible, no talking. Find the quiet. Ahhh.

b) Read a book that is NOT a professional development book. (This is my favorite!)

c) Read Angela Watson's Awakened, a book specifically written to help us teachers deal with Teacher Brain and teacher burn out. It's reallllllly sensible, and since Watson was a teacher, she KNOWS.

d) Watch teacher movies that inspire you, not demean you. Say "yes" to "The Ron Clark Story," "Stand and Deliver," "Dangerous Minds," "To Sir with Love" and the like. Buy them. Watch them when you are down. Avoid movies that trivialize the true work of educators.

e) Schedule fun. If you don't, those @#$% essays will consume you and embitter you. (Not a pretty combo.)

f) Join social media that is deliberately teacher-uplifting. I am loving Angela Watson's "Encouraging Teachers" on MugBook. Talking to other people who really DO understand what you do is a safe place to vent without boring anyone, and no one will say profoundly STUPID things.

e) If you can swing it financially, keep your precious summers free of summer school. It'll take a little while for Teacher Brain to subside, but that time will rejuvenate you and ensure that you love your job even two decades after you started. Well, that's a personal testimony. But we simply MUST step away from the classroom for our own mental well-being.

f) Exercise! But you already knew that one, right?

Last Day....AGAIN: the life of a military kid

Today was B's last day at DP today. He is a fun kid with a quick sense of humor, the kind of guy who gets along with everyone. Kind of lazy about work, unfortunately, but definitely a bonus in the classroom. I am going to miss him--we all will.

After everyone else left for lunch and I signed off his parting grade (a C, but you guessed that), he got as serious as I've ever seen him: "In all my nine years of going to school, this is the only class that I have talked about every day after school with my family, telling them cool facts..." My eyes filled first, I think, but his voice cracked and down his tears came. We hugged and he sobbed, "I don't want to leave!" I sobbed with him.

It's unnerving when perpetually cheerful boys sob.

He wasn't crying about my class. He truly loves DP. "I finally got to like someplace!" he cried. He is a military child who has to move because his dad serves our country. "B, there are some great people at this school who will miss you, but listen: good people are everywhere, and there are awesome ones at your new school who are gonna be so lucky to meet you! Until you know them, yeah, this move is so lame. Do me a favor, B, and figure out who they are. Choose your friends carefully, ok?" His face was tragic, but he nodded. "Jeremiah 29:11 is for you, B--God has plans for you!" He nodded again and gave me a teary smile--we first met last year in Bible Club. We both reached for the Kleenex.

I am so grateful that he purposefully took the time to give me his appreciation, realizing each second in my bungalow was a precious second away from his friends. He pulled himself together, and then sped off to spend his last lunch with them.


JEREMIAH 29:11 "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

The Temporary Amnesia of July and the Mystery of Exciting Housework

I'd forgotten.

I'd forgotten how much grading is generated by thoughtful instruction. I'd forgotten how much time it takes to carefully read and respond to thoughtfully done work, to give meaningful, helpful feedback.

I'd forgotten how, faced with ten piles of work, I suddenly get the mad urge to clean the house, which in all fairness really DOES need a good cleaning. It is a triumph of will to sit and grade and not run towards the vacuum.

Suddenly MugBook is compelling. Words with Friends is frolicsome, even when all I have is auuwiio. On a beautiful day, I simply must remember that I am employed serving wonderful people doing stimulating work.

Mostly, I'd forgotten about the incredible amount of time. I remember now.



(Note that I am writing this entry as the ten piles glare balefully at me.)

Wasn't it Ella Who Sang "Too Darn Hot"?

I am TOO CRABBY to be flattered. Three kids came back to visit on this first Friday of the new school year, all happy and sweet and nostalgic, but NO. The back of my knees were sticky and there was an actual creek running down my spine. I was able to take about fifteen minutes and then diplomatically closed up the room and ended the visit early. (For being loving and diplomatic in my physical and psychological condition, I expect a major award or a Nobel Prize or something.)

Don't get me wrong--my kids are great. They are champions, sitting there on the plastic chairs that save their body heat and generously return it to them, reading about Jamestown's trials and tribulations. But that room.....

No Friday is good, but especially do NOT come visit me on a Friday when my bungalow's thermometer is at 92°.

Go away.

So THAT'S why...three of 'em....

Little nodules in my throats
Little nodules gets my goats
Little nodules isn't noice
Little nodules takes my voice

Size of salt grains, all you is.
Cut yous out? "Oh, no," is his
opinion--get some rest and then
your voices should come backs again

But this my jobs, my livelihoods!
If I can't talk, that ain't no goods!
He signed me up for speech rehabs
They 'spose to teach me how to blabs
More easy- how to use my chords
efficientsly. And so towards
this goal of resting nodules,  I
won't say no mores. (At leasts I'll try.)

Doc says mine aren't symmetrical, which is unusual.

Teachers: WE ARE OK

Our school is launching a little aid raiser for the Red Cross in honor of the victims of the Moore, OK tornado. Our goal is to raise $1000, a dollar per student.

One teacher ordered "We are OK" wristbands online to give to donors.
Two are manning the collection table during their lunch.
One is housing the funds during our drive.
One wrote the bulletin announcement.
One is doing an "all call" to the parents.
One will manage the transfer of funds to the organization.

I kind of wish students were driving this drive.

(As I was sharing our drive with an advisory class, a student asked, "When did this happen?" Hmmm.)

And as this school year zooms toward its end, I reflect on the two real lock downs our neighborhood schools had--the teachers were champions. I reflect on the teachers at Sandy Hook and Plaza Towers and Briarwood--the teachers were heroes. I reflect on Q, tutored after school by my student teacher, who is going to pass now--my student teacher is a champion. I reflect on the teachers' hearts prompting this drive--they want to help the hurting so badly. 

Hmmmmm.............................maybe teacher-bashing can end for a season, m'kay?

Sandy Hook: Our Children

Collective anguish
All of us somehow bereaved
Sorrow comes in waves

 (The grown ups, too, are
Someone's children.) Oh parents--
 How we ache for you

My students have vowed
In memoriam: to be
Kinder and gentler

Mercury Rising

Boiling hot outside today. From my colleague's phone:

Boiling hot inside. Here's a snap of the thermometer in my classroom from another colleague's phone:

This wasn't just the hottest day on campus since ever. It was the day of a lockdown at the local high school.

As I drove to school, I saw at least three police cars parked along the canyon adjacent to the high school. Oh Lord, I prayed, please don't let any of our kids be involved in anything awful...

(...and they weren't. A couple of thieves tried to steal some copper wiring and fled to the canyon.)

When I pulled into my school, about seven yellow school buses had pulled over in front. Uh oh.

Kids could roast on the buses given the forecast, but the situation was so unpredictable. As the first teacher on campus I called the principal who came dashing in, grabbing the walkies and fielding emergency calls. We and another teacher boarded each bus, letting the students know they'd be our guests for a while, walking them to the auditorium.

We had to make sure the kids had food; many get their breakfast from their school. We had to take attendance for some 300 students and get release forms and deal with panicky parents. The kids had to be cooperative and patient in the emotional uncertainty, and here's the thing: they were amazing. One reed-thin Latino man-child slid onto the piano bench and began playing softly and slowly; one group of students sat cross-legged and experimented with makeup; another group played elementary playground hand slapping games. (!) I had to leave them to teach my regular students and by the time I left, an hour after their arrival, I knew they'd continue to be wonderful.

And then on to my actual students, full of fear and rumor. After good discussions about safety and why we do things the way we do, after answering their questions with what little I knew, we went on to the day's tasks. The heat came in like the hordes of Mordor, hot and merciless and overwhelming, and just like that, we had a different challenge: to carry on despite the physical burden of airless heat. The mercury jumped but the kids were champs. I even taught them our colonial region songs, and we gamely sang them.

Whatever may be wrong with public schools, it certainly is not the kids. I have always respected them, and today my respect deepened. I am proud of our staff--the way we circled the wagons, stepping up, solving problems, filling gaps, unasked and undirected--I am proud of the way our schools worked together in an emergency. And I am proud of the students who were bused in from far away, showing maturity and grace under pressure, and of the neighborhood kids who soldiered on, rising above heat exhaustion.

(If I hear anyone criticizing public school teachers this week as being lazy or incompetent or selfish...)