It’s no
secret that I am not loving my job as much as I normally do this year. It’s no secret because I shout out into the
void and to anyone who is listening in brief moments of passing. Part of this is due to the fact that my job
is lonelier than normal this year. I
love the people I work with, but I rarely see them and don’t get to draw on
them in a professional intellectual way that inspires, challenges and fulfills
me. I’m not on a grade level team; I’m
not on a PLC. I don’t get to creatively
problem solve challenging students and write plans for success. I simply find those plans in my email and do my best to enact them in my
class. Technically I am “on everyone’s
team” as the school literacy coach (for a whopping one hour a day), but
teachers are often too overwhelmed and busy to be “coached”, and in all
honestly, I don’t push the issue because I’m just as busy and overwhelmed. Part of it is not having a chunk of time off
like I did last year. There is a
surprising amount of errand running needed in the strange variety of positions
I hold at my school, and I used to be able to do those during the day. This year I can’t. Instead I have these little chunks of time that
are too short to really tackle anything so I often hide behind the disaster
that is my desk and stare at it noting how much needs to be done and in
crippling anxiety, do none of it. Part
of it is taking part in one more year of reading instruction to students in
need of intervention. Year after year I
work with these students and year after year our numbers stay relatively
stagnant - as do the nation’s reading
scores. Apparently, we have not had a
national improvement in reading averages since the 1970’s. It’s hard to do something that can feel so
futile. Though I claim to adopt the
growth mindset needed for genuine success I sometimes find myself looking at a
bad day of teaching and thinking, “no big deal that my lesson flopped. It’s not like what I do really makes a
difference anyways…” I assume that those
few who happen to get out of my class do so of their own accord.
Lest this
post get any more negative, I wanted to share that all my shouts into the void
were apparently being heard by someone or something because the universe
responded twice this week and reminded me about the joys this job holds if we
are patient and if we are willing to open our minds to what counts as progress
and growth.
As more or
less the only regular ed reading intervention teacher this year I got back all
my students from last year that I was not able to release from reading. In some ways it is great to start on day one
with a relationship already built, but on the other hand, neither of us is too
happy that the student still needs the class.
It makes us both feel like failures.
In my fifth hour I have three students who have returned to me for yet
another year of trying to get on grade level.
During class on Tuesday one of the students new to the room noticed a
crate full of picture books. I keep a
collection of picture books with powerful themes and images and integrate them
throughout the year. Because of my
personal interest bias, a lot of these are on the Civil Rights Movement. The student looking at the books asked why I
keep so many books around about slavery.
I informed her that they aren’t about slavery; they are about the Civil Rights Movement
which launched the complicated and confusing conversation about how blacks were
technically free and yet not. Middle
School students almost never completely get this (heck, I don’t completely),
but suddenly one of my students from last year piped in. “they were free but
couldn’t swim in the same pools and stuff.”
Yeah, I thought… but that’s a funny detail to hone in on. Then the two other students from last year
piped in and in perfect unison they verbally recreated the powerful plot of one
of my favorite picture books of all time, Freedom Summer by Deborah Wiles. They remembered every detail of that book and
the powerful implications of those details.
I honestly hadn’t even remembered that I read it to them last year, and
they remembered EVERY. SINGLE. DETAIL.
The new student heard those details and then turned to another book
called Freedom on the Menu and devoured it eagerly. She was so engaged she couldn’t contain her
inner voice and gasped and yelled, “now that’s just wrong” as she took in a
historical and visual account of the lunch sit-ins. I often wonder if anything I present to these
kids really matters and this moment made me realize that they do listen,
especially when the content is compelling.
Today after
school the universe called to me again.
For the past two Octobers I have
prepped the students for a Scary Story Showcase which involves weeks of
practice reading the same scary story all in preparation for our scary story
showcase which involves as much of an audience we can piece together, snacks,
and a chance to have a moment of confidence at a task these kids have been told
they are bad at most of their lives. It’s
not the easiest of units, for those of you who have read with a loved one as
they learn how to read out loud and have wanted to just grab the book and say
all the words faster and correctly, imagine a whole day of that. However,
I do this because I believe in it.
I have tried to create experiences like this because I feel like we put
our honors students on parade and put our intervention classes in trailers or
in hallways off the beaten path. I want
them (and selfishly me) to feel like our work matters – and I really want them
to have a purpose for reading out loud. The
audience achieves both of those goals. All
week I have told students that they could stay after school and help me
decorate for our guests if they wanted to help out. I knew it was a waste of energy. The kids in my classes often don’t really do
school during the regular school day, let alone stay after for bonus school
experiences. In fact, I knew that my
simultaneous department meeting would be no problem because the few stars that
showed up could work silently around our chat about district assessments and
walk-throughs (all attempts to help us “fix” the kids we haven’t been able to
“fix” in this district yet.). I was
wrong. They showed up in droves. Kids of all grade levels, races, genders,
cliques and school performance levels entered my room ,and it looked for a
moment like mass chaos might break out.
My hallway neighbor popped in and took over so I could run a shortened 20
minute meeting and then get back to the kids that packed my classroom. Under no guidance or instruction they
transformed my room from four white walls into a Halloween Extravaganza. They made signs directing the guests they
hope will show up to my room. They
staged scenes with store bought décor. They
wrote catchy two line poems around the room as messages to guests. They measured paper and cut it so that that
they could black out windows. And in a
stroke of genius, they used crumpled up butcher paper to create a fake campfire
to tell their stories around tomorrow. In other words, they showed that they can work hard, problem solve and
create when the task has meaning. They
practiced real life skills today. All this was done by a relatively motley crew. Several teachers walked by in shock and pleasure at who showed up and what they did. I looked at each of those kids and saw someone who could have a meaningful
career. I looked at my career as meaningful.
The whole
experience warmed my heart. It reminded
me that “kids who can’t” really can more than we think. It reminded me of an article I had published
a few years ago in which I worked with kids to understand social justice
issues. They blew me away with the
thinking and compassion they began to display over our weeks together. One reviewer demanded that my edits address
whether any of this actually raised test scores – as if that’s the only thing
that matters. My dissertation, should I
ever finish it (make me! Make me! I have until May!) looks at the intended and
unintended consequences of assessments that more often than not tell teachers
and students that they are failures.
Someone has to hear and see and feel what these children and teachers
are experiencing day in and day out – and more importantly, what they are
capable of despite what numbers on a page say.
I am so thankful that the universe did this week.
Thank you
to whatever it was that breathed passion back into me this week . Thank you to my students… I’ll try to shut up now in my complaining –
at least for a little bit.
