Paper, Meteor, Scissors.....A Glimse of What #TeachingIs....

      I got the short straw.  On that straw, I think I found just one of the many definitions of this profession we call teaching. In college, there were two professors who taught earth and space science, and each had a reputation that preceded him. There was one that "you just want." He was the one that was personable and kind and lavished good grades upon his students. And then, there was the one I found on my schedule when I got that aforementioned straw. He was the "impossible" professor on campus...the one who taught above heads and lived for his content...the one who, according to the rumor mill, prided himself on ruining GPAs of previously successful students and clouding dreams of even the most ambitious of pupils. After the pity party that was sure to commence in the head of anyone who "got" this guy, I took a deep breath, I mustered every ounce of energy I had to get through my least favorite subject of science, and I - the self proclaimed goody two shoes with a past of stellar grades and fabulous report cards - tried my best. And....I struggled. A lot. Like didn't want to get out of bed to go to class kind of struggled. Like showed up in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower for a couple points of extra credit in the professor's backyard type of struggled.....excuse the grammar, but ain't nobody want to do that!
     At the end of the semester, the doc required a lengthy paper from each student detailing accounts of practically every exhausting topic we had covered throughout our months together. I completed that paper like a champ (or maybe like a shamed puppy with her ears hanging low who knew she had done wrong), said a prayer, and submitted it to the towering professor in hopes of simply not having to see him again the following semester. A few days passed, and then Dr. Earth and Space Science called my dorm room.....what teacher does that?!? Visions of my dad's hard-earned tuition money slipping through my fingers, into the campus fountain, and quickly down the drain began to fill my head as he told me that he would like to see me in his office about my paper. I panicked. My heart fell as I envisioned my first school failure becoming a reality.
    In his office, Dr. Earth and Space Science said something for which his reputation had not prepared me. "Lea Ann, I finished your paper. Through my reading, it became evident to me that......you have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA what we have been talking about this semester." I could almost feel my self-confidence being ripped from my body, but then he continued. "However.....if I hadn't known better....I would have BELIEVED. EVERY. WORD. You have quite a gift for writing, Miss Atherton, and it sure sounds like you know what you are talking about. Don't get me wrong....you CLEARLY don't, but you almost sold even me. My wife is a writer, and I have grown to appreciate your craft. I am giving this paper an A." Tears came to my eyes as he said, "But, Miss Atherton, you have to promise me one thing. Promise me that in your future, you will do something with this writing thing. Between you and me, you might want to leave earth and space science alone, but writing....now that's where you may really have something."
      Dr. Earth and Space Science defined one of the responses to "Teaching Is..." that I carry with me into the classroom everyday. Maybe he never did make a scientist out of me, but he taught me enough to allow me squeak by with a B for the semester that made me prouder than many of the As I had received in the past. More than that, he assessed me not for my ability to climb that symbolic tree that Einstein has made us think so much about, but for my ability that he knew would eventually make my future what it is today.  He found "my" genius....and he encouraged the continuation and development of that. He let me be ME, and he even celebrated who that "me" was in the end.
     In my own classroom, some of my students want to be authors or journalists. Some of them don't...and that is okay. Teaching is digging into the personalities that show up at the door and finding ways to connect the classroom content to the genius in each of them. Sometimes it's as simple as making writing more about hunting and fishing and less about rules and stipulations. Sometimes it is providing an outlet for their most opinionated middle school voices to be heard. Sometimes it is making history come to life in the classroom for those war buffs before the narratives are written. Sometimes it's simply showing up at a game to support the part of them of which they are the most dedicated and proud. Teaching is finding individual talent and showing the student that through it, "they may really have something." And...on those days when all else fails, it's having them describe in a paragraph what they think a meteor shower might look like....and then having them describe the real thing in a detailed paragraph...for bonus points, of course.


* The Center for Teaching Quality and Hope Street Group are seeking your stories for what #TeachingIs. Share yours at www.teachingquality.org/teachingis

Tulips, Laughter, Lace, and Vintage Goodbyes

This blog was going to be designated for classroom stories only, but today I make an exception! I had a substitute teacher in my class last week as my family said "See ya later," to my grandmother...a legacy, lady, and life story like no other.  The following thoughts were just a few I pulled together to be read at her funeral. I hope my students realize that the best subjects for their writing are the people and places that make up their "everyday." There are stories all around if only they ask the right questions and open their eyes to see....

Family.  You get absolutely no say in them. You don’t get to pick. You find yourself at family reunions and holiday gatherings, and – let’s be honest – everyone in this room at times has wondered how you could possibly even be related to these people! But then…out of nowhere, you get these glimpses of just what unconditional family is all about, and you are thankful to have a last name that makes you a part of their group.

Today may not be about him, but I think he is worth mentioning. I never got to meet my grandfather. I heard stories about William Howard Atherton.  I watched my own dad swell with pride talking about him. I saw pictures. I even found his name on one of the memorials in Washington, D.C.  But…I never met him…and oh, he has missed so much. When he left this world, he left behind a wife and five kids to survive on their own without him….and the way they have lived those lives probably has surpassed what he ever even hoped or imagined for them.

Clara….my Memaw…would have made him breathtakingly proud. With a pair of scissors and a couple hundred cans of hairspray, she mastered the bouffant and the beehive to make a better life for her kids.  With her famous sage dressing or her unmatched coconut cake, she lured families in to be together during the holidays.  She gave her grandchildren the childhood adventure that we simply called “The Cabin.” Wearing that vintage green terry cloth jacket, she could fish off the pontoon by morning and make taco stacks by night….all things that are missed each and every time the cabin is open these days. She hosted Easter egg hunts. She planted tulips. She bowled. She quilted. She yardsaled like a champ even before HGTV made it the cool vintage thing to do. She traveled. She brought back some pretty interesting souvenirs from her travels. She had arguments with H.L. that would make a grown man giggle.  She asked about “special friends.” Let’s be real….she is STILL asking some of us about those today.  She had fun.  She took risks….both through her bright, sparkly fashion statements and through the ever so unique pink curb appeal of her home. More importantly, she took risks in life… and she encouraged others to do the same.

The greatest of her legacy, though…the part that would bring my grandfather the most pride…is seated in the pews today. My Memaw raised heroes. Not the kind that wear capes and masks, but the kind that show up in the cold to help you start your car. The kind that prove to you that your oversized furniture WILL fit up the stairs in your new house if you just have the right team to get it there. The kind of heroes that go out of their way to help strangers. The kind that are the first to speak when they see people they know, and the kind that continue to speak highly of those people even after they walk away.  The kind that share anything and everything with anybody and everybody. The kind of heroes that not only say, “Call me if you need help,” but that show up to help without ever being called. The kind that show up at the ER knowing that the visitor limit doesn’t seem to take into account the Mom-to-children ratio of the family. The kind that still ask each other to hunt and fish and even golf… knowing all along that some siblings are better at that golf thing than others. The kind of risk-taking heroes that will somewhat patiently let a daughter take 8,000 pictures in the boat…even when the fish are biting. The kind of heroes that give time and effort and security like it will never run out.  When people say, “Oh, he’s one of the good ones,” or “Oh, she’s one of the good ones,” they are clearly talking about people like Memaw’s kids, and those kids just weren’t raised by accident.

He certainly would have been proud everyday of the people Memaw raised, but the past few years would have made my grandfather the proudest of all. His children…sacrificed. They sacrificed time and events and sleep to make sure that their Mom received the best possible care. They bathed her. They fed her. They knew the people at hospitals certainly meant well, but they just didn’t have the touch or the patience of Memaw’s own children. They stayed with her. They talked to her. They bought her snazzy pajamas to make sure her fashion streak continued. They scheduled and attended doctor’s appointments that were necessary. They scheduled and attended beautician appointments that might not have been necessary, but that they knew would have been more important to her than the ones at the doc.  They made certain of her attendance at family gatherings. From Derby hats to patriotic stripes, when they brought her to a party, they made sure she dressed the part. They made her comfortable. They included her. They celebrated her milestones and rallied together during her setbacks.  Even in her last moments, I think she was right where she wanted to be. Some said it would be serene for her if she went in her sleep, but she wasn’t going to have that! Memaw would have expected absolutely nothing less than to be riding shotgun down Clinton Road one last time sitting next to her son. Simply put, my Memaw raised her children to appreciate HOME, and they surrounded her with it to the very end.

No, I never got to meet my grandfather. I didn’t get to hear his words, watch his expressions, or tap into his thoughts….and yet this I know. He and Memaw created a family that the grandkids aren’t just proud to be related to, but one we are immensely proud to call our HOME. My grandfather would have looked at his children sitting in these pews today, and he would have been the one swelling with pride. When he couldn’t do the job himself, those Atherton kids took the BEST care of his bride.  I can almost hear him say... “You can rest now, kids. You did good….you did really… really good.” 

Lip Gloss and a Ladder

Sometimes you get fancy degrees, and you think you wanna give the ol' ladder a try. Other times, a middle schooler with parents and step-parents chuckles and smirks and asks ya to be her third mom. Or another pleads for the opportunity to implement a classroom punny joke segment that would likely make even Jimmy Fallon proud. Or another points out that she just correctly used a winky face thingy that old-fashioned pioneers called a semicolon to create compound sentence perfection...and then promptly breaks out into a little "My Lipgloss is Poppin'" that is, in fact, a smidge more awesome than Lil Mama's....if that's even possible. Or another asks you for a paint sample from Lowe's 'cause she plans to paint her bedroom the color of the classroom accent wall - you know, just because. Or another goes around the room to give everyone in class a high five to celebrate simply making it to Thursday (That one was my favorite.), and you realize.....the ladder just doesn't get much higher than this. 

Happy Spring Break, y'all. I'm sad we won't be in school for April Fool's Day, but luckily there will be some test review when we get back that the kiddos will certainly think is some sort of prank! :) 

Sinking Ship or Rescue Vessel?

A View of Common Core Standards from a Teacher on Board

If one were to walk into my sixth grade writing classroom this week, he would find himself in the midst of the culture of 1912 aboard the renowned RMS Titanic. He would hear language being used comparable to that of a panicked portly first class gentleman unsure of what the next hour might hold. He would discover students taking on roles of passengers telling powerful stories through the art of narrative writing. While the same scenario might not be taking place in exact replication in the classroom down the hall or in any other synonymously across the district, one would notice upon careful observation that through the lessons of room 219 at the middle school in which I teach, students are not only being introduced to, but are mastering the Common Core Standards for writing and language arts.

            It is no secret that the debate continues as to whether CCSS are making or breaking education as we have grown to know it in America. Everyone seems to have a strong opinion, and as a Kentucky State Teacher Fellow for Hope Street Group, I have agonized over the fact that I should as well. Until quite recently, though, I simply haven’t. I have always had the philosophy that no matter what the standards, I could and would adapt using what I know to be true about the content and what I discover to be prerequisite demands of the students. It would always be a masterful blend of the obligatory mandates and the imperative needs. So, when faced with the question of the role I thought CCSS were playing, I struggled to know what I really believed. I knew how it looked in my classroom, but I wasn’t sure that things were as positive in other subject areas or even other grade levels about which I had a reduced understanding.

            In life and in education, I think we often rebel against that which we do not understand. The more time I have taken to comprehend the requirements of CCSS across the board, the more I believe this to be true. Parents have rebelled against the belief that their children will only learn a new modern and elaborate way of doing basic math problems, leaving the old common sense model behind. Teachers have grumbled that the literature they once found to be so engaging will no longer be allowed in the plan books.  If those things are happening in schools and districts, the CCSS are simply not to blame. In the cases that I have investigated, it is not the set of standards themselves that is placing teachers in a box, but instead a boxed program that has been adopted by the district to aide in the teaching of those required standards.

            Because I have “proven” myself as a teacher who gets results and I work in a distinguished school under the leadership of a principal who has a very balanced approach to education, I have been given the utmost freedom to take the standards and design my own methods for teaching them. The standards tell me “what” to teach, but they do not force the “how.” Are there holes? Of course. While the strategies for using pronouns are key to mastering the standards in sixth grade, not many of the other parts of speech are required in such depth. That is where the master teacher takes command, and the needs of the students are addressed. No standards will be without flaws, as they are designed to meet the needs of humans who clearly are not.

            The greatest flaw in any set of standards is the lack of ability of a classroom teacher in the developing of lessons and teaching of them central to the needs of the students. The need for boxed programs becomes evident to administrators when teachers are not skilled enough in their content or their craft to fill those holes, regardless of the adopted standards being implemented in a district or state. This is just another indicator of the utmost importance of teacher preparatory programs at the college level.  When teachers are released into classrooms without the content knowledge and skill set to teach effectively, leadership fills the void by spending time and funds for programs to shortcut the work and ensure standards are covered, thus placing mandates on the “how” resulting in protests from the educational crowd.

            In my ever-evolving classroom and in those of master teachers, the standards are being custom-taught to creatively and innovatively meet the needs of students. Common Core Standards have simply raised the bar to ensure that children in every state, regardless of demographics or state performance of the past, are being held to the same expectation of excellence sought for all American students. As students continue to write of their time aboard the RMS Titanic, this teacher continues to believe being on board with CCSS might just result in more college and career ready students finishing afloat in the future.

Can I Call My Mom???

I am not a parent, and I won't even pretend to know what it's like, but recently I have noticed more than ever the little products of amazing parenting that I get to see everyday. People say teachers have the most thankless jobs, but I think the title goes to the folks our kiddos call Mom and Dad....and even those grandparents, too. Children enter my room prepared with supplies and assignments and their hair and teeth brushed (well..usually :) ) There are children who are polite and kind and respectful. There are students who share.  There are those who care about the feelings of others and who go out of their way to help. There are those who don't see "special needs" but just unique friends. I have children who have confidence without being arrogant and who have the work ethic to keep getting better. That did not happen by accident. I have students who giggle telling me about the silly thing dad did on the road trip or the funny look mom gave when they told her they had a project due the next morning. I have children who have grandma's voice in their heads telling them that they matter when they sometimes feel like they don't.  I have kids with the most fun senses of humor...those who make me laugh...who have learned to laugh when things don't go their way....and who keep. on. going. I have students who sometimes have middle school brain and forget their shoes for practice or their music for after school rehearsal or their math book for the third time that week. Those parents are a phone call away and so often they are the ones who save the days at our school. Those parents are the ones that never lose the faith when we often wonder if their kids will ever quit ending sentences with prepositions or begin using commas in the right places. They are the ones who question us because they want what's best....and the ones who encourage their kiddos to rise above circumstances when sometimes we fail them.  While teachers get an appreciation week and the moms, dads, and grandparents only get a day each...this teacher notices their sacrifice. So....if you are one of those parents of young children posting pics of first birthdays and lost teeth and homes you can't get clean thanks to Fisher Price....keep it up. Someday, somewhere - perhaps  in a middle school classroom - someone is going to appreciate what you are doing! 

Paisley Pencils and Poptarts

       What's with that title? Sometimes life - both in and out the classroom - is the perfect set of Vera Bradley paisley pencils....exquisite and chic and notable of elite middle school perfection. Most of the time, though, it reeks of reality and the strategy for survival that those Poptarts in the midst of beautiful, busy chaos can become. Within each are the stories that make this job worth writing.
       Regardless of the classroom, a variety of backgrounds are bound to show up at the door. Just the other day, a student reported to me that another in the room had stolen his pencil....your basic yellow, not quite so paisley-perfect kind. The accused chimed in to let me know that he simply wouldn't steal a pencil, but if I wanted to ask about the Poptarts he tried to steal from the cafeteria on a daily basis, he wouldn't even be willing to try to deny. Honesty. That child shows up each morning just hoping for a full stomach and a way to draw his peers' attention from the pant legs his Poptart-induced growth spurt has caused to lurk well above his shoes. He sits in the same row with some of the paisley pencil club...those who have been on vacations and shopping sprees and who wouldn't even eat breakfast in the cafeteria, much less try to steal it. Yes, kids come from a variety of backgrounds, and we get the awesome task of leveling the playing field by focusing on character instead of cost and on value rooted in much more than the balance on a lunch account or the name scribed on a paisley pencil.

The Launch...Even If Nobody's Watching

        A few years ago, while I was teaching in what was considered to be one of the most "inner city" schools in my small town in Kentucky, I had a student who taught me something I continue to reference each time I begin to write. To protect the innocent, we will call him Eric Michael. Eric Michael had autism, and his best friend in the class was cute little blonde boy we will call Devin Bunt. Devin was legally blind. While his comprehension of classroom material based on sound alone was somewhat uncanny, his likelihood of ever really noticing his best friend across a crowded room was slim to none. To encourage their socialization just the same, I sat the two boys next to each other in our closet-turned-classroom that may or may not have contained traces of asbestos that not even the most trendy shade of apple green paint could disguise. While most days resulted in the boys getting along and depending on each other to fill the void they both had when it came to friendships in their pre-labeled "rough" school, they did - on occasion - have their fourth grade spats. One day after Devin had pushed him to his limit, I saw Eric Michael furiously scratching something onto a scrap of paper he had torn from his folder. As Devin turned away for a moment, Eric Michael slapped the paper onto the desk of his new enemy and then retreated to pace in front of the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. Seizing my opportunity to snatch the piece of paper, I quietly chuckled to myself as I read, "I do not like you, Devin Bunt!" It was harsh. It was cruel. It was just what he wanted to say to cut to the deepest part of Devin's core. Sadly for him, it was for an audience who could not see.

        While that day Eric Michael placed his rage on paper, other days he shared more positive thoughts. He wrote kind gratitude to his BFF for simply being his friend. He shared his math problems when he was successful and just needed someone to take a "look." He drew pictures and wrote poems, and never once received a reply. Eric Michael wrote. When no one was even looking, he put words of himself on paper. Sometimes he learned from what he penned. Sometimes he showed talent he didn't even know he had. Without a grade or even a confirmation of receipt, he JUST. KEPT. WRITING. 

        No longer in that school, I am now back in the middle school setting where I have spent eleven of my twelve years of teaching. I teach sixth grade children to write. Students often ask what I would do if I didn't teach writing. My response? I would...WRITE. "Those who can, do," I keep hearing in my head, and so...for those students, I am launching this blog to share about them....and about me....even if nobody's watching.