So, There's This Girl...

It's that time of year.  Teachers know it well - Dreaded December.  We are all tired.  The newness of the year has worn off. The grading is piling up. The sleep is disappearing.  I have so much grading to do. So much planning and preparation that needs to happen for the rest of my week to run smoothly, but there's this girl. She's my girl. She is a student who I have been blessed to teach for four years, and by golly, she's going to do great things once she leaves our four walls. So, I need to brag on her for a moment.

As a freshman, she doubted everything about herself. Her looks, her ability to learn, her ability to love and be loved. She was added to my impact class, and I saw something in her - she wanted better. She wanted better for herself, her family, and her future family that doesn't exist. And so it began. She trusted me. She trusted that I had her best interests in mind. She let me care about her. She began trying study techniques I suggested (ok, forced her to do). She began thinking before she acted (even if we rehearsed what she was going to say in class if a certain situation came up in the hallway).  She tattled on herself when she got in trouble. She stuck up for the underdog because she (according to the definition only) is an underdog herself. She did all these things, even when there were days she was so mad at me she couldn't see straight.  

Sophomore year was a little better, a lot of drama, but a little more self esteem. A little less poking and prodding, but still a lot of tears.  Junior year, she was asking for note cards to study. She was asking me to look over her work that was completed a few days before the due date. She finally had the one person she needed in her corner fighting for her -- she had herself. She finally started to listen when I told her to "love herself first so that she can let others love her." She began cleaning up her Facebook page because it was filled with hate and anger which did not match the kindness of her heart. She showed resilience. She showed grace and forgiveness. She kept pushing for greatness.   

Senior year, this same girl went from doubting every sentence she wrote as a freshman to writing a 17 page research paper that is full of voice and conviction. She revoked her victim card, having lost a dear loved one to suicide years ago, and she has focused her passion and energy into researching suicide prevention, so that maybe, just maybe, she can save a life of someone who is alone and struggling. She trusts the guidance of her senior English teacher. She trusts the school counselor when she's having a bad day.  So now, now she has three people who call her "their girl". She has three people who talk daily about her progress in class, her plans for the future, and the fact that she needs to get a driver's license (cue eye roll).  

She is the reason so many of us teach. We all look for that one kid. That one kid becomes the reason we come to work, the reason we lose sleep over long breaks, and the reason we work each day to make school a better, safer, happier place. That one kid gets referred to as our "son" or "daughter" because others know how much we care. That one kid who makes us cry like a baby at graduation, and then again the following August when we don't see that familiar smile in the hallway. That one kid who reminds us of those teachers who made a difference in us. So yeah, there's this girl, and I'm pretty lucky to know her.

And now, I need to finish grading quizzes. And they really aren't good. And it really makes me mad because I know how hard we've worked on this strategy in class. So tomorrow we'll try again. I do my best to give these kids my best effort each day because one of these kids could be my next kid, and I will be a better teacher, mother, and person for it.

Levi -- Class Dismissed.

Levi.  Today we gathered together as a family to say goodbye to Levi.  Levi was a student of mine a few years ago who was tragically killed in a car accident this past week.  Levi was a presence.  I always knew when he was in my classroom or in the hallway because he announced his entrance which was usually followed by him or a friend of his jumping on each other's backs.  He was smart.  He was wise beyond his years.  He was a teenager.  He was invincible.  He was charming.  He had a million dollar smile that could get him out of most things, and he knew it, and used it.  Heck, who can blame him?

 Levi had an ability that few students possess; he could be my favorite and then least favorite student in the class and repeat it again throughout the hour.  I remember asking in class discussion a few years ago for students to describe a character.  Some said this character was sneaky.  Some said conniving.  Levi added to this discussion, without raising his hand or being called on.  He said, "Mrs. Neill, if I were a betting man, I'd say he was a Democrat." Those were the type of comments I grew to expect from him.  Those types of comments sometimes landed him in the hallway for a quick discussion, and other times ended with someone laughing hysterically on the ground.

All students have to take English.  It is a core subject, and core teachers know that if given the choice most students would not choose to be in that class.  It is a challenge to motivate those students and to get them to buy into what we teach, but that is the challenge that most of us live for.  Levi enjoyed the discussions in my class, but by no means was he a fan of English.  His sophomore year, he spent most of the time during research papers goofing around.  When the time came to grade his paper, he failed.  I called him out on his behavior and lack of paraphrasing, and then asked him if he would be willing to work with me to write it correctly?  He agreed, and I spent the next 2-3 weeks working with him in Mrs. Unruh's class to get that paper written.  He didn't want to do it, but he knew it was the right thing to do, so he did.  Levi had a conscience.  He knew right from wrong, even though he did not always make the right choices.  He believed his word was gold, and he followed through with what he said he was going to do.  What does a man have if he can't be trusted to do what he says?  

I think that Levi would have been shocked to see the superintendent, both principals, and countless teachers at his funeral.  I think he would have been shocked to see how many classmates showed up to pay their respects.  The service was beautiful -- the country music, the video of one of his stunts, the antlers on his coffin, the fact that (as Mrs. Hecox pointed out) all of his friends showed up wearing sleeves instead of cut-off shirts.  I think that Levi had no idea the impact he has left on so many of us.  In his eyes, he was just a good ol' boy.  He lived the verses of his favorite country music songs.  He was genuine, and even if he was a pain in the ass sometimes (he would love that I cussed right there), teachers can spot genuine, and genuine is a trait that is hard to find.  We had no idea what kind of future he would have, but we knew the kind of future we wanted for him. That is why he was worth such a fight. 

Sometimes teachers are put in a position to teach content or life lessons.  When something like this happens, and a student is taken too soon, we are easily reminded that our students also teach us.   I have a desk in my room that wobbles; it is Clinton's.  He bent it one day when he stepped over it and fell taking out two other desks.  I will never have it fixed.  Clinton died three years later from cancer.  Clinton taught me the importance of a smile; something so small can turn a bad day into a good one.  I have a note from James that reads "I are smart!"  He aced a test without much studying.  James died in what would have been his senior year. James taught me that it is okay to laugh at my students; they are funny.  And now, each time a see a loud truck proudly waving both American and Confederate flags, I will smile and think of Levi.  I will take it as a sign that he is in a better place.  I was Levi's student in life.  He was loyal to the core.  He never took himself too seriously.  He put others first.  He was genuine. Sometimes we teach students, but most of the time, they teach us.  

Class dismissed.

Superior: Home Sweet Away From Home

They say home is where the heart is.  Well, my heart is in this home, and it always will be. When I was 10, my parents went through a bitter divorce.  When it was all said and done, my dad was granted summer custody.  That summer, my dad met my stepmom, Becky. She came to meet us, cooked us real food (sorry Dad), and she brought her parents along. From day one John and Wanda became Grandpa and Grandma.  They treated me as though I was their own - blood or not.  Their home because one of my homes.  One of the places that never changed no matter how much my life changed.  For that, I consider myself truly lucky.

Each summer my brothers, sister, and I would spend about a week at Grandma and Grandpa's house.  It was a week for us to run wild, stay up late, play all day at the park, swim at the pool, and eat as much cookie dough as we could handle.  We lived for this week each summer, and now that I am a parent I am sure that my parents LIVED for this week as well.  (Can you say FREEDOM!) We played games of Posy Pitch and Yard Darts (the javelin-will-poke-your-eye-out-or-impale-you kind).  We slid down the huge slide at the park with wax paper so we would go faster.  We snuck black-cherry Shasta out of the fridge after bedtime.  We (being me) climbed through the crawlspace and got caught red-handed and hung-out-to-dry by my siblings who had gone before me.  No seriously, my butt was literally hanging out of the crawl space window when Grandma caught me, and they acted all innocent like it was my idea.  My brothers went commando one summer, and told grandma that, "They didn't wear underwear anymore."  She called home, discovered their lie, and then threatened to make them pink, silky panties if they ever came to her house again without their underwear, ending that threat with, "And you WILL wear them and like it."  We got as many pancakes as we could eat every morning.  And grandpa always bought us the biggest blizzards they made a Dairy Queen; we called them "Grandpa Smalls".

Every Christmas we grandkids packed the basement.  We played Thirty-One all night, or until Uncle Kenny got mad, stormed out and yelled, "You play cards like a fish, I ain't playing a G--- D--- card game with people who make up the rules as they go." (I am sure there were other expletives in there - nobody could cuss us out like Uncle Kenny.)  We kept air freshener at the table because our family was full of hot air in more than one way, and to this day, the smell of apple-cinnamon still makes me gag.  We serenaded anyone who lost with the song "Happy Trails" - led by Aunt Tami.  We would play until 3:00 in the morning, or until whomever was in college had won enough laundry money for the next few months. Jane got to sleep upstair because she was the first to have "greats". Joe and Jarod snored in the recliners upstairs, and we could hear them through the floor.  In the basement, sleeping bags and air-mattresses lined the floor. Jason and Bud blasted their discmans.  Jen used my stomach for a pillow and stole my covers.  Laura cried that she was in hell because of all the noise.  And we loved every crowded second of it.  The next day we crowded into the upstairs living room.  We exchanged tons of gifts, and Joe usually got old-lady underwear.  I can't remember the joke behind it; I just remember it was funny.  And then we ate.  Boy did we eat.  Homemade dressing and rolls.  Real mashed potatoes and gravy.  Turkey and ham.  And the pies, oh, the pies.  Grandma did it right (and somehow we grandkids managed to get out of doing dishes almost every time!)

You see, I watched over 100 people carry away my grandparents' stuff this weekend, and they had a ton of stuff - 60 years worth.  A comment was made about all the stuff, how it just sat there waiting to be sold, a lifetime worth of collecting -- gone.  What's the point? That is when I said that this stuff served a purpose.  It built a family.  And it brought us all back home.  Our home sweet away from home.  The stuff may be gone, but the family remains, and I am so blessed to be a part of this loud, opinionated, dedicated, emotional, party-like-a-rock-star family.

Four Legs Good, Two Legs Better

As a student, I was assigned the novel Animal Farm by George Orwell.  I remember disliking that novel at the time, not because my teacher did a bad job teaching it, or because I don't like a good allegory now and then, but because I could not relate.  What did a farm full of animals have to do with me? (Disclaimer: if you've never read the novel, you should - it will take you all of 3-4 hours to finish.  And if you are really feeling gutsy, study a little bit about the Russian Revolution ahead of time.  History repeats itself in many different ways, sometimes physically and sometimes metaphorically.)  Crazy how an allegory I was assigned to read as a freshman, and now teach to freshmen, is playing out in real life.

I can tell you that I now have a great appreciation for that novel and the message it teaches.  I see a resemblance between what is happening at the state level with education and our state budget, and it frightens me. Why is education important?  Because educated citizens are the only ones who can keep government officials in check.  Right now, I am feeling more and more like Boxer.  That poor, poor horse.  *Spoiler Alert:  He is worked to death and sent to the knacker's yard for slaughter.

Keep writing your representatives, Kansans!  This is not right.  This is not OUR Kansas.  This is "special interest" Kansas.

Online link to a PDF of Animal Farm:  https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/o/orwell/george/o79a/  

Online link to find your representatives:  http://openstates.org/find_your_legislator/

Armor Up

My son Kyle has an amazing friend, a true relationship with a person that I long to have someday. That person is God, and their relationship inspires me every day. Just the other day he came to me in the middle of the night. He said he asked God what to do, and God told him, "Just go get your mom." Then, yesterday he was riding his bike and hit a brick at the end of the drive way. He told me, "Mom, I think I hurt my bone to my penis (???), but don't worry, God is taping it up, and it will be all better."  

Today was the first day of Bible School for my son. He has been talking about it, about how much God loves him, about how he can't wait to see his friends, about taking his Bible. He was so excited. We got him enrolled, entered the room with the other children, and then it happened. My son became an extension of me, clinging to my leg, my arm, my shoulder, anything he could for dear life. He was genuinely afraid; I could see it in his eyes, and it broke my heart.

I probably didn't handle it correctly. I told him if we went home, he had to go to his room.  I was mad, frustrated, sad, embarrassed. I didn't understand what the big deal was - it was JUST Bible school. In my frustration, I hit the steering wheel with my hand.  I had crossed a line.  I was letting anger win.  The other day I witnessed something from a spectator's viewpoint that I pray I never do as a parent.  While taking a short walk to the post office, in the 11 blocks it takes to walk there and back, I heard two different families use the "F" word towards their small children.  The "F" word was not used in conversation with other adults, it was used in a degrading, belligerent way TOWARDS their children:  "Shut the "F-ing" door" and "Get on the "F-ing" porch".  I was stunned, saddened, shocked.  These two incidents have stuck with me.  I have had students tell me that I am one of the nicest people they have ever met.  I am not trying to pat myself on the back, but it is strange to me that more people in their lives are not nicer, that more people find it okay to use such hurtful and hate-filled words towards children of ANY age.  Incidents like this are the reason why I try to be so nice.  They don't need to hear negative words from me, and I knew that my son did not either.

I did not know how to handle the situation with Kyle, but I knew I didn't want to handle it with anger. You see, it is times like this, when I don't know how to handle my son that I know my husband will. (Apparently my eldest son and I are A LOT alike.)  And he did.  He talked to Kyle, and he listened to me cry because I felt I did not know how to parent my son in this situation without hurting his feelings. I want my son to tell me when he feels uncomfortable in a situation. I want my son to leave when he knows that something doesn't feel right.  But I also want him to try. I want him to give his best in every situation.  I want him to try new foods at least once, and introduce himself to new people. I think I want these things for him because I struggle with them so much too. It is painful to see my own struggles in my child. As for my second child, I fear he and I have a few things in common, too - mainly that he has never met a dessert he doesn't like.  

Hours later I can reflect on today, and I know this: I don't have to know all of the answers because God does. I don't have to make every correct parenting decision because of God's grace and forgiveness, the same traits I try to teach my son. I do know that Satan is not some little red devil with horns and a pitchfork sitting near flames. He is a very real being who will use my own children against me when he feels they are getting closer to God. Today I did not have my armor on, ready to fight. But tomorrow, I will do my best because that is, after all, what I ask of my son. When someone asks me what my weapon of choice is, it is kindness. Kindness always wins.

Yes, It's Personal

The actions coming out of Topeka regarding education in the State of Kansas are disheartening and quite frankly, it's personal.   

It is personal because I think that fewer and fewer of those representing us or sending their children to us each day have any idea of what we, educators, do on a daily basis.  Each year, fewer students are coming to school with the items they need for survival -- food, clothing, shelter, money, love, safety.  I was talking with a few of my students the other day. Of those students, two had a parent commit suicide in the last two years; one has a father in prison; one is in the middle of an ugly divorce. My room is safe to them.  It is where they show up if they need a hug, or to be disciplined, or to "rat" themselves out for making bad choices because they know I will find out.  They come to me for food, for advice, for reassurance, and from time to time I get to teach them a little English.   It is no wonder they struggle to learn. For many of our students, simply getting to school is the only battle they can win, and now that battle has become more difficult.

I had a young man sleeping in my seminar the other day.  I usually go a "little" crazy when that happens, but something didn't seem right.  I asked him if he was sick.  He said that he was tired.  The heater in his house had been broken for 2 nights, and it was 25 degrees inside.  He needed to sleep.  He needed to stay warm, so I let him rest for 20 minutes until the bell rang.  I offered him extra clothes or a blanket. He, of course, declined, and I worried about him until I saw him the next day and he told me the furnace was fixed.  It is no wonder why he struggles to learn.

I had a young lady who runs with the popular crowd come find me before lunch, even though I do not have her in class until later in the afternoon.  She asked for a pop tart for lunch.  The kids know I have food (bottom drawer, left hand side of my desk), and they know I will feed them.  She appears to be well off, but from further discussion, has a family crisis that has drained all extra cash at the moment.  She has been back twice for cheese crackers and more pop tarts.    

These are the students that hurt the most when we cut education.  Many of these students, who are already lacking in resources are going to struggle more and more each day.  Many districts are going to cut activity busses that take students home safely from activities that give them a purpose.  Many districts are going to cut teachers, so class sizes will continue to get larger.  Many districts may have to cut art and music programs, and these programs have saved more of our creative students' lives than most will ever know.  And many districts don't yet know how they are going to make those cuts without hurting children. So yeah, it's personal. (Edit 2016: now schools will close if funding is not adequate. This means no lunch programs, no sports, no school starting on time, no custodians or hourly workers will get paid - many districts do not truly know how this will effect their schools yet.) 

I don't write about these instances to pat myself on the back or in search of compliments - walk into any effective teacher's classroom and he/she does the same thing day in and day out.  We do it for the kids because we love our kids.  So yes, when our funding gets cut, it's makes us mad.  I am not mad because I won't get a raise (been there, done that, and I am still teaching); I am mad because once again kids are being hurt and we won't know the ramifications of these actions for years to come.

Anyone with any role in a child's education, whether you are a parent or grandparent, a bus driver, a cook, a custodian, a teacher, a counselor, an administrator, has to write those representing us.  We have to let our voices be heard. Don't worry that you may have bad grammar or don't know the "ins and outs" of a particular bill.  You don't have to write a 5-paragraph essay; a few sentences will do. LET YOUR REPRESENTATIVES KNOW YOU ARE A SUPPORTER OF EDUCATION.  (Edit 2016: be respectful no matter your stance. Hatred and name calling will only hurt your cause. Use facts if you need them, but please be respectful.) If you know or love someone in education, you need to act now. They expect to hear from me; however, to make a difference, they must hear from you.

In case you need to find a way to contact your representatives: 

Open States.org - Find Your Legislator