My Strong-willed Kid and a New Perspective

The past six years have been eye-opening for me as I juggle teaching with motherhood.  So many thoughts that I used to have as a teacher about parents and their roles in the house have changed since I have had my own children.  I get it.  I totally understand. I wish that I knew what I know now...

My oldest son is five.  He is a pleaser.  He cries if I look at him wrong.  He wants to be a leader.  He wants to make us happy.  He has such a gentle heart.  He understands right from wrong, and he understands consequences.  My youngest son is two.  I love him with all of my heart, but some days I look at him and wonder how he can be so different when he came from the same parents, in the same household, who use similar discipline techniques, and who love him just as much as we love his older brother.  He is intelligent.  He is stubborn.  He knows what he wants, and he is willing to dig his heels in to get it.  He has been testing the limits at daycare lately.  Our daycare provider is the most patient woman I have ever met, but right now her patience with him is running thin.  I thank God daily that no matter what he is safe with her.  I also thank God daily that she keeps giving him more chances.

His behavior at daycare is not usually what we see at home.  At home he has a brother who puts him in his place, models good behavior, and encourages him to make good choices.  At daycare, he is one of the oldest kids, so he rules the roost.  In the past few weeks, he has woken up all of the kids from nap time, dumped his food on the floor, torn up her song cards, spent over an hour trying to earn his way out of time out (on multiple occasions), lost the right to wear his cowboy boots - the list goes on.  Negative attention is still attention, right?  As a mom, I began dreading the conversation that was to follow when I picked him up each day.  So what did I do?  I avoided it.  I sent my husband (and wouldn't you know that was the one day in 2 weeks that he had a good day!?!).  

Imagine how some of our parents feel - parents who work two jobs to support a family.  Parents who are doing the best they can to get food on the table and bills paid on time.  And then, the school calls.  I remember as a young teacher calling home to talk to a parent and ending that conversation in disbelief because while I was searching for answers, the mom's response was: "What am I supposed to do about it? You're not telling me anything that every other teacher hasn't said."

This made me really think about the changes we are making in our district.  We changed our spring PT conferences at the middle and high school level.  Instead of a reactive/grade-based conference that  only drew about 10-15% of our parents, we switched to a new, proactive format we call Individual Plan of Success (IPS).  This format allowed us to have a conversation about future goals - not the current state of grades.  We talked about ACT, career goals, college or training plans, military enlistment requirements.  We talked about how to search for "Junior Days" at local colleges, and what it would look like to transfer to a university after a year or two at a local community college.  We talked about character traits, community service, and extracurricular activities.  We talked about the big picture, not what parents can already see when they login to the online grade book.  I listened to one young man tell me that he wanted to be a physicist, so we talked about how he would need to make sure he had good relationships with our science department, and that he would want to take upper-level math as much as possible.  I mentioned to another student the idea of being a teacher - she has one of the kindest hearts I know (not to mention the fact that she is smart and goal-driven).  These were the kind of conversations we were able to have.  These conversations matter.   

When it is all said and done, I will have met with every student on my list and about 80% of their parents.  Surprisingly, I even had a student show up on her own because her mom couldn't make it.  While I was sad for her because she had to come alone, it was pointed out to me that even her story was a success story - she feels a tie to our school, a responsibility to her future, and a need to have this meeting about her Individual Plan of Success.  She is committed to our school, but most importantly she is invested in herself.  

This change wasn't easy.  Our counselors and administration busted their tails to get it organized.  Teachers put in hours of work preparing answers, sending emails, and making phone calls.  We had some computer glitches, some misunderstanding of directions, and even some heated/ panic driven conversations; however, and the end of it all, I can honestly say that these were some of the best conferences I have ever had as a teacher.     

As a parent to a strong willed, yet intelligent child, I found myself thankful for this change.  Every day over the past few weeks, I was not looking forward to picking my own child up from daycare - not because I didn't miss the heck out of him, but because I felt like his behavior was almost out of my control.  At home, we really weren't having the issues he was having at daycare.  My husband and I spent hours discussing ideas and strategies to try to improve his behavior - sticker charts, matchbox cars, cheering and clapping - you name it.  We discipline as a team.  We parent as a team.  We tried everything we knew to do, but alas, nothing has worked.  The sound of defeat is deafening.  It is embarrassing.  I should have this figured out.  It makes me think of those parents who never hear of the good their kids do.  I am not taking away the fact that parents have the most important role in their child's life, nor am I making excuses for parents who choose to look the other way.  I don't think that any school or teacher intentionally makes a parent feel that way.  What I am saying is that we, both teachers and parents, are stronger together, and our students are better for it.  

I love my son, and I truly believe that the toddler I raise today will be the teenager I have tomorrow.  This struggle with daycare, with my kid -  a teacher's kid - has given me a new perspective.  I am thankful that I have a daycare provider who works with us to find new ways to encourage our son to make good choices.  I am grateful that she spends time researching and brainstorming ways to improve their time together.  She is, after all, his first teacher.  Now, I am hoping that some of our parents walked away from these IPS conferences with a new perspective, too.  It is no secret, we both have the same goal - a successful future for our students.







  

Painful Silence

Today, my ears hurt, but it wasn't from loud music -- it was from the deafening silence that filled the room in one of my classes. *Cue Simon and Garfunkel's "Sound of Silence": "Hello darkness my old friend...*  We were supposed to be discussing "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson. This is a great story that causes readers to think about the traditions in which we participate.  Are they healthy traditions?  Are they traditions that lift others up or tear others down?  Do we just keep doing things because it is the way we've always done them, or because these actions are what is best for ourselves and those around us?  I LOVE the ideas this story brings forth, so naturally I was very excited to hear what my students had to say about this story.  I remember reading this story as a freshman.  I remember being stunned at the end -- such a juxtaposition of ideas.  I know the aspects that I love about this story, but I wanted this discussion to be student led.  This class discussion was going to be awesome, right!?

WRONG! Oh, you could hear a pin drop. I have carpeted floors in my classroom, so you can only imagine how quiet it was during our discussion.  We spent a day preparing for this. I provided open-ended prompts for our Socratic Seminar, so my students would simply have to pull discussion topics from ideas they had already thought about. Again, this should be awesome, right!?  And then, crickets.  It was painful watching these students who I love so dearly struggle through a discussion that should be so fun, so passionate. I had about three students participating, and even they were hesitating because they felt like they were doing ALL the talking. First, I was mad. Then, I felt my stubbornness set in: "By golly they were going to discuss and they were going to like it! My other hours were doing a great job, we just need to suck it up and start talking!" Finally, my brain said, "Hey teacher, THIS ISN'T WORKING." So, we stopped. Part of me thinks that I had to quickly work through the stages of grief to let go of this idea - I was so looking forward to hearing their thoughts.

I went to the board, and I wrote four questions down:
1.  Do you feel safe enough to participate in class discussion?
2.  Why is class discussion an important activity for you, as a student?
3.  Why do you hesitate to share in discussion?
4.  What can Mrs. Neill do to help this class discuss literature we are reading?

I asked students to email me. I frequently stress the importance of communication in class, so this worked right into my message. What I didn't realize is that by doing this, it allowed them to share what they think/struggle with/ like about class discussion and even about themselves personally. All said they felt safe. (Yay & phew all at the same time).  Many shared how much they like discussion, but they wished others would share their ideas.  Many shared about fear of failure. Many shared that they struggle to get the words out the way they want them to sound. A few said they feel like they don't have many good ideas.  Some even talked about the anxiety/pain that class discussion causes them. (Those responses made my heart hurt.)  So tomorrow, we will do something different. It is 10:00 at night, and I have no idea what this will look like, but it WILL look different than today. It will be an awesome discussion; I just have to find the right medium.

Oh, and on a positive note, I was able to respond to each email, personally. I was able to give students individual feedback and show them empathy. The idea to have them email worked better than I could have imagined. Tomorrow, I hope that painful silence has left my classroom and collaborative thinking begins.  

***Update:  I used Google Docs as our medium for discussion.  I created a table with three columns: Name/ Observation/Questions from Text/ Discussion.  Students chose a color for their font, and after each comment they would change the text to that color and put their names at the end of the comment.  TEN PAGES LATER, we ended discussion for today!  It was fun to watch it come together! S/O to @JasonKohls for sharing an idea a few months ago that I could modify to work for my class!

I Be Tweetin'; I Hope You Be Tweetin', Too!

I have always wanted to teach.  My dad was an administrator and my stepmom is still a teacher. Growing up as a kid, inservice days meant no adults at home, and $20 for four kids to go buy dinner at the local Mexican restaurant, and trying not to break anything too valuable or get caught doing something we weren't supposed to be doing (like sitting on the roof of the house, cough, cough - not that we ever got caught doing that, wink, wink!). 

Almost 14 years ago as a student teacher, I remember being asked by my fellow classmates if I "had" to attend the dreaded back-to-school inservice.  I thought it was strange that so many were not looking forward to this experience, and they had not even become teachers. I did have to attend because my cooperating teacher felt like I should experience every aspect of what it meant to be a teacher.  I was definitely not motivated by two days of meetings, but I was also not discouraged. I wanted to teach, and I knew it was part of the game, a hoop to jump through, if you will. What I did not realize then was that PD was really supposed to be designed to help me grow as a teacher, not to fill time.  Too many districts use PD as a time-killer, I mean filler.

Teacher inservice has always gotten a bad rap, so they started calling it Professional Development (PD), and now we are supposed to call it Professional Learning (PL) - to which I say, "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, so Romeo would, were he not Romeo called."  Ok, so that was just my attempt to work in some Shakespeare. I am very lucky to teach in a district that works tirelessly to make PD as individual as possible (shout-out to Cindy Couchman and Mary Frazier).  This year teachers were able to sign up for about 6 different breakout sessions that would address areas that we had questions or wanted to improve.  How lucky were we?  Yep, Powerball ain't got nothing on that.

In this tough, financial time in Kansas, PD is one of the first things that a district must cut, which is a bunch of malarky if you ask me because learning opportunities are being taken away from the very people educating our children.  But really, as educators, we have an opportunity to participate in online professional networking that DOESN'T COST A THING! In the past two weeks, I have participated in two "Twitter Chats".  Here's what I've learned about the process:

1.  You need a Twitter account to participate.  I was worried about Twitter because I thought it was like Facebook where I would be sharing information about my kids, etc.  While I could do that, Twitter is my professional social networking.  It is where I go to post ideas about teaching and learning.  It is where I go to learn from other educators, bloggers, and journals.  It is not where I am going to post what my kids got for Christmas from Santa - those updates are for Facebook. 

2.  A Twitter Chat is usually led by one person (sometimes two) who moderates by asking questions.  No one has to invite you - join in if you want to chat and learn from other educators.  Find one that works for you - a time is usually given a week in advance.

3.  You follow these questions by searching the live feed using hashtags. #leadupchat #edthink #satchat are great ones to follow!

4.  The chat moderator will begin asking questions and will post questions about every 5 minutes.

5. Then others post their answers using "A" for their answer and "3" for the question they are answering.  They end by using the #hashtag that is chosen for the chat. (FYI - You can put that hashtag anywhere in the tweet!)

6.  Keep reading the live feed between questions!  "Like" a post.  "Retweet" if you want. "Follow" a teacher who you think has good ideas.  The dialogues continue long after the questions and answers have been posted.

So now, after two Twitter Chats, I know this: A.) I have no clue what I am doing, but that is okay.  B.)  I am still learning how to follow the original posts and times for the Twitter Chats that interest me.  C.)  These fellow educators are fan-freakin'-tastic!  D.) I leave the chat feeling elevated and celebrated by other teachers who value education as much as I do. E.) If you wait until you fully understand it, you'll never start.

Using social media to promote what is happening in our classrooms and to learn from others is not "bragging" - it is sharing.  I am proud of what I do, the people I teach with each day, and the students I teach, SO I SHARE!  Using social media is one way that we, teachers, can change educate the public about what teaching is really like. It is the closest a person can get to being in our classrooms without actually being a student.  So until next time, I be Tweetin'; I hope you be Tweetin', too!  Give it a try.  

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/