We all have teachers we do not soon forget. Long after our schooling days are over, memories of their character stand out as recollections of the kind of people we wish we could emulate, or the sort of people we are determined not to become. As a high school student, I had no inclination that I would spend my days as a High School teacher, and certainly visions of "Señorita Bonita" ~ Freshman Spanish Profesora were as far-fetched as they come. I was destined for greatness, far from the confines of spending my days with hundreds of hormonal 15 year olds.
As a Freshman student, my first experience with High School English set the tone for much of my learning and love of grammar and literature, no doubt mainly due to my class with the ethereal Miss L. Miss L was purely radiant, fresh out of college, tall, blonde, gorgeous, all business, and dressed to the nines. My best friends and I talked about her non-stop, kept a daily tally of her clothing in our notebooks in the rare event that she wore a repeat outfit, knew that as a first year teacher she had to appear overly strict, and secretly wondered about her love life. We loved her newness and simultaneously hated her hard-nosed approach to grading. We thought we had her figured out, but she was an enigma and we were hooked. My Senior year of English brought me full circle, back into her classroom to fulfill my Composition requirement, after previous years with other educators; I am sure I could dig deep to remember their quirks and nuances, but of all my teachers, none stand out so poignantly as her. By that time, she had loosened up a bit, and my friends Paul and Dave did their best to get her to crack a smile at least once each day; getting her to laugh at their antics was a monumental achievement. When this happened, her laughter filled the room, her bright smile made you feel as though you were gifted something few other students had the privilege of knowing. We knew we had something special with Miss L. Then one day, there was a shift, a somberness, something different; we could tell that all was not well. Expectantly, we waited to hear from her. In a rare moment of vulnerability, fighting tears, she confided in us: she had been proposed to the night before but could not say yes. We gave her space and treated her heartbreak with reverence - her pain was palpable. Privately we could not figure it out (because when you're 17, it is unfathomable that anyone would turn down a marriage proposal). Perhaps there are remnants of this lesson that have shaped the way I conduct myself in front of my own students so many years later. I sometimes wonder about the stories they may tell, or memories they will recall from time spent in room 131. It is not lost on me that my energy, enthusiasm, heart, and soul speak to them; that I have the incredible responsibility to leave them better at the end of each day with lessons that hopefully challenge and inspire them. Hopefully those lessons aren't just about culture and language, but speak to something deeper: our human need for connection, bravery, and kindness. In recent years, my focus in the classroom has mainly been curricular, occasionally choosing to highlight rare personal snapshots of my private life; in part, it is self-protective, but also it is because my role as an educator has shifted. My colleagues talk about their children & spouses, their favorite sports teams, pets, hobbies, and celebrity crushes as a way to connect on a different level with their students. All of this serves a purpose of connecting with myriad students whom we have twelve weeks to instruct, inform, and assess. There is so little time to do it all sufficiently well. A few weeks ago, my student Rem told me he had two goals in my class, neither of which were curricularly-based: in essence, his mission was to help find me a date. As it so happened that morning, I couldn't help but grin (really, I tried to be cool), and remarked under my breath that I may not need his assistance after all; instantly there was a seismic shift as he sensed there was a story - one which I had not planned on sharing. Before long, the entire class wanted to know about my coffee date with 'Mr. Mystery'. I gave them enough detail to answer a few questions, but not enough to compromise my (or his) privacy; eagerly, they awaited any update I might have to offer them in the following days, while I tried desperately to redirect attention to all-things Spanish. As is the way in so much of life, there is much to be learned from even the seemingly smallest interlude; there was no second date. Telling my students this less-than-desireable outcome was not exactly easy, but it was important. Because at their age, they are looking for guidance, acceptance, direction, perspective. There are many things I don't have figured out in life - but one thing I am sure of: our kids need us to be honest, real, open, and at times, vulnerable with them about the things that matter most. They are watching us navigate adulthood and will make decisions about the kind of people they will become in response to the way we handle various situations, particularly those which are disappointing and those which leave us questioning. They are watching us, eyes wide open, as we choose whether to offer others grace or anger, peace or spite, resolve or revenge. I am reminded of Miss L.~ in some ways, how similar she and I have become. Never in my wildest dreams would I have pictured my days spent in the company of 600+ 15 year olds. Never did I imagine that I would find a sense of greatness in the daily grind of four classroom walls. And yet, what matters more to me than the way I deliver my lessons, or the ways in which I find creativity in the classroom, are the life lessons I share with those I hold close to my heart. I am grateful that I let my guard down just enough to let them see this other side of me ~ my vulnerable heart-side. I am grateful for my posse of teenage pals who understand that their teacher in many ways is just like them, albeit a tad older; all of us are on the same road toward discovery and acceptance, with a good dose of courage thrown in the mix, as we journey forward - together - through the uncertainties of life.
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As educators, we are trained to collect and assess data. We collect statistics that reflect student growth and achievement, student attendance, GPA ranking, SAT/ACT scoring . . . just to name a few; the list is lengthy. These numbers reflect a host of variables, but they do not paint an accurate picture about the ACTUAL PEOPLE they reflect: People with names, students who are not mere numbers, but skin with souls.
Most recently, the data that I cannot wrap my mind around is the latest statistic: Seventeen. I refuse to wrap my mind around this because it is unthinkable. Seventeen children and adults who will not return home to their families and loved ones. Seventeen lives who in every way are as much my students and colleagues, even though situated states apart. Seventeen souls who will never fulfill their potential because they were gunned down in the very place they were learning to prepare for their bright futures. One troubled soul responsible for this nightmare; by proxy, countless others accountable to the rest of us due to their lack of follow-through and diligence, thereby allowing this to happen in the first place. This is unconscionable. I wonder at the pundits and politicians; their streaming endless dialogue reeks of empty platitudes . . . it does nothing to bring them back. And I am leery that it will do much to curb this wave, this tidal wave, of fear, anger, grief, shock, and loss. Because it's more than a mental health discussion. This is more than a polarized gun issue. This is more than school safety protocol and implementation. It is more than a student-led movement begging for change . . . though it feels like the start of a very tenuous something. Because while it is all of these issues converging together in a perfect storm, as I see it, the root of this matter is clear: This is a heart issue. When will we start collecting and assessing correlative data between our students broken hearts and our broken homes, broken schools, broken political policies, and broken nation? Because this is what's really at stake. The very heart of our children, communities, and government is broken. Our collective hearts are in tatters over this latest tragedy because we are a people of broken hearts. Indeed, we are broken hearted. We need mending. Perhaps it is the smallest consolation, if there is one, this thought: These sacred Seventeen have now shaped a national discourse; we can no longer ignore the gaping hole that continues to rip us apart. We can not continue to leave these myriad issues unadressed. The way we move forward will speak volumes as to how we mend. How we move forward will illustrate the degree by which we honor them. How we tackle this monumental devastation and loss will define how much we value their sacrifice and reveal the tenor of our collective hearts. I hope and pray we find courage to charter new territory where fear no longer sits in attendance in a classroom desk, where it does not reside in a locker, where it cannot penetrate through an overhead projector or reflect glaringly from a chalkboard. We must find a way to radiate kindness and compassion, goodness and selflessness, acceptance and love to each other, especially as adults, because our children are watching and their very lives depend on it. Despite more colorful leaves, seasonal flowers and flavors, and today marking the first day of the Fall Equinox, Summer is putting up his dukes in resistance and giving Fall a run for his money. Those of us who did not have air-conditioned rooms fled the dismissal bell, withered and wilted; my car thermometer registered an astonishing 100 degrees, an indication that we are indeed, in a state of flux, hesitant and reluctant to transition into the coming season and all it has in store. Because when you live in West Michigan, you get used to the temperamental weather patterns, and of course, there is much that can be learned about life from even this.
As teachers, the very definition of our jobs is transition. It is seasonal, as our 10 month calendar suggests, and it is monthly, as those of us on a trimester schedule know all too well. Our students come to us for curricular instruction that feels akin to a mythical round of speed-dating, as we teach them for a rapidly paced 12 weeks, in which they are asked to perform and undergo assessment as if they were on an 18 week semester time-frame. We ourselves navigate the integration of technology and it's usefulness in delivering meaningful content to a generation that has only ever known life with a computer and cellphone, and as adults, we must keep up. And, our students come to us hourly: 30 students in 72 minutes, with all of their own nuances and strengths and weaknesses, IEP and 504 plans, and teenage hormones. Just as not one student is the same, not one class is identical in comparison to the next. This is what makes teaching wonderful, stressful, hilarious, exasperating, and legendary. As teachers, we navigate all of this transition and change because it is the very nature of our occupation. Flexibility is just as much our identity as are our names. But more than that, we do it because we we are difference makers - change seekers. We are the open door to self-discovery, vision and dreams. We are the pathway that illumines the future. This year, again, we find ourselves in transition: returned from a summer break, our staff is adapting to building changes that aren't weather related. We ourselves must adapt to new methods and guidelines for professional development, and revised rubrics with new protocol for administrators' classroom observations. Most notably we have welcomed staff who have filled in the vacancies retired teachers left behind - it is refreshing to meet these newcomers with differing perspectives and experiences that will help move us into a new year. Yet, the absence their predecessor's left behind them is palpable. These seasoned educators with more than 100 years of teaching combined left an imprint on students and staff alike that will be hard to replicate. Kim our Media Center Wiz helped provide an expert eye and assist in trouble-shooting the tech challenges surrounding any and everything: promoting the latest good read or Newberry Medal to enhance Literacy, creating a common space for students before and after school to get a start on their homework or just connect with friends, providing a power-cord to recharge a dying cell-phone or iPod, navigating the precarious Internet to teach students about their on-line profiles and helping to promote safety in searching the web, scheduling the lap-top rotation for classroom usage and assisting in the sometimes tricky issues encountered when introducing new technology platforms to the masses. On a few occasions, Kim helped me locate resources I needed as I worked on my Master's Degree. Indeed, Kim's wide ranging talents helped to fill in so many gaps. Deb our Counselor extraordinaire offered unshakable fortitude and perspective for students and staff in ways too numerous to list. She was a master when aligning teacher needs with class scheduling, advocating for mental health awareness, cheerleading teachers who needed a bit of a morale boost, and recognizing the power of setting clear and consistent boundaries, all while promoting self-care. Deb was the voice of clarity and reason in sometimes muddled and confusing times. Personally. she was my cheerleader at a time when I thought no one else was; without her guidance and reassurance, this job would have felt insurmountable. I owe her much more than just gratitude for her input and wisdom. Lois, our Teacher Consultant and resident Special Services Guru had the uncanny ability to smile genuinely, speak with authority, to see any situation exactly as it was, did not sugar coat to make a tricky situation more palatable, and always maintained with grace the dignity of student, parent, and teacher. Lois taught me that it is always right to stand up for oneself especially in the face of self-doubt, and that telling a parent or student "no", is not setting up barriers to learning, but opening different doors to success. Lois, the pro negotiator, always with a smile, up for anything, spent her first weeks as a retiree in Costa Rica with me, maneuvering students through airports and hotels, zip-lining and white water rafting with the agility and endurance of someone half her age, but more than all of this, always a champion for all students to reach more than their potential. As we return to a new school year with new possibility before us, we are left with a choice: how do we embrace change? I hold on to memories of my friends now in retirement who are facing their own transition outside of the profession - undoubtedly they will carry their strengths into the next phase of life and continue to shape lives in new ways. My former colleagues have been change agents in an educational system whose very definition is built upon change. It is my hope that I can take the very best parts of each of these women who honed their craft and set an example of greatness for educators like me, who still have much to learn. It is my hope to continue the legacy they left behind them as I continue to master the art of teaching. My students deserve nothing less. When I think about it - school is something I have done for the majority of my life. And I think I have a pretty balanced perspective on it, as my experiences are varied enough: Kindergarten through Twelfth Grade was spent in a uniquely parochial environment, College an equally distinctive experience at a private institution, and Graduate school a combination of Parochial University and an Online Learning Forum. Interestingly, the entirety of my teaching career has been in a Public School system - in a district which functions like a well-oiled machine, and one that has taken, admittedly, some getting used to since I did not grow up a Public School student myself. My life has always focused around school, its' calendar, norms, vernacular, and ever-evolving ideologies about best practice in the classroom.
So, when my 20th Reunion rolled around, I decidedly pulled out my High School year books, photos of me back in the 90's at Homecoming and Graduation, and even my diploma; a flood of memories that I had long since forgotten reminded me of all of the reasons I value education as I prepared to go and meet up with classmates I had not seen in two decades. I would be lying if I said at the time I felt confident and at ease with myself as I prepared for the occasion. In fact, mentally, I had to do a fair bit of positive self-talk prior to the event as my mind was spinning; because for all of the confidence I have developed, my life today looks very different than the life I'd imagined for myself 20 years on. It is a life which I could not envision as a graduating senior from High School, and therefore at times, has caused me to feel lacking somehow. Twenty years later, society tells me I should have accomplished more, done more, have more, and be more. While I have experienced some real triumphs and successes, I have also encountered life-changing moments that at times, I have wished away. I wondered how exactly does one navigate a social situation where having not seen one's peers for such a long while, find courage to muster up conversation. Furthermore, how does one dialogue about the highlights (along with the knowledge that the tough stuff of life is a part of it) in an effort to maintain appearances? Because really, up until this point, any news I've heard about my classmates has been highlights: marriages, children, career advancement, travels to exotic places, and the purchase of new homes. All of this got me thinking: Are we forever doomed as a society because we have gotten into the awful habit of comparing ourselves to other's 'highlight reel' which social media portrays so brilliantly, and thereby potentially creates a sense of discontentment and unease within ourselves as an unintended by-product? Clearly - my internal thought process was spiraling. What would my classmates think of me? Because for all of the wonderful parts of school, there also are challenges that do not really disappear 20 years later, no matter in which school you attended or work. In every school setting, there are the distinctly defined groups of students (and teachers too) which delineate clear lines in the unspoken but very present pecking order of things; the athletes, the academics, the alternatives who always find a way to do things 'outside the box', the bullies and the bullied . . . and on and on and on. This is a culture I know well. I was not sure what to expect walking through the doors, but I hoped that perhaps, after 20 years, these lines would not matter so much, or be so evident, but that maybe, the differences of our younger years would be something to be celebrated in our adult lives. My uncertainty gave way when what I encountered was really, unexpectedly refreshing. I should have known better, but the realization was two-fold and rather epic: My precious classmates (many of them since elementary school) are remarkably grounded adults because we grew up in a uniquely grounded, Faith-oriented environment; and also, TIME is a great equalizer. I did not have to posture myself or my current situation in the best possible light. My peers certainly did not have a need to do so, nor did they care about some fake version of me that just would have seemed inauthentic. The members of my Tribe are notoriously down-to-earth, real people, and they are precisely this way because they have each had life challenges of their own with which to contend and navigate into adulthood. Specifically, fifty of us grew up in a climate where we were educated alongside students with glorious ethnic and economic diversity. From the earliest ages, we were introduced to the very real needs of others, all under the umbrella of a Faith community; it was there that we sought refuge and found safety. It is no wonder then, that the natural response toward each other was one of genuine care, gratitude, and gracious empathy. Because life is hard, and we are imperfect, but we are all in it together. I marvel at these childhood friends who, despite their hardships, or precisely because of them, are making our world more beautiful, more real and authentic, brighter and better. They are the shining examples to me of what it truly looks like to overcome adversity and to allow one's life to be a lesson for others. We took time to remember and offer tribute to five of our classmates who have passed-on and are no longer here; we honored their struggles - some horrific, yet all of them tragic, and remembered that none of us is immune. None of us has matured into adulthood unscathed: stories of addiction, divorce, domestic violence, chronic health problems, unemployment, infertility, gravely sick children, financial difficulties, experiences with legal ramifications due to mistakes and missteps, in some cases - prison, the death of parents and spouses . . . the list is long. In the twenty years since we graduated from high school with high hopes for our future, life happened, dreams deferred, and we became the people we are today. The illusion of perfection that we thought could be attained as adults vanished with the cold-hard reality of Life. Yet, this wonderful truth stands out just as clearly: we became the people we are today because we are resilient. So many of us have chosen professions of service; numerous are Educators, both in the classroom and at the administrative level and we serve students from preschool through college and at the graduate level, as close as Grand Rapids and as far away as India and Thailand. We serve our communities through Social Work, Pastoral Care, and in the Medical Sector, caring for those who need a life-line. We provide jobs for our communities as Business Owners; we entertain thousands on Broadway and Abroad. Some of us are making giant waves at the local level, pursuing social justice reform, and others of us live entirely 'off the grid', instead choosing a smaller way of life that is equally as worthy. We are parents and partners and singletons. We are so much more than our labels may reveal. We are imperfectly human. When I think about my students, the incoming and outgoing Freshman, along with newly minted graduates, I am reminded of the myriad reasons I value education, for there is much to learn. My hope for them is that they learn to pursue excellence in the things that give them joy. My hope for them is that they learn what it means to be kind and gracious to others whose lives look so very different from their own. My hope for them is to one day value their own story and come to see sooner rather than later, that their imperfections can be the impetus for offering hope to others. My hope is that they learn grit when life gets hard, and in the process become resilient. My hope is that it does not take them twenty years to learn this. About a month ago, I ran into a former student at the local grocery store; she was just checking out with her dad, and I had popped in for a few items, so we met at the door. I am always surprised by time - and how quickly it flies by, because it has been two years since she was a student in my Leadership elective. If there is a down-side to teaching in a building full of Freshman, it is that I lose complete track of them - and time - once they complete 9th grade and move into the Upper-classman building. We chatted for a few moments; it is always so good to catch up.
And then she revealed what was on her heart in the current moment, "I am just feeling really nervous and anxious about my SAT." Because in Eleventh Grade, this is a big deal - it is the thing that every college-minded student becomes consumed with: how will I perform, and what future will that performance offer me? It seems that whatever the outcome, it is the hinge around which everything else revolves. In fact, we offer a class for students to help them prepare for this examination. There is much emphasis placed on this week of testing and the opportunities that await them if they score 'well enough" and "high enough". Grace is not alone feeling this way. Our Counseling Office has seen a notable increase in student depression and anxiety over the last few years - and sadly, it is not going away. Our district has sought to thoughtfully address these issues with a focus on Developing Healthy Kids, Capturing Kid's Hearts, the Renaissance Program at the High School level, and Staff Professional Development, all based around the common desire to help students reach their full potential while combating the stresses of modern day, suburban, American life. So, upon our return from Spring Break, life on campus had a very different focus. In addition to Staff Professional Development, last week, at the Freshman Building alone, we completed 1,100 individualized standardized assessments from two different vendors (College Board and ACT) with two different communication styles, timelines, requirements, and trainings. The 10-12 Building administered further rounds of PSAT, SAT, WorkKeys, and M-STEP testing. Indeed, it was a team wide effort with all hands on deck, as administrators and teachers alike sought to sort, distribute, proctor, collect, and repackage all exams. Now, we await the scoring and distribution of the results, some with more anticipation and trepidation than others. I found myself in a moment with Grace, wondering how to speak into her anxiety; for a driven student such as herself, a life-long passion and consequent dedication to competitive dance, bi-lingual from Kindergarten, her nervousness about what the SAT would reveal about her was palpable. Because she, along with her classmates, have been taught along the way that their placement and academic achievement are reflective of the kind of people they are. How the heck did we end up here? Since when did these pressures become the impetus for an increase in student services surrounding mental health? When did the need to be number one trump the way we treat others, and most importantly - the way we treat ourselves? When did we stop seeing that failure or disappointment or 'low achievement' sometimes is the best motivator or pathway to lead to success? That effort, practice, hard work - blood, sweat, and tears - the process, is maybe the thing that counts the most in the end. That our character development is much more important than the results of a standardized test; our character development - honesty, integrity, sincerity, generosity, grace & persistence, is perhaps the test itself. Last week, Grace (along with her classmates) sat for hours, filling in corresponding bubbles to questions in a test booklet with her identifier a mere number. She will be ranked and filed, and judgement calls will be made on a variety of levels about her next future steps. So, what did I say to Grace? I reminded her that she is a person, not a robot, not just a number and that who she is is enough. I encouraged her to just breathe; in stressful moments, how often we forget to do just this simple act; a small but mighty act of grace for self. And I reminded her that in the end, all of her academic career has been pointing her to these moments. With a little - or a lot - of sweat and tears, Grace will be ready, at the proper time, to launch into her bright future, which will care so very little about the number she scored on a test. Her future will depend on her strength of character to get her through whatever difficult task is at hand, and she will rise to meet it because she has been preparing to do so all along. A number of years ago, on my way to a physical therapy appointment, braces supporting both legs - and crutches under each arm, I was introduced to an acquaintance of my mom; she was leaving a Dr.'s office in the same building and mentioned it had been ten years since she survived a near-fatal car accident herself. In my fragile state, I remember wondering at the time what ten years out must feel like. Ten years felt so very far away, so very uncertain, so very unattainable. My vantage point was locked in the present and that future felt like it would never come.
Today it is ten years later and I am her. I am that woman. Today, ten years later feels like everything and nothing all at the same time. Ten feels monumental and minimal. Because with little difficulty I can go back there in a moment - loud noise and white shadow. Trapped. Shattered. Those recollections are as deeply a part of me as is the rod that runs through the center of my left femur. And yet at the same time, I dwell in this present moment safe and sound, fear and terror a distant memory. Ten. Ten mirrors dear family, neighbors, and friends who have chosen to stick by me, along with those who have not. Ten resembles colleagues' empathetic understanding and unending patience, along with those who lack it. Ten are my students, whose smiles brighten, antics entertain, enthusiasm contagious; their stories compel me to continue bringing my best self, even in the moments when I've not been at my best. Ten looks like speech pathologists, neurologists, physical and occupational therapists, counselors, surgeons, and more in the medical profession; dedication to their occupation has contributed toward the advancement of mine. Ten is the successful completion of graduate work and an advanced degree. Ten is travel to six countries, adventure, and beautiful experiences that reaffirm my place, hopes, and dreams. Ten represents the fight and so many countless moments of subsequent release. The purposeful and often painful shedding of self and letting go of things not meant for me. Ten is the line of demarcation: the old life married to a new outlook; a perspective shift; an altered mind, a changed physicality, a refreshed soul. The scale of life tipped in a different direction, toward a new balance. A new normal. Ten is a broken body that has healed, at times, much more quickly than a broken heart. Ten is love lost and life gained. Ten is nowhere I expected to be and so much further than I was; there is still so much more I have to learn. For sure, Ten has seen more than it's fair share of brokenness. But for certain, Ten has been repaired golden beautiful. So if you find yourself at the beginning of your journey, or somewhere in between - and Ten feels so very far away, please take heart. You will get there - eventually. Have patience with yourself; give yourself Grace. Let yourself sit for a bit, for as long as it takes, and acknowledge that feeling broken hurts; and after a while, allow it to change you. Watch the gold seep into all your cracks and crevices and see yourself transformed. Ten is new. Ten is a start. And it begins today. "Nick for President" is a common phrase I hear often enough in my 3rd hour Leadership Class. And I believe that future for him is altogether achievable; because Nick is one of those kids who is naturally gifted with 'smarts' (read between the lines: he doesn't study and still pulls a 4.0+ g.p.a), a killer smile, an interest and affinity for current events and the ability to convey his thoughts in a clear, relatable, and articulate manner, fabulously supportive parents, and a maturity that is well beyond his years. From the outside looking in, Nick is the kind of young man who has it all.
And if I'm honest right now, I'd rather this 15 year old version of "Nick for President" in our current unsettling climate. And here is why: because while Nick looks like he has it all together, he does not. In truth, Nick knows that he is fallible, and it is this very quality which makes him so remarkable, honest, and humble. Simply put: Nick is teachable. For you see, while Nick's I.Q. alone is incredibly impressive, it is his Emotional Intelligence, developed out of some dark places, that makes him all the more exceptional. Recently, Nick let us in on this more private part of his life. We all sat slack-jawed and stunned to learn about Nicks reality, at just how hard these last few years have been. Because we didn't know. And how could we? Nick has been fighting battles that were his alone to confront. And confront and slay them he has. When he'd finished speaking, I reached out to offer an affirmation and a hug and noticed (through my blurry vision which required multiple kleenex) his shaking hands - nervous hands that were the only indication in his calm yet confident demeanor the amount of the courage it must have taken to let down his guard and let us in. "That is how you give a speech, Nick. That is how you become brave", I whispered. For in sharing about his secret struggles, Nick had once more fought through challenges that some of us will never know because he took the chance to be vulnerable, and approachable. In this moment, Nick became so much more admirable because he got real. I do not know who Nick will develop into as a man, and it is entirely possible he could be our future President (I'm keeping my fingers crossed); but, I'm fairly certain the lessons he has learned as a boy will profoundly shape his future and the type of man he eventually becomes. I feel privileged that for a time, I've had a window to glance through, a chance to witness this boy maturing into a young man right before my eyes. It is a gift I do not take for granted. Nick: we are all rooting for you. Recently, I read an article where Michigan was ranked as the state with 2nd worst winters - directly following Alaska. Contributing factors listed the cold, amounts of snow, length of the season, and shocking LACK OF SUNSHINE. I think it's safe to say, we've all been feeling the gray skies and dreary fog pretty acutely lately.
But. Today is uncharacteristically a sunny, clear-skied 56 degrees with remnant snow melting rapidly, serving as a reminder of hope, warmth, light, and renewal. And even though most certainly, snow, ice, and gray will cover Western Michigan again for the unforeseeable future, I need this reminder today. Because simply put: this week has been a particularly noteworthy one. Yes: we had our 4th snow day (due to ice) and as always, the unexpected cancellation of plans feels like a little gift for both teacher and student. Yes: my students rallied with enthusiasm as they gave illuminating speeches on the meaningful relationships they honor in their lives. Motivated Freshmen highlighted these important people by bringing them in for a visit - a one year old baby sister, elementary aged siblings and cousins, parents, and yes - even Princess, a therapy pony, descended upon room 131 for guest appearances with all the joy and excitement you'd imagine. Yes: Conferences brought to light some of the best, and sadly, worst I've seen in a long while. Yes: the 45th Inauguration took place, along with all of its pomp and festivities (and yes, rallies and protests too) and collectively we witnessed some of the best and worst we've seen in a long while; because we are a fractured people and dissonance runs deep. So today, on a day where the sun is shining and the dirt is pliable, I found myself seeking perspective by digging away the debris of a garden left in disarray after a rather untidy Fall left me unable to tend to it satisfactorily. Because life gets messy. Because there is a feeling of relief when we get to the tidying up of things. A sense of making right the things that have been left undone for a little too long. In these moments, where we find ourselves in tension, may we dig, as deeply as we must, to find courage and grace, respectful honesty along with kindness, when we encounter disunity and frustration. May we choose our words with careful intention so that they seek to heal and empower, rather than to tear down, and destroy: Because words give life and they also bring death, and cannot be taken back. May we choose to respect our relationships over the need to be right. May we choose to be the sort of people that honor each other, despite our differences: Because we are all in this together. There are times when classes just "click". For a variety of reasons, students feel comfortable with each other, with me, with the pace of the class, with curricular demands, and enter the doors of room 131 with exitement and anticipation, eager for more. These classes are easy to fall in love with; everyone is tracking in the same direction (me included) and what we accomplish in a term feels enjoyable, doable, and honestly, a bit heavenly. Educating these classes feels nearly flawless. There are other times when, for a variety of reasons, the struggle is real. Students find it challenging to be respectful, responsible, accountable. Because kids carry much on their shoulders, and inevitably, these burdens cross the threshold of room 131; anxiety, academic deficiencies, health problems, friend frustrations, hormones, and so much more. Inevitably, these challenges work themselves out in countless ways in the classroom. As a teacher, you never know what kind of mix is in store for you, but you know with the start of each new term, you will be tested, and you must find ways to navigate the unknown. My Leadership Class is one that uniquely tackles myriad issues; I feel privileged to call students out of their comfort zones to try something new and different. The process is never painless, as growth requires an attentive yet sturdy resolve to reach toward the unknown in the hopes that when all is said and done, self-discovery is brighter, better, beautiful, more. To be sure, growth isn't always pretty. Last Spring, a particular class challenged me in ways that most days left me puzzled, questioning, and wondering how we would finish strong, or if and how we would finish at all. To say I called on reserves I didn't know I had is putting it lightly. This class challenged each other and they challenged me. BUT. Little by little, their growth was apparent; so was mine. As we prepared to dismiss for the summer, after weeks of shennanigans, HORMONES, and countless re-directing, this class came together; a cohesive unit of encouragement, insight, and yes - friendships, emerged. Curious about this change of classroom dynamics, I asked them one final question: What is something you've learned since we started? Their answers speak for themselves. This class grew in ways I couldn't have anticipated; and the great thing is, I did too. Because growth can be glorious. Because growth can be treacherous. Because growth - wherever we are - means reaching. Reaching inward to find a strength we didn't know we formerly possessed. Reaching outward to find the help we need, and are sometimes too afraid to ask for. Reaching upward so that we are left changed, emboldended, brave; better. Because growth isn't easy. But it is worth it. I just returned from a whirlwind trip to Rome. The purpose of this incredible opportunity was Professional Development with other like-minded educators who desire to give their students tangible educational experiences out of the classroom. READ: NON-BUTT-TIME, REAL LIFE, EXPERIENTIAL LEARNING.
I learned of this training tour last Spring and hastily made my reservation; my motivations were varied enough, and I was eagerly anticipating this trip to Italy and all it might offer me. Because I'd been on my game - finishing Grad School, kicking it in the classroom with confidence and enthusiasm, feeling physically and emotionally secure and strong. So, Italy? Absolutely! And then: a major interruption. A month before departure I was involved in a fluke car accident and it quite quickly shattered all of my determination and focus. Wounded and traumatized - frustrated and angry that this could happen again to me, I wasn't sure how I'd make it back in the classroom, let alone abroad walking down cobbled roads. The reasons I'd previously had for this trip disappeared amidst 11 Dr.'s appointments, attempting to voice-record papers due to a non-functioning right hand, missed parent conferences and work, and a massive round of antibiotics that left me feeling sicker. Feeling weak, depleted and uncertain, I boarded 3 planes and overnight, landed in Rome. And something miraculously wonderful happened: I found myself. Because somehow, facing great challenges has always been a defining thing for me; because somehow facing them in a new place with new people ignites me, pushes me, strengthens me, reshapes me. For me, the previous reasons I had initially when signing up for this trip were not the reasons I ended up with leaving Rome. I walked through the Vatican's Jubilee Doors of Mercy and found grace and peace that I'd previously been missing. I climbed Colosseum steps with titanium strengthened legs and felt like a gladiator defeating her foe. I saw the Sistine Chapel and was left breathless - speechless. I made Tiramisu and Gelato in a former Cardinal's apartment and felt creative, connected, a part of something larger than myself. I sat by the Trevi Fountain and collectively wished with my friends as we tossed coins over our left shoulders. I met other educators who are changing the world in lovely ways all across the United States: *Katie from Louisiana who is spunky, fun and grounded, cannot get her fill of Gelato, and teaches (Latin) and Spanish with the same curriculum I use *Richard from Virginia, who teaches at a large public high school and loves God and People in equal measure. *Olivia, a 4th year Art teacher in Ohio, enamored with Audrey Hepburn and all things Rome, a gem of a gal. *Brian from Maine who is a second career HS History teacher - a mix of East Coast and Midwest, humble, and constant, ever watchful and perceptive. *Freddy, Cuban American, former pianist turned HS Spanish teacher in New Jersey, with a heart of gold and an affinity for strong coffee and anything seafood. *Sam, 2nd year teacher in a Classical Charter School in Dallas, TX, who knows so much and still so little, with dreams big enough that could fill two lifetimes. My new pals - people who helped shape this trip into a million memories that I will cherish for a lifetime. People who helped me realize that even when I'm not at my best, when I feel like I don't have it all together, that I am enough. These strangers who helped me feel at home in a foreign country made me feel alive once again. Rome - you were just what I needed, even though I didn't know what I needed. Rome - you taught me tangible lessons that I will carry with me forever. Rome - I don't know when, but I'm coming back for you. |
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