Ode to the LIWP #sol15 Day 14

I always knew I wanted to be a teacher, from the age of 5 on.  I never wavered and easily chose my college, Molloy, because they were known for having an excellent education department and they were gracious enough to grant me a full scholarship.  My favorite courses were my education ones in college and when I was hired to teach 6th grade in the weeks after graduation, I was beyond excited to actually get to be a TEACHER.  

Then, reality hit.....rather hard. Teaching was far more difficult, exhausting, heart-breaking, than it ever was all those times I "played school" in my bedroom with far more agreeable stuffed animal students.  Parents yelled at me.  A student threatened me.  I felt alone and unsure and I worked ALL the time, arriving hours before school started, staying hours after school ended and then working at home.  I was never done with my work and felt like I was sinking.

After having spent my entire life working towards being a teacher, after one year in the classroom, I was not sure if teaching really was for me.  I remembered when I was student teaching, a creative and wise teacher had told me about a group she was part of, the Long Island Writing Project (LIWP).  That year, they were holding a Summer Invitational Institute, which was an 18 day, 90 hour course where teachers from all grade levels and subject areas would come together to reflect on themselves as writers, their classroom practice, current research, and share a lesson with each other.  I knew I needed help if I were to stay a teacher, because it was clear I had a lot to learn.  I applied, was accepted, and thus started my love affair with the Long Island Writing Project. 

That first summer, the course was held in the T building, known as "the Tower" at Nassau Community College, on the top floor. On the first day, I boarded the elevator and rose up, not sure what to expect from this group and if they could help me find my way as a teacher.  I was greeted by friendly faces, who welcomed me in and showed me to the coffee and bagels.  The tables were arranged in a circle, we made name tags, and then the day began.  Always, we began with a "shared reading", where someone would read to the group from a picture book, excerpt from a novel, a news article, a poem.  After the reading, we wrote.  We wrote about anything that caught our interest and nothing you chose to write was wrong.  We would share our writing, and I was amazed how one piece of shared text could elicit such incredibly different, beautiful pieces of writing from each person.  The reading, writing, and sharing helped our community grow around these pieces of text and our comfort with each other grew day by day as we let more and more of ourselves out through the writing. 

The group was diverse.  Some seasoned and experienced educators, including the nicest man named Chuck who had been an administrator before it gave him a heart attack and he knew he needed to go back to the classroom.  Others were just starting out, like me.  We met in grade level groups to plan the lesson we would share with the larger group and we met in writing groups to read the pieces we were writing and planning on bringing to publication at the end of our course.  

To call the experience "life-changing" sounds cliche, but it was.  I found a group of teachers who loved reading, writing, teaching, talking about teaching, and who were just so kind.  This summer is the reason I stayed a teacher and tried again with a heart full of hope and faith that I could do the job.  I stayed connected to the LIWP and in the summer of 2004, I interned as a co-facilitator, now getting to be one of the organizers of that amazing summer course.  I've often found that experiences are hard to duplicate, so I was doubtful that I would have the same inspirational experience. Wouldn't you know, it was fabulous once again to be with the LIWP and a new set of teachers!  The same magic happened.  The same type of community developed around this love of writing, reading, and teaching.  

I facilitated the Summer Invitational Institute for 5 summers and the teachers I met are among the best I know.  I was a demo coach in 2010, the year I was pregnant with my son, and still, the experience was transformational, the teachers I met still counted among my friends.  This summer, I am stepping back into the facilitator role.  Times have changed much, our hours are less and I know technology will have a greater starring role, as well as some conversation about "the tests."  But there will be reading.  And there will be writing.  And there will be sharing.  And I know that I am about to be part of a community that will renew me again. 

This morning, I am meeting my LIWP friends.  One of our best and brightest, Evelyn, is going to share her strategies for making the Common Core more alive, using authentic writing experiences.  Yes, on a Saturday morning, we are meeting to read, write, and think about teaching.  We are that kind of group, who finds joy and energy in those conversations.  The Long Island Writing Project is my professional home away from home and, as the saying goes, there is no place like home. 

It's the Engagement, Stupid #sol15 Day 13

     They are never ready for their "Ready New York" books.   I call it their "favorite red book" but we all know it is their least favorite thing to do, aside from marking up words in Fundations.  I find it somewhat amusing that they are never ready to do "Ready New York" work and they are always disengaged doing "Engage NY" modules. 

     Our recent English Language Arts module centered around frogs.  Bullfrogs. Toads. Tadpoles.  Weeks and weeks of frogs.  The first book in the module, Bullfrog at Magnolia Creek, actually elicited boos and jeers when I attempted to pull it out for the 8th day in a row.  They were drawing a line in the sand and begging me to forgo the frogs.  New to third grade and the world of "modules" (the word alone strikes me as cold, futuristic, sci-fi-ish), I was trying to follow the handy-dandy script written for me on the Engage NY website, which tells me each time I open it that these are "Our students.  Their moment."  Well, MY students had too many moments of frogs and if they had tomatoes, I think I would have gotten hit with some while attempting to get them to "close read" yet another part of the bullfrog book.  I had to abandon ship.

Looking at the module, the "gist" seemed to be that researchers read many different types of texts when studying a topic to learn all they can about it.  I wanted my students to see the possibilities for wonder and learning that you find in nonfiction.  I decided to engage students in topics they care about and have them research and become an expert in something other than frogs.  

As you might guess, the interest, spark and, dare I say it- ENGAGEMENT- was through the roof.  I was impressed by their choice of topics, completely self-selected.  Amelia Earhart, Legos, the Titanic, Megladon sharks, Mexico, Manatees, Elephants, California, Karate...they all found something different to research, something they personally cared about.  After doing research in books and online, our fabulous librarian taught the students (and me) how to make Google Slides presentations.  If I thought they were engaged before, they were having that "moment" in a big way now.  They took to Google Slides like little digital native ducks to water.  Changing background color, inserting pictures, creating catchy headlines for each slide, they worked happily.  One student said to me, "This is the first time we did something not boring before lunch." (Thanks, Anthony).  But I kind of know what he meant.  

The fact is, students need choices and room to explore what they are passionate about while acquiring literacy skills.  You can jazz it up all you like by saying "READY NY" but who is ever ready to read a boring test preparation book with dry passages and complex, wordy multiple choice questions? And unless you REALLY love frogs an awful lot, would you be engaged in an Engage NY frog module that stretches for weeks and weeks on Kermit's ancestors?  

The day after we learned how to make Google slides, two of my students went home and created brand new ones on other topics they were interested in exploring.  This, to me, says it all about the relevancy to their lives, their curiosity and excitement for learning this new visual way to share information.  Nobody ever said, "Wow, I'm going to do more of these fun Ready NY lessons at home tonight."  But they did create new slide shows at home and were eager to share with their classmates.

Learning is social.  Learning needs to touch your emotions.  Learning needs to have an element of self-direction.  Learners need choices.  Creating something is a highly motivating way to show what you've learned and allow you to express your individuality.  Engagement....oops, I said it again. 

Thankful Thursday #sol15 Day 12

Thankful Thursday: Honoring Mrs. Skeggs

     Every Thursday in March, the Farmingdale Federation of Teachers, to which I belong, is taking time to thank a teacher who made a difference in our lives. I would like to thank the late Mrs. Colleen Skeggs, my preschool teacher.

     I stand in the back row, second from the right, one friend away from Mrs. Skeggs.  I look thrilled.  I've heard that I didn't have the easiest time separating from my mother during this, my first school experience.  The stories actually go that I sobbed so much that my mother sobbed too.  Eventually, she had a neighbor drop me off at school which seemed to help with my separation anxiety.  In this picture, taken in the early 1980's, it is funny to see my classmates as little kids, about my son's age now.  I still see many of them on Facebook- accomplished, successful, parents themselves. 

    I was only four at the time, so my specific memories of Mrs. Skeggs are sketchy.  But when I think of her, I think of a warm, loving, caring teacher.  I remember her talking about her son, who was just about our age, if memory serves me correctly.   

    As an adult now, I see how young Mrs. Skeggs was, how beautiful.  It makes me sad to know that less than ten years later, Mrs. Skeggs passed away from cancer.  I attended her funeral and it was heartbreaking to see the young children she left behind, along with many devastated friends and family members.  Many of her former students were there, to honor her life and her legacy.  

    When I was thinking about which teacher I would honor this week, my thoughts kept returning to Mrs. Skeggs.  She was my first teacher, my first experience knowing what a teacher is and does, helping shape and mold my knowledge of teachers.  I wish I could tell her that growing up, all I wanted to be was a teacher and I grew up and did just that.  I wish I could tell her that I truly value preschool teachers, especially now that I am a parent to a preschooler and his happy days full of learning and joy mean the world to me. When your child is a preschooler, you are just getting used to letting go, to letting other adults have a starring role in your child's life.  It is a big leap and having a trustworthy, caring, sensitive and knowledgeable preschool teacher in your child's life is paramount.  Mrs. Skeggs was that teacher for me and she set me on a path to loving school, loving learning, and now as a teacher, I strive to help a new generation of students experience that, too.  

     Mrs. Skeggs, you introduced me to school and walking in a line, using scissors and glue, holding a pencil (I still don't do it right).  You created a classroom with songs and laughter and joy and blocks and pretend play.  I know I cried and was probably a bit of a pain, but I thank you for being so kind to me. Thank you for showing me the power of a teacher and setting me on my journey to becoming one.  Your influence lives on and so does your beautiful memory. 

The Difference A Year Can Make #sol15 Day 11

     My daughter, Megan, turns 2 this Sunday.  Last night, I was feeling nostalgic for her little baby self and pulled up some videos from last year.  There was one where she sat in her high chair, trying out the word "cheese" for the first time.  Her vocabulary at 11 months was limited- Dada, cheese, sock.  Fast forward a little over a year and she now sings full nursery rhymes, says long sentences made up of many words, knows all her colors (including aqua).  Where a year ago, she had just a smattering of hair, now her signature trademark is her 2 blonde pigtails.  A year ago, she was just starting to toddle, pushing a toy for support.  Now, she runs, climbs stairs, hangs from rings and walks the balance beam at her Little Gym class.

     What a difference a year makes.

    I was thinking of this in light of our youngest learners in school.  Yesterday, I sat in a meeting before it was my turn to discuss my students, listening to a colleague discuss her struggling first grade readers.  Questions were asked about the amount of words read in an minute, reading level, strategies used and why this little one wasn't making appropriate progress.  Everyone's heart is in the right place, wanting this child to progress as a reader.  I just can't shake the feeling that we are rushing our kids. 

     The bulk of my teaching career was spent in kindergarten, where the abilities varied so much.  Some kids started almost at 6 years old while some were still 4.  Some kids could read books and others couldn't recognize their name.  A teacher's job is to meet kids where they are and help them get to the next level, whatever that might be for that child.  But then we started "expecting" kids to read at a certain level and tying in teacher evaluations and livelihoods to that expectation.  It was a game-changer, in my opinion.  We had no time to spare anymore, no time to give them room to develop at a slower pace, no time for patience and faith that they could do it...in time. 

    I've read that in Finland, the apparent center of educational excellence, they don't start formal reading instruction until the age of 7.  A friend of mine who attended a school for the gifted said the same thing about learning to read- they just didn't start that formal "teaching" until later.  Clearly, that gift of time has been beneficial for the highest achieving. 

     Yet our lowest achieving students are assessed on their reading skills all the time.  Weekly progress monitoring, frequent bench-marking.  Lists of words to read.  The pace set as it is because by the time they are in third grade, they will need to be able to read passages set a 6th grade level on a state test. 

    It doesn't make that much sense to me. 

 I don't see all this frequent measuring making anyone a much better reader.  What if we slowed it all down and gave them some more time? Maybe a year would really make a difference.

I am no expert, I have no doctorate.  I am just a teacher and a mom that worries we are putting a lot of pressure on kids who would be able to do all that we ask....with just a little more time to grow. 

Megan at a year

Not yet 2....but so much bigger!

Would You Like to Swing on a Star? #sol15 Day 10

"Would you like to swing on a star?
Carry moon-beams home in a jar,
Or be better off than you are,
Or would you rather be a....."

(If you can't get that song out of your head now, or are feeling nostalgic, check out the song here:)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWKXU0ApF08

     As a kid, I loved that song where you might rather be a fish or a mule until you realize that there are some not so nice things about being something else.  Yesterday I read Dev Petty's adorable book I Don't Want to be a Frog! to my third graders.  We are doing our "module work" (visit engageny if you still have the pleasure of not knowing what I am talking about) which is a nonfiction focus on frogs, rendering my students not the biggest fans of those amphibians.  So I thought the book would add a little levity, which it certainly did.  But it got me thinking......why do we so often wish we were someone else?

     Today I plan to read James Howe's beautiful book, I Wish I Were a Butterfly, same theme.  In this story, it is a cricket who is dreadfully unhappy being who he is.  Of course, the irony comes at the end when a butterfly flutters past, listening to the cricket play a song and thinks to herself, "I wish I was a cricket."

   

   My friends, the grass truly is always greener on the other side.  I still struggle with this from time to time.  I see the organized beauty of my colleagues' classrooms and think, why can't I keep my papers in better order and have such gorgeous charts? I see my sister rock an amazing shoe and think, why can't I make myself wear pretty heels? I see coaches and consultants walk with confidence into classrooms that are not their own and work with a group of children they aren't familiar with, and I think, why can't I have the confidence to be able to do that too? 

    But I am who I am, as Popeye might say.  I wore ballet flats on my wedding day (to my stiletto-wearing sister's horror) and danced the night away in comfort.  The heels would have made me miserable, and it was more worth it to me to be happy on  my wedding day than hobble along in pained beauty.  Try as I might, I can't keep a clean desk and the papers and ideas I have are many, the organization few.  I will keep working on this one, but I will understand it is more my nature to gather lots of ideas than to neatly sort the ones I already have.  While I am scared at the possibility of boldly charging into a classroom that is not mine and commanding attention, I do command attention in the room that is mine and it is a gift to get to know a group of students well, over time, day in and out.  

     Our students (and us) live in a culture where huge profits hinge on getting us to believe we could be better if we were like someone else.  That is the premise of advertising.  Life would be better if you were tanner, thinner, smarter, faster, richer, more famous, more like the Kardashians.  Through the literature we share with our students and the words we convey, I hope we can at least present the other side of the story: You are you and that is beautiful, just the way YOU are.  Butterflies are spectacular creatures in nature....but come to think of it, the crickets are too.  

   

Blessings For the New Week #sol15 Day 9

May the pencils all be sharpened.  If they are not, may the pencil sharpener work.  

May everyone be healthy.  If not, may they make it to the garbage can in time.  

May there be patience.  If not, may I at least be able to fake it.

May there be joy.  If not, may I find a way to infuse some. 

May there be questions.  If not, may I ask ones that make students wonder. 

May there be kindness.  If not, may I lead by example and show kindness to all I encounter. 

May there be enthusiasm.  If not, may my excitement light the way for learning. 

May I be humble enough to ask for help, generous enough to give my time to someone who needs it, brave enough to teach from the heart, wise enough to do the right thing in all circumstances.  

May I find balance so I can be present for my own family too and may I put myself somewhere on the to-do list so I can keep doing all the to-do's with some semblance of sanity.  

And may you too. 

Alex: The Bear of My Heart #sol15 Day 8

Alex

"There are so many bears in the world, dear, but no other bear that will do.  You are the bear of my heart, dear, and I am the one who loves you."  

     The beautiful words in Joanne Ryder's book, Bear of My Heart, made me tear up as I read them, my large pregnant self awkwardly perched in the tiny seat in the children's section of the Wantagh Library.  Though I didn't know my baby yet, I knew he would be the bear of my heart.  

     My Alex is now nearing four and a half years old and it is hard to remember that there ever was a time when he was not here, filling my heart.  He was the baby I prayed for desperately, the one I wasn't sure I could have.  Test results said my chances of having Alex were not very good, yet another reason I hate to put any faith in tests.  One month later, with just the smallest of interventions from a specialist, as I hid in my classroom closet on my cell phone to hear the news, the happiest, life-changing words were said: "Congratulations, the test came back positive." 

     Alex arrived two days before his due date, on an Indian summer October day. As he came into this world, relief flooded over me that he was here, but then a quiet panic when I didn't hear him cry.  And then bells rang and the room filled with people.  Donna, the nurse who had given us our prenatal class, was fatefully the nurse who assisted in delivering Alex.  She reassured me he was okay, "just a little stunned." Apparently, the umbilical cord had tightened around his neck as he was born and he needed a little assistance.  Gratefully, blessedly, thankfully, he was fine, although his rough entrance bought him a ticket to the NICU for a few days.  They only let me hold him for a couple of minutes before he had to go, but when they placed him in my arms, my world clicked into focus, forever changed.

     I looked at his little face, the one I had desperately wished for, the bear of my heart, and I said, "Yes, of course it is you!" He was the unknown baby no more, he was my Alex, here and his very being was so recognizable, like we had always known each other across time and space.  They took him from me, because tests had to be run, he needed to be monitored, and they thought I needed some rest.  

    A few hours later, I finally got to see my baby again.  I was wheeled into the NICU, and as the nurse picked him up out of his plastic crib, I gently said, "Hello Alex" and his little head turned right towards me.  The nurses said, "Oh, look, he knows your voice."  We knew each other, a bond so deep and ancient yet brand new. 

    Life is full of many moments and most pass you by, never to be thought of again, while others are burned in your soul, to be relived and called to mind often. Holding Alex for the very first time and having him turn to hear me, the  first moments of this precious relationship are among my most treasured memories. 

"No matter how big you may grow, dear, or whether we're near or apart.  I will love you forever and ever, for YOU are the bear of my heart."