on gratitude.

One of my favorite students, (yes, non-teachers, we all have them) enlightened me yesterday.  In prompting students to identify themes in Out of the Dust, one of my faves shared her thoughts.  

“The theme is appreciate what you got.”

“I hadn’t thought of that one, what makes you say that?”

“Well, Billie Jo and her family were covered in mud and dust.  The cattle was basically bones and so were the people.  Billie Jo’s ma died, her brother died and all of this while in the Great Depression and trying to survive in the Dust Bowl.  Billie Jo loved playing music but now her burnt hands barely worked for her.  Oh, and her and her Pa barely speak anymore.”

“Well said.  How does this show appreciation?”

“I guess I just think that we’re always complaining about stupid things, like having to do our exit ticket and having to take off our hoodie.  I mean Billie Jo had to take her state test during a dust storm.”

“So you’re saying that by reading this book, it makes you appreciate what you have?”

“Yes, I think we kinda have it pretty good sometimes.”  

So you see why I love this child so much?  She really got me thinking that day about gratitude.  Beyond being grateful for moments like that, I needed to remind myself of a few of the many perks of teaching.  

What am I thankful for?

1. Unpredictability. I spoke to a friend recently who was considering leaving teaching for something that required a little less mental flexibility.  She described the emotional toll that managing thirty personalities at once, for four hundred minutes a day took on her happiness, and that all of the moving parts leaves her head spinning daily.  I. Hear. That.

In some professions, you may juggle thirty things at once, but they aren’t likely to be human beings with feelings.  Coupled with the fact that these human beings have feelings that they are still learning to self-regulate and we are the people to teach them how to cope during this eight hour per day period (plus the academic part).  Although I can understand the desire of a less mentally taxing job, part of what I love about teaching is it’s unpredictability.  

Teaching is anything but mundane.  It puts a whole new twist on “every day is a new day.”  Sometimes each day you feel like you’re transporting to a new galaxy. You learn your students were replaced with three-headed aliens who don’t know how to raise their hands before speaking and think that backing up their “claim statement” means explaining how their “momma told them, that’s why.” And then there are those days where you get "schooled" by a kid, and then it all makes sense.  

2. Becoming “well-read” on the job.  Do you ever notice that most of the contestants on Jeopardy are educators?  Somewhere along the road of leading deep dives into text and facilitating investigative research projects, we realize how much we never really knew about World War II, the impact of figurative language on a poem, or how lightning forms.

Experiencing life with these little add-ons of knowledge and perspective helps us understand people and appreciate each day a little more.  I mean, I still can’t get over how FDR was elected four terms of presidency.  Four terms!  Why don’t more people talk about this?

 Education is the name of our game, teachers.  Not just for our students; we are all a little knowledge hungry.  And let’s be honest, sometimes it just feels good to beat your friend with the six figure job in Jeopardy.  

3. The kids.  Their love, curiosity, willingness, compassion, sense of humor and feistiness...they really are the reason we do this.  Enough said.  

Sometimes it takes a reality check from our students to remind us how cool our job really is.  And on those awful days that bring us to indeed.com, with the two glasses of wine instead of one, and the flashbacks of the day haunting our me time, we can allow the crappiness marinate for a bit before referring back to #3.  

on responsibility.

I’ve never been one to heavily perspire.  Aside from a die-hard dance-off and my cold, clammy hand outbreaks, I’m not one to sweat much.  But there I was.  

Scaaary. I checked out my reflection in the narrow glass window of my classroom door for a second. Realizing my once sophisticated “ballet bun” now looked like a rained-on bird’s nest and the subtle “smoky eyes” makeup I attempted that morning now looked like two black eyes.  I pondered. What was with my increasing perspiration during guided reading?  

I think I was working too hard.  I had pregnancy brain but no fetus inside me.  I was running sprints in my classroom in chunky, wedged boots.  I was on-edge.  

And how else did I know I was working, too hard?  I began to read my kids’ minds. Their thoughts went something like:

1. Why listen to the directions the first time, or read them at the top of the paper if my teacher will just tell me what to do?  
2. Why challenge my classmate to return the markers he snatched from me, when my teacher will just handle it for me?  
3. Why participate in the whole class discussion, when my teacher will help me with everything during independent work time?  

I was doing the heavy-lifting for thirty kids plus myself. Taking on your students’ responsibilities, both academically and socially can be exhausting.  Beyond the emotional toll, it enables students to depend on you for more than they should.  

Great teachers inspire.  They ask questions, spark curiosity, model thinking and problem solving and keep kids safe.  Great teachers hold kids accountable and share the workload.   

Mounds of energy could be preserved if we stop taking on what, essentially is our students’ responsibilities.  Yes, those guilt-ridden popular mantras, run through my head, too.  Whatever it takes!   No excuses, just results!  There’s also the narrative of: if you don’t do everything possible to make them learn, then you are not doing your job.  They are too young to know what’s best for them.

So when will they learn? And when will teachers stop running around like crazy people and lose the guilty-conscience of never doing enough?  Let’s start now.  We have a tough job and so do the students, therefore, by creating a culture of a balanced workload of thinking and doing, both students and teachers can grow together.  

Teachers are crusaders.  They want the best for their students-ALWAYS.  Somehow on this mission to give students our all, we forget that giving them too much of us can hinder their success in the end.  

Happy Valentine’s Day, teachers.  Spread the love, spread the responsibility, and spread the deodorant extra well today.   

on role models.

When my grandmother was a teacher, things were different.  Solidarity took on a whole new meaning come spring break. Hundreds of teachers from this little pocket in southeastern Michigan packed up their mini-vans and left their typewriters and chalkboards behind for golf, glory and sand dollars, in Gulf Shores, Alabama.  I’m pretty sure the tradition still carries on, and my mostly fond memories (all but the time my dog, Stormy, died) of that beachy southern getaway remind me of how cool it must have been to be an educator in the eighties.  

Grandma Ann spent fifteen years as a beloved elementary principal and decades in the classroom.  Other than teaching me how to read and introducing me to my love for creative writing, she was my first true role model.   She read nonstop and I don’t think she ever quit a book before the finale.  It’s funny what stands out from your childhood. She also never folded in poker.  One thing’s for sure, Grandma Ann valued perseverance.  As a kid I wasn’t allowed to give up and as a grown teacher I wasn’t either.  

Sharing the torch with Grandma Ann, my aunt Laurie showed me what kind of educator I wanted to be.  Like a second mom, she introduced me to the behind the scenes world of teaching.  And like most kids, you think teachers just sleep under their desks and lunch ladies make them pancakes for breakfast.  Do teachers really have lives outside of school?  

Watching my aunt interact with staff, students and parents over time, I realized how much relationships matter, in education.  Yeah, I knew relationships were important, but her success in her 42 years in education was due to her emphasis on building strong relationships in the school communities she served.  Aunt Laurie retired last week, and do you know what everyone commented on in her farewell montage? Relationships. She valued her people and valued relationships.  This woman’s accomplishments are remarkable, and in the end, they remembered this one thing.  

Numerous phone calls to Aunt Laurie in my career, was joined with a handful of standout mentors that changed me.  Too many to mention here.  

Grace who knew me at a dark time in my life-listened, rationalized and let me cry about personal struggles many times, before walking into lead a teacher-packed PD.  As my mentor, she knew how to read me, probably like she read her students in her teaching days.  If I needed a pep talk or a listening ear or a shared story, whatever, she made it happen.  From that point, when I found myself in mentor roles, I remembered how much I needed someone to read me.  It’s hard to compartmentalize life sometimes; teachers need to feel like that’s okay.  

Then there was John-the Robin Williams or Steve Harvey of math teachers.  Nineties dance moves, rapping, celebrity impersonations, theatrical reenactments, you name it.  Lucky he was my coach, since I was about to teach middle school math as a certified English teacher, and it truly would be entertaining to watch.  John took student engagement to a whole new level, but as my coach, it always boiled down to one thing...real-world engagement.  If the kids couldn’t connect, there was no point in teaching; that was his philosophy.  He pushed me to make a fool of myself in the name of engagement, and to aim to think like a kid when planning lessons.  John was right, students remember what’s meaningful.  And fun!  

Today, I have a little piece of my role models’ teaching styles and philosophies in me.  In my early teaching years, though, I was still “finding myself.”  As I grew and failed, took risks and celebrated successes, I eventually developed my own teaching identity.  

Back then, I wished someone would’ve told me that you can’t just replicate your role models’ actions.  I wished it were that easy.  (So did my coaches). Observing, listening and reflecting matched with never-ending questions and deep discussions with my mentors helped me mold into my own version of my best teaching self.  It also allowed me to own it.  I wasn’t being them, I was being me.  

If Grandma Ann were here today, she would tell me the same thing she did when I was six, and twelve and nineteen years old.  Be yourself.  Be humbled and learn from your role models, but be yourself.  

Power to the teacher.