It was the Cookies that did it

And we are off and running.  A much calmer run than the past two years, but the heart rate is up, the endorphins flow and ebb, the end is far and the starting line is beginning to fade into hindsight.  The class this year is 10 students smaller and exponentially sweeter, gentler, and kinder than the past class. On day two I realized they may become one of my favorite classes ever, the one that I remember in the future as being a time of joy of being together and loving learning together, and standing up against the bad times together.

It all seems sappy, I know.  But it was the cookies that did it.  I got cookies today--a month into the school year.  An entire tube of girl scout peanut butter sandwich cookies.  They were on my desk when I returned from the morning rush of high fives and I forgot my homeworks and it's Friday Ms. Mitchell! and, and, and...there were cookies.  I asked who gave them to me as we lined up later and no one took credit.  Well, one kid did but he was teasing.  Then a shy little hand went up and the girl attached to it said it was her.  I thanked her and quickly calculated if I could split 10 prepackaged cookies into 29 parts to share as a whole community...still working that calculation out 2 hours later as tears welled up in my eyes.

The cookies, it's the cookies making me cry. The sweetness of the gesture is touching, but the tears are because the cookies mean more than 10 carb laden treats given from an average student to an average teacher. They represent a beyond average little girl.  She is a bright, amazingly respectful, caring child who comes from extreme poverty--she takes a school provided food box home with her every weekend.  Her family receives help from the community resource office at their low income apartment complex to provide enough staples to nourish them.  There are no cookies or sweet treats in those food boxes or community room food pantries.  And this child got some cookies from somewhere.  And this caring child wanted to share her fortune of sweet treats with me, her teacher, on a sunny Friday after a week of rain. 

So, I sit here eating my leftover mac and cheese staring at the cookies and thinking how to share my good fortune with all of my students. So, today's math lesson is going to be how to divide 10 cookies into 29 parts--cause the best fortune (and sweetest treat) I have to share with this class is learning and this little girl and her classmates are going to get their fair share.

One of those "just the right moment" moments

I have to go to work tomorrow (most of us do, really there's nothing special about it). But I don't want to. I don't want to commit the energy to getting up and making it a worthwhile day for all involved.  I'm still a bit bummed about the general state of education, etc. etc. etc.  But I just stumbled upon this article:
Drop Out Has Thanks, Not Blame for Teacher and I am feeling a bit better.  Still deflated, but maybe not as weighed down by guilt. I love those moments when what you need finds its' way to you unexpectedly and unsought.

Teaching Numb

I'm detached.  Nothing that the students do phases me.  I'm teflon. It sucks, because while it is fabulous with the "bad" behaviors, I find myself distrusting the "good" behaviors.  Children who seek my favor out are just kids who would do that for any teacher.   Students who work hard to please me would work hard to please any teacher.  2 students wrote me private notes today and I responded knowing full well that they would have written any teacher a private note, it had nothing to do with anything "me".
I showed up, I taught, I did my job and I left.  I didn't feel like I had made an error and I didn't feel like I had made a difference.  I felt indifferent--like I had done a job.  Teaching is not a "job."
Teaching isn't supposed to feel like that.  I know what teaching feels like. It feels like heartache.  It feels like elation.  It feels exhausting and invigorating.  Teaching feels.  But I'm numb. 
I'm torn.  Numb is good.  Numb doesn't hurt. It doesn't anger. Numb doesn't.  But because it doesn't feel,  it doesn't light that fire that gets me out of bed extra early.  It doesn't recharge my sense of place in this world. 
I hate numb.  I prefer defeat to numb.  I want victory, but I'd take anger.  I might even accept sadness.

Loss of a Runner

It is with great sadness that I write this post.  I got the news today that I lost one.  Truly and completely lost one. Potential gone, hope gone, belief that it's all worth it gone. I want to quit (and frankly lately I want to quit a lot) truly and unequivocally quit, change jobs.  Throw in the towel, crawl into a dark hole and recognize that I will never make a difference and even if for some strange shining few years it appears that I did--know that it won't matter, in the end it won't have mattered. Because I am not that great and I can't overcome any struggles the kids have.  Life is real--their time with me is fleeting and I am not actually that good. My students' successes are not due to anything special in me, my claiming of any role in my students' successes are mere stealing of another one's actual success.
I'd like to end this with hope, with redemption.  But for now I don't feel any.  I feel defeated.  I feel deflated.  I feel like I have to get up again, convince my students that I believe it'll be different for them.  That they won't give in to the world's vices around them.  But I don't feel it tonight. Because tonight I go to bed knowing that I've been wrong.  For the past 5 years, I had a former student I thought of on my hardest days, the student that I remembered whenever I had a moment where I thought I couldn't go on, the student who came in had an amazing growth--went from throwing desks to student body president, the student who made me believe in myself.  Well, he was a lie because in the end the lure of drugs, the lure of a different outcome--well, that won.  And I lost a runner.  I lost THE runner. And for now I've lost myself.

The Cell Phone

Simple, really.  Silver, a flip phone.  No bells and whistles, simply designed to "gasp!" make calls and text. It sat in the white tupperware container for 9 days.  No student claimed it, we all knew whose it was.  She wasn't returning.  And we didn't know if she ever would.  As each day came.....and went.....it sat there amongst the other students' belongings during the day and alone all night. 

Then winter break came and I took it to the office.  Cradled it in my hand, knowing deep in my heart that it belonged to someone I would never see again.  I handed it over and labeled it with her name--and swallowed as the reply came, "she moved, we got notice yesterday." It hurt, even though I knew it.  It hurt because she didn't deserve that.  She had already bottomed out--well she hadn't but her mother had.  Where was there to go but up? 

But there isn't always an up and sometimes at the bottom of that pit is someone with a shovel, digging an even deeper hole.  And sometimes that shovel sits in the hands of a person responsible for other lives--lives that have no say.  Lives that have yet to be lived and who must remain in limbo, waiting for a ladder instead of a shovel. 

But all I had was a cell phone, and a disconnected one at that.  So, if you, dear child, are the owner of that simple silver cell phone and you land somewhere you can use it, call me.  Because I packed it full of love and hope and best wishes for you and I'd like to know that you received it.

Lessons from the one that leaves first...

It's never easy losing a student.  It's not even really easy when it's the hardest student in the class.  But it's rarely the most difficult child that leaves. 
I have notice that one of my students is moving and tomorrow is his last day.  I've known for a couple of weeks, but to have the date of departure looming so close is disheartening.
This child is a great kid.  Socially, the kids respect and look up to him and that is a good thing because he is a great role model. Academically, he's right where he needs to be.  Asks all the right questions, is not afraid to try and is just an all around great kid. 
As much as I want my class size to go down I hate losing students to accomplish that. 
I was telling my husband that the student was leaving and he asked who.  When I told him the first name, my husband noted that I had never spoken about that child at home.  My quick reply was that of course I hadn't because this kid was an easy kid who didn't test my patience. And that stopped me cold.
How terrible is that? To not be able to spend time reflecting and improving my teaching with the kids that are not challenging me.  When I come home and talk about my day it's very cathartic and leads to a reflection that improves my teaching.  So, with the class size I have this year and the number of students with intense behaviors, I have been so focused on the 15 that are driving me insane that I fear I am not giving enough to the kids who come in and do what they need.
How much better of a teacher would I be if I reflected on my work with the kids that were at grade level.  Isn't that where my teaching should be focused--my expectations should be the same for all the kids.  If I spend so much time reflecting on students who need more to produce less, am I also lowering my expectations for the others. 
How unfair! How biased! How do I fix it? 
As this student leaves my classroom this week I have so many hopes for his next school experience: a teacher that focuses on him as well as his peers, a class size that allows him to experience relationship, and high expectations from all the adults in his life so that he can rise to them. And for the students who remain.  I have the same hopes--and the challenge is on me to create that experience for them.

Tea for all and all for tea

It's been an interesting year.  Each day brings new learning--and not just for the students.  It's a constant balance of ying/yang.  When I feel we are settling into routine and I get comfortable, the routine shatters. And I am becoming comfortable in that. 
I find myself torn between wanting my students to conform and wanting my students to be themselves.  I recently have been focusing my thinking around two thoughts:
"We must not be content to allow children to color outside the lines, we must strive to teach them to."
and
"A society without norms is chaos"
So how can I teach these children that it is both okay to not conform and at the same time there are certain rules to living among a group?
When a student asks me if something is okay to do (and frankly, I am just happy they know to ask!) I am working to stop my immediate answer of yes or no.  Rather, I try to step back to think what it is that they are truly asking and whether or not it is my right/responsibility to answer for them.
Out of this flux has come an interesting new "norm" in my classroom: travel mugs.  They adorn at least 5 desks now.  And hanging out of each mug is a string with a tea label attached. 
It started one day when a child asked if they could have something to drink at their desk.  Instead of saying yes or no, I simply replied it had to be healthy and in a closed container.  A fine balance of societal norms and free will.
I expected water bottles.  I even expected Gatorade (kids seem to think that is the "healthiest" drink in the world.
Then the first travel mug showed up.  And the next.  And then the request for hot water came.  Sadly, we found out that the kids are not allowed to partake of the filtered hot water tap that staff use.  But the travel mugs remained, and I noticed that the same tea label hangs from the mug each day.  I never see the kids drink from them, I assume they are awaiting hot water.  Others have been filled with coffee, but these, too, remain untouched.
I find it interesting that the kids are striving to be individuals by drinking that which I drink.  And I wonder if there are other things I do subconsciously that the kids are also emulating.  I need to be cautious and thoughtful in all I do. 
I also need to support their individuality.  I need to buy an electric tea kettle so that the kids can partake of their tea--and maybe find out they don't like it at all!
The weather has turned and warm liquids in the classroom seem a good thing.  A colleague suggested a crock pot for cider. I am thinking that a new norm we can all agree on might just be having warm tea/cocoa/cider available for all to choose their favorite.
I only really know one thing for sure and that is simply, I will never know if I have taught a child to color outside the lines, but I hope to always know that I taught kids how to live a true life--true to themselves while also being true to the people around them.