Soapbox: The Way I see Things

#SOL20 Day 3: Story Stand-Off

Day 3 of the Slice of Life story challenge. Here goes:

“Go ahead. You can do it,” she urged.

Lainie drew a breath, huffed it out and rubbed her face with her hands. “But I don’t actually want to,” she whined. “Can’t I just…you know…write some poetry or personal narrative? I’m sure it will turn out much better for all involved.”

Her friend pursed her lips, then caught herself before snapping back. She paused a beat, then asked, “What’s that you always say to your students? That you DON’T have to like everything you write?”

“Oh, THAT’S unfair. Throwing my own words back at me. Niiiiice.” Lainie scooted her chair back, closed the laptop and jammed it into her bag. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Hey! Aren’t you the one who’s all, like, ‘Be brave!’ and ‘Push your thinking’ and all of that nonsense? Where does that go for you?” cried the friend.

“I said it worked for writers, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it,” Lainie retorted. “Quite frankly, I’m just not comfortable writing narrative fiction. It’s kind of like sardines. I’ve tried it enough times to know that I don’t like it. And I’m the grown-up. I should be able to like what I like and be okay with it.” Lainie slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to the door.

“Hold up, hold up,” the friend cajoled. “Yes, you are most assuredly a grown-up. And yes, you are most welcome to have your own opinions. But I’m not the one who has to face your students and tell them you were a scaredy-pants.”

A silence, thick like resentment, settled in the space between them.

Lainie dropped her bag and eyed her companion. “Say that again.”

Her friend, undaunted, met her glare. “I. Said. You were a SCAREDY-PANTS.”

Rolling her eyes, Lainie said, “I thought that’s what you said. You can’t make me write narrative fiction. Nobody can. Nobody will. It’s nothing to do with scaredy pants or shirts or scaredy anything. So there. I’m not writing narrative fiction.”

Story shrugged and sighed. “Suit yourself.” She made her way out the door, but not before delivering a final smirk over her shoulder.

#SOL20 Day 2: The Find

There it was, glistening like a coin dropped to the bottom of a pool.

She glanced down and shrugged her shoulders – probably not worth the effort to pick up. I mean, she thought, after all, she considered, what on earth, she pondered, would I even do with it?

She thought a moment at this prize, this gift that lay before her, if only she would take it for herself. Oh heavens, she mused, I’ll probably regret not grabbing this, won’t I.

She fixed her gaze, held her breath, and dove.

Coming up for air, she contemplated what she now held:

Found time.

#SOL20 Day 1: On Carrying Stories

Today begins a commitment to thirty-one days of writing. Thirty-one days of stories from my life, from school, that I am putting out into the world.

It makes me think about stories, and how very much I talk and think about them. I carry them with me, and I encourage my students to do the same. Stories are wonderfully portable. We can roll them up into a ball and stick them behind our ears, shove them in our pockets, slide them into our shoes and carry them home so we can pull them out later, stretch them out and give them some air. This is especially helpful when we hear a great story and want to keep it for ourselves, or when the idea strikes us for a story at a random time.

But sometimes, stories hide from us. We sit expectantly, pencil in hand, or fingers on the keyboard, and nothing pours out. The wait becomes discouraging. Frustrating. Maddening.

What’s hard, then, is knowing that a story doesn’t hide from us because we’re poor writers, or because we have nothing to say.

What’s hard is knowing that sometimes a story isn’t working out because it’s just simply not ready to be told. That it needs to wait until the time is right. That it’s not about us. Sometimes, just sometimes, a story isn’t ready for us. But don’t worry. It’s there, hanging out, just waiting for the right time to make an appearance. And then, if we are meant to tell that story, that story will offer its words.

What’s hardest is teaching this lesson to my young writers. To teach them that perhaps the reason why words and ideas sometimes escape us, and perhaps the reason stories refuse to come together is that THEY are not ready for US, and not the reverse.

It is not our failure as writers that we get stuck. It is not a shortcoming to feel an absence of words. Rather, we can take it as a sign nudging us in a different direction.

Today, I think I got lucky. Words came to me for this post, and for that I’m grateful. I’ve got a lot of other writing I need to accomplish today, and I can only hope the words continue to be as kind.

This month, I’m not sure which stories will come tap me on my shoulder, will come pull my sleeve, demanding for me to tell them. I’m not sure which ones will peek around the corner and beckon me with a wave before scuttling off, giggling, into the distance.

I guess we’ll find out. Thanks for taking this journey with me.

Poetry, Found

If you had asked me today whether or not writing poetry should be on my to-do list, I might have laughed at you. But knowing that the universe has a way of conspiring, and knowing that grocery list poetry is a thing in this world, I felt compelled. What I loved were the ways this poem unfolded and surprised me in ways I didn’t quite expect. Enjoy.

Poetry, Found

In the way-too-early morning,
In my hurry out the door
Obligations (too many for my own good)
Slung from my shoulders, my back –
I catch, among the rocks,
Someone’s grocery list
Delivered to my doorstep,
And I wonder:
-Whose list is this?
-Did they ever get their pancetta?
-Do they always cook like that?
-Or is it for company?
-And can I be invited?
-Is it true what they say, that there is poetry in lists?
-And why did this one find me?
-Did it blow out an open car window,
            On a warm February day,
            Unexpected?
-Did it slip from the wallet of a grown-up,
            Anxious to get going?
-Is anyone missing it?
-How do they know what they’ve got?
-How do they know what they need?
-And how many things
            Flutter away
            With no one to feel their loss?

-(c) Lainie Levin, Feb. 25, 2020

Exhibit Q, R, S

“So, Lainie. How do you know you’re working with gifted kids?”

I present to you an obituary for…wait for it…

an EXPO marker.

*Note the many fine text feature*s, *accurately applied*

People, I can’t make this stuff up.

Earlier this week, we read Leo Lionni’s obituary to learn more about him as an artist and as a person. To understand that text, we had to discuss what exactly an obituary is. It just so happened that day we had to deep-six an EXPO marker that had gone south.

Today, my kiddos surprised me with the above gem. What do I love so very much about this? How do I know my fourth graders have already won 2020?

For starters, they’re completely true to form. I mean, c’mon. After a single day of exposure, they included the ACTUAL TEXT FEATURES of an obit:

“Photos” of the deceased
*”Send flowers/Send a letter”
*Information about his life
*”He was survived by”

And did you catch the “skinny purple” adopted child?

Or maybe you’d like to see how the “funeral” went down:

*Please note the crocodile tear sketched in to the photo*

Or, if you are in our classroom, you’d like to visit poor Purple Expo’s grave:

Days like these, I am immeasurably grateful for my students.

Know who else I’m grateful for?

Their homeroom teacher.

Their classroom teacher actually allowed all of these hijinks to take place, trusting her instincts that they were up to something interesting. She is the one who knew that even though the kids were a little noisy, even though the kids were a little giggly, even though the kids were a little silly, that they were up to something good.

We know they were.

And stuff like this is 100% worth the price of admission.

So Much for a Soft Landing

I meant to take it easy on my kiddos today. I really did. They’re just coming back from break, and I was fully prepared for a slow start to ease them back into big ideas, big thinking.

It all started when I realized we needed to finish up our conversation about Dr. Seuss’s allegory Yertle the Turtle.* I asked the kids to discuss what Seuss was trying to say about the world through the story. You know…we need fewer Yertles and more Macks in this world. I thought it would be a five-minute wrap-up.

I thought wrong.

We started as a whole group but I quickly saw most kids had more to say than they were getting the chance to share. We used a partnering activity to encourage conversation.

What followed was astounding.

At the end of our time, I asked kids to reflect on a thought they’re feeling most strongly. Here’s a sampling:
*Do dictators realize it when they become a dictator? If they do, then why do they want to be one?
*If becoming a dictator is a transformation, how do these people not realize that they will be more accepted as a leader if they change their ways?
*Why do people get greedy in power and turn allies into enemies?
*Power is often built off of emotion.
*There needs to be someone who will say, “enough is enough.”
*Why does America not let as many refugees in, though they deserve it because it is dictators that force or drive them away?
*Are we (the United States) better than our others?
*Who is our friend? What don’t we know about our enemies?
*So far the world has never come up with a solution that gives us complete world peace. Human greed has made it so that many of the problems will be extremely hard to solve.
*Sometimes it feels like the people have no voice. They have to listen. And to me, it feels meaningful. I wonder why such terrible things must happen, and they keep going on. We can’t just live in peace. Why?

How on earth did a brief task develop into a discussion of dictators past and present, of power dynamics, of why those in power abuse it, of why citizens elect dictators in the first place, and of what we can do to notice and fight abuse of power?

It’s easier than you think.

Simply put, I noticed my children NEEDED to talk about these big ideas. They watch this world. They think about this world, and they have more to say about it than they (or the people around them) give them credit for. They just need someone to hear them out.

I don’t know quite exactly how we got to these places, but BOY am I grateful we took the detour.

So much perspective and wisdom wrapped up in the minds of ten- and eleven-year-olds. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

*YES, I do know how very problematic Dr. Seuss is, especially when juxtaposed with conversation around social issues. I promise we’ll get there =)

Sometimes Things Go Well

Sometimes I just need to take a moment.

There are sometimes days when lesson after lesson goes haywire, when I don’t have the materials I need at the school I need them. Or when technology throws a wrench in my best-laid plans. Or when all of these things work, but the kids just. Aren’t. Feeling it.

Today was different.

Today went better than I had expected or imagined, and I owe it to myself to enjoy it.

It started with last year’s third grade mythology unit. I wasn’t happy with it. The kids read stories, and they liked them, but missed the overarching idea that myths help us examine and answer the really big questions in life. I needed a different approach.

So this year, I waited to start reading the myths, and started right out of the gate with big questions. Where did we come from? Why do bad things happen? Why are humans so different from other animal forms around us? Kids wrote their own stories to explain these phenomena.

That’s when I knew that I could push them in a new direction. We could talk about how across time, and across cultures, people have ALWAYS wondered about big, important questions. And how across time, and across cultures, people have ALWAYS come up with answers.

Myth.

I then read aloud from (my very favorite!) D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths, starting from page one.

Oh, I wish you could have been there.
I wish you could have heard the kids as they realized how very many big questions these stories answered.
I wish you could have felt the excitement as they leapt from idea to idea. From question to question.

Next week, I’ll get to teach this same lesson to my loveys at another school. It’s possible that they will greet these ideas with the same love and enthusiasm. It’s also possible that this lesson will crash and burn. (It’s been known to happen.)

For now, though, I’ll take a moment to appreciate how things can sometimes go well, and call it a win.

On Gathering Moss

Elementary teachers have a solid reputation as pack rats. And for good reason. The sheer amount of STUFF it takes to teach elementary school is mind-boggling. Here’s the tip of the iceberg:
-books for reading
-curricular materials
-office supplies
-student supplies
-teacher files
-games, puzzles, activities, art supplies, writing supplies, room decor…

…and that’s only for one grade level. Those of us who have bounced around from grade to grade are well aware that the unit on earthquakes isn’t what our kids need NOW, but may be next year when we have to take on a completely different assignment.

This year, I begin my twenty-fifth year of teaching. It surprises me to say it, and it REALLY surprised my mom to hear it (no, she hasn’t gotten any older since I left college – why do you ask?).

Just imagine the incredible amount of teacher stuff I’ve amassed in the last two and a half decades. Just take a peek:

…not quite what you expected? I figured. To be fair, this is exactly half of my stuff. I have a duplicate set of these materials at my second school. But no. I don’t have much stuff.

Perhaps it would help you to know that this year, in my twenty-fifth year of education, I will have tallied more instructional spaces than I have years of teaching.

Which means that I’ve moved. A lot. So now I’m trained. Each August and June signals my twice-yearly ritual to de-clutter, to lighten my load so that my footprint remains small.

Some of my spaces have been generous, open, well-lit, welcoming. Others have been glorified closets, or hallways, or hastily-devised spaces, or meeting spaces, or repurposed storage areas that were never meant to be places for instruction.

I generally don’t mind moving, sharing space, or being asked to foster learning and development in the strangest of places. Ten years ago? I took it personally. Now? I don’t mind as much. And I think it’s because getting lean with my belongings has taught me:

-It’s not me. It’s easy to equate space with power, or priority.* It’s easy to think that I’m pushed out of one spot or another because I – or even worse, my students! – am not valued. But that’s generally not the case.
-Community is community. It doesn’t matter what’s on the walls. Or where I keep my books. As long as my loveys have the space and the materials they truly need, we can create a place where they can explore and thrive. And that’s what matters.

Granted, if you came to me with a space that’s generous, open, well-lit or welcoming, I would take it in a heartbeat. But now I also know that that’s not everything. I’m happy to be where I am. I’m happy to be doing what I’m doing. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Now if you need me, I’ll be packing. Or unpacking. Or maybe packing again…

*Ahhh….the power dynamic within elementary schools. This is a BIG idea. One I should explore in a future blog post. Stay tuned.

Steering My Craft: Short Sentences, Revisited

This blog post is part of an effort to refine my own work as a writer, and to strengthen my practice as a writing teacher. For each exercise, I’ll provide the directions, my effort, and a short reflection.

The Assignment: I’ll get real here. I wasn’t a huge fan of how things turned out for my short sentence experiment. I went back to the Ursula Le Guin text, and she suggested trying to change voice for a new attempt. So, if the writing was originally narrative, change it up to something more directive. So I gathered my notebook, my water bottle and sunglasses, and sat out on the porch to give this exercise another go.

HOW TO START A DAY: PRIMER FOR A WORKING MAMA

Your alarm buzzes you awake. It’s too late. Your bladder already signals. Take a moment. Inhale your day. Try not to feel its weight. Exhale. Stretch your muscles. Feel your joints. Decide which one is sorest.
Shuffle to the bathroom. Try not to look in the mirror. There are better times. Glare askance at the scale. It is not your friend.
Start the shower. Step in. Let a moment wash over you. Wander into loose thought. Realize you’ve stood still four minutes. It might be a record. Snap back. There is soaping to do.
The bar slips. You quickly calculate. Better to let it fall. No need for heroics. There is dignity in that move.
You pick up again. You begin once more. Your mind tallies up obligations. Better stop now. You don’t want to take all day. You’d run out of water.
Decide it is time to move on. Heave a sigh. Grab a towel. Make it two. You need any coverage you can get.
Pick up your clothes. You laid them out last night. Commend yourself for your foresight. Now open the closet. Put on something different. It’s not much better.
It will do. It will have to do. It will all have to do.

Reflection: This was a fun one! I’m glad I took some time to go back and attempt this exercise with a different tone. Granted, it doesn’t paint a terribly rosy picture of life as a working parent, but I find it pretty accurate.

I also had fun layering on meanings through word play – like “stood still four (for) minutes” – or “the bar slides downward.” Ohh, yes. The bar is ALWAYS sliding downward in life, isn’t it? It’s the only way to stay sane sometimes. The soap passage also reminds me of a poem I wrote a few years ago with the same theme. Guessing the overworked, overwhelmed parent trope still holds a lot of mileage for me. Figuring it will for the foreseeable future.

Steering My Craft: Long Sentences

The Assignment: Craft a passage (up to 350 words) within a single sentence. Punctuation and complex clauses are welcome!

She thought of July as the time that unfurled its way ahead of her with the summer that lay spread out like an overstretched weekend – these many weeks being a delightful lazy Saturday, on which day a teacher can slough off the Friday weight of the fall, the winter, the spring; on which day she may sleep in, take untimed bathroom breaks, enjoy meals unpunctuated by bells and whistles; on which day a teacher can fully inhale; on which day she may take walks – long rambles with no clear plan, objective, goal, agenda, benchmark, or attempt at measuring mastery; on which day endless streams of questions and requests and situations give way to chirping birds, rustling leaves and the drone of cicadas; on which day the endless grind of preparing and implementing the precise logistics of obligations comes to a virtual standstill; she knows Sunday is coming, and she knows that although Sunday, with its accompanying rise in pressure, anxiety, and (from time to time) dread my crouch around the corner, today is a different day.

Reflection: Well, this passage is definite proof that I often write from my own experience! I often notice a theme of protagonists overwhelmed or weighted down by obligation. Can’t imagine how that would come to be.

I did have fun, though, with extending this outsized sentence with a full tool belt of punctuation at the ready. I felt much better about this exercise than the one that required me to forgo ALL punctuation other than the ending mark. I might find a way to try and share this one with my colleagues somehow…