Soapbox: The Way I see Things

So. For the past several weeks I’ve hosted an informal writing group in my room. Not just for kids who are good at writing. Kids who are passionate writers. Voracious writers. Put-that-pencil-down-already-and-come-to-breakfast writers.

The group hosts about 10 second through fifth graders who come on and off, although I have a core of 5 who always come, and would come every day if I’d offer it.

I started by simply allowing them the time to write, with the idea that they would eventually work with one another to discuss their writing and inspire each other to better things.

A few weeks ago, though, I decided that the opportunity was too great – these kids were capable of great things in their writing. Why not have them do some activities to work on their craft a bit?

So I issued a challenge: write a story in 100 words or less. Many of you writers out there have picked up this challenge before. What I love about it, and what makes it so tricky for kids, is that this challenge forces us as writers to cut to the heart of what we’re trying to say. Flowery descriptions are nice, but if they don’t move the story along, cut it out. There are times, as the group discussed, where the pace of the action needs to pick up. This challenge is practice.

And what’s the point of issuing a challenge if I don’t take myself up on it, too? Below is what I’ve written over the course of our lunchtime meet-ups. I spent more time working the ending than on most of the rest of it, thanks to the help of my younger cohorts. No title yet, but if you have a suggestion, I’d love for you to leave it in the comments section. Happy reading!

——

She glanced down the hallway. No sign of him yet. She dropped to the floor and slithered. If he couldn’t see her, he couldn’t get her. Heart thudding against the linoleum, she inched toward the exit.

A noise. Footsteps? Or blood pounding in her ears?

Faster now, her sweaty palms dragged her closer to escape.

A figure approached.

Panic-stricken, she leapt for the door, breathing in the safety of the world outside.

A hand grabbed her shoulder.

“Going somewhere?”

She turned, eyes taking in the doctor’s stare, the hand brandishing the syringe.

“This flu shot won’t hurt a bit.”

I couldn’t resist sharing this.

The school psychologist, social worker and I team up to lead a social group called self-science. It’s sort of like a cross between character ed and gifted ed. The group explores what it means (and doesn’t mean) to be a smart kid, and how to navigate some of the speedbumps that come along.

On the agenda for last week: Perfectionism. It’s good to want to BE good. It’s good to want to win, or to be the best. They are positive motivators, which help us in what several in the field call “The Pursuit of Excellence.” The trick is in recognizing when the pursuit of excellence works its way into perfectionism. What could we gather as a group? Perfectionism starts when bad or negative things happen as a result of our pursuit for excellence. Maybe other things don’t get done. Maybe we’re unkind to people around us. Maybe we tell ourselves mean things.

Further down in the discussion, then, was how we can use positive self-talk to help ourselves out. That’s when some magic happened. As a group, we were able to come up with this continuum for completing tasks. Grown-ups, take note. You will see yourselves in this continuum. I know I do.

PERFECTION – truly, impossible to achieve. Nobody gets here. Our brains know that (even if our hearts don’t sometimes).

OUR BEST – isn’t this what everyone tells us to strive for? Isn’t this what our teachers, parents and peers ask of us? But c’mon. Can we really expect this of ourselves EVERY single time? On EVERY single spelling assignment? And is EVERY single meal I cook for my family my BEST? No. That’s when we need to give ourselves permission to settle for

A JOB WELL-DONE – yes, we know what “our best” is. But it’s not always realistic. Let us be satisfied with something that reflects our efforts, but acknowledge that we occasionally have better things we want to do with our time. Like play. And read. And sleep.

A JOB DONE – sometimes, we make things more difficult than they need to be. Yes, creativity is wonderful. Yes, it can be interesting to make tasks more complex. But there are times when it just makes sense to get through it and get the task over with.

A JOB DONE WITHOUT EFFORT, SKILL, or TIME – I loved that the fifth graders game up with those criteria. Time, effort, and skill. Because really, aren’t these the standards by which we should judge our work?

A JOB NOT DONE – just as there is one end of the continuum, so must there be the opposite end. What we haven’t gotten to is how perfectionism can lead us to this end. Funny, isn’t it, how our pursuit of the highest level of task performance can create an obstacle so big it leads to the lowest level. That’s going to take some more thought.

 

Our lunch session was one of those days that left me once again completely amazed by the insight and depth my students bring to the table. Once again, I marveled at how much I can learn from a bunch of 10-year olds. Once again, I am excited to see where these conversations go, and which new discoveries await.

So there were many of you who read my earlier post, and you’ve asked me (or may have been wondering) how it’s going. What’s the latest?

Have things changed? Not really.

Am I happy with the way some things are? No, but it’s the way some things are.

Do I leave school happy each day? No, but I really do wish I did.

Sigh. Can good possibly come in any of this?

Right now I know that my career, my life, is at a crossroads. It’s all about choices.

I can continue to feel myself pulled down the path toward cynicism and burnout. I can bring others with me into negativity, if I so choose. But I can’t. I won’t allow myself to change who and what I am.

Another option? I can close my door, pull myself inward and protect the remaining optimism and idealism I have. Believe me, it’s incredibly tempting. But I can’t. I can’t cut myself off, stand back and expect things to heal.

Or?

I can try to move on.

I can stand in the hallway as the students come in, then greet them with smiles, hugs, and high-fives.

I can offer to teach my colleagues a new skill with Google apps.

I can play math games with the second-grade teachers.

I can set up a message board outside my room so kids can recommend books to me.

I can take student self-assessment in a new direction, one that I’m REALLY proud of (and will post about soon).

There you have it. It’s where I am, and it’s how things are. The problems and the pressures haven’t gone away. At the same time, I talk to students and parents all the time about how challenge presents us with a chance to grow. Why shouldn’t I be different, then? I’m oddly hopeful that this challenge may be a time of struggle, but in the end it will be my opportunity to thrive.

Don’t ask me how I’ll get there. I’m not quite sure.

In the meantime, I’ll continue as I did today, listening to my eight-year-olds discussing literary themes from Shel Silverstein’s “Missing Piece Meets the Big O.” Two of the themes they chose were change and transformation, and I can hear them debating the difference between the two. (Yeah, that’s right. They’re eight. Years. Old.)

The Missing Piece (just a triangle) sits alone looking for someone to be a part of, so that it can roll. It finds all sorts of characters and tries all sorts of gimmicks and tricks to get someone to pick him up, but nothing really works.

Along comes the Big O (a circle), and the missing piece wants to roll with it. The Big O says it’s already whole; perhaps the piece could roll by itself. Roll by itself!? But a missing piece is just a triangle, with sharp corners!

The Big O’s response? “Corners wear off and shapes change.”

Change. Transformation.

Lift, pull, flop…it began to move forward…Lift, pull, flop…and soon its edges began to wear off…Liftpullflop, liftpullflop, liftpullflop…

Change.

Transformation.

Eraser shavings covering the carpet

My desk, littered with student work

A student (the same one telling me two weeks ago that she was “bad at math”) asking for more math homework — pretty please?

…complete with smiling faces and all. So where does that put me now?

Once again, I am re-energized by the eager young kids in front of me. I stood today out on the playground and again in the hallway as the students entered school today. The mood was positively electric and completely contagious. Maybe it was my breakfast coming back to haunt me, but I could swear my idealism was bubbling up inside me again.

I sat in a brief staff meeting and looked around at the faces of the teachers around me. People who had spent the past week working their tails off to get ready for Day One. People who (just like me) see every kid coming through that door as somebody’s child. People who share the same excitements and the same frustrations that I do. Colleagues.

Yes, the politics are still at play, standing expectantly over my shoulder. Yes, there are a thousand and one mini-crises that pop up each day. But today, thankfully, some of the resilience I’ve been seeking for so long has once again returned.

Tomorrow my first crop of students comes. I think they’ll be in my downstairs room, as opposed to the upstairs room I was just told I’m moving into. My desk isn’t in the room we’ll be in. There’s nothing on the walls. Just about all of my stuff is still in boxes.

But mark my words. Magic will happen.

Okay, so usually? Each August? When you ask me about the start of school? I start getting goosebumps. Literally. Just get me started talking about new school supplies, about seeing happy faces that first day of school, of going back to that wonderful structure of learning rules and routines, of thinking about the incredible sense of possibility that a new year holds, of – – well, you get the idea.

This year? Well, I’m trying. I really am.

What makes it so different?

I have to confess that last year was rough. Not the kids. They’re never the problem. They’re the reason I get out of bed each day, and I tell them so regularly. Is it the parents, then? Naw. I so enjoy having the shared experience of knowing that wonderful person that is their child that even the speedbumps are manageable. And my colleagues are an incredibly dedicated group of professionals with a heartfelt desire to do well by our kids.

It’s everything else. The politics, the issues, questions about direction and priorities and leadership and change. Not to mention major construction.

I’ve mentioned before that in teaching (as in much of life), what I count on most is my sense of idealism. By this past June, it was nearly beaten out of me. I could physically feel my resilience draining away as I entered the building and roamed the halls. I hated that. I hate writing it even now. And I hate that it’s true.

More than anything, I was hoping that this summer could be a true break, where I could breathe, focus, and find my center again. I passed on a multitude of opportunities: workshops, classes, social get-togethers. There were a few meetings and classes here and there, including a math class taught with my math idol from the junior high. (THAT was a rush.)

I was hoping that I could look August in the eye and feel the same sense of romance that I have in previous years. Honestly, that’s not the feeling that I have right now.

Right now, I’m hoping that starting to set up my classroom tomorrow is going to get my blood pumping. Maybe taking the time to sort through boxes, to see new supplies arrive for the year, to dwell on some of the possibilities ahead. Maybe that will do it for me.

If not, I know that next Tuesday there will be hundreds of smiling, tan, eager-to-learn faces coming to greet me and the rest of my colleagues. I know that no matter how heavy I feel my burden is, I can count on those amazing people to pull me through. And they will.

And I’m hoping by the end of the year, I’ll still be a teacher who teaches with her door open. Who still goes into the staff lounge for lunch. Who still blogs about the excitement and adventure of teaching.

Who still gets goosebumps thinking about new crayons.

So THIS would be why I didn’t have kids come down to my room today:

Even though the water itself was gone within a couple of hours, I was not sure whether or not I would make it back into my classroom to TEACH. I’m still not sure. So, I tried to grab whatever I might need for teaching for the rest of the week:

And what have I learned from this experience?

-I can think (and move!) really fast when I need to.

-It’s easy to have a decent attitude about these things in the wake of what’s going on in Alabama and Missouri.

-I have amazing colleagues. From my principal, who was first to arrive at the scene, kick off her heels and start hauling stuff, to the custodians from all over the district who swarmed in to take care of the flood, to the colleagues who offered help, kind words, and shoes, I am one lucky gal.