To Organize is Divine

So anyone who knows me has had the dizzying experience, at one point or another, of trying to decipher the discombobulation in my head. I can only wonder what they think as they walk away, sometimes very slowly and at other times, as fast as they can. I am surprised some ever talk to me ever again. I doubt that I would if I could separate me from me. But anyway--such is the fate of one who is nuts. 

Attendant to my way of being are cluttered corners--sometimes literal, like on the nightstand or on the desk, and others that tenaciously cling to the edges of thinking spaces often traveled--that exacerbate my sorry state. The fact that I don't always recognize them takes things to yet another level. Last weekend I accidentally identified and dealt with one and felt a renewal of being I can't describe. 'Twas my clothes closet, which I first approached to find a certain pair of pants and wound up attacking with vigor. I threw things away, packed away others and then, for the pièce de résistance, ORGANIZED THE REST.

I was overwhelmed by the results--so much so that I kept opening the door and looking just to make sure it wasn't someone else's. Now I know where all my pants are, including the pair I sought (which, irony of ironies, didn't surface till about 80 percent through the process). Alas, I looked upon my work and saw that it was good.

Now, if only I can transfer the process of that tiny victory to other corners, where ungraded papes, new ways of teaching vocabulary and term projects are lurking. More on that later.... 

At least 1,000

A Day in the Life

A purple thick haze tinged with gray at the edges, billowing violently as though a thunderous bass drum forced it along a brisk 4-count--that’s what you’d see if you had a microscope with a teeny thingamabob that could get into my ear canal. Yup. 

By the way, the bass is for rhythmic effect, not because I have a headache. I rarely get headaches, strangely enough. I’m a gal with rhythm; it doth move me so. Purple is a deep fave also.  

That aside, I think the value of Hump Day is commensurate with the Hump you have to get over, but I’m still working that out in my head. Yesterday I expunged two loudly bickering boys from my class, which prompted one to call his mommy, and that began a chain of events I’ll get back to in a moment. After the class from which I expunged the bickerers it was lunchtime, but instead of tending to that small but important affair I was hustled into a meeting I barely knew the purpose of only to learn that the meeting’s leader was in the same predicament. It ended with “tomorrow is up in the air (which turned out to be only somewhat true); I’ll have to get back to you.” 

Immediately after that I went to the office to call the mom of the bickerers (one of whom was already alerted by her child, if you recall), but just as I lifted the phone receiver, I was whisked once again to another meeting with the mom of the calling bickerer, who had worked herself into a lather and made her way onsite to sort out this business of her son being ejected from class. Oh boy.

Into that meeting I went with as much briefing as a quick stroll down two hallways with a naturally fast walking dean (who summoned me) will allow. The mom’s voice emanated from the dean’s office--probably not at full register but definitely unavoidable--as I approached. Because her child had continued to push buttons well after he dialed her number, mom's fears were many. Nonetheless, I am proud of my success at bringing her off the ledge. As a matter of fact, I managed to work in a not-so-veiled comment about her baby’s barely lukewarm academic standing. I had her eating out of my hand by then.

Then I ate a five-minute sandwich in three-minutes and went off to class, after which I had a moment to inhale. Then, a scant few moments into my last class of the day I got a message saying I had to cut class short for a meeting, which was filled with what? MORE confusion! Such is the life of an educator in the Greatest City in the World. 

In other news, I did manage to make lunch every day this week and earlier today when the bell rang at the end of my first class, I heard a student say, “Man! Just when it was getting interesting!”

I’ll take that. Yes I will. 

The Science of Rockets

Failure to launch is not an option.

So just to mix things up a bit, I am taking a break from grading papers to read an article for homework (for which I have to write a coherent response before I forget what I read), planning for classes tomorrow, planning for Parent Night on Thursday, and now, stopping in to blog. Somehow it all works together. My reading is called "Seeing the Student," and is about taking time to make deliberate observations about as many individual students as possible for the sake of learning how best to teach them. Mind you, I still need to figure out what to do with my observations of CM, who is given to near meltdown (despite his bravado) as he claims innocence when I call him on disruptive behaviors; or RWB, who studiously avoids anything resembling a test or quiz with feigned illness, overwhelming desires to sleep, or some other affliction. I cannot plan without considering them in particular. I'll just say they have a way of making themselves known. Every single class.

At the same time, I am engaging in an effort to backwards plan, or begin with the end in mind as I think about the next five weeks of instruction. I am excited about what I've planned so far, but let it be known that what I think is exciting is often not viewed thusly by those with 'teen affinities. That applies evenly from shoe styles to lesson plans, trust me!

I hope it works out, though. In the meantime, I must figure out to how to make five hours of sleep power me through the next four days without breaking a sweat. Did I mention the monster assignment I have due on Wednesday night for another class? No matter what, I've gotta look like I have it together when the parents come this week no matter how much of my brains I've left strewn along my commute between now and then.

Oh boy.

Higher Learning

A truly higher education

So earlier this week I was convinced I needed to hitchhike to Hawaii to pursue a doctoral degree in beach combing. Or perhaps find an  apprenticeship with an iron welder--which would make me both unique and skilled. Hungry but unsure of what to eat, tired but unwilling to close my eyes, I wandered desperately close to the border of an existentialist crisis, took a look and high-tailed it back to what I know that I know. 

1. First on the list is the immutable fact that I have light years of leaning to tackle. The more I learn, the more I know I need to learn. I will consider that solace and assurance that I will one day be a teacher whose class I'd like to be in.
2. I have access to, and the support of a delightful team of personal friends, colleagues and even teachers of teachers (an extraordinary undertaking) who have been lending me a smorgasbord of supports without which I would starve. For their wonderful sakes, this thing is gonna fly!
3. I have an abiding commitment to caring. Though it can often land me on the short side of the stick, this is important. It means that I can look a young bloke in the eye, tell him I KNOW he is better than what his actions dictate and see the click just behind his pupils as he registers that I mean what I'm saying.
4. While I really don't like confrontations, I am actually quite good at them when the need arises. So if I need to stride purposefully towards a student until he backs against a wall and looks nervous, well so be it. 'Nuff said.

So Hawaii and that doctorate will have to wait just a little bit longer while I sort out a few things, but I can live with that.

The Good Old Days

SO much to consider when measuring progress

There have been a few educators--ranging from early childhood to higher education--whom I've watched and from whom I've learned over the last several years. One was a school leader who seemed to be a ubiquitous ninja. One weekend I watched her go from a parent night to a 6th grade sleepover to a basketball game and show up well-prepared and looking fresh every time. She was also responded promptly to emails, knew every child's name, personally handed out Kit Kats on the last day of school, and still found time for mani-pedis.


Then there was the southern belle who was quick to question every historical/traditional convention she discovered in her work as a poet, editor or professor. It was she who voiced a tenet of my personal teaching philosophy I didn't even know I possessed. "I'm not here for those students," she said, referring to students at plush private universities whose K-12 experience prepared them well for life in the driver's seat. "I want students who are hungry, who are maybe the first generation in their family to be in college. The ones against whom the odds are stacked." Hopefully I am not begrudging kids who were born into comfy socio-economic circumstances, but there is a difference when students don't assume entitlement.


At first glance, the pre-K teacher I remember fondly to this day dresses in black and probably looks the part of a cross-country Harley riding free spirit, but she was organized, disciplined, soft-spoken, intellectually rigorous, respect-commanding and the creator of some wonderful memories. Two of my children left her class more than ready for Kindergarten.

I tried to be one of those teachers last weekend when I went to my students' football game. What wound up happening is that I got lost and made it for the last 60 seconds of the game (literally). I have so far to go.

Since beginning this post (last weekend, which is more evidence of me getting swallowed by school days and non-ninja status), I had a chance to speak to two different veteran educators, who have at least six decades of experience under their belts. One told me of recently meeting a former student who called over a friend and said, "You see this man here? He used to beat the CRAP out of me everyday, and now I'm a detective!" The vet was slightly alarmed that the object of his handiwork was now armed and much stronger, but apparently something happened during their hands-on experiences. Aaaah, those were the days.

Now, such interactive teaching styles are frowned upon but--I daresay--are muchly needed. In their stead, I am launching a full-on communications effort to get as many parents as possible to the first report card night of the year so I can not-so-subtly suggest some techniques parents can use to help their children along the path to success. 

Let's see how that works out.