Educating Mama

The Secret Life of Teachers

2011-11-16T16:41:00.001-08:00

This year Maia has an English teacher for whom there are no second chances.

Maia is now trying to improve her grade after failing to turn in a packet on its due date. Ms. English Teacher accepts no late work, and Maia hadn't yet learned that she should turn in all of the work she had done, even if a piece of it was still incomplete. Yes, I know, learning the system is one of the educational process of school. Some lessons just come harder than others...

So yesterday, Maia decided to stop by to show Ms. English Teacher her progress on another big project just to make sure she was meeting her expectations. Ms. English Teacher gave her work a fairly perfunctory glance, told her to shorten a paragraph and handed it back.

Maia left feeling as though her teacher were more dismissive than helpful. To explain Maia said, "maybe secretly inside she doesn't want to be a teacher."

Granted this is a big assumption on Maia's part, despite the fact that Ms. English Teacher's reputation proceeded her. But right or wrong, it was a huge reminder to me about the kind of message I want to send to the students I encounter each day. Am I happy to be there? Do I want to connect with them? Do they see that I'm on their side? It seems to me impossible to teach if your students think "secretly, I don't think she wants to be a teacher."

For Maia, she's going to have to figure out how to learn whatever the attitude of the teacher is.

Merge Early

2011-10-20T11:59:00.000-07:00

merge early, expect

sudden slowing or

stopping, watch for

I am a poetry addict, but not a poet. And I look for it everywhere. Recently, this ghosted up on my computer when I opened it up. I thought someone had sent me some poetry, or perhaps had begun writing a poem on my computer. I was mesmerized. Watch for what?

When my old power book finally got it's systems in order, I recognized Chongo's driver's ed program on the screen. The ordinariness of its intended meaning took all the lovely excitement from me.

Except for the part that didn't, the part that still linked to the almost poem, that kept remembering -- all day -- expect sudden slowing.

Dinner Party conversation

2011-10-19T14:40:00.000-07:00

A kindergarten teacher I know went to a dinner party with some of her banker husbands colleagues.

"So what do you do?" She was asked.
"I'm a kindergarten teacher."
A silent pause followed. "Well you can always move up, right."

Have you ever tried teaching kindergarten?

The educational value of the "The Simpsons

2011-10-15T15:07:00.001-07:00

My kids have been watching The Simpsons for several years now. It's not always appropriate, but it's always funny, often educational and sometimes even "educational." We limited them to one show per day, not because of time but we just figured that was enough "education" for one day.

I'm sure more than a few thesis have been written about The Simpsons and their commentary on culture, politics etc. -- and my kids are the stellar examples of that Simpson influence. They've seen most of the episodes by now covering references from Nixon's Watergate to Shakespeare. Often, in the middle of a dinner table conversation we turn to explain something to the kids and they say "oh, we know."
"Really?" I'm always surprised. "Where did you hear about that?"
"The Simpsons."
It's an invariable answer -- I've heard it so much I'd roll my eyes if I wasn't so impressed with how complete the education is. Granted it's a superficial, humorous version of events or works, but what they know works like a hangar for the rest of what they learn on those subjects. It means they can sit at the dinner table and not be lost around adult conversation. I'm convinced it makes them more savvy in their understanding of our culture.

The other day Maia rattled of a speech from Macbeth. "Where did you learn that?" I asked.
"The Simpsons," she said. I rolled my eyes. "Well, I heard some of it on The Simpsons, and then I found it online and memorized it."

And isn't that the best thing an educator can hope for? When students learn enough on a subject to so thoroughly peak their interest, that they go out and deepen their understanding on their own.

Abundance

2011-09-25T14:54:00.001-07:00

Abundance

Today a friend brought me basil from her garden. Masses of it, and I went looking for a tall, wide-mouthed mug to hold it all in water where it can grow roots and flourish for the next month or two. On my counter was this mug, needing to be emptied of all the odds and ends an open vessel accumulates on a counter, Abundance written in flowing lettering along the front.

My friend brought me this mug many years ago when the kids were little. She filled it with my favorite biscotti and dropped it by one day.
"Why me?" I asked her about the unexpected gift.
"Abundance just reminded me of you," she said.
Since that day the mug has sat on my counter to remind me of my good life. Today I filled it with the gift of basil from a friend's garden and I began again to think about Abundance.

There's a verse in the Bible that says "I came that they might have life and have it more abundantly."

Right now, I am ignoring the fact that I have an abundance of papers to grade. The chocolaty abundant smell of brownies is wafting from my oven because we are going to a goodbye party for a youth director who was loved abundantly. I'm sure the tears will be abundant.

I'm not sure I know what abundance life is, but I'm going to keep my eyes open to it. Anyway, my birthday is tomorrow and it seems like a good way to start the year.

What makes the blog roll?

2011-07-29T16:17:00.001-07:00

Since it's summer, I'm reading a few more blogs than usual. And I've noticed something: controversy, it seems, gets the most comments.

People like getting "up in arms" about issues. In fact sometimes I wonder if bloggers look for issues to get people riled about. Sort of like the news on TV which capitalizes on the gruesome and notorious with sound bites to get you hooked in. The full story is seldom quite as interesting... except when it is more interesting and better read as a full story anyway.

But what concerns me as a person of faith is that in the blogging world we have a lot less grace for people or situations than we would in real life. When people make a mistake we're quicker to think about what a great post it would make, than to try and find out what really might be going on. Of course if I point the finger at the blog that pointed me to this thought I'd be succumbing to exactly the kind of problem I'm writing about. So in this unnamed blog, a known person was called out for a mistake. I fully agreed with the blogger's point -- but as the comments played out, I realized the situation wasn't as obvious as the blog suggested.

In the Conversations Project that our church did, we learned to practice interpretive charity which means what it says. We interpret a speaker's meaning with charity, even when our assumptions about what they said might push our buttons. We ask more questions to clarify meaning, and if we disagree, then we can discuss it, always seeking understanding, not reacting out of our own narrow assumptions.

Unfortunately, interpretive charity doesn't always make for titillating blogging.

Then again, neither does whining about your life and beating yourself up over the stupid things you do... which is another unnamed blog I've had too much time to read (in case you're a digger, it's not one of the sites I follow publicly).

But I'm still going to read all these blogs anyway... and keep writing my own occasionally. My friend's blog title says it all best: My Thoughts are So Important I Write them Down. Check him out -- http://iwritethemdown.blogspot.com -- when he writes, he's funny.

These hands

2011-07-20T20:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when Chongo is asked what career he wants to pursue, he answers, "a surgeon."

This would be a fine occupation to have, but Chongo says it in jest, not (yet?!) being an ambitious enough student to be looking down the road at all those extra years of study.

But when Chongo says he wants to be a surgeon, I think of one thing: his hands.

Chongo can do the most intricate, minute sculpting with those hands. Like this piece he created out of "green stuff."

But he is ornery. So when I go to take a picture of him working he does this:

And then he replaces himself with his alter ego.

Do they let ornery monkeys be surgeons these days?

When people ask him where he's going to college he says, "Stanford." If he ever becomes a surgeon who went to Stanford, no one will be more surprised than his mother. But with those hands, he could do anything.

Sense of humor?

2011-06-23T08:38:00.000-07:00

On Facebook an acquaintance of mine posted something cute her four-year-old had said and then commented, "I don't know where she got her sense of humor from."

Really? I don't think your little cutie was being clever.

They way I see it, most kids don't make clever comments to be funny, they make cute comments that turn out to be funny. In fact part of what makes their comments so hilarious is the earnestness they're spoken with. They see life in such fresh ways that we adults are often surprised into laughter. And kids learn from that laughter. I've seen the eyes light up when they realize they said something funny, and I've also seen frustration set in when they see their words aren't being taken seriously.

Not that kids don't try to be funny -- they often do, and most of it we endure with a polite laugh or enjoy because of the general silly, cuteness. But has it ever struck your humor radar? I can almost guarantee if you ask a kid to make up a joke it will include the word "poop" and I'm guessing that's because that word always gets a laugh from their playmates.

With both my kids, cleverness began to develop in about 4th grade. I have no statistics or research on the subject, but I've come to believe that real sense of humor -- starting to see the irony in the world -- begins about age 9 or 10.

There was one possible exception in my experience. I'm not certain, but my five-year-old nephew said something once that might not follow my theory. We were in the car on vacation together. Chongo was going on about how he'd eat any kind of burrito, he liked them all. My nephew was questioning him ala Green Eggs and Ham.

Nephew: Would you eat a chicken burrito?
Chongo: I love chicken burritos.
Nephew: Would you eat a bean burrito?
Chongo: Every kind of bean burrito.
Nephew: Would you eat a cow burrito?
Chongo: I love steak burritos. Mix in some potatoes and cheeese and onions, yum.
Nephew: Would you eat a vegetable burrito?
Chongo: Any kind of burrito. There isn't a burrito I don't like.
Nephew: Would you eat a butt burrito?

His comment stopped the conversation in its tracks and made us all laugh. Granted it had the word "butt" -- a classic kid word used to get a laugh -- but the timing, the way it took the conversation to a humorous level, the puncturing of Chongo's inflating balloon of hubris. I'd almost call it clever.

Was my nephew clever? When do you think the age of humor begins?

The end... and the beginning

2011-06-16T18:54:00.001-07:00

Today ended another school year. Funny how our little world revolves around that sun. Our calendars defined by that revolution.

And then summer arrives, and time,
suddenly,
stops.

Everything stops spinning. Evenings are not pressured by homework and projects and making dinner just so I can get lunches ready for tomorrow. Getting to bed is not followed by the words "on time." In fact "on time" is a phrase that begins to disappear from our vocabulary... or in our house the phrase "... or your going to be late."

What a sweet night this first night of summer is. It's seven o'clock, the shadows are growing longer and the light is making the ripe oranges glow. I'm waiting for the parrots to fly squawking across the sky to tell me it's dinner time.

All this, until Monday when Maia begins summer school at too damn early am. At least we'll have August (and part of July)...

What do you love about the beginning of summer?

Observation #2

2011-05-14T01:02:00.001-07:00

The popular girls wear skinny jeans and carry skinny backpacks.

Community Service

2011-05-13T14:41:00.001-07:00

It's the time of year for choosing classes for next year's high school schedule. Chongo has been avoiding any honors or AP classes, convinced he might have to work harder than he wants to get an A.

But I keep pressing the issue. There's one honors class that, rumor has it, is really the same as the regular class. The only difference is that students have to complete 20 hours of community service during the year.

Community service is a deal breaker for Chongo. If this is true, he's definitely not taking the honors class.

"Why?" asks the volunteer happy mom.

"Community service is actually a punishment courts give to people who have broken the law?" he answers. "Why would I want to do that?"

I'm dumbfounded about that one.... But I'm working on a response, and I assure you it won't include "it's a good thing to do" or "colleges care."

Ironic or Insurgent?

2011-04-26T09:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the pieces of circumstance align around you to create meaning, but sometimes the forces at work are merely human. I humbly request your opinion on this situation.

Here's what happened:
Chongo struggles with passing Spanish and we work with him religiously to help/force him to accomplish this. On the night in question, Grandma was in that honored spot at the dining room table doing his Spanish homework with him.

Chongo likes listening to music while he does homework, and pretty soon I hear Pink Floyd's album "The Wall" coming from the stereo.

Me: (coming back into the room) "I think you should turn this off. It's hard for Grandma to work with you when the music's playing."

We don't need no education.
We don't need no thought control

Chongo: "No, Mom, I can work fine."

No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave the kids alone...

Me: (in my cracking the whip voice) "Chongo, you have to work hard at this. You can't concentrate on Spanish with the music going."

All in all you're just another brick in the wall...

Chongo: "Okay, okay... but listen to the next song first. You should hear it. It's called "Mother" -- it's for you."

Me: (feeling a little flattered... ) "Oh, okay, one more song."

Mama's gonna keep you right here, under her wing
She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing
Mama will keep baby cozy and warm... oooh baby...
Of course, Mama'll help build the wall....

I listen to the whole song, waiting for some redemption.

.... Mother, did it need to be so high.

When I turn off the stereo after the last line, there's no complaining -- just the sound of Grandma explaining the use of subjunctive conjugations with words that express hopes and desires. And my own bewildered thoughts -- Espero que no pienses asi, que no sea la verdad -- because there's something so damn true about what I just heard.

Ironic? or Insurgent? You decide.

Observation #1

2011-04-21T18:40:00.001-07:00

Even the coolest kid can look forlorn, standing all alone on the sidewalk -- the last one -- waiting for a ride home.

A rant

2011-03-19T12:44:00.000-07:00

As I went looking through the file where I throw everything school related for Chongo, I came across his Freshman class request list. And that old anger at the way counselors have steered us wrong came bubbling back up into my stomach so that I sat there for several long minutes, just trying to recover.

We've had many negative and discouraging experiences, but do all the details matter? Today I saw proof that we really had tried to get the counselor's help in placing Chongo in the right art class. But we were never contacted and Chongo was placed in a beginning art class. After freshman year Chongo said, "I'm never taking another art class. It's such as waste of time." Which made me very sad, since he's actually good at art. Even his teacher at the end of the year told us, "he really didn't belong in this class." I know now it was my naievete as a parent, thinking I could rely on a counselor to be looking out for my child.

So this is a rant about counselors (Mr VB excluded, except that he retired just when we needed him most)...

Every time I turn around I discover that something they told me, even insisted on is either entirely untrue or contradicted by the next counselor.
When you don't take seriously something they said (" we don't change classes") they get angry despite your repeated experience of #1.
They seem to think scheduling classes is formulaic, as if there's homogeneity among the 2500 kids trying to keep their heads above the academic water without losing interest or stamina or hope.
It appears there's more interest in getting their schedule organized than in personalizing students schedules to best serve them.
A pure, unadulterated prejudice against anyone who keeps her desk perfectly neat, devoid of papers, nothing out of place. Really? Okay maybe that's my own issue, but I believe it explains why this particular counselor does not understand the vagaries of my child.

A caveat: I am fully aware that counselors deal constantly with pushy, insistent parents who can only see their child's needs and not the larger community, and I am sure it can make them cynical. And I know there are many great counselors out there who have made a real difference in the lives of their students (did I mention Mr. VB?).

Now that Maia's filling out her high school registration form I had to email her counselor. "Surprise me," I wanted to say. Show me up, let me be wrong. Care about students as individuals, assume vocal parents might actually be saying something worthwhile, and above all, work imaginatively.

This time, I'm going to follow up.

P.S. I couldn't decide if I should publish this one... because a rant generally serves only to make me feel better, not to actually help anyone else. And I don't have any good advice. Except to counselors, which I mentioned, but which, if I were a counselor, I wouldn't even be able to hear after a rant... unless I was already a good counselor...

Conversations in Middle School

2011-03-15T11:07:00.000-07:00

A seventh grade conversation after I had used the desire to cheat as an example of internal conflict.

Argumentative Boy: "But what if you were a bad cheater. That would be external."
Me: "Yes, if you were caught, it would definitely be an external conflict."
Another boy (off-handedly): "That would be a sin."
Lovely, young girl (world-wearily): "Does anyone still sin these days?"

I would have loved to continue that conversation... but we were pressed for time and it wasn't on the sub plans!

Ash Wednesday

2011-03-09T17:18:00.001-08:00

Ash Wednesday is upon us... and since it's so late this year, I've had a long time to think about what I might doforLent as in "what are you doing for Lent?" When I was growing up we never talked about Lent, but our church now celebrates Ash Wednesday with a service... so now I think about what I might doforLent.

The big question is always why.

A couple years ago I began to ask myself this question and was inspired by a poem by Mary Oliver called "Gethsemane" from her book Thirst. And it reflects on the poor disciples, falling asleep in the garden when Jesus was agonizing over the death to come, and the stars and wind that kept watch with him that night. In the Bible Jesus says "watch with me" and this is what I want to doforLent. I want to keep my eyes open to Jesus in this world, not to fall into the bleary sleep of everyday life. It takes intention, and open heartedness, and more courage, I am sure, than I have.

So I do acts of discipline, like pinches and slaps, to keep my eyes open during the long night of Lent. And sometimes I still fall asleep. Because, as Mary Oliver says, "this too/must be a part of the story."

dying young

2010-06-29T20:48:00.000-07:00

I had one day of overlap with the teacher before I'd be on my own with the class for the last month of school. And I showed up to terrible, terrible news. One of my students had died unexpectedly the night before. What a day of utter sadness. Stillness and quiet kids who didn't know what to say. No misbehavior. No goofing off meant to garner attention. Just a sense of being stunned. The teacher talked about her feelings a little and offered them time to talk with a counsellor, then had the students do a some work and left them to talk among themselves. I overheard one boy saying, "you know we just don't really believe that could happen. None of us thinks that could be us. We don't think about death, do we?" he asked his friend.

It was a heavy day for everyone, especially his friends. What surprised me was the fact that they all knew about his death before the announcement. When I asked them how they said, "It was all over Facebook." I know that was fine for most people, but I wondered what that experience was like for his closest friends. Did they log on to their account to discover that their friend had died? Bad news, life and death news, society has always delivered in person. There's an unwritten understanding that you wouldn't want to read in the paper or learn by hearsay about the death of someone dear, that it's news given face to face. But no longer -- and I'm not sure what I think about that.

At promotion, they left an empty chair for their fellow student, and when his name was called, his brave parents came forward to accept his diploma. The tearful, standing ovation was a fitting memorial.

back to work

2010-05-20T16:47:00.000-07:00

I'm headed back to work full time for one month only. I'm looking forward to being in the classroom every day just to see if I can deal still enjoy it over a sustained period. Same students every day. Grading. Four whole weeks of getting lunches ready at night so we can all be out the door by seven thirty.

One thing I love about being a sub is not having the same schedule everyday. I've noticed in my life that new places, new opportunities interest and enliven me. Can I stay interested and enlivened everyday? I know all these students well having subbed for them on and off for the whole year. So what I'm looking for is the newness that comes with knowing people more deeply, enjoying more of the nuances of the their character and personality.

It will be a little like enjoying music in our house. Chongo plays the same C.D. every day for about a month before he moves on. Right now it's Pink Floyd "The Wall" just because it was sitting around. Every day the music grows a little dearer, both more familiar and newer -- a musical motif, a lyric -- to perk up my senses.

So here's to the mundane, to the new becoming old becoming new again. I'll let you know how it goes.

Competance vs. Length of service

2010-04-17T17:04:00.000-07:00

We have a budget crisis in our school district -- SURPRISE! Actually, we always have a budget crisis with our schools, but this time we have to make some big changes to stay solvent. One of those changes is to get rid of "class size reduction" which maintains class sizes at 20 students in kindergarten through third grade. Because of this, we're losing a lot of teachers, and unfortunately, a lot of good ones.

And here's the rub: teachers are being laid off purely on the basis of their hire date with the district. The newest teachers are the ones to go and no distinction is being made as to competence. Again, no real surprise because the teachers are part of a union. I've worked in a union and my husband works in a union. They can be great for many reasons, but they are terrible for this ONE reason: unions have not figured out a way to reward merit. And unfortunately in teaching, competence matters enormously. I am constantly reading about studies and plans for improving education and student learning, but almost all of them ignore teacher ability. I even read an article in the New Yorker that said teacher competence is more important than class size for improving learning. I've listened to a lot of rhetoric about putting the students first, and keeping the cuts out of the classroom, and I think these speakers are very well meaning (administrators and teachers union reps alike). However, it seems to me the best thing they could do for our district is to involve themselves in the very difficult and messy task grading teachers. (I'll write more about the difficulties of this later -- I've been asking teachers about it).

Why do I feel so strongly about this? I was sitting next to a principal at the meeting where this all got announced. She said to me, "I feel sick about the teachers I have to let go, but I feel even more sick about the teachers I have to keep."

The best blank

2010-04-16T17:37:00.000-07:00

Once, when I had gone to church on Sunday morning very early and found myself with an hour to kill, I walked up boulevard to Starbucks. On my way out I passed by three men who lived on the street. "Are you going to that church across from the library?" one asked.
"Why?" replied his friend.
"They have the best..." and with that I was out of earshot. I wanted to turn back, but instead I kept walking all the way back to church with a smile on my lips, happy to know we had the best _____.

A bigger deal than cheating.

2010-01-22T14:32:00.001-08:00

It happened finally. Cheating, in front of my very eyes. I was giving a test and saw a kid toss a paper to the desk behind him. When I asked him for the paper, he tried to tear it and crumple it. But he gave it to me, and when I opened it I saw the answers for two of the test questions. Not that they were correct, but there they were.

Our conversation after class left me shaken. I could tell he was a good student and had done this just to goof off, not out of any real intensity to share answers. Still, it was wrong, and I told him his teacher would be finding out. "Look," I said. "I know you're going to have consequences from this and they might be tough, but if you live through that now I can almost guarantee you'll never do it again." The student begged me not to tell. He asked and asked with a shy intensity. Finally I said, "I have a teenage boy and as much as I want to protect him, I would want him to learn this lesson now."
The boy turned away from me. His teeth were gritted tight together and the tears were beginning to form. "But would you beat your son?"
"Never." The word fell truthfully and blithely from my lips.
"In my culture they do it differently," he said bitterly and his words hit me in the gut.
Already the next class was waiting at the door, but I wanted to be clear about what I was understanding. "Who are you more afraid of, the school or your parents?"
He answered without hesitation. "My parents."
I knew I had to report him to the teacher. I also knew that when his parents found out, they would beat him. It was no good pretending otherwise. I felt trapped, but knew I couldn't just let this go now that it was out there. And the truth was, their method of punishment, although culturally acceptable, was one that required reporting to child protective services. I called the teacher, a lovely woman, who was so matter-of-fact and clear about what had to happen and the process she would go through to report the incident, that she gave me confidence the right thing would happen for this boy I was feeling so badly for.

And I think it has. At least I hope it's the right thing. After the counseling office met with the student, they did bring the state into it. Apparently they are working with the family to help them find more appropriate (and legal) methods of keeping their kid on the straight and narrow. In the process the school discovered that corporal punishment was indeed a practice among this cultural group. So what really gave me hope was finding out the school principal would be talking to the PTA club for that group and suggesting some parent training for those families. Maybe one boy's courage in speaking up about his culture's practice can make a difference for many students. I hope it will be a lesson well-learned.

An op-blog-ed to an op-ed piece.

2010-01-12T16:53:00.000-08:00

Look at this, an entire op-ed about substitute teachers:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/03/opinion/03bucior.html

Her basic message is that substitutes are not trained properly, are given obtuse plans, and are often uninformed about needs of the students in classrooms. She is concerned about absenteeism among teachers and feels substitute teachers are poor replacements for actual teacher.

I'm sure what she says if often true, but as a sub, I have also seen a different view as well. In the district I work in, I usually have strong, clear lesson plans left for me which include seating charts in middle and high school. It is always best to have the regular teacher in the classroom, but when they have to have a sub, I consider it my duty to enhance the student's education. Perhaps it means I wander and help with one-on-one tutoring for students who are struggling, something a regular teacher may not always have time for. When I'm explaining math, writing, history, science, I believe I bring another way of presenting information that might be useful or more engaging to some of the students. I try to use my strengths to build student knowledge or their interest in the subject matter. I always follow the lesson plans left for me, but bring what I know and who I am to what we are doing.

And, I work to build relationships with teachers so that by coming back again and again to the same classrooms I can also build relationships with students.

So while I understand Ms. Bucior's concerns about the state of substitute teaching, I don't choose to live it.

Tradition

2009-06-25T18:25:00.001-07:00

I attended two promotions last week. Maia had her sixth grade promotion and Chongo finished up eighth grade. Both were flawless and smooth (my kids had come home sunburned from their hours of rehearsing), and neither was unbearably long or boring. It was in fact a lovely, meaningful transition, marking the end of one school and the beginning of another. And I was reminded of how important these traditions are, that it's worth the clothes shopping and the hour spent on the hair and the rush to be on time and orderly.

We live in a world where change is an everyday occurrence. We change jobs, schools, churches, spouses, neighborhoods, friends, wardrobes and cars far more often than our fore bearers did. Psychologists say change creates stress for most people, and if that's true we are getting more and more stressed out as a culture. But there are some traditions that honor these times of transition, because we know that it's important to celebrate and embrace change. To take time out to recognize that our lives are in flux, and that we feel a great deal at these moments. To say goodbye, to cry a little, and to let our stomachs flutter with anticipation at the new.

In our family we have been walking down to our local school for nine years. On the last day of school the 6th grade teachers led their kids through the school to say goodbye to the places and people they had spent the better part of their lives with. As a family, we sadly say goodbye to those days and the community we experienced at our neighborhood school. But we also welcome the new opportunities, the challenge of middle school and high school.

And there was one more ceremony. Chongo had a church party for the eighth grade graduates. The youth leaders presented each eighth grader with a journal spoke about each of them with words that affirmed what they saw in them and appreciated about each of them.

In each of these transition ceremonies I felt the right-ness, the beauty of honoring this passage in my kids lives. In those moments I could not imagine any better place to be.

Wrong numbers

2009-06-09T22:10:00.000-07:00

Today I had three calls which were wrong numbers. One was the standard "hello?"
"Is Maria there?"
"no, I think you have the wrong number" sort of call.
Two were messages on my answering machine. The first was the lovely voice of a receptionist from a local spa reminding me about a massage appointment for someone named Elizabeth. I called them back to let them know Elizabeth hadn't gotten the message. The only thing worse than not getting a massage is getting a phone call for someone else who is. The next message was actually for someone by my name, and this time, thankfully, NOT for me. Apparently my namesake had bounced the check she'd written to her cabinet maker. I called him back too, and wished him luck. He sounded pretty bummed out.
What do they say about things happening in threes? I tried to imagine what the universe was trying to tell me in three wrong numbers. But the only thing I understood was that I was not Maria, I did not have a massage appointment and I had not bounced a check.
Maybe that was enough to learn in one day.

Tears

2009-05-18T13:14:00.000-07:00

I'm in a kindergarten class. We're at the end of a good day, everything having moved along well, and I'm feeling my kinder mojo might be coming back. Kindergarten is so hard for me, just hitting all the marks of work and time and the right amount of explaining and encouraging. We were doing math centers, everybody working on task. I have a group I'm helping, another group doing a worksheet and the lucky red group playing a math game on the carpet.

Suddenly, next to me is a boy crying, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no words or sobs coming out. Hardly a breathe going in. "What is it?" I asked, alarmed but trying not to panic. His mouth opens and closes a few more times and the tears keep rolling but still no words. "Are you hurt?" I ask and he just continues his silent sobbing. Clearly he's in terrible pain and the worst thoughts run through my head. Are his eyes okay? Do I see any bumps? Is it internal? The lucky red group on the carpet where he was playing are oblivious. If he was serious injured they are not alarmed. I get back down to his level and finally he speaks, eeking out the words between tears. "They aren't going in order," he sobs. Ahh, right. No broken bones, no punctured skin. They just weren't going in order.

I tell this story at dinner that night, dramatizing my fear and my reaction. "Mom," says Maia. "Don't ever panic. You'll scare all the other kids."

"Really?" I'm interested in what she thinks ought to happen. "What should I have done."

"Get down at his level and look him in the eye. Then say 'Are you okay, honey?'" Her voice is high and teacher-like. Why does my ten year old have better instincts than I do?

Widespread Panic

2009-04-22T11:24:00.001-07:00

At one of our local middle schools, a student let off a series of firecrackers during Friday lunch. It happens once, maybe twice, a year -- not too unusual. Except today. Today 1400 kids sat in silence for two seconds, and then ran. They ran out onto the upper fields and up towards the classrooms. Some jumped the fence and kept running up the streets. Others tired before the fence and waited out on the grass, regaining their calm, telling themselves it really couldn't have been gunfire.

The thing is that on Monday, all of these students sat through an intense assembly entitled Rachel's Challenge (www.rachelschallenge.com) that recounted to these students who had been preschoolers at the time, the story of the Columbine shootings. It was a moving assembly, which I'm sure had a profound affect on many students in its call for spreading compassion and kindness. But on this day, the reality of that story literally scared the crap out of 1400 middle schoolers when they heard a series of firecrackers explode.

It was a little reminder that timing can be everything.

Grades

2009-04-22T11:04:00.000-07:00

Chongo got a 93% on his last math test. Exciting news in our house since his math grade has been dogging him this year. It's 8th grade Algebra and he needs an A or B to take Geometry next year. We're in the car when he tells me this and I raise my hand, "High Five!"

"Mom, don't high five me."

"Why?"

"It hurts me. It hurts me inside." The rascal, he's teasing me.

"I'm happy for you," I say. "What should I do to celebrate?"

"How about $5?" he suggests. Right. I'm not paying for test scores. I already pay for semester grades and at $20 per A and $5 per B sometimes it costs me a chunk.

"Consider it a donation to the the "Cause for a Better Chongo." We both laugh out loud at this and he starts to riff on an ad for his new cause.

Inside myself I celebrate his sense of humor. Today I like it even better than A's on math tests.

Learning to Wait

2009-04-05T18:20:00.001-07:00

This week I learned something about myself in Sunday School. Yes, I actually go to Sunday School, much as I hate saying it. Sunday School sounds like a place where somebody's mom shows a flannel graph story from the Bible and then tells you how you can know Jesus as your personal savior. My Sunday School is not that kind of Sunday School. It's just a place where some wonderfully diverse people get together for some damn good coffee and conversation and to engage a teacher who likes the questions more than the answers.

Sunday's discussion was about waiting. Active waiting. Waiting like Habbakuk pictures it standing on the watchtower scanning the horizon for God, for God's answer to his complaint. We read from the prophet Isaiah that God works on behalf of those who wait. And we tried to think about what it meant to anticipate God, to look for God, to wait for God. We recognized that the life of waiting is a life of tension and not always a happy place to live. We talked about how much we seek resolution, diminishing the tension of waiting either through controlling our circumstances or disengagement.

I thought about all the times I wait. As a child I waited eagerly for Christmas morning and the toys we would get. As a teen, the anticipation of seeing the boy I liked at a party held a a deep thrill. Now that I'm older I can't think of much I wait for with the same hope. I've learned to diminish the excitement of waiting. By anticipating less I've managed to lower my expectations. Expecting less leads to less dissapointment. Also, I've found that when you expect too much you often diminish the lovely reality of what is. Like this afternoon, when I saw the large manila envelope sitting in the mailbox, for one moment of wild hope I thought it might be the response I was hoping for about a piece of my writing. Imagine my disappointment to discover it was (just!) a letter from my nephew. (I waited for my cup of coffee to open the letter and very much enjoyed reading his journal about Flat Stanley.)

But what does that mean about how I wait for God? It seems what I believe about God informs how I wait. The problem is that although I believe with all my heart that God is good, I also believe with all my heart that he desires character and wholeness in me far more than indulging the pansy ass easy life I'm trying to live. While I'm sitting on the couch reading a novel, I'm tensely anticipating God, the parent, yelling at me to get my homework done. So I feel, ultimately, like I'm waiting for hard things to come from God. While I believe God's outcomes are good, I can't bring myself to desire the process. All I'm left with is a question: Do we have to desire what we wait for from God?

And that begs another question for educating mama: If I'm just left with a question, did I really learn anything in Sunday School?

Career Moves

2009-03-19T22:24:00.000-07:00

Chongo and Maia's kindergarten teacher once told me this story.

She was at a dinner with her business exec ex-husband. Someone asked her what she did.
"I'm a teacher."
"Oh, what grade do you teach?"
"Kindergarten."
"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be able to move up."

I'm not sure which is harder to teach -- middle school or kindergarten. All I know is that both of those grade groups take a teacher who is particular to them. Otherwise it would be easy to give up the teaching thing. Most teachers of other grades say they'll teach anything but kindergarten or middle school. So I consider the teachers who prefer middle schoolers or kindergarteners as teachers who've chosen a specialty. Otherwise known as experts in their field.

A new strategy

2009-03-14T16:20:00.000-07:00

I realized, only this morning, that there was a better way to handle the whiner I had in my class yesterday. Yesterday, I engaged him and his endless commenting.

The boy began the day complaining about his seating arrangement which was just under my nose at the front of the class. "Can I move seats, I don't like it here. People bother me here. Can I take my quiz next door so I can concentrate? " This concern lasted for the the first 10 minutes.

Another student was given permission to go to the bathroom. Mr. Talker begins "Can I get a drink? My throat hurts. Can I see the nurse? Please just a drink?"

They had to leave for an assembly and then return to get their backpacks, proof they had actually attended. "Can we take our backpacks with us? Please? Please? Why? Why not?"

I kept responding to him firmly and clearly, but he just seemed unable to stop the flow from his mouth. Today I realized that next time, I'm going to try ignoring him, except for when he raises his hand SILENTLY.

How do I know to try this? Maia was telling me about a show she has been watching called "Me or the Dog." It's a show about pets who are coming between a household relationship. In one episode, Maia saw the owner is told to turn her back when the dog tries to jump up on her. By not responding, she won't reward bad behavior with attention.

Hmmm. Maybe the talker in the front row needs a little less attention. Next time, I'm going to try a little dog training.

Defiance

2009-03-08T16:46:00.000-07:00

I was in the office of an elementary school the other day when the phone rang. It was a teacher calling to ask for help from the teacher specialist. Apparently one of her students was being defiant and refusing to remove his hat in the classroom.

The teacher specialist rolled her eyes and headed out the door. In only a few moments she returned. "He just got a buzz haircut yesterday," she informed us. "He didn't want anyone to see his hair."

"So what did you do?" asked another teacher.

"I asked to see his haircut, then told him he looked handsome. He wasn't defiant," she reported, "He was just embarrassed."

And what is the difference when a teacher can't get a student to remove his hat?

the good, the bad, and the caffeine

2009-02-24T22:28:00.000-08:00

Is it possible that there's just something enlivening about a poorly behaved class? Today got started on a very bad note. Eight grade science in a rather rough middle school. The whole group of them came in with attitude, ready to take on the sub. Maybe I hadn't finished my coffee, maybe there were just more of them than there was me, maybe I just wasn't ready to be taken on. I started off firm and clear, still there were a couple of boys who simply wouldn't be quiet, one boy in particular who consistently called back to his friends in another language. I had only just taken roll, but I had to give these kids a test and no way was it going to happen with this boy in the room. So I referred him to the school's discipline office. Disrupting class, incessant talking, profanity, defiance. You could have heard a pin drop for the rest of the test.

The rest of the day the classes gradually got better, and the effects of too many late nights began to get me going on the yawns. By the time my best class sat down in their seats working diligently and silently I thought I was going to have to scream to stay awake. How could I be so bored when only a couple hours earlier I was working to play at the top of my game not to loose control of an entire classroom? Fortunately the final class of the day hit the perfect mark. A few testy kids who needed a little wrangling to get focused on learning science. I was surprised to feel almost grateful for their misbehaving -- anything to ease the boredom of too many students doing exactly what they were supposed to! There's something to be said for a little attitude.

The third most spoken language in the world...

2009-02-14T12:07:00.000-08:00

I was at a Los Angeles area middle school teaching Spanish to a group of 7th graders just learning about the language. We read that Spanish was the third most spoken language in the world. So I asked them what they thought number 1 and 2 were. We agreed English probably had to be one of those, but the other was a stumper for them. Several students raised their hands. "Armenian" was their response. I asked one of them why Armenian. "Because everyone I know who speaks English also speaks Armenian."
I told her she needed to consider the whole world, not just where she lives.
Another student tried something else. "Persian?" he asked, a little more hesitant.
"No," I said, "I'm sure it isn't Persian. Do you know a lot of people who speak Persian?" He nodded. I called on a third student.
"Russian?" There was a community of people in this neighborhood who had immigrated from Russia. But at least this was a closer guess, Russia being a country with a huge landmass, although not a huge population. I was amazed at the students inability to think about languages outside of their own experience. So although I also did not know what the two most spoken languages were, I tried to help them think about the large world, about what they knew of populations and country size, and we eventually all agreed it was probably English and Chinese (Mandarin) or maybe a language from India.

Everyone talks about how small the world has become with the advent of the Internet, still, when it came down to engaging that world a group of 7th grade students couldn't evaluate their own place in it. It worries me, but I'm not going to solve it in one day of subbing. It's a problem as old as time, being unable to imagine a universe that doesn't revolve around your place in it.

What's your guess? You might be more right than you think:

About.com geography lists these most spoken languages from 2007
1. Mandarin Chinese - 882 million
2. Spanish - 325 million
3. English - 312-380 million
4. Arabic - 206-422 million
5. Hindi - 181 million
6. Portuguese - 178 million
7. Bengali - 173 million
8. Russian - 146 million
9. Japanese - 128 million
10. German - 96 million

But here's another site that explains the complications of coming up with any real data and offers a list of interpretations: http://www2.ignatius.edu/faculty/turner/languages.htm

Starting Kindergarten

2009-02-13T10:02:00.001-08:00

Last week I had subbed in the kindergarten classroom of the teacher who had taught both Maia and Chongo for kindergarten. It was fun to be reminded of Ms. B's teaching style and the ideas she brought to the classroom. And it took me back to Chongo's first day of kindergarten. I couldn't help but remember the trepidation I felt watching that beloved boy climb the stairs into her classroom chanting under his breath, "I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared."

I didn't worry about his ability to succeed at learning. What I feared was what might be lost of him in the process. If he really did get along, if he really did do as he was told who would he become? Would anyone recognize the hidden beauty of him? The Chongo-ness that sometimes required special glasses to appreciate. It may be a generalization, but there is some truth to the fact that only your mother can really appreciate who you are. Everyone else just wants you to follow the rules and not raise a ruckus. This can be especially true in school, and I woke at night terrified that sending him into the school "system" might be wrong.

But, Chongo was fortunate. Ms. B. was not that sort of teacher, and I suppose it helped that Chongo's being fully Chongo did not include disrupting the class. Yes, there were a few paintings that looked like every other kindergartners, but there were also these wonderful, imaginative books that Ms. B. put together for students to practice their writing. Based on the book "If You Give a Mouse a Muffin," they went through almost the entire alphabet with five pages of open ended statements such as "If you give a turtle a ticket he might...." Chongo became her best writer (or so she told me) not for his ability to spell or write neatly, but because of his confidence. He had an answer for every jaguar, girl, mouse, or baboon and every possible thing they could be given. The last page was always blank, and the students had to fill in the object. Chongo never wavered. Whatever happened in all the rest of the centers, cutting and pasting words that began with letters and circling the number of fish in the bowl, every week, in these books, Chongo had his imagination set free.

It wasn't long before I learned that it would take a lot of system to get the Chongo-ness out of Chongo. Now that he's a teenager, I sometimes wish Ms. B. had been the kind of teacher that whipped kids into shape. As I sat at her workstation last week and collated the "If you give an Elephant a..." books and thought about the variety of five-year olds who still came to her every day to learn, I was happy she was still setting students imaginations free.

Mistakes

2009-02-05T16:05:00.000-08:00

I am continually amazed at the ability of kindergarten teachers to get 20 just-out-of-preschool kids moving in the same educational direction. Making all the right things happen at the right time is just about the most difficult thing in Kindergarten.

I'd had a very bad time of it one day with a new class of kindergartners. Inadvertently I'd gotten an hour off on my time. I raced the kids through centers started hurrying them out the door to snack when the teacher next door stopped us. "Isn't it snack time?" I asked
"Not for another hour," she said. "Have you already finished centers?"
The truth was we'd hardly finished centers, and certainly not with any quality. But now we were all moving towards snack and I had to bring them back into the world of cutting out words that started with the letter "p." I brought the kids back to the carpet and told them I was sorry I had made a mistake, but we would work it out. And we did. They were very forgiving, but very hungry they told me. I told myself kindergartners can learn that even a day with mistakes can be salvaged for something good.

Two weeks later I was back in the same class. As we settled in for the morning calendar routine. I reminded the students I had been there two weeks before. "And we had a little mistake," the boy in the front row reminded me. I grimaced. How is it that a five year old can remember your mistake from two weeks before but can't remember the directions you gave him five minutes ago. "Yes," I admitted in my calm, pleasant kindergarten voice. "we did have a little mistake. But I think things will go better to day." He nodded with what I hoped was confidence.

Fortunately for my confidence, and in rather a lovely gesture, the teacher who caught me in the middle of the snafu, asked if I would sub for her kindergarten class the following week. One thing you learn in kindergarten is that mistakes can offer you another chance to suceed.

Getting started

2009-01-31T09:34:00.000-08:00

The first post is the scariest. Set the tone, get it right, be compelling enough to capture those millions of cyberspace readers just drooling for more words. More words? Well maybe my sister will read it, and that would be a start.

With those four sentences my New Year's Resolution is now a reality. Except I didn't make any New Year's Resolutions, but if I had, starting a blog would be one of them. Either way, I'm not giving up the feeling of accomplishment oozing up in me right now.

But this is meant to be a blog about Education. About my education, about my kid's education, about other kid's education and about how I am trying to make a difference in that process. Sitting here at my computer today isn't helping since Maia, the only child I am responsible for right now, is watching TV. The other child went off mountain biking with his dad and his grandpa while I stayed in bed to read The Wonder of Boys by Michael Gurian. I've been trying to read this book for years, but such good fiction gets in the way. In it Gurian talks about the need for boys to have a tribe, a first, second and third family, who invest in his life. And I think what a good thing Chongo and his dad and grandpa have ridden up the hill together, three generations of men and almost men. Of course Chongo doesn't care about biking with dad and grandpa. He cares about his computer. What Chongo is learning is that his parents mean it when we say you have to get exercise if you want to play your computer games for hours.

Maybe my next post will be about school.