Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The pleasures of teaching
This ain't no easy gig, teaching. Many days, I'm faced with a dilemma before I can unlock the door to my classroom. "Informants" filling me in on the happenings of the playground. Permission slips waved in my face, before I've decided the best way to collect them most efficiently (so I don't misplace them). "I couldn't do my homework" tales start pleading their case. Kids pushing each other, annoying each other, and expecting me to referee. I sigh big sighs, and get the day started.
The pleasures of teaching.
On many days, when I'm walking to the office from the parking lot, I'm behind a 7th grade boy and his 1st grade sister. He is, possibly, the sweetest big brother EVER! He loves his little sister so much, and this I know from simply walking behind them on many occasions. I've watched them walk up to the school holding hands. I've witnessed him patiently and gently coaxing her to keep moving, when she's put on the skids and not wanted to take another step toward her school day. Last week, he was using his cell phone to take her picture, while she was striking a cover girl pose. He looked at his pic, showed it to her and I heard him say, "Look. You look so pretty!"
The pleasures of walking to this job.
My "challenge" kid this year! Whoa! Not an easy task. He was wearing me out. I was privately hoping he'd move. He was stealing every ounce of my energy, and I was feeling like emotional road kill. I've kept in close contact with dad and grandparents. We're on the same page. Dad was a student at our school, so he has my back, and I have his. After winter break, this student was the reason I was moaning and groaning about returned to school.
But, the light has started to shine. He's coming around. I'm giving him his space to be wiggly, fidgety, and crazy. He has to be reminded to give me my teaching space. He and I have met in the middle. He's trying to get his work done. I'm writing daily notes to his dad. I'm just the reporter. I've told the student that his behavior and choices write what goes into the note.
Last week I awarded him "Student of the Week". Strike while the iron is hot. We're going to make it. Just yesterday, I found myself thinking, "If I have to do a 3/4 combination next year, maybe I should keep this kid. He knows me. Why should he have to waste time starting all over again with someone else." Crap!
The pleasure (and insanity) of teaching.
I do not experience one single day without a child telling me I'm pretty. This class is really a bunch of shmoozers, and I love it! They notice my clothes. My earrings. My hair. Anything and everything, and they compliment their observation on a regular basis. I'm told I'm the best teacher in the WHOLE WORLD. I respond with, "I'm your best teacher until next year." Sometimes, I think they're using complimentary warfare to disarm me. Smart kids.
The pleasure of teaching 8 and 9 year olds.
At the end of each day, we walk to the front of the school in a cluster. I have a group of girls who all want to hold my hand, hug my waist (well, the area where my waist used to be), lock arms with me, touch and hold on to me in some way. We look like a parade float, making our way in unison down the hallway. I've told them I need to be an octopus teacher, so I have enough arms for everyone. They tell me stories on the way. They giggle with one another as they volley for position near me. They give me big hugs, squeezing hand grips, and "I don't want to leave you" smiles before running off to their mothers.
I see former students in front of the school. Now the mothers and fathers, waiting to pick up their children. I walk out to visit. A quick hello, love on their newest babe-in-arms, ask about their parents and siblings. I'm genuinely happy and heart-warmed to see each and every one of these "kids", who used to be the group lined up at my door each morning. I've been at this school for a long time.
The pleasure of a job, that ain't no easy gig.
The pleasures of teaching.
On many days, when I'm walking to the office from the parking lot, I'm behind a 7th grade boy and his 1st grade sister. He is, possibly, the sweetest big brother EVER! He loves his little sister so much, and this I know from simply walking behind them on many occasions. I've watched them walk up to the school holding hands. I've witnessed him patiently and gently coaxing her to keep moving, when she's put on the skids and not wanted to take another step toward her school day. Last week, he was using his cell phone to take her picture, while she was striking a cover girl pose. He looked at his pic, showed it to her and I heard him say, "Look. You look so pretty!"
The pleasures of walking to this job.
My "challenge" kid this year! Whoa! Not an easy task. He was wearing me out. I was privately hoping he'd move. He was stealing every ounce of my energy, and I was feeling like emotional road kill. I've kept in close contact with dad and grandparents. We're on the same page. Dad was a student at our school, so he has my back, and I have his. After winter break, this student was the reason I was moaning and groaning about returned to school.
But, the light has started to shine. He's coming around. I'm giving him his space to be wiggly, fidgety, and crazy. He has to be reminded to give me my teaching space. He and I have met in the middle. He's trying to get his work done. I'm writing daily notes to his dad. I'm just the reporter. I've told the student that his behavior and choices write what goes into the note.
Last week I awarded him "Student of the Week". Strike while the iron is hot. We're going to make it. Just yesterday, I found myself thinking, "If I have to do a 3/4 combination next year, maybe I should keep this kid. He knows me. Why should he have to waste time starting all over again with someone else." Crap!
The pleasure (and insanity) of teaching.
I do not experience one single day without a child telling me I'm pretty. This class is really a bunch of shmoozers, and I love it! They notice my clothes. My earrings. My hair. Anything and everything, and they compliment their observation on a regular basis. I'm told I'm the best teacher in the WHOLE WORLD. I respond with, "I'm your best teacher until next year." Sometimes, I think they're using complimentary warfare to disarm me. Smart kids.
The pleasure of teaching 8 and 9 year olds.
At the end of each day, we walk to the front of the school in a cluster. I have a group of girls who all want to hold my hand, hug my waist (well, the area where my waist used to be), lock arms with me, touch and hold on to me in some way. We look like a parade float, making our way in unison down the hallway. I've told them I need to be an octopus teacher, so I have enough arms for everyone. They tell me stories on the way. They giggle with one another as they volley for position near me. They give me big hugs, squeezing hand grips, and "I don't want to leave you" smiles before running off to their mothers.
I see former students in front of the school. Now the mothers and fathers, waiting to pick up their children. I walk out to visit. A quick hello, love on their newest babe-in-arms, ask about their parents and siblings. I'm genuinely happy and heart-warmed to see each and every one of these "kids", who used to be the group lined up at my door each morning. I've been at this school for a long time.
The pleasure of a job, that ain't no easy gig.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Here Comes the Sun
The sun has returned.
He came and kicked the grey blanket off of our valley.
He is welcomed back with open arms,
like a returning lover.
He is warm fudge
topping a sundae.
Hello Mr. Sun,
you have so many fans.
Everyone is talking about your return
and showing the love.
I knew you'd be back
come February.
Our spirits are lifted
You are the life of the party.
We're outside again,
Your honey rays dripping
on our faces.
You are the song,
You are the invitation
to the dance.
He came and kicked the grey blanket off of our valley.
He is welcomed back with open arms,
like a returning lover.
He is warm fudge
topping a sundae.
Hello Mr. Sun,
you have so many fans.
Everyone is talking about your return
and showing the love.
I knew you'd be back
come February.
Our spirits are lifted
You are the life of the party.
We're outside again,
Your honey rays dripping
on our faces.
You are the song,
You are the invitation
to the dance.
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