The Sound of Poetry

Every morning at the RIWP Summer Institute, we write. We arrive, greet one another, grab a snack, set a time to return to the table, and settle into a new or favorite spot with our handmade journal and pen. Sometimes we get a prompt, but recently there has been no direction. This is liberating, but as someone who has always been good at following rules, this can cause major writer’s block. My best writing is usually what I HAVE to write - because it’s something itching to get out and be processed or when an audience needs something from me. This is why reflective writing and analytical writing are my strengths.

Poems and stories, not so much.

I shared this tendency of mine with a friend in the SI and he reminded me that I should use this class as an opportunity to push myself and do things I wouldn’t normally do, including writing in genres that I’m not as comfortable with.

So yesterday, when I wasn’t sure what I wanted to explore, I sought some inspiration in poetry. I figured I could find a quick poem and write a brief response. But the friend’s voice popped into my head and told me I should try to write some poetry myself. Which scared me. I’m not a poet. My metaphors are all cliche. I want to be authentic, not seem like I’m trying too hard. Which sent me back to student mode. I was good at school because I was able to imitate the writing of others. I could see the structure and adapt it to my needs. I used mentor texts before I knew what a mentor text was...and before Kelly Gallagher wrote a book about it. Despite my self-induced panic, I realized what I had to do.

I scrolled through my Twitter feed and found the link to The Writer’s Almanac, a website that publishes a poem and some literary facts every day, and found “The Sound of Sunlight” by Todd Davis. His poem’s lines were short and I liked the idea of defining something (the sound of sunlight) by something other than itself (the sound of a wren singing or a coyote hiding, etc. - considering sunlight doesn’t actually make a sound). I read through the poem a few times, and basically played madlibs. I retained the structure and the parts of speech, but replaced the nouns and verbs to hack Todd’s idea into my own. We only had thirty minutes, so this is what I drafted:

The Sound of Poetry

On the far side

of the classroom

pencils

are scratching

over one

paper

like feet

running

to chase

a ball.

A reluctant student

releases

a sigh

while another

stops

mid sentence

before flipping

to a clean sheet.

As we descend

into our thoughts

we look

down

onto

milky

memories

and witness

the shadow

of a moment

chase

the moment

itself.

Behind us

in the courtyard

where we gaze

each snowstorm

the fall

of the flakes

amplify

the sound

of poetry

and allows us

to write

in a flood

of inspiration.

Regardless of the quality of the poem I created, I am really glad I pushed myself to do this. It’s so easy to stay comfortable and do what you’re good at, but I was reminded of how my students feel when they are assigned a task that is challenging or seems like more than they want do. By imitating the structure of the poem, I paid way closer attention to how it was constructed and have a much better appreciation for the author’s work. I made more meaning from the poem by the time I finished writing than I would have if I had just glanced over it once and answered a few of my teacher’s questions about it. I was reminded of the importance of just putting an idea into another person’s head. As a teacher, you never know how a gentle word or two might inspire a student (or colleague). Also, I am really grateful for the feedback I received from the group, reminding me that I wasn’t just “stealing.” I wrote a poem that only I could write.

March Madness

March Madness is not just a catchy alliterative name for the NCAA basketball championship season. It’s a real thing  that teachers (everywhere?) are experiencing. This eight week stretch from February vacation til can’t-get-here-soon-enough April vacation has been trying for everyone, and as a new teacher, all of these ups and downs are especially arduous.

Last year, as a student teacher, I left my high school placement and started my middle school placement halfway through this stretch. I was feeling confident after a successful run at the high school and looking forward to the new connections I’d make with my 8th graders. When I arrived at the middle school I barely knew the students and wasn’t always privy to all of details of the issues the team faced. The “madness” I experienced was learning 100 new names, planning a fun six word  memoir lesson, and finishing up my work sample.

This year, it’s not so pretty. It’s been over 100 days with my darlings - and over 100 days of them with each other. Do I need a break to catch my breath and renew my spirit? Yes. But I think they need it more.

The incidents of bullying in the classroom, in the hallway, in the cafeteria, and online have shocked me. I don’t want to believe that my students are involved in this vortex of name-calling, threats, and physical violence. It is disheartening to hear the stories of events at home and not knowing the best way to proceed other than informing the other professionals at school and making a plan. I worry so much about the choices the students make when they think no one is looking or that no one cares. I worry so much about the circumstances the students are involved in where they have no power or opportunity to change the situation.

We at schools do the best that we can with the resources that we have, but, undoubtedly, things - and people - fall through the cracks. When I spend so much time working so closely on a behavior plan with one student, I spend less time ensuring that the needs of the other students are met. How do I balance this in order to be the teacher that each of my students’ needs?

Well, one of the perks of teaching in a middle school, is that there is a team of teachers consistently interacting with the students and also consistently meeting to discuss those students. I am lucky to have common planning time every other day. Also, once a week, that time is strictly devoted to RTI where we identify the students in need of further intervention, create a plan to address those needs, design a way to collect data, and then analyze that data together to determine adjustments.  Now, we are starting to see some of those benefits of that hard work for those selected students - which feels very rewarding.

And these little successes are what I will be trying to keep in mind over these next nine days. It’s way too easy to get overwhelmed by March Madness and drown in all of the work that hasn’t been done. I will remind myself that I am also only one person. My job is not to fix students - it’s to create opportunities for them to learn and become better versions of themselves. Even if the situation at home is less than ideal, if I create a safe environment in my classroom with clear expectations and positive interactions, then I am  doing what’s best for all kids.

Dear Dr. Cook

Dr. Cook -

What do you mean? I don’t believe it. This can’t be right.

Confusion. Disbelief. Emptiness.

These thoughts and feelings rushed through me when I was told about your sudden and tragic passing.

As the numbness sank in my heart, my fear of not showing gratitude toward the people I love rose up.

Does she know that I go back to my Practicum notebook to read her inspirational one-liners? Does she know that I gained amazing friends from my student teaching experience? Does she know her kind words on my own writing now inspire kind words on my students’ writing...especially when I am at the bottom of a towering stack of papers?

I knew I needed to honor what I learned from you and not waste another moment keeping my feelings of gratitude to myself. So, I “assumed the power to do what I know” (a favorite quote you shared with us) and decided that my students and I would write letters to the people we appreciate in our lives.

At first, I wasn’t sure whether I should tell the students about what prompted this activity. I worried about the tears that might fall as I stood in front of them and shared my memory of you, but another favorite professor reminded me that I could make this a teachable moment. By sharing this mournful experience, I was showing them a real way to handle grief. I explained that writing through pain may not be everyone’s go-to method and that’s okay. What was important was trying out the process and using writing as a way to connect with other people. In true Writing Project style, we began with brainstorming and drafting, and worked our way from sharing just a few words on the first day all the way to entire letters by the end of the week.

Then, on Friday, since I wasn’t grading the students’ letters (many of them requested privacy since they were writing about such personal topics), I had the students write letters of reflection to me. From the total silence during writing time (which is usually a rarity) to the requests for more time to share with the whole class, I had the sense that most of the students enjoyed the process. However, I wanted to see for myself what they were taking away from the experience. As I read through these letters to me, I noticed a few patterns.

Some students recognized the process and the difference that audience makes:

-“To be honest, writing a letter to someone directly makes writing so much easier.”

-“I think it was hard to think of things to write but I realized it comes from the heart.”

Some students recognized the power of writing for their own lives:

-“I especially loved the purpose of this. They really help you to become more appreciative.”

-“Writing that letter to my best friend was a really healthy process for me.”

-“In a way I felt relieved.”

Some students underestimated their future potential:

-“I do not plan to write any more letters because I am not that nice of a person.”

But most importantly, so many students were thinking about the other person’s reaction:

-“We got to make other people smile and we got to express ourselves.”

-“My friends always joke that I don’t have a heart or that I’m soul-less. And well that’s because sad things or happy things don’t really affect me. I like how it was to show someone you appreciate them. I hope that my recipient will be happy and excited to read my letter.”

-“The way my mom reacted was giving me a nice big hug and it almost seemed like she got a little teary eyed.”

-“I liked it because people don’t always know how you feel about them and it cheers them up when you remind them.”

-“To me the thing I enjoyed the most while writing it was the thought of the person receiving it being happy.”

Honestly, my main objective was for my students to feel better about something in their own life, but they clearly exceeded those expectations with the empathy they showed for others. This empathy - the ability to recognize the emotions of another person - was your hallmark. You listened and validated. You comforted and encouraged. You were a caretaker of the human spirit.

A friend and I reminisced about how we would wait to talk to you after class, even if we didn’t have anything significant to say, just to feel heard and have you  say our names.

For this you will be truly missed.

Thank you for the life you breathed into me and my students.

Peace,

Brittany

Evals: Keeping Me on My Toes

This week, I finished my formal and informal observations. The principal was an invited guest at my Salem tea party. The principal and my curriculum coordinator popped in to see Room 111 Writer’s Workshop. And on Monday, the curriculum coordinator was an important audience member of our debut reading of Rod Serling’s teleplay,  “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street.”

As a new teacher I consider myself lucky to have had three observations.

And I’m not being sarcastic.

Of course, many of the teachers are concerned about their observations. They want to an administrator to walk in and be able to see the high caliber teacher they know that they are. However, this desire for success often morphs into  eye rolls and preemptive defensiveness.

Not exactly the most inspiring attitude to share with a rookie.

Yes, the observation rubric calls for a lot. Yes it can be unrealistic for teachers to include all of the rubric indicators at an “exceeding” level every day, especially when we have short periods and lessons run for multiple days. You might have had a rough night. The students might have had a rough night. There are so many variables.

But if we aren’t striving to be the best teacher we can be every day, then what are we doing in the classroom?

I know I am privileged to be coming into education right now. I have no preconceived notion of what it was like before Race to the Top, Common Core, PARCC, and revamped evaluation rubrics. I have never been considered a “highly effective teacher” in the Coventry school system. I’m also young with no spouse or children or ill family members to take care of when I get home.

But like the brooding veterans, I too have high expectations for myself. I was a successful college student and I trust that I had the best preparation around. I am fighting to make a good first impression so that I can stick around for another year or two or five because I too love the content...and love the kids even more.

I empathize with these other teachers’ point of view.

However, I think the negativity gets in the way of seeing the hard work that the administrators are doing to make this a fair process (at least in my building) and prevents teachers from remembering some of the most basic lessons about assessment, feedback, and being a human.

As teachers, we expect our students to be patient with us as we develop a new unit, teach a new lesson, or try a new strategy. How often do you try something new and it flops? ALL THE TIME. Your students don’t riot, you pick back up, and try again. I feel confident that, though the system may not be perfect, administrators deserve that same patience. They are people trying to do the best they can with what they have. And there are structures in place if things really don’t go the way they should.

Also, we know the importance of assessment and feedback to students’ learning. It’s our job to help kids see what they excel at, where they can grow, and what they can do to get there. When I have a stack of 100 essays in front of me, though, that task is daunting and it’s tempting to just circle the errors and call it a night. When you are the one with the red pen (well, green and purple are my colors of choice) and the power, it’s easy to forget how much a low mark stings, especially when you feel like you are strapped and already trying your hardest with what you have - which is how so many of our struggling students feel. But being evaluated so closely and receiving so much feedback (of both the warm and cool kind), I am reminded of how important the framing of that feedback is.

Again, I can’t speak for all and I might just be blessed with exceptionally fair, skilled evaluators, but regardless, when receiving that feedback you are immediately put into a student’s shoes. Am I good enough? Did I let her down? Am I going to get in trouble? Panic sets in and negative thoughts blaze through your mind.

Thankfully, my evaluators have been so wonderful at using the feedback sandwich (a top bun of something warm -a slice of something cool in between-and another warm bun on the bottom). My curriculum coordinator has shared personal stories of her own challenges as a new teacher as well as things she still struggles with today. She reveals herself as a human being. Her feedback reminds me of the importance of trying to make this same connection with each student.

Truly, I am not just saying this because I passed with flying colors. No way. I have a lot of room to grow. My point is, that just as vulnerable as we feel as teachers, that feeling is multiplied and magnified a million times for our students. I don’t want to forget that.

One of my biggest fears is being swept up by the murmurings of negativity, becoming complacent, and settling for what’s easy or comfortable. This year, I am grateful that the eval process has kept me on my toes.

Productive PD

Making sub plans? Awful.

PD with my fellow seventh grade ELA teachers? Awesome.

Hearing stories about the “mean” sub? Awful.

Hearing my kids say “We missed you. Don’t ever leave us again!” Awesome.

***

Last week, I was lucky to have an in-school PD day with the three other seventh grade ELA teachers. I wondered what the heck we would do for 6.5 hours, but it flew by.

We began by calibrating rubrics for a common assessment. We’d done it once before at the beginning of the year, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been scared for it. I don’t put as much stock in grades as I used to when I was a student (see my existential crisis here) , but still, what if I’m too easy? What if I’m too hard? What’s the difference between approaching and meeting? Meeting and exceeding? Am I ruining kids by the grades and feedback I am giving them?

Ugh.

Of course, it was a powerful experience. The grades themselves were not as important as the conversation that they started. As a 7th grade team, we were able to see strengths and areas for improvement across the grade level. We talked about what should be expected developmentally and shared best practices for preparing students for the next progression of skills. We realized that with the very structured Evidence Sandwich that is a key component of our writing program, we are in a much better place than most for breaking down the important process of analysis, but we definitely have a lot of work to get the kids there.

And through these discussions I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as I realized how closely aligned my thinking and practice are compared to the other ELA teachers. It’s nice to be a new teacher and work with people who believe the same things I do about reading and writing. With more theory than practice on my side, it would be a lot harder to defend my beliefs to people who have been teaching for nearly as many years as I have been alive.

Next, we reflected on our first trimester unit. We discussed which activities the kids loved, which texts are required for this non-fiction unit, and drafted a curriculum document with essential questions, learning targets, and common assessments for next year’s seventh grade teachers to use.

Then, finally, we were able to look forward to our second trimester narrative unit and beyond. Last year’s seventh grade teachers recommended that we use “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” (a teleplay from the original Twilight Zone) since it connects with the themes of fear, scapegoating, and the dangers of group behavior that we explored with Salem. I had never heard of “Monsters” before the meeting, but the other teachers had and agreed that we should go for it.

Since the Common Core calls for compare/contrast of historical and fictional texts and our school is  working on developing common assessments, the students will be writing an Evidence Sandwich comparing two scapegoat characters - Bridget Bishop from Salem and Les Goodman from “Monsters.” Then, since the unit also calls for narrative writing, we designed a RAFT with characters from Salem and “Monsters” with a variety of audiences, formats, and topics (my idea!).

You might have noticed that most of the content of our texts has been and will continue to be a bit heavy. We’ve talked about the death of innocent people in Salem, Pete Van Horn is fatally shot in “Monsters,” and we will be reading a historical fiction novel about genocides around the world after this. Even our essential question while reading “Monsters” is going to be somewhat grim: “What turns a crowd into a mob?”

As we sat there, I was saddened by this because I think crowds can also be powerful and lead to positive good. I couldn’t help but think of the TED Talk “How to Start a Movement.” I mentioned this, and, as if I was student teaching again, Mrs. Ballard finished my thought...

“What turns a crowd into a movement?”

So we are working toward some sort of service learning/social action project at the end of the year. I am pumped for the way all of this is going to come together. My goal as an ELA teacher is for my students to become better readers, writers, speakers, and listeners, but more importantly, to be compassionate, generous, grateful human beings. I’m lucky to have a department (especially an AMAZING curriculum coordinator) that’s with me on this.

Parents...

From calling with good news, to sending notifications about potential failing grades, to talking with them at conferences, sending  positive postcards, and following up about whether their student did what they needed to do (academically and/or behaviorally), parent communication has occupied a lot of my time recently.

Sure, I met with some parents on Meet and Greet night way back in August and talked a little about my class at Open House in September, but those were pleasantries. My goal was to convey excitement for the new school year so that parents would feel confident sending their child to school each day.

As the months wear on, though, from my interactions with certain colleagues, I am getting the sense that I am supposed to tread lightly with parents.

“Don't promise too much.”  “Get everything in writing.” “Good luck with that one.”

They have good intentions for sharing this advice, wanting to ensure that I guard against any trouble. Obviously they have much more experience than me, and maybe remembrances of sour situations color their memories. Or they feel weighed down by the hijacked notion of “accountability.” So I nod my head and say thanks.

But, these (not so) subtle hints made me nervous for parent teacher conferences. I set low expectations for how the afternoon would go. I worried about a disgruntled parent attacking my rookie performance, afraid that they would complain of confusing assignments, unfair policies, or that I was unsupportive of their child’s academic needs. I rehearsed what I might say in defense of myself.

Well, parent teacher conferences came and went without a hitch. I was able to brag about how well some students were performing in my classroom and share concerns about how a student’s behavior was limiting his academic success. Generally, parents were in agreement with our comments about their child, and sometimes even pleasantly surprised. I was impressed with some parents’ clear understanding of the biological, social, and  emotional factors that affect children at the precious ages of twelve and thirteen.

Looking back, I shouldn’t have been so surprised. One of my beliefs in life is that people do the best they can with what is available to them. (SIde note: I think this is one of the reasons people say I am “too nice” and why I have a hard time delegating tasks or giving consequences.) Despite the “warnings” from colleagues, my deep seated belief that parents and teachers are on the same side guided my conversations that afternoon. We all want what is best for Connor or Amelia. We are all  giving our best effort at whatever it is we need to do to help the student be successful.

This is a tall order. It’s not easy to be so optimistic. I am sure  that I am going to encounter disagreement, disapproval, and anger during my teaching career. But if I harbor a negative attitude toward parents, I will be more quick to place blame instead of reflecting on my own practice. Being a critically reflective teacher does not include pointing fingers, but requires a willingness to ask why, and a readiness to take action to affect positive change.

Vulnerability and Gratitude at the Amusement Park

"It's not a sprint, it's a marathon."

I have written about it on this blog before. It's part of my Twitter intro. A charm on one of my bracelets says it.

But still, that's not enough.

It takes a human being to say it to remind me of its truth and importance in my life.

The last few weeks, maybe even month, have been more challenging and emotional than anything I've ever experienced before. Generally, I am a very happy person. I start and end my days with smiles and excitement for the cool things that happened and are to come. I don't wish to stay in bed all day or shout TGIF from the rafters, but, man, this teaching thing got real.

See, with student teaching, I was lucky to be with two awesome cooperating teachers - supportive and encouraging, who already did the hard work of establishing safe communities for productive learning. And each placement was only seven weeks long. So the first week or two was spent observing and getting my feet wet with a few classes. Then, I picked up speed and got comfortable. Things were a little more difficult around week five with assessments, and grading, and students who figured out which buttons to press, but I knew I only had two weeks left, so I made the best of it. I could see the tape at the finish line. And I realized how much I was going to miss the comfortability of the classroom that had nearly become my own.

Now that I'm flying solo, I don't have a seasoned vet sitting across from me every day curiously asking how I am going to help the students craft engaging intro paragraphs or sharing nerdy stories that only English teachers would appreciate. Yes, I have my team and we share concerns about students and administrative duties (SLOs, STAR data, RTI groups, and parent/teacher conferences seem to dominate the agenda lately) - which is one reason why I prefer middle school to high school. But it's not the same.

If being a teacher is like riding a roller coaster, I have had to remember to sit with the people that will make sure I buckle tight, that will scream with me, will hold my hair when I get off and want to puke, and encourage me to get back in line again. And I can't forget all those who made sure I saved enough money to get into the amusement park in the first place.

I'm grateful to have a lot of those people in my world.

It's so easy to get caught up in all of the plans that didn't go as planned. The students I'm not supporting enough and the students I'm not challenging enough. The positive feedback I didn't give and the data I haven't analyzed. It's overwhelming and makes me second guess if I'm doing anything right at all.

I think it is safe to say that all pre-service teachers fantasize about all of the long lasting impacts on students. The reality is, though, that there is much day-to-day frustration and feelings of inadequacy. A payoff like that is far away. So it is important to find your people that will remind you that the trip to the amusement park is worth it. Maybe have a friend who you share a reflection sandwich with at the end of each day (something that was awesome, something that could be better, and something that was awesome). Find someone who will give you new ideas to try. Find someone to make a pact with, agreeing that you will both call at least one parent a week with good news about their child.

After watching this TED talk as part of a PD day, I am realizing more and more that being a successful teacher requires vulnerability - with your students, their parents, your colleagues, and especially with yourself. As Brene Brown says, you must "lean into the discomfort" and be willing to embrace relationships that might not work out. She ends by saying that we are all imperfect, we are set to struggle, but, more than anything, we all deserve love. Practicing gratitude is key to living a whole-hearted life.

So, to all of "my people," thank you.