Time

[Drafted Dec. 5, 2020] 

I never blog as often as I want to, but I am always grateful to my former self when I capture my thoughts at a particular moment in time that I can revisit weeks, months, and years later. 

 In 2014, I had one of my harder years of teaching (not nearly the hardest, I would come to find out). In November of that year, I blogged about finally feeling like my class was "my class". I’ve looked back at that post almost every year since to remind myself that it takes time to get to "that place." Without exception, every fall, I have nostalgia for my class from the previous year, for procedures running smoothly, for the routines and traditions we developed together. 

A Tuesday Tradition for our Greeting

This year has been no different in that respect, but with the added complication of nostalgia for practically everything from the “before times” as well. Yet, just like every other year before, this year it was only a matter of time before this class started to feel like my class. Over the past 14 weeks, my co-teacher and I have created an incredible little online community. I’ve had some of my favorite teaching moments, maybe ever, with this crew of kiddos. And in the last few weeks, in particular, virtual school has finally felt like school. 

On most days, the kiddos log into the programs we use for independent practice quickly and independently, and I am able to pull individuals into separate meetings for feedback or intervention. During small groups, I’ve tried a few different things, but have found ways to get students working on differentiated skills and even collaborating to solve problems. I’ve also created traditions, like the “Which ____ are you?” Greeting during Morning Meeting on Tuesdays (with gifs of popular characters) and our favorite Brain Breaks from UJU videos, which siblings and parents often join for. At the end of the day, when everyone unmutes to wave and there’s a chorus of byes, and “Have a great afternoon!” and “See you tomorrow!” it almost feels we’re together. 

On Monday, I will go back to school in person with a small cohort of kiddos. Friends, family, and colleagues have been asking “how are you feeling about it?” And my best answer right now is “I'm feeling it all.” I’m equal parts anxious and curious and nervous and excited and terrified. I don’t know if it will feel like school when we’re all in masks and the desks are spread out and we can’t gather on the carpet for a read-aloud. But I know that we have re-created school before, which gives me hope that we can do it again. I'm also reminding myself that it takes time.

Reflections

Six years ago, I left the only school I’d ever taught at and went to teach at a new school across the city. This new school had different terms of engagement, different expectations for students and teachers, different policies and routines. I went from being a veteran teacher with a lot of confidence, to feeling like I had no idea how to interact with students. 

At my new school, we weren’t allowed to sit in a circle for Morning Meeting, give first graders math workbooks, or administer individual reading assessments. We weren’t encouraged to provide differentiated reading choices, only the basal reader. I felt like all of the teaching tools I had acquired during my first seven years of teaching had been yanked away from me. As things got more difficult, I doubled down. I worked harder to re-create the systems I’d used in the past, to make my new classroom feel familiar, and to urge my administration to reconsider their policies. I started putting in even more hours than I typically did (which was a lot.) I went in early, left late, worked constantly at home. 

I lost count of how many times
I put this library back together.

My goal up to that point, had been to move into leadership within a year or two. During those first few months, I thought constantly about how I could excel in this teaching environment, while every challenge and set-back made me question if I was cut out for teaching or administration at all.  I was miserable and confused. I cried a lot. I truly believed, or wanted to believe, that if I put in more time and more effort, that things would get easier, but they didn’t. In fact, they got harder, and more things started to change: my co-teacher was pulled from classroom, my roster was switched, and I got less frequent support. By the middle of fall, I was exhausted and sick, looking at new jobs and new careers. 

Miraculously, I was pulled out of that situation by a call from my former school that a sudden vacancy had opened up in the fourth grade. I’d only ever taught early elementary, and the thought of working with older students made me nervous, but I barely had to think twice about accepting. I needed out. 

Day 1 in my first fourth grade classroom. 

In January, I started teaching fourth grade. It wasn’t easy, but this time, I didn’t let it consume me. I stopped focusing on the future. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay in fourth grade, or in teaching, but I decided I could survive until the end of the year. I stopped worrying about re-creating my old classroom environment; after all, this was a new grade for me. I didn’t assume I knew everything. Instead, I tried to pay attention to what worked and didn’t work with the kids in front of me. I didn’t try to innovate much with the curriculum, since I was only ever a few days ahead in my planning. I kept things simple. 

I continued to put in a lot of hours, but I also read, baked, and visited friends on the weekends. I started to re-prioritize my physical and emotional health. I let myself believe that I could get better, and I did. By the end of that year, I’d decided to stay in fourth grade for another year to continue learning and improving. 

One of my favorite student notes EVER.

In hindsight, I can see that one of the reasons I struggled so much at the new school was because I couldn’t let go of the way I had done things in the past. I didn’t think I could improve unless I was allowed to do things my old way. I knew that my way was better. It took me a long time to realize, however, that I hadn’t just been trying to hold on to a familiar way of teaching.

During the same time I was switching schools, I was also experiencing significant changes in my personal life. I’d moved out of the city and an apartment I loved, away from my friends and neighborhood. Looking back, I still believe that my way of teaching could have been better for me and my students at the new school, but now I wonder if that would have been enough for me. I wasn’t just trying to make my new classroom feel comfortable and familiar, I was trying to make my new life feel comfortable and familiar. 

The past four weeks have been some of the most challenging of my teaching career. I’ve been miserable and confused, I’ve cried a lot, and I’ve been letting it consume me. I’ve been struggling to try to make this new way of teaching (all virtual) feel like the old, familiar way. I've been putting in more hours than I have in a long time. But recently I realized, even if I could re-create my old classroom online (or in person), even if I could go back to the way I’ve taught and assessed students in the past, it wouldn’t be enough. 

Three devices now feels like a minimum.

Moving to a new house and a new school in the same year is not the same as teaching during a global pandemic, but the parallels aren't lost on me.  Working from home, in a makeshift office, with political unrest and the coronavirus always in the back of our minds, our personal lives as teachers are completely changed. No amount of “consistent routines” or “innovative lessons” will be enough to make this year feel comfortable and familiar. 

So instead, I’ve decided to stop focusing on the future. I don’t know if I want to stay in teaching like this, but I believe I can survive until the end of the year. I’m not going to worry about re-creating my old classroom environment; after all, this is new for me. I won’t assume I know everything.  Instead, I’m going to pay attention to what works and doesn’t work with the kids in front of me.  I'll remind myself of my own words from years ago, “beyond a point, another hour of lesson planning at 11pm, or spending another weekend rearranging the classroom yet again, or reading another article on behavior management techniques, won't ‘solve everything.’”

During my first year of teaching, my roommate would ask me to name 3 good things each day. Some days it was a challenge to come up with that many. It all seemed impossible. Yet, over time, it got easier to focus on the good moments. I have never taught virtually before, or in a hybrid environment, or through a global pandemic, but I have been a first-year teacher, and a teacher in a new grade, on a new team, and in a new school. I've had days when teaching has come as naturally as breathing and many more days when it has felt like it sapped all my energy, and then some. These days, teaching online seems impossible, but I'm trying to name 3 good things each day. Some days it may be a challenge to come up with that many, but I'll celebrate the days when I can.

True Teaching

A few weeks ago, before the craziness of "remote learning" even entered our minds, I had an experience that brought me back to what I love about teaching. I started to blog about it then, but, as always, got distracted by things that seemed more important at the moment. Well, one blessing of the current #coronaclosure is that all of those "important" things -- running errands, meetings, lesson planning -- are suddenly much less urgent. So, I'm trying to use my new-found free time to re-focus. I woke up leisurely (no alarms!), did a yoga workout in my basement, and now I'm drinking hot coffee on the couch, and spending some time writing. It would be much more relaxing if the world didn't feel like it was falling apart, but I'm trying to enjoy what I can.

So here is the story I started to share weeks ago.  Somehow it feels equally, and maybe even more, relevant now as I think about what teaching may look like in the weeks and months to come...

It was Closing Circle. My students were gathered around the perimeter of our carpet. One of my students had a picture in a frame, ready to share. She began by telling us about her grandmother, the special relationship they had and how much they had in common. Then she shared that she was worried about her grandmother, and her grandfather, because her grandfather was getting a kidney transplant.  Her grandmother was donating the kidney and so they were both having to stay in the hospital for a little while (I should pause here to note that I did not verify these facts with her family, so I'm not actually sure this was a real story, but it was what she shared with our class).

As soon as this student mentioned the hospital and surgery, and her grandfather's failing kidneys, another one of my students began to comment under his breath "Ew! Agh, I don't want to hear this!"  Then he started to make fake-vomit noises. Immediately, I sent to our "Safe Place" to take a break. He groaned and pouted, and stomped away to the Safe Place, while his classmate finished her story and shared the framed picture of herself, as a baby, with her mom, grandmother, and aunts.  When she was ready for questions and comments, some of my other students jumped in to share their concern and well-wishes. Then it was time for everyone to go to Art class. I hustled the other students out the classroom door, while instructing the kiddo in the Safe Place to stay put so we could talk after everyone left.

Once the classroom was quiet, I walked over to the kiddo in the Safe Place. He was still a little pouty, but mostly calm. I started, as I always try to when I send students to "take a break," by asking him if he knew why I'd sent him away from the class. He said, "no." Of course he doesn't, I thought, and I could have just jumped to reprimanding him for being rude while another classmate was speaking. For some reason, though, I took another tactic. "Do you know what kidneys are?" I asked. "Yes," he answered confidently, and pointed to his heel. I stifled a smile, "Nope, that's your achilles."

At this point, I shifted gears and invited him, and another one who had stayed behind from Art class to finish a math assignment, over to my computer.  I pulled up brainpop.com.  Side note: This is one of my favorite websites because I can always count on them to have kid-appropriate videos for nearly any topic that comes up in my classroom. Case in point, within days of COVID-19 outbreaks worldwide, BrainPop had a free video available about coronaviruses, which included tips for avoiding spread, getting information from reliable sources, managing anxiety, and supporting others without judgement.

On this particular day, I searched "kidneys" and, sure enough, found a short video on the urinary tract system. We began to watch and I paused a few times to answer questions or explain further. "Yes, your pee is in your body all the time." "Well, your bladder sends a message to your brain when you need to pee so that you don't have an accident." "Right, your kidneys help filter out the bad stuff from the air we breathe and food we eat."  It was evident, very quickly, that neither of these kiddos had ever learned much about how their bodies work.  They were genuine, curious, and fascinated as the video went on.

At the end, I turned to the little guy who had made fake-vomit noises 20-minutes earlier at the mention of surgery. "Do you understand now why your classmate was feeling scared that her grandfather's kidney weren't working?" He answered quietly, "He could die without kidneys because the bad stuff would be in his body." I nodded, then asked, "Do you understand why it might have been hurtful that you were pretending to get sick while she was sharing about her grandfather's kidney transplant?" He was silent for a long moment. Then he just said, "Oops."

I knew he got it. He didn't need a lecture or punishment. He understood why his behavior had been inappropriate, and that he should try to be more sensitive in the future. It was a beautiful moment.  After that, I walked him to Art class. That was it.

Kids, and adults, often appear rude, unkind, disrespectful, or hurtful, when really they are confused and un-informed. We can tell them to be more thoughtful or empathetic, but that's only part of the solution. We actually need to provide more information, to teach them.

Missing all of this.

This has been a challenging year for me, and I've found myself feeling disconnected and unmotivated more than I'd like, but this experience reminded me what I love about teaching... being able to provide information, ideas, and answers at the time they are needed most.  My favorite moments in teaching have always been when I've been able to follow the interests, questions, or curiosities of my students. I know I haven't been doing this well lately. I've let the pressure of looming state tests, evaluations, and demanding parents push me to plough through content and focus on assessing standards, rather than knowledge. I can do better. We all can.

As we move into a new phase of education, I am hoping that I can make the time, and find more creative ways, to truly teach my students, even if we won't be gathering around the perimeter of the carpet for awhile.