Category: Be the change

How do you follow up a blog post that writes about how you don’t want to be a hero?

How do we adequately describe what it means to pick up the pieces and keep on teaching, even though it seems America has gone mad?  Even though some people, including our president, are saying that we should be armed in order to protect the children we teach?

How do I write about all of the seemingly trivial components of what it means to be a teacher, what it means to teach,  when once again we have been reminded we may be the single difference between a child feeling loved and a child feeling the need to kill.

Where I live we have had a threat in a school in our county every day in the past week.  It doesn’t even feel surprising anymore.

And yet, as we walk through our doors our days continue to unfold.  We slide back into the same old routines, but with a heightened sense of awareness.  We truly look at our students, look them in the eyes, and we say thank you when they leave us for the hour, for the day.

We say good morning and mean it.

Ask them about their day.

Sit next to them as we re-teach, explain, and help where we can.

We look for warning signs but we also look for the good.  We notice the good.  We point out the good.

On my computer hangs a post-it note that says, “Which child are you giving up on?”  Inspired by a conversation Lisa Meade shared, this simple note is my constant reminder that in our school we don’t give up on anyone.  That in our school, we seek out all of the kids.  That in our school we don’t want invisible children.  That when we think we have done enough, there is always more to do.

That in our room, their presence matters.  That they came, despite the obstacles that may have been in their way.  That in this room, their presence makes my day better even if they are not sure others care.

So when we pick up the pieces after yet another mass shooting, we do so with care.  We renew our vow to continue to be focused on kids first, teaching second.  To take the time to truly get to know the kids we teach, not because someone told us we had to, but because we cannot imagine not knowing them.  And we use the fear that may be following us into our rooms as a way to drive us all toward goodness.

We remember that because we teach we get to be a part of the conversation of what happens next.

That because we teach we get a choice to either focus on kindness, empathy, understanding and acceptance, rather than hate and mistrust.

That because we teach we get to have a say in how students view the world.

That because we teach we get to tell a child every single day that they matter.

That we are glad they are with us.

That we are proud of them and that they should be proud of themselves.

We remember that because we teach we have the power to change the future.

And that is how we pick up the fragile pieces once more and carry on toward a future that involves the very heart of this country.

A future that we have the power to make better.

“But I don’t have to read, Mom, it’s Friday.”

Our daughter looks at us with fire in her eyes, refusing the graphic novel I am holding toward her.

“What do you mean, it’s Friday, what does this have to do with anything?  Of course, you are going to read, we always read.”

“Not on Friday’s…”

“Why not?”

“Because my teacher tells me I don’t have to do any homework…”

And so my daughter, the reader, refused to read when I asked.  Every weekend, every time.  All because in her mind, reading was homework and if her teacher said they did not have to do any homework, then they did not have to do any reading.  Have I ever shared that my daughter is as stubborn as me?

Now the funny thing is, I know that her teacher did not mean to not read.  She had, instead, declared to the students that she did not want to give them homework for the weekend.  A policy we loved.  Our daughter just took it a step further, and no reading over the weekend became an unintended consequence of an otherwise marvelous policy.

And so the thing is, I find myself wondering about unintended consequences and how often do they play out in our classrooms and we just don’t see them? Or worse, we refuse to see them wrecking real havoc under the surface.  We refuse to see how these little decisions we have made with the best of intentions, actually end up doing more harm than good and then hope that maybe our experiences are simply wrong and at some point, students will, surely, be fine?

Take reading logs for examples.  I used to have students do reading logs with parent signatures, because I thought that’s what you did for reading homework.  The reading logs gave me a quick way to see who read at home.  To see their practice, or so I thought.  I used them as a way to reward, to praise, to even separate those who did from those who did not.  My intentions were noble; reading logs meant accountability and accountability meant more time spent reading.  This had to surely be a good thing, and yet, what I had failed to notice was how reading logs meant reading for some was now something they measured in minutes,  eager to shut the book once they got to the 20 minutes.  Eager to fulfill their duty and not read until the next night required it.  Reading logs now meant that if they didn’t have a signature then they surely must not have read, that perhaps parents were not as invested as I had first assumed they were.  Reading logs meant I had “good” kids who followed the requirements and “bad” kids who bucked the system.  Reading logs meant that our conversations changed; it wasn’t about loving reading, it was about why the reading log was not filled out or why they didn’t read more at home.  It was about how I couldn’t just take their word for it, I had to have the proof, even if I thought some of those signatures didn’t really mean what they were supposed to mean.

I had never intended for this to happen, but it did.  Unfrotunately, it took me several years of using them to understand the damage they were doing for some kids.

And that’s it.  

How many other systems and procedures do  we put in place without really examining the unintended consequences of these procedures?  How often do we follow the system rather than question it simply because we are not sure where to even start with our questions?  How often do we not pilot something but instead implement it as law, never to look back and examine whether it actually did more good than harm?

How often do we leave systems and procedures in place because they are not inherently, or glaringly, that bad, and so we may as well just leave them in place?

Our kids deserve more than this.  They deserve for us to ponder.  To question the very foundations that we put in place for our classrooms to function, for our schools to operate.  They deserve for us to start questioning everything, even if it takes time.  They deserve for us to realize that we are, indeed, just human and that as humans we sometimes make flawed decisions where we fail to see what we really have decided.

A constant factor of education is change, so why not initiate it ourselves?  Why not start the line of questioning with the very practices we implement ourselves so that we may uncover the truth about how they really work?  Why not examine our unintended consequences and do something about the things we already have in place, rather than always searching for the new?

If you like what you read here, consider reading my newest book, Passionate Readers – The Art of Reaching and Engaging Every Child, out August 2017.  This book focuses on the five keys we can implement into any reading community to strengthen student reading experiences, even within the 45 minute English block.  If you are looking for solutions and ideas for how to re-engage all of your students consider reading my very first book  Passionate Learners – How to Engage and Empower Your Students.      Also, if you are wondering where I will be in the coming year or would like to have me speak, please see this page.