Category: being me

I think there may be 3 weeks left of school. At this point, I am not sure, simply because I don’t want to think about the end. While summer beckons, I also want to make sure that I stay fully present with the kids, the ones that I have the privilege to teach this year. Because teaching is a privilege, and at times, I need to remember that.

As we unwind a year of growing, of exploring, of hopefully doing work that mattered, I have been thinking about my own growth. As I pour through the work of students, marvel at their quiet moments of discovery, I wonder what the year has given me, beyond the laughs, the ups and downs, the conversations and lesson plans. I wanted my students to evolve in their thinking, in their reading, writing, speaking, but also in how they saw the world, but what about myself; what did I want for myself?

I wanted to be more present. To not worry so much about the outside, but rather be in the moment with the people who were in front of me. I said no more, said yes more sparingly, tried to tune in and also appreciate the sheer energy that it takes to be a present teacher, present human being, one that isn’t thinking of the next five steps while others are right there with us. I am still working on this as I continue to balance what it means to be a teacher, a mom, a wife, a human being who also needs time to just think and be still. For the coming year, it will mean less public Pernille, and more private me.

I wanted to be stronger. Daily yoga helped me with physical strength, knowing my own limitations and embracing them meant more room for my emotional strength. I recognized that I have given immense power to others who do not know me but have no problem judging me and how exhausting handing that type of power over to others has been for me. I recognized that as an introvert some places, both in real life and online, are simply too much for me, despite how amazing they can be for others. So no NCTE this coming year, yes only to one day of Nerdcamp, and more yeses to quiet reading, to outside walks, to turning off social media, to only dipping into Twitter for inspiration and knowledge rather than lengthy interaction.

I wanted to let go. It is amazing how much shame and embarrassment one human being can carry while realizing that these emotions are the ones I tend to carry with me the longest has both been startling and liberating. No wonder, my energy has been drained when all I can see in the mirror as I look are all of the things I have done poorly. And so there has been a lot of letting things go, of recognizing that once again, I am good enough, and that I don’t need to be perfect, but instead need to be a learner. That when my own family sees me, they see me as a good mom, as a good person, and that I will a better person if I embrace that, rather than what others who are not as important want me to believe.

I wanted to be more focused. Narrowing in my growth areas really helped me navigate all of the incredible opportunities that abound daily in our teaching world. I know I wanted to learn more about anti-racist practices, about helping students claim their voices as social activists, and about supporting the very students I teach, not as focused on the world at large and how I can help others. It meant writing and sharing less, it meant accepting advising roles for 7th grade GSA, for starting a spoken word poetry club, for co-faciliating a BSU book-club, for sitting with the very kids I teach and asking them what they need to be empowered, engaged and feel valued and trying to figure out what I can do to help them achieve that. It meant leading less and listening more, something that I continue to love in all aspects of my life.

I wanted to be more unafraid. Unfraid to be who I am, unafraid to explore what I do not know, unafraid to share my mistakes as I have in the past, but also unfraid to settle within myself and realize that perhaps my path does not continue in America but rather that as an immigrant to this nation, it is perhaps time for me leave. And so we have started exploring options, to see whether we can go home to Denmark or even Europe as international teachers once my husband finishes his degree as a Tech Ed teacher in a year and a half, whether somewhere else in the world will be our future destination. It is scary, yet exciting to think of uprooting my family like that, but I have never fully felt home in America and so perhaps home is waiting to be found out in the world. Even if it means leaving vital parts of our life behind.

So as I think of the year to come, of the new opportunities to come, I am excited to first have a summer of traveling, of reading, of being at the pool with my kids, of sipping as much tea as I can, of farmers’ markets and library visits. I am excited to rebuild my energy and excitement so I can say yes again. Yes, to somehow helping with the start of a Hispanic Student Union at our school, yes, to teaching an enriched English class, yes, to diving further into equity and anti-racist work, yes, to learning how to be a better teacher of writing. Yes, (perhaps) to writing a series of blog posts or a book that will perhaps help student dive deeper into reading identity, but not committing to anything I don’t have energy for if I can help it. Yes, to walks, to reading with my kids, to yoga, to eating better, to reducing our plastic usage, to traveling, to singing music loudly, and to getting more tattoos. Yes, to exploring new opportunities with an eye for what I can learn, rather than what I can teach.

And so I wonder, what has the previous year taught others? How did you grow? Did you accomplish the goals you set out to reach or did you realize that your life needed something else? What did you want to be this year?

PS: In case, you missed the announcement, I am running a book study of my first book Passionate Learners this summer in the Passionate Readers Facebook group. You should join us as it kicks off next weekend!

If you like what you read here, consider reading my newest book, Passionate Readers – The Art of Reaching and Engaging Every Child.  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.

Dear Pink, or should I call you Alecia?

You don’t really know me, not much any way, not unless you count the few minutes last night that we met in a back hallway in the Fiserv Forum as you hugged my little girl, Thea, who is not so little any more, and told her about your own experiences with bullying and how we could not let them win.

I was Mama, the woman who stood there with tears in her eyes, not quite sure that the scene that unfolded in front of her was real. Not quite sure how we went from sitting in a seat waiting for you to come onstage, fulfilling one of our bucket list items together, to standing here in your presence. Trying to decide in that moment whether we deserved to be here with you, you who have given so much of yourself to the world already. You who fight for the under dog. You who say the words that so many of us want to but sometimes don’t have the courage to. Yet here we were, living out a dream, neither one of us had ever contemplated.

You saw my tweet celebrating that the bullies had not won. That we were going to use your concert as a way to celebrate that no matter what words they flung at Thea, no matter how hard they pushed, how hard they hit, how many times they chanted all of those ugly things, they would not win. That they did not win.

And so you gave us the most valuable thing you have; your time, and for those few minutes, you changed our lives, cementing a course we had already begun, but gave us the push to keep going. You saw us in our quietest but biggest moment of reclaiming. You saw us face those words that had kept us awake for so many nights. You saw the tears of what it feels like as a parent to not be able to defend your child, to not be able to make your child believe what you shout loudly all the time, you saw the love that we have for our children and how we would do anything to build them up.

But what you didn’t see last night after you gave us your time, was how Thea reacted. How at first, she couldn’t believe it. Neither of us could. After all, who would think that a tweet would lead us to hugs and talks to you? How we kept telling ourselves that this was real, that this had happened, that you were exactly what we thought you would be – passionate, caring, real.

But what you didn’t see last night, was my little girl, who like I said is not so little anymore, feel like she was truly somebody worthy. Feel like the past year, with all of its anger and tears was no longer her year, was no longer her defining moment. Was no longer the story she was writing.

What you didn’t see last night was when you talked about Thea on stage and then sang the song we had yelled at the top of our lungs so many times at home, that Thea had tears in her eyes. My girl, who does not cry unless she is hurt badly or very tired, stood their singing along with you from section 116, row 14, seat 1, screaming your words back at you, telling you that she believed it too.

Because that’s what meeting you did for her. It allowed her to believe that the words were meant for her. That all those times we sang “…change the voices in your head, make them like you instead…” we meant it. That those words were real and true and everything I , as her mother, wanted her to believe.

So when you sang, “Pretty, pretty pretty please, don’t you ever ever feel, you are less than, less than perfect…” Thea reached for my hand, squeezed and then turned toward the world and sang. She knew the words were hers but sang loudly for the rest of the world to hear them as well. For all those kids who need those words. For all of the adults, including me, her mama, who needs them too.

So dear Pink, thank you. Not just for making the embers of what Thea is turn into a fire. Not just for giving us your time. Not just for being you and fighting for us all. But for telling Thea that what the bullies had tried to make her believe was simply not true. For allowing Thea to take a moment to tell you how she admires you. For telling Thea that she was beautiful.

And for giving me the reminder that we can all be more like you. That as a teacher, I get to tell the kids that are in my care every day, how amazing they are. How much they matter to the world. How with every moment I am with them, I can be like you, and help them see the beauty within themselves.

This morning as I drove Thea to school, she was unusually quiet. I asked her what was wrong and she told me that she was so sad it was all over. That the night before had ended. But I realized that in that moment that she was wrong and I told her so.

I told her, “This is not the end, this is the beginning, your journey forward has just begun.”

And her smile came back and I dropped her off and I swear she floated as she walked.

So dear Pink, thank you. From one mama to another, thank you for what you did last night. Thank you for fighting for us all. Thank you for putting yourself out there so little girls, and not so little girls, can remember what it means to be unapologetically amazing. And for us who have been around a while to remember it too. We can be the light that shines on others. We can be the arms that reach out. We can keep going even when it burns because like we sang with you just last night, “…just because it burns, doesn’t mean you’re gonna die
You gotta get up and try, and try, and try…”

So that’s what we will do, keep trying. Keep believing. Keep living. Keep knowing that we are not broken, just bent…

Love,

Thea’s Mom

This is not a revolutionary post. One that will echo through our chambers as it brings forth the message of new. This is not radical, nor groundbreaking, but instead a gentle reminder to the world at large of what the small things can really do.

That when we take a moment, the moment, to say thank you, to acknowledge, to praise, the ripples that emanate may just one day turn into waves. May make the difference between a child who felt school was unsafe now is a place for her after all.

That when we go out of our way, come back to the way, of what it means to see how a child is trying, how a child is doing, what a child wants to be, we may just remind them that they are, indeed, all we need them to be.

So this is a thank you to the smiles and the hi’s. To the people who stand outside their classrooms, their offices, their schools and busses and every day greet the people with the loudest hello they can.

To the notes and the postcards, to the gotcha’s, and high fives. To the praise that matters and the shoulders that carry. To the scoot in’s and scoot overs. To the “Are you ok’s?” “I got this” and “Any time…” To the hugs, the goodbye’s, the thank you’s and taking the time. Every time. Any time.

A thank you to the quiet moments and the not so quiet. To the questions, the laughs, the aha’s and uh-oh’s.

But most of all, thank you to the people who saw our daughter for everything she was and not everything some wanted her to believe. Today, through your recognition, she started to believe it a little bit more, that she, too, is somebody worthwhile. Today, she saw for the first time in a really long time, what we have never lost sight of. A kid that matters. A kid that matters to others. A kid that is somebody.