being me – Page 22 – Pernille Ripp

being a teacher, being me, Student dreams

Broken Child

January 13, 2016January 18, 2016 Pernille Ripp

She’s got my eyes, you know.

Blue mixed with gray depending on the weather. She’s got my long legs, arms for miles, and a laugh that comes from her heart. Her hands look like my grandfather’s who gave her her name. And those feet of hers are just like mine, growing too fast for her shoes to keep up.

She’s got her daddy’s sense of humor, always ready to make you smile. And also his artistic eye, declaring one day she will be an artist. She will paint the sky with every color she knows.

But she doesn’t have my skills of sitting still. Of staying quiet. Of focusing in.

She doesn’t smile easy or understand when others are kidding. Friendships are sometimes hard to find.

Some would say she is a broken child. Some would say she is a broken child.

We come up with fixes to help her learn more. To help her sit still. To help her conquer the noise of the classroom. We give her fidgets, wiggle seats, quiet time and breaks. And when we run out of fixes we ask more people for help.

And I cry sometimes when I think of how hard she works to gain knowledge that came so easy for me. I cry sometimes when I think ahead because sometimes as a teacher your curse is that you know too much and so you worry even when others wouldn’t.

She’s got my eyes, you know, but not the way I think and some would say she is a broken child.

So we stand in our kitchen discussing the latest reports, the latest assessment, and we thank our lucky stars that the teachers she has sees what we see. A child with heart. A child that loves. A child that wants nothing else but to fit in and feel smart.

And yet, when we compare her to others, even though I know we shouldn’t, some may say she needs fixing. That we just need to find the thing that makes her right. That perhaps the doctor knows why she cannot sit still, why she cannot stay focused, why she cannot find friends easily. Because surely something must need fixing.

And I know that sometimes I feel like I failed. Like somehow I created this situation. That perhaps in her childhood if I had only done more, she would have it easier. But then I remember that my child is not broken. That my child does not need to be fixed.

That she is smart.

That she is kind.

That she works hard.

Even when her brain distracts her every step of the way.

And I know she is not a broken child.

being a teacher, being me

To the Angry 4th Grader Who Grew Up

January 9, 2016 Pernille Ripp

There are those students that settle in our hearts through smiles and eagerness. Through always completed work, a willingness to share, and never missing a beat. We easily laugh with them and caring about them is natural. Then there are those kids that march into our hearts. Fists closed in anger, doors slammed in their wakes, bolts of lighting seeping from their eyes. Our rational minds put up a fight with those and yet seemingly while we fought their anger with every bit of kindness we had in us, they carved out the largest bits of us. While we tried every thing we had, they walked right in and took residence in our souls, as if they were always meant to be there. And when we say goodbye, it seems like they take that piece of us with them and we wonder, and we hope, and we worry. Oh we worry. Even though they are no longer ours, they really still are.

8 years ago I taught an angry 4th grader. A child that stomped his way into my heart and stayed there through shouts, vented frustrations, and yet an achingly quiet plea for more kindness, more caring, more understanding emanating from his very core. As we said goodbye at the end of our year, I did not realize just how much of a piece of me he took with him. And his absence from our school after summer is something I will never forget.

I worried about him then and I worry about him now.

We love these kids that we teach even when we shouldn’t. We call them ours, even when they are not. Even when it may seem strange to others that we lie awake worrying about something we have absolutely no control over. We try our very best to make the time we have worthwhile. To make it somehow better well knowing that we will never be able to fight the beasts that swallow some of our students outside of school. I am not a savior, I probably never will be, but I can care, and I can try, and I can make my slice of their world not as hurtful, not as harmful. Even when it seems in vain.

So to the angry 4th grader who is now an angry junior. Whose life was just dealt another blow today. Whose tragedy seems to play out in the headlines rather than become a thing of the past. I didn’t forget about you. I bet I am not the only one. Us teachers are strange like that. I know that I cannot make your life better, I know that I cannot make the wrong things right. I can only care, I can only be, whether you need me or not. So know that. Know that when you cried on the last day of school I cried too. And I cried the day I heard you weren’t coming back. Life may seem like it is worth being angry over but don’t let your anger drown you. You can change the world, but not if you don’t feel like the world is worth changing. I saw something in you those many years ago, I hope you see the same now. You are worth fighting for. You are worth caring for. Don’t let the world make you believe otherwise.

Awards, being a teacher, being me, parents, rewards

If You Really Want to Reward a Child

January 4, 2016 Pernille Ripp

A few days ago, I sorted my own children’s toys. Cleaned out all the misfits, the broken pieces, and marveled at the bag of plastic dippity does I was able to throw away. A bag worth of trinkets, of things that meant something to them the first 5 minutes they got them, only to lie forgotten in their toy chest since. The sheer abundance startled me, after all, I consider myself a miser when it comes to toy purchases. But the proof was in the toy-chest; plastic trinkets galore. As I snuck the bag out to the trash, I couldn’t help but feel like a mean mother for getting rid of their broken “treasures.”

Turns out, I didn’t have to worry as Thea, our 7 year old, came home with a plastic yo-yo today from school. She proudly showed it to me before it broke (cheap plastic things tend to do that quickly) and told me she had earned it for reading. For reading…Because she had read every night. And I sighed, and inwardly I rolled my eyes, and then I realized that I had to get something of my chest, (imagine that)…

We need to stop cheapen the act of learning with plastic trinkets.

We need to stop teaching kids that when they learn, they earn something. That when they learn they must be rewarded with a tangible thing to play with, rather than just the satisfaction of the knowledge they have gained.

Because in our well-meaning intention of trying to help students feel accomplished, we are helping kill the love of learning itself. We are teaching kids through our treasure chests, our prize boxes (guilty as charged), that learning is not enough. That they have not gained anything until they hold a new toy in their hands. That the knowledge they have gained is not enough. That simply becoming more knowledgeable does not matter unless they have physical proof, and I shudder as I think of the long term effects that can have.

So if you really want to reward a child, hand them a pencil to write another story or solve another problem with.

If you really want to reward a child, hand them another book when they finish the first one.

If you really want to reward a child, give them more of your time as a class, give them a high five, a hug, or some sort of positive attention.

If you really want to reward a child, discuss their strengths with them, their effort, their growth, anythingt hat will make them see their own success if they do not already.

If you really want to reward a child, reach out to those at home; let them know what you see so that we can act accordingly. Let us know what you see so that we can see it too.

But as a parent I plead, from one teacher to another; please stop handing out the trinkets, the stickers, the dippity doodads, the things we find at the dollar store. Stop the paper awards and the made up rewards. Save us from the tangible, the things that break, the things that mean so little in the long run. Celebrate, yes. Acknowledge, please. But save the toys for home. The kids don’t need them, and neither do we.

If you are looking for a great book club to join to re-energize you in January, consider the Passionate Learners book club on Facebook. We kick off January 10th.

being a teacher, being me

To the Strangers that Become Friends

January 4, 2016 Pernille Ripp

5 years ago I thought I was crazy. That there was no way, I could do all of the things I knew I had to do to become a better teacher. I knew that “testsandgrades” were killing my students’ curiosity. I knew that when I held a child back from recess due to unfinished homework I was tearing down all of the community building I had worked on . And yet, this is what good teachers did; they gave homework, they handed out grades, they punished and tried to make children behave with any means they could. But I knew that if that is what it meant to be a great teacher, I didn’t want to teach.

But instead of quitting, I turned to Twitter. To all of those people I admired that seemed to have it all figured out. Because I felt so alone, so isolated, because no one else seemed to think that what I was doing was the right thing to do. I felt like a fraud, like someone was going to walk into my classroom and tell me how much I was damaging these kids with my crazy ideas. But the thing about Twitter, or being connected, is that you realize that you are not alone. That there are others out there who have had the same ideas as you, that have blazed a trail for you to follow. That these random strangers can become the inspiration that you need to be better, can become a friend, even if you never met. That in their fight, you can find strength.

Yesterday the education world lost a warrior. A true trailblazer who in his sharing and speaking up gave me the courage and the guts to make my teaching better. My friend, Joe Bower, passed away, leaving his two young children, his wife, and a global network of teachers stunned at his sudden passing.

And so I write this post in tribute to the strangers that become friends. To all the teachers that dare speak up even when it has consequences for their own lives. Who never back down when it comes to kids, even if they seemed too harsh at times. Joe taught me to fight. To speak up. To give kids a voice and never make it about me, but always about the kids. He taught me that there were always others to ask for advice from, that there was always a way to make something better even when it seemed like there wasn’t. That even if you never met, you could still matter to others.

The world lost a fighter yesterday. Many of us lost someone we admired, that we looked up to, that inspired us. But we haven’t lost his voice. His words will continue to push me and others to fight for change, to never forget what it is really about.

Joe wrote a chapter for a book called Reduced to Numbers and he starts with the line, “I am not the same teacher I used to be.” Truer words cannot be found today as I mourn his passing.

Joe, I am not the same teacher I used to be, because you gave me courage. For you and all those kids, I will keep fighting, we will keep fighting. Thank you.

Be the change, being a teacher, being me, new year

Do Something

December 31, 2015 Pernille Ripp

I have always loved December 31st, the last day of the year, our oldest daughter’s birthday. While the promise of a new year lies ahead, the old is not quite finished, not quite over and the wonder of it all hits me. Look at all that has happened in the past year. Look at all we have done.

And yet, there is so much still out there to accomplish. So many changes. So many choices to make. Because too often we sit back and wait for others to decide, we wait for others to fix, to mend, to invent, and to create. We wait for others to share their ideas because we are unsure of our own. We think to ourselves, “if only…” but the words never leave our mouths. And it’s a waste. It is a shame. It is our own fault that we wonder what change could really look like, what our ideas may become, when we choose to remain unsure. When we choose to remain silent.

So my wish for the new year is a simple one; do something. Something to make it better. Something to make it worth more. Don’t sit there and wait while others do, change the world yourself. Find your comfort zone and take a small step out.

Be the change. Be the voice. Be the person that does. I know I am going to try.

If you are looking for a great book club to join to re-energize you in January, consider the Passionate Learners book club on Facebook. We kick off January 10th.

being a teacher, being me

Someone’s Beginning

December 19, 2015December 19, 2015 Pernille Ripp

You wouldn’t know by looking at me that my body is broken. That for years we tried to have a child, only to fail. That it was not until the doctors intervened that my body finally worked for a little bit, enough to have Theadora. Enough to give us the biggest gift one can get. We thought I was fixed, but I wasn’t. We lost one in between Theadora and the twins; a dream disappeared followed by so many unanswerable questions. For years we hoped, and for every pregnancy I had, sadness, fear, and the unknown seemed to come along.

You wouldn’t know that my youngest daughter, Augustine, really should not be alive. That her conception should not have been possible. That my body did everything it could to get rid of her. That she was born almost 10 weeks early, 2 years ago today. That she was born so fast that the nurse caught her and rushed her away from us. You wouldn’t know that for 6 weeks our breaths were held as she fought to grow in the NICU. That the beeps and the alarms followed us home and I would wake in the middle of the night, wondering if she was breathing. That when we left the NICU with her, she weighed 5 pounds and I thought the doctors had made a mistake; surely something this fragile could not be ok.

But she is. She is strong. She is bright. She is stubborn. She is ok.

When she goes to school, no one will know how fragile her beginning was. When she goes to learn, no one will know that we were told that she may have learning disabilities because my body forced her into this world too early. Nobody will know how many brain scans she had to have to make sure that there had been no damage.

Every child that comes to us has a beginning. A story we do not know. A story that may still shape them to this day. A story that is hidden and yet still plays a part in their life.

Don’t forget the story. You never know how much someone’s beginning plays a part in their now. We do not just teach children for one year, but we teach them for all of their years. Even the years, we did not know them.

Happy birthday, Augustine. May you continue to astonish us with your strength, your spirit. May you continue to be perfectly average, because we never wanted anything more.

If you are looking for a great book club to join to re-energize you in January, consider the Passionate Learners book club on Facebook. We kick off January 10th.