It’s 9 PM and I have spent 30 minutes with my husband. 2 hours with my four children. 10 hours at work. 1 hour after work working on work and 1 more hour thinking about it. Just another day in the life of most teachers. I used to think that days like this meant my life was out of balance. That adding up all of the hours spent away from those that matter the most meant that I was an abject failure at being a great human being and that I had to restore my balance. In the past few weeks though, I have realized that there is no such as balance.
In fact, I would like to state that balance is much like a unicorn. Wonderful to dream about even though we all know it doesn’t really exist.
What I do have though is choice. And for the past 7 years I have chosen to give the best of me to my students. I have chosen to give most of my energy, most of my thoughts, most of my hopes and dreams to those students I have been lucky enough to teach. I have taught with my emotions on my sleeve and at a breakneck pace. I have chosen to do this, whether intentionally or not, and so my own children? They have gotten whatever was left of me when I finally made it home. The final smiles, the tired eyes, the overloaded mind. And that is no longer enough.
We forget that as teachers we cannot save the world. That yes, we can try to change the life of a child in our classrooms but we hold a much greater power at home. We are the people that can change our own children’s lives for good. We are the people who can make sure that some children will show up to school knowing they are loved, knowing that they have support no matter what happens to them. We are the people who can make a difference, but that difference needs to start with our own children.
So I am ready to stop searching for balance and instead spend the time and energy making better choices. There are moments of my day I cannot choose, I will devote myself fully to those hours I get to teach. But the rest of the day belongs to me and to the choices that I want to make. No longer should my family get what is left of me, but instead what they deserve; a person who is fully present, not thinking about work or the next thing to write. A mother who looks at them like they matter. A wife that shows how crazy in love she still is. I will never find that unicorn, but I have come to accept it. Now it is time for a change, how about you?
I used to think that teaching students to become great readers meant that I showed them as many reading strategies as I could and then we would practice each one until they could do it practically in their sleep. Connections – check. Predictions – check. Inferring, visualizing, character changes – check, check, check. We had our strategies under control.
I used to think that providing my students with as much time as possible to discuss reading would make them stronger readers. After all, through the talking they would be able to dig deeper into their own process and mimic others.
I used to think that my students constantly had to stop and jot so they could record and prove their thinking on little post-its. That the more post-its they had in a book, the better of a reader they were becoming. I used them for proof that they were growing. I used them for proof that they understood the steps.
I used to think that reading was all about talking. I used to think reading was all about taking it apart. I used to think reading was all about proof.
Now I know that reading should be about reading. That in all of that talking there was very little reading. In all of that jotting there was no room for flow or getting in the zone. That in trying to give the teacher proof that they were reading, they were losing valuable reading time. We stopped all of the time. We lost independent reading minutes because we had to make sure we had something written down.
For students to become better readers, they need time to read. We know that, I know that. Yes, they need strategies, yes, they need to speak about reading, yes they need to think and grow, but what they need most of all is time to read. Every day, any chance, and it needs to be uninterrupted. So now as I plan my days, my sacred 45 minutes I get with every class, 10 of that is dedicated to no-talking, uninterrupted, choice based reading. 10 minutes of quiet in the zone reading where no one tells them what to do. I wish it was more, the students wish it was more, but it is a start. It is their chance to read, everything else comes after. Everything else is less important.
What do you do in your room to preserve independent reading time?
I had meticulously made my lists. I had thoughts of habits, tastes, personalities, reading preferences, pace and yes, even their assessment data. I had scoured the book room, gone book shopping spending my own money and used most of my Scholastic points. More than 50 choices awaited my students, I couldn’t wait to start book clubs.
So when I announced that today was the day they would know their book club groups, I had not planned for the groan of disapproval that met me. The disgusted stares and the change in body language; slumped shoulders, heads down. Clearly, they were not as excited as I was. And so I did what I always do; I asked why. Or more specifically, I mimicked what a student said, which was that book clubs suck, and I asked “Tell me all of the reason why book clubs suck…”
And boy did they ever.
“We hate being forced to read certain books. Sometimes we have read them before, sometimes they are boring, sometimes we cannot relate to them no matter how hard we try. We want choice, we want things that we want to read, we can decide by ourselves.
We hate being told when to read, how many pages, and what we should discuss. Sometimes we want to read only a few pages because we know we are busy, other times we want to read a lot. We want to come up with our own questions and we don’t want a teacher to facilitate. Let us try to navigate it ourselves. Let us try to lead the conversations. Help us when we need it but don’t assume we need it all of the time.
We hate having a book take weeks and weeks to finish. Sometimes we just want to read because it is so good, and what is wrong with that. When it drags on we lose interest. When it drags on we forget what is happening.
We hate being stuck with a book even if we chose it. We hate being placed in groups with students we have nothing in common with. We hate having to keep logs, write reports, and do group work when all we want to do is read and discuss. Don’t you see, we hate book clubs.”
So I listened, and I answered their questions whether they wanted me to or not. Carefully explained my vision for the next few weeks and why. Would there be writing – no, just the thoughts they felt they needed to jot down to facilitate a discussion. Would there be choice – of course, the books were waiting patiently for them and if they found none here then we have a library to go to. They kept asking and I kept explaining, and as we went on their faces changed and the shoulders came back up.
Every class I taught that day went through the same process. I didn’t expect to have those conversation 5 times in a row but that is exactly what happened. Every time I mentioned book clubs, the groan came at me like a wave. And yet, as we discussed I once again learned more about my students and their reading habits. I learned how they want to be independent readers and thinkers, how they want to be able to have choice in everything so that they can invest themselves fully. How it is okay that I put them into groups as long as I explain why those groups were made and that it wasn’t just based on one thing.
I could have ignored their groans, a few years ago I would have, I would have told them to “Suck it up, deal with it and make the best of it.” Yet, I know from experience that if we want book clubs or anything that has to do with reading to work then we have to have these hard conversations. We have to discuss, tear apart, and work through the demons that students carry, those preconceived notions of what is going to happen in the next few weeks, before we ever get an authentic buy-in; a reading experience that matters.
The day after the conversation, I had them book shop. Every group went from choice to choice and debated the merits of the books laid out before them. Every group weighed their options, and only one group out of about 30 needed my guidance in book choice. Yesterday, as I revealed the books they were going to read, most groups cheered. Some kids asked if they could start right away? Please, because the book looks really good and we are so excited.
Had I not stopped and listened to my students. Had I not stopped the plan of what I was going to do. Had I forged ahead, gone on with our day, there would have been few cheers and instead the next few weeks would have been filled with the passive resignation that middle schoolers do so well. Yeah book clubs suck, but they don’t have to. We have to find a way to talk about it and change the way they are done. And the first place we start is by asking out students why they suck or any other word that may describe their feelings toward them.
I have to admit it; I have not loved all of my students in the same way. Not all of my students and I have clicked. Not all of my students and I have had the best relationships. Not for lack of wanting to. Not for lack of trying, but sometimes it seems that bigger things are in play and the universe just doesn’t align. And yet, even if I had a harder time connecting with a child, whatever the reason, I still had to be the very best teacher I could be. So what are some techniques I have used to make sure that I connected on some level, even with the seemingly most challenging students?
Take it personal sometimes. My mantra used to be “don’t take it personal” until I realized that sometimes a poor relationship with a student is indeed a direct reflection to how they feel about me, not what I am doing. So rather than dismiss it, I ask them questions, engage them as an equal to express my concern and then try to reflect on what it is they are reacting to. If it is something I can adapt to or change from, then I do. Other times, I have just had to suck it up and try a different approach.
Speak kindly about them. The quickest way to build personal dislike is to constantly stay focused on the negative attributes of a child; those things that drive you crazy. So turn your thinking around; whenever you feel yourself wanting to say something negative, stop, and find something positive to say instead. Yes, even if it seems contrived, because what you say, you start to believe. So if a child is having a particularly rough day in my classroom or with me, I go out of my way mentally to find something nice to say to others about them. After all, they are running through my mind anyway, why not spread something positive. This doesn’t mean you can’t vent, I think venting about situations can be very powerful, but keep it short and to the point. Prolonged venting only exacerbates the negative emotions already attached to a student or situation.
Find the humor in the situation. Even the kids who have driven me the most crazy can usually make me laugh by now. It wasn’t always that way, but it has become a way for me to create a relationship with someone who I otherwise would probably label as a troublemaker in my mind. So find the funny in the misbehavior, share a funny moment when they are not acting out, use humor as a way to bridge your personalities, even if you still don’t see eye to eye.
Forge a relationship outside of the classroom. Some of my hardest students to teach have also been the ones that I made sure I checked in with outside of school, even if it just meant a casual conversation in the hallway or by the buses. It is a chance for me to see them as kids, not that kid who does everything in their power to disrupt the teaching of others or whatever the situation is inside of class.
Keep digging. I have never met a child who had nothing to like about them, but sometimes you really have to dig for it. Some of my students expect you to hate them when they walk through your doors because that is what they have experienced other times, some of my students hate school so much that they will never love it no matter what we change. Some of my students have to be tough as nails to survive their own lives. Those kids still deserve a teacher that tries to connect with them, even if they rebuff them 100 times, then you try 100 more times, even a little bitty connection is better than giving up.
Treat them as a human being. Too often we start treating them like the label they may have, so a child who is angry becomes known as the angry child, or a student who is disrespectful or disruptive becomes known just for that. Their negative label becomes their identity and nothing else. We cannot let this happen, not in our minds and not in the way we speak of them. They are children, yes, children who seem to have mastered the art of driving you up the wall, but children none the less. And every child deserves to be treated with dignity.
Know when to admit defeat, but not out loud. Sometimes no matter how hard we try, how much we change, how much we reflect and think and do; that child still hates it, that child still hates us. Then our job becomes not to give up but to find another ally for them, to find another adult that can have a great relationship with them and for us not to get in the way. No, that doesn’t mean asking for them to be transferred from our class, but instead allowing for opportunities where they can possibly forge a relationship with another educator or person in your building. Every child deserves someone that will see the good in them, even if you can’t.
PS: A few notes since this post was published a few days ago. I tweaked the title to include the world almost because I don’t think we ever truly give up on child, even if we cannot forge a strong connection with them. We still keep them in our hearts, they still wake us up at night, we still keep trying even when we feel like giving up. That’s what teachers do. Another note is the little bit of wondering there has been on knowing when to admit defeat, some people have viewed this as giving up and that is far from my intent. Admitting defeat to me is humbling because it involves us realizing that we are humans and not every kid will like us. Sometimes a child naturally connects with another adult in our building and rather than get jealous, which yes, can happen, we need to help foster that relationship. I hope this clears everything up a bit.
If my mother had listened to my teacher she would have realized what a horrible child I was. How I should be kept away from others. How I should not be with children my own age because I would corrupt them. How I was doomed to live a life of solitude because no one was safe around me.
She didn’t.
If my mother had listened to my teacher she would have realized how little imagination I had except for the morose. That my stories lacked depth, that my personality was dull. That writing was not my strength but something I could maybe get through if I just understood what it meant to follow the rules a bit more.
She didn’t.
If my mother had listened to my teacher she would have realized that I was far too outspoken. That I never put my hand down and I needed to learn to be silent. That yes having an opinion was great but listening was better. That it didn’t always pay off to fight for what you believed in if it meant disrupting the peace.
She didn’t.
If my mother had listened to my teacher she would have realized that there was something wrong with me. That I was special but not in a good way. That I may be smart but I didn’t use it for anything good. That other children couldn’t learn from me. That I needed to hide what I knew so that others wouldn’t find me odd.
She didn’t.
If my mother had listened to my teacher she would have realized that I had spunk. That I had nerve. That I had worth. She would have realized that I was creative, that I was a hard worker even if I couldn’t get something. That I was smart. That I had friends, that I could be a leader. That although I was not quite the person I wanted to be yet, that some day I would get there.
She did, because she already knew those things. I was the one that didn’t.
There are so many things that we tell parents every day, what will be the things that they choose not to listen to? What will be the things that a child carries with them the rest of their life?
Those who know me may know how long I have been mulling over this post. How long these thoughts have been percolating, simply based on how many times I have brought it up in conversation. You see, it’s been bugging me for a while, yet I know so many amazing principals that call themselves “Lead learner” that I have been afraid to say anything because I am not here to hurt, nor here to make others feel bad. But the whole lead learner title, can we discuss it for a moment? And perhaps rethink the use of it?
Before people get upset or chalk it up to me not understanding, hear me out. I know what the title “lead learner” is supposed to signify, I have had many conversations with people who have explained their intent, and for that I am grateful, because those conversations have helped me understand the title more. What I have found is that most who use the title use it to show that they are role models of learning within their community. They use the title to show staff that they are still learning, that their job is to lead the learning, that the learning doesn’t stop just because someone becomes a principal. They call themselves the lead learner so that others can see how serious they take the position and the enormous task it is to be an incredible principal. There, though, lies my problem.
You see when we give ourselves titles, and let’s be honest, the title of “lead learner” is usually bestowed upon a person by themselves, we shut others out. When we say that we are in the lead, whether it be in learning or other ventures, then others can never lead for more than a short period of time When we say that we are the ones that lead the learning, then we have fully cemented the power structure within a school; the principal is completely in the lead and everyone else follows behind. Teachers will never be leaders within their learning, because that position has already been taken. Yet that power structure is what so many of us are hoping to change so that we can have empowered schools; learning community where everyone’s voice matters and it doesn’t matter what title someone holds, their words still hold power.
So when someone calls themselves a lead learner that message of wanting an empowered staff gets muddled, and I don’t think that is the intent. In fact, I would ask anyone who uses this title to ask their staff and anyone else what that title signifies to them. I asked my husband tonight, who is not in education, and his response was eye opening; a lead learner is someone who makes the final decision and brings the learning back for others to then pursue. His interpretation is not what I think most principals want to be viewed as. So although, I may know why someone has chosen to call themselves the “Lead learner” I wonder if others that haven’t asked the meaning behind it do? I don’t see an asterisk next to the title nor an explanation every time it is used. So those deeper intentions of a symbolic title do not come across as meaningful, they seem to come across as limiting or in the very least unnecessary, which I know is not the intention.
As always though, don’t take my word for it. I am, after all, just one teacher with one opinion. Ask your staff; ask them how they feel about the title. Ask them what it means to them that you are the lead learner. I told you what it means to me, but I may be wrong, that has happened many times before. Know though, that when an email signature states someone as the lead learner within a school, a Twitter profile, or whichever public platform being used, that it may say things about that person that are not intentional and not always for the better. We live within a society that thrives on titles and their meanings, so when we give ourselves titles that cannot be shared with others, then we are in fact creating ranks within our schools and telling the world about it.
While I don’t have a better title that would symbolize what it means to be a principal, I am not so sure we even need one. I think that title “principal”, within itself, holds so many connotations of what it means to be a great leader that I don’t think more are needed. Or perhaps just drop the “lead,” just be a learner, just like the rest of us. Doesn’t being a learner mean that you know when to take the lead and when to let others? What do you think?
Pernille Ripp 