aha moment, Be the change, being a teacher

Don’t Be a Worthless Ball of Goo – Jeremy’s Aha Moment

Pernille Ripp
This week’s Aha moment is shared by Jeremy Macdonald, a 5th grade teacher in Klamath Falls, Oregon. Besides opening minds of 5th graders he is also in charge of professional development at his school in regards to technology integration and can be found on twitter under @MrMacnology.  He has a fabulous wife and 3 wonderfully crazy kids.  A fellow grade slayer, deep thinker, and just one of the boys, his blog always inspires me to do better, strive for more, and just overall think about why I do what I do.


I’ve never looked back since that day.  I remember the rush that I felt.  There was no doubt in my mind.  It was my epiphany; my “Aha!” moment.  I finally knew what I was going to do for (essentially) the rest of my life…

(Camera fades out, flashback a la Wayne’s World.)

Since I was eight I wanted to be an F.B.I. agent.  My dad did it.  My uncle did it.  Several of my dad’s cousins did it.  I had a family heritage to uphold.  Shortly after graduating high school, I was getting ready to enroll for my first semester of college.  I was going to study psychology.  I wanted to “understand” the perps I would soon be investigating and apprehending.  I dreamt of closets full of dark suits and guns.  I was ready for shootouts and car chases.  I clicked the final “Submit” button and I was enrolled.  A few introductory psych classes along with a few other generals.

Jumping ahead a few months, I found myself sitting in front of that same computer screen, but this time in my dorm room.  I had about seven minutes before my first class started, but my room was at least a fifteen minute walk away.  What was I doing?  Why was my hand ready to click “Clear All” below my class schedule?  I really didn’t know WHAT I wanted to do.  Had I deceived myself with countless hours of the X-Files and Unsolved Mysteries?  I believe I had.  So I clicked.

Here I was, no classes, tuition paid, books bought, on the first day of school, and I was clueless.  Not exactly the best feeling.  Something led me to my university’s school of Fine Arts and Communications.  After a few minutes (and I mean this literally) of consideration, I was now a Communications Major, with a focus in Advertising and copy writing.  I was always day dreaming, doodling, and coming up with silly stories while growing up.  I thought that Advertising would be a great way for me to use this creativity for the greater good…(especially since I wouldn’t have to shoot anybody now.)

(Cue soft piano music and chimes)

(Camera fades out, and through a light fog, camera fades back in.)

So here I am after a two-year hiatus after my freshman year, newly married, and looking to explore a bit of Business and Finance before I commit to Advertising.  I loved being able to create, write, and laugh at most everything I did, but I was also a numbers guy and money had always interested me.  I enrolled in some basic business classes like Econ 110 and Accounting 101, in addition to my continued pursuit of Advertising.

It was the middle of the semester and Norm Nemrow was giving his famous “Sixth Lecture.”  He had nine required lectures during the semester–the rest of the learning was done on the computer and in the lab.  The “Sixth” was the one every Accounting major remembered.  It had nothing to do with accounting, actually.  It was a life-lessons lecture.  Norm talked to us about making life decisions based on our passions and what made us happy and not based on money or the endless pursuit of it.  Now this came from a man that was easily worth nine figures before he was 40!  Easy for him to say, right?  But in reality it was, and he meant every bit of it.

Norm, too, had an “Aha” moment.  He realized one day during retirement (remember, this was before he was even 40 years old) that he was a “worthless ball of goo”–his words, honest.  He had done nothing with his life since retiring and felt that he had more of a purpose to fulfill.  Long story short, he started teaching at the university.  For free.  And it was during that fabled “Sixth Lecture” that I learned all this, but it was what he was about to say that struck a chord.

“If I could go back and start over, I would have started right here, in the classroom.  I should have started as a teacher.”

(Cue light bulb.  Student “A”–that’s me–gazes towards ceiling with thoughtful expression)

Big words from a man that could fund a stimulus bill all on his own.  I knew he meant it though, and that’s when I said, “Aha!”  I literally had to keep myself from standing up and leaving.  I was ready to change majors and step into a classroom of my own.  Why had it taken so long for me to see this?  Psychology?  Advertising?  Business?  Who was I kidding?  What better place for a hyperactive daydreamer with a love for pencil fights than an elementary classroom?  I was a shoe-in.

(Cue sentimental piano/violin music a la the end of an After-school Special)

So here I am.  Over seven years since that day and I’ve never looked back; never second guessed; never regretted that decision.  It’s strange how life leads you down the most obscure paths before you “find your way.”

I will soon be starting my fifth year in the classroom and I think I’m more excited now than I have ever been.  Much of this anticipation is due to the marvelous PLN that I’ve been able to build over the last several months.  From Twitter to Blogs to #rscon10, I have been able to experience growth as an educator, and a learner, than I have at any other point in my career.  I am grateful for friends and colleagues like Pernille who drive me to think differently about learning and encourage me to keep doing what I’m doing.

(Fade to black)
Be the change, reflection, students

Dear Arnold…

Pernille Ripp
Dear Arnold,
It was 2 weeks into the school year and there you were in the office; pants down by your knees, no backpack and the biggest grin stretched across your face.  When you asked me if I was your teacher and I said yes, you wrapped both tiny arms around my belly and gave me the biggest hug any skinny 4th grader had ever given me.  As we walked to the classroom, you eagerly asking questions, I thought about how lucky I was to have you in my room since you had that great big smile, if only your pants weren’t so close to your knees.

The class invited you in, they were used to kids coming in from other cities and also fell under the spell of your smile.  Introductions were made, tentative friendships were formed.  Then one day, you started yelling. You were so mad, I had never seen a skinny little child scream so loud and so fiercely standing up for what you thought was an injustice.  Pulling you out into the hallway, I calmed you down and soon that big grin came right on back.

It was like a bubble had burst that day.  The grin was hidden away and the anger and the need to fight for yourself became a frequent visitor.  And yet, you never were angry at me.  I never felt threatened even when other teachers pointed to my growing belly and asked how I felt safe in my room.  I tried to explain to them that you were just being loud, venting a bit, and that all that screaming really was just for show; a way for you to fight for yourself as you had had to do so many times before.

Every morning you would say hello to the baby in my stomach and you would tell all the other kids about it.  Every morning I would remind you to pull up your pants, until I finally got you a belt, which you then strapped around your knees so that the pants stayed right there.  Almost every day I would pull you out in the hallway and remind you to just breathe, the others weren’t trying to make you mad.  Take a deep breath, let’s talk about it.

It was time for the baby to come so I went on leave.  I cried even though I knew my kids were in the best of hands.  I would try to sneak by for visits with the new baby but you always spotted me from the classroom window as if you knew that today was the day I was going to stop by.  You loved that little baby as much as you loved me and you told her that every time you held her.  I noticed you now had sticker charts and reminders of anger management strategies and that your grades were so bad.  And yet, when I walked in that door you told me about the good things.  See Mrs. Ripp, I got a C on this paper.  See Mrs. Ripp, I did this.  Your pride could not be taken away.

I came back from leave and you were the first one down to my room.  That big old hug came out again and you mentioned how much easier it was to hug me now.  Later that afternoon, that angry little boy was there again, yelling so loud for my attention.  Your lungs must have gotten bigger in the 12 weeks I was gone because I had never heard such a noise come from such a tiny child.  Just breathe, it will be alright.

The school year started winding down and we still battled with your demons.  I could read all of your signs.  Your fist closing, your quicker breaths, your eyes darting from place to place.  I knew when that voice would come back and I knew that you weren’t mad at me; you were just mad at the world.  And the world sometimes seemed to be mad right back at you.  That final day when we said goodbye, you cried sitting under your old desk.  You looked up and asked me, “But Mrs. Ripp, what am I supposed to do?”  I had no answer so I simply hugged you one more time and cried with you.

All summer I thought about you and tried to contact you with no luck.    When another year started I was told you had moved again and would not be back to my school.  I just hoped and wished that I had given you enough reminders to breathe, calm down, it’s not you against the world; it’s us against the world.

I still look for you whenever I find myself in a big crowd of kids.  Hoping that from somewhere in the middle of all those little bodies, one set of skinny arms will reach out and hug me and say “Mrs. Ripp, where did you go?”  And I would tell you, “Nowhere, I am right here if you need me.”  Arnold, I am still right here.

aha moment, Be the change, students

Love Them Before You Know Them- Greta’s Aha Moment

Pernille Ripp

Greta Sandler who is an elementary level English as a Second Language teacher in Buenos Aires, Argentina shares this week’s “Aha” moment.  She fell in love with the English language as a child and continues to be passionate about teaching and technology.  As a child she decided to become an ESL teacher but it was as an adult that the road ahead suddenly became clear.  Follow this passionate educator on Twitter at @Gret and keep an eye out for her very own blog coming soon.
I can still remember that day as if it were yesterday. It was my first day at a new school and my first year as an elementary teacher. My lifetime dream was coming true. So special was this day that everything around me was inspiring. I could savor every minute, every second there… just thinking of what it would be like, trying to imagine each of my new students, wondering if I would be able to connect with them, if I would be able to get the best from them. It was that day when I heard a teacher say a magical phrase, “The secret for a successful connection with students is loving them before actually meeting them.”  For some reason, that phrase stayed in my mind. I wondered what she had meant by that, I couldn’t actually figure it out, but it just felt special.

When I was assigned my group, I found out that there was a boy in my class, Thomas, who had an average performance, but serious behavior problems. What’s more, he was about to be expelled from school. I was sure there was a reason for his attitude. Little did I know that the reason would break my heart; it turns out that Thomas had been a victim of sexual abuse some years before. I didn’t know that kid, but he was already my favorite student. I talked to the other teachers, but only heard things such as: “I hate that kid,” “Don’t waste your energy on him,” or “It’s a hopeless case.” Needless to say, that was one of the saddest moments in my teaching career. In his record, all I could find were terrible comments and tons of dark, colorless and aggressive drawings he had made… Everything I read, everything I heard, and everything I saw only made me want to help him more and more.

School started and I finally met my class. Thomas didn’t exactly behave well, but it wasn’t as bad as people had pictured it. I tried to connect with him from the very first moment. I would spend time talking with him, making silly jokes and just showing him I cared. Every now and then, I assigned him important roles, so I could show him how much I trusted him. I always remember calling him Tom, instead of Thomas, for the first time.  I can still see his face glowing, when he came to me and whispered: “I had never had a nickname before.”  I would have never imagined that such a small gesture would touch his heart.

I must admit, I was really surprised when he came to me after a couple of months and said he was willing to improve on his behavior. Not only did he try really hard, but he would also ask me at least once a day if his behavior was OK or not. In addition to this, his grades began to improve and his attitude changed. He started to make friends and he was finally able to participate in class, share his stories and speak his mind. Soon after, everyone started calling him Tom. I saw small changes in him almost every day. 

I was truly touched one day, when I arrived to my classroom and found a beautiful drawing on my desk. Someone had made a drawing of me with a big pink heart on my chest. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I realized who had drawn it. I couldn’t hold the tears when I found this note on the back: “Miss Greta, I love you. Tom”

As months passed by Tom had become a brand new kid. He didn’t behave perfectly, but his attitude was different. He was passionate about learning and eager to keep making progress. It was just motivating seeing him play with his classmates during break time.  Apart from that, his grades had significantly improved and by the end of the year he was one of the best students in the class.
At the end-of-year ceremony, Tom was given an award for his effort and improvement. While he was receiving the well-deserved certificate, I could see his parents and grandparents looking at him so proudly with tearful eyes. That was my “Aha” moment. It was then that I understood how powerful connecting with our students is. It was then, that I finally understood what the phrase I had heard in the beginning of the school year meant.

This experience has totally changed my outlook on teaching. It made me realize how powerful our job is.  I learned that teaching is more than just following a curriculum. We get to touch people’s hearts; we get this unique opportunity of making someone’s life different by giving them tools to be better, by teaching them to believe in themselves and by showing them they are special and unique. It’s by showing them we care that we’ll get to do the most. It’s by loving them that we’ll be able to make them flourish. 

Be the change, education reform, students

Who Wants to Teach "Those" Students?

Pernille Ripp
I became a teacher because I believed that all students could learn.  I believed that children have a purpose in life; that all children do not start out mad or confused, or hopeless.  I continued being a teacher because children proved to me that they wanted to learn, be happy, have a better life, and they they did not mean it personally when they acted out.  And yet, as I read articles like the one posted in the LA Times today (via @LarryFerlazzo), I wonder how many young people entering college will want to become a teacher; a believer in all children.

America’s education policy is a numbers obsessed community.  We rank our students comparatively so that proper interventions can be given, we dole out pointless letter grades based on obscure percentages, we graph, we draw, we list from highest to lowest all in the quest of how to teach with more meaning, more ability, more effectiveness and more adherence.  This number obsession is now targeting teachers through merit pay suggestions, firings based on test scores, rewriting of school wide goals based on  the percentage of yearly growth in academics by individual teachers.  Nowhere is it mentioned where students started at the beginning of the year, what happened during the year, or any other factors that may have a play in how a child (and teacher) performs.  After all, how many of us have ever failed a test simply because we did not get enough sleep or had something else on our mind?  To use those test scores as the sole basis of observation of someones teaching skills is an injustice that we cannot afford to let pass.

I am not saying that there aren’t poor teachers out there, of course there are.  However, we all know many educators that are passionate about their job and passionate about their children.  Because that’s what they are; our kids.  We take them all; the hungry, the poor, the talented, the needy, the angry, the hopeless, the mutes, the ghost kids that are there one day and gone the next.  We invite them all into our room, into our lives and we do our best in teaching them something, even if it just means teaching them that ours is a room they can feel safe in.  And that is why I became a teacher; to invite them into my family, to show them all that someone cares about them, even if they have an overabundance of people who support and cherish them.

So as merit pay is discussed and jobs are cut because of test scores, I wonder; who will teach “those” kids?  The ones with the files as thick as a Harry Potter book, the ones everyone knows even if they have not taught them. the ones with the missing files that never seem to materialize, the ones that leave class to go to doctor’s appointments, counseling, therapy, or just never show up.  The ones that so brighten my day, even if they are  there half of the week.  The ones that are forced into an adult role when they are 9, the ones that carry their little sister’s backpacks in the hallway and hold their hand when they get on the bus because it is them against the world.  Who will teach those kids when you may lose your job because they did not live up to an inane standard set by a far removed government?  I will…will you?

PLN

Just an Every Day PLN Moment

Pernille Ripp
I, too, have joined the ranks of the faithful PLN supporters; the ones that proclaim all of the amazing things that have happened to us because of our connection with others whether we choose to call it a PLN or simply a community.  And yet, today I was reminded of just how big of an effect my PLN, or whatever you want to call it, has had on my everyday life.

In the last 2 days, my PLN has helped me with:

  • Convincing my principal that less homework = more learning.  Thank you to @Nunavut_teacher for sending out articles that I was able to pass on to my principal.  No meeting needed, the research spoke for itself.    
  • Share Everyday Math Resources with my school from another tweet.
  • Create a Google Map for the Global Read Aloud Project as prompted by the wonderful Laura Fleming.
  • Strengthen my argument for limiting grading in the classroom through conversations with @MrMacnology and @Joe_Bower. 
  • Purchase 8 Flip Camera’s for the price of 4 thanks to a link sent out a long time ago on Twitter (if it was by you – thank you!)
  • Work out again – thanks to the fantastic people involved in #temt, now I don’t want to be lazy.
  • Promise 500 people that I follow that I would get them a free IPad – thanks Twitter hacks.
This does not mean that I couldn’t have figured this all out on my own, but the point is that I did not have to.  My PLN did all the legwork for me and in turn I tried to help them out.  
So thanks PLN, every day you make my life a little easier; my students (and husband) are grateful.