Passing Through Silence

It’s been nearly a year of silence.

In that time, I’ve offered no social witticisms or criticisms.
I’ve shared no neatly-packaged epiphanies.

Nor do I have any to offer today.

Instead, I have only words to offer. A string of words that has been continually swirling around in my head for the past week:

“When the way comes to an end, then change—having changed, you pass through.” –I Ching

 

Placed in the context of our class novel, these words were clear and bold. They reassured many of my students who had been anxious about high school. They gave me the opportunity to present change as positive, to urge them to embrace the young adults into which they will grow.

Perhaps, more importantly for me, they reminded me of a promise I made nearly a year ago, a promise that changed everything about the way I teach…

I promised to place my students’ well-being before a test score, to embrace their quirks and accept their flaws, and to let them know that they meant so much more to me than my VAM score.

This change allowed me to pass through the bureaucracy of the education system and to open my eyes to my students’ true needs. In the process, it renewed my faith in the power of being a teacher.

I honestly believe that my students left my classroom this year knowing that I loved and accepted them.

I’m really going to miss this group. Sure, some were difficult, but the majority of my students were incredible. Together, we navigated new standards, new tests, new expectations, and came out victorious.

More importantly, together we traversed the rocky, uneven terrain of daily life. I tried to be the one who listened carefully and dried falling tears. They were the ones who helped me find a sense of normalcy after my mom passed away. In a way, they kept me grounded, when everything else seemed surreal.

Now that they’re gone, and only an empty classroom remains, the words begin swirling again.

“When the way comes to an end, then change…”

It’s easier said than done. But I imagine you already knew that.

Empty desks remind me that I will have to start over next year, and the incoming class has a less-than-pleasant reputation. I’m sure there will be many changes with which to contend next year.

But change is often the only way forward. And so, we continue to walk that narrow balance beam, desperately trying to adapt and meld old with new.

The philosophy that made this year so rewarding stretches out like a path before me. With luck, it will guide me through another year.

The words continue to whirl around me. With luck, they will help me find ways to break the other stretches of silence in my life, the ones for which I have not yet found words.

For now, they are enough.

You Are Welcome Here

I’d like to begin by apologizing for the lack of a blog last week. The past two weeks have been a complete whirlwind of gluing, stapling, and syllabus-making. All leading up to today…the first day of the new school year.

It’s funny how much preparation goes into a classroom. What seems like it should take two days to decorate and equip, really takes six because every detail matters. This year the details seemed even more important because it was my first school year with a new philosophy.

In years prior, I focused on efficiency. How could I streamline everything so that I could get the most done in the shortest amount of time? In my defense, I feel every year’s added responsibilities and expectations of teachers are partly to blame for making this a common educational philosophy. In response to this pressure, I spent the minimum amount of time necessary throwing up mis-matching, educational posters and random classroom adornments. The result was less than visually pleasing, but it passed as a decorated classroom, and I quickly moved on to more demanding tasks like analyzing my students’ past test scores and trying to develop lessons to meet the county’s ever-changing standards.

This year, however, I was on a mission to change my approach. After my transformative experience last school year, I vowed to make my classroom a space where students felt safe and comfortable. I wanted it to be a clean, bright, inviting space.

So I began with my physical environment.

I left my tattered posters in the closet.

I framed things.

I installed more group workspaces.

I brought in nature with plants and wide open windows.

I focused on creating an environment that would send a positive message:
You are welcome here.

It took over a week to decorate. But the effect was exactly what I wanted. I can feel it every time I walk into my classroom. The words greet me at the door:
You are welcome here.

It’s my hope that these words will reinforce the barrier that I’ve tried to create between the political bureaucracy that’s taken over education and how we approach learning in my classroom.

It was in this spirit that I found myself repeating my convictions to every class today:
What we do in here matters.

I want them to believe that. I want them to embrace it.

Not because an end of course exam says so. But because right now they are determining how they will communicate with the rest of the world. And more than anything, I want to give them the tools to speak confidently, convincingly, and in a grammatically correct manner (still an English teacher). I want them to know that I take them seriously, and they should, too.

I want them to know they are welcome to be themselves.

My walls are the first step.

Hopefully, I can do the rest.

 

Saying Goodbye

Today, I took each concrete step slowly.

I paused to fully appreciate the grandeur of the stately brick buildings.

I inhaled the aroma of grass and clay from the ball fields.

I sighed.

Then I walked across the parking lot for the last time.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been preparing myself for today: my last day at LMHS. I’ve written extensively about how this school, these people, saved me, saved my teaching career.

My readers have been bombarded with my nostalgic commentaries about what teaching has come to mean to me, and how my experience this year changed everything for me. It changed my outlook on education, teenagers, teachers, writing, testing, and what it means to live life fully.

To say that I’m thankful is an understatement. Those of you who read the blog weekly already know that I will never be able to truly repay everyone who helped me my find my way this year. Those readers are also privy to many of the ways they supported and shaped me into the kind of person I want to be. (Please check out “If Only for a Season” and its follow-up post for details). So, after many blogs that reveled in the joy of this school year and my overwhelming hope for the future, I really felt that I had prepared myself for the goodbyes that would happen today.

Not the case.

Instead, I felt as though I was leaving a part of myself behind.

I couldn’t ignore the fact that although all of my personal belongings had been packed up and moved home (to take over the dining room for the summer), that something important to me still lingered behind, making it difficult to walk away without looking back.

I desperately hope this is not the case.

You see, I like the new Emma Grace.

Oh, she still has so many flaws, but she’s working on some and learning to embrace others.

Most importantly, she has a newly acquired passion, which she gained from working with passionate educators and unique, quirky students.

And now she wants to take it with her wherever she goes.

So while I hope to be remembered, I don’t want to leave this passion behind me. I want to embrace it, use it to build a classroom where students want to be, and apply it to a curriculum that prepares them for so much more than an end of course exam.

But there is a part of me I’m ready to leave behind: my concern for my VAM score.

The county can care about it all they want. They can make themselves crazy with numbers and statistics and percentages. They can stress about the outcomes of flawed tests.

I’m more than a number, and I’m passionate to prove it.

With this realization, I find that I’m feeling better about moving on.

I am ready.

I’m also finally ready to say:

Goodbye Lake Minneola.

You’ve made me stronger than I ever could have imagined, and I’ll forever be grateful.

 

 

photo credit: elycefeliz via photopin ccphoto credit: Mary Brack ~ www.mewithmyheadintheclouds.blogspot. via photopin cc

When is Rebellion Justified?

Ladies and Gentlemen, this week the discussion takes a political turn as I add my voice to the ongoing debate over public schools’ ridiculous schedule of standardized testing. Please check out “When is Rebellion Justified?” at TalkingClassRadio.com by clicking Here, and add your voice to the collective outrage! As always, thank you so much for your continued support!

 

Check Out This Week’s Blog at Talkingclassradio.com!

 

I’m excited to announce that this week’s blog, “Breaking Bad’s Walter White…A Role Model for My Students,” is being featured on Talking Class Radio! This piece is a bit more outrageous than my usual writing, so please check it out and feel free to comment. You can access it by clicking the following link:

http://talkingclassradio.com/2014/05/07/kids-like-walter-white/

As always, thank you so much for reading!