The Spark

Yesterday, in the first days of December, it finally happened in my class. After three months of learning together every day, we finally had an intellectually exciting conversation that had my students enthralled.

This class was not overjoyed about performing mineral tests or looking for rocks outside. Finding patterns in lists of equations does not excite them. Reading many stories by Ezra Jack Keats and learning all about him didn't do it for them. Books that in other years have sparked conversations about race and identity seemed not to register. Thinking about maps and the ways people use them passed unnoticed. Many of the lessons and projects that have, in the past, led to waving, wiggling hands and excited bursts of conversation had little impact on this class.

Don't get me wrong: they have had fun in my class. They do enjoy filling their pockets with rocks, but more in a collector's style than that of a geologist. They love to cook (and I think we should cook more). When we went roller skating, they demonstrated incredible persistence and cheer, despite repeated bruising falls. They have worked hard on a huge mural of a local neighborhood we visited that accompanies graphs of data they collected on that visit. They love to hear a good story.

But they have enjoyed many of these things as children, not as learners. Of course they have learned from them, and of course they are children, and should enjoy things as children. It's just that this group is not particularly intellectually engaged (yet). They are very, very wiggly. They are quite concerned with what each other are doing at every moment, and love to tell each other what to do. They always have urgent needs, whether for the bathroom or a glass of water or to see the nurse. There is, in fact, an incredible, often overwhelming amount of activity and conversation going on in my classroom. It's just that most of it does not center around learning.

So, great authors didn't do it. Exploring rocks didn't do it. Maps of unknown places had no effect. What is the subject that, this week, has made my students watch and listen with wide eyes, wave their hands in the air, and beg to share their ideas? Ladies and gentlemen, we have been thinking about what makes rocks get smaller and smoother.

When we did these lessons last year, they passed virtually unnoticed. Although my students had fun brainstorming where rocks come from, and they enjoyed the exploration of sand, silt, clay, pebbles, gravel, and humus, it wasn't a topic that particularly grabbed them. This year, though, the second graders are fascinated.

For two days we brainstormed what might make rocks smaller and smoother: water falling on them, or when they bounce around in a river. Tree roots pushing them. People walking on them, or cars driving on them. Earthquakes, tornadoes, and volcanoes came up. Meteorites were a subject of great debate. We went outside and looked around to see what evidence we could find of changing rocks. We made lists. We talked a lot about where sand comes from. How come you can't lie down on a bunch of pebbles and be comfortable, but sand, which is just pebbles made much smaller, is soft to lie on?

Teo was quite sure that people make sand. "How do you think they do that?" I asked. "They rub rocks," he answered confidently. "Whose job do you think that is?" I wondered, grinning. "Geologists!" he replied. Silly teacher. He described groups of geologists whose only job all day was rubbing rocks, in order to make all the sand on all the beaches. Lovely.

Yesterday, we read a book that talked about rocks, soil, and sand. They were entranced. I drew pictures of mountains, boulders, rivers, and oceans on the board. They asked why sand sticks together when it's wet. They wondered how rocks melt in fire (like in a volcano). They frowned when I talked about the earth moving, as in an earthquake. (How can the earth move?)

It was fun. It was so fun. As I sat there listening, and as they sat there listening to each other with a minimum of redirection, I had a flash of what I love about being a teacher. The fact that I didn't feel it until December this year does not make me too optimistic about the rest of the year. But at least the spark came this once.

Stories

Here are excerpts of my students' (really quite excellent) stories, which we are getting ready for publication this week.

Upon seeing his parents dance at their wedding: "I cried but it was ok because it was tears of goe" [joy].

"When I entered the roller rink I was dumbfounded by all the pepple. I put on my skates it took A long time! I got through it."

"a minute later my brother went in the room. where I was woching tv. and he had his skeleton costume on! I immediately pulled my [toy] gun and it went dam! dam! I was very startled me." (oh, the constant confusion between "b" and "d"!) "The next day I wasent my self. I could fell my heart beding fast. and I was shivering I could see scary people in my mind."

A swimming story:
"Then the water got even colder then before It was so cold I felt like I will tern into a ice cube. Then we went out of the pool I said what a relief."

Upon receiving a scooter for his birthday:
"This is so new! i sied to myself and my stomik jumped because it is excited."

In a haunted house:
"My heart was feeling like a durm! [drum] My stomach was jumping off the walls to get away. My eye was wide like an animal! My arm was wiggling like a cats tail!"

I've never had such good description in my kids' stories, and let me tell you, these are not the best writers I've ever taught, so I am left to conclude I've done a good job of teaching something. Man, they look like they aren't listening to a thing you say, but once in a while, they learn something!

Family Conferences

One of the cool parts of my job is doing family conferences.

Am I glad when I finish the last one? Yes.

Do I think, "Whew, don't have to do that again until April!"? Yes.

Family conferences are a lot of work. They take energy, focus, schmoozing skills, and tact. Sometimes, things you never anticipated arise, and they can push you off-balance. Some families make you nervous, make you wonder, "What kinds of things is she going to complain about this time? What could I have done wrong?"

But, all in all, I have a lot of fun at conferences. This year, even though I don't enjoy their children as much as I have previous classes, I really enjoyed all of the family members I met. I was impressed by their familiarity with their children's abilities, interest in the curriculum, and desire to understand how I teach. Today, I had a parent come back for the second meeting in two weeks, just because she didn't really understand her notes on solving math problems the "new" way when she got home. She wanted an extra math class with me so she could help her son with his homework. What could be better?

I have also figured out, after all these years, how to say a lot of things to families. I know how to tell you that your child has a lot of catching up to do in reading, or has frequent temper tantrums. I know how to explain why I don't teach your child to borrow or carry in math, and I can almost always get you on my side in that battle. I know how to break the news that your child is so very wiggly that he can't really get his work done, and I know how to say that I think we might want to have your child evaluated for special education services. I even know how to give you suggestions for disciplining your child, or for stepping out of the regular power struggles you find yourself in at home.

The biggest, best secret I have about family conferences? It's that I can nearly always connect with a family member if I let you know that we share a fondness for your child. I always know what positive things I'm going to say, the strengths your child has revealed in these first two months of school, the promise I see. I probably have a cute, funny, or smart story to tell you, and I convey as much warmth as I can in those stories. I spend a good part of the conference connecting, building bridges, so that you and I are definitely, by the end of our 30 minutes, on the same team. And I always, always, always give you, the family, the benefit of the doubt. I let you know that I know that you want the best for your children, and that you are doing the best you can to get it for them. Because the truth is that in 9 years of doing this, I haven't ever met parents who didn't want the best for their children.

I worried a bit this year that I didn't quite convey the full seriousness of some of my students' academic difficulties. I don't think families left my classroom feeling urgently concerned and, honestly, some of them probably should be. But I don't want to send them home feeling hopeless, or stressed so they will pressure their child too much, or upset at me, the messenger. I felt like my biggest job at this, the first conference of the year, was to build that connection. If we have bad news to talk about more later on, at least we'll have this strong foundation on which to build.

Overheard

Last week, my student Javier was having a bad day. All morning, he wandered around the classroom, muttering under his breath, refusing to do what I asked. As a result, he ended up eating lunch alone in the classroom with me.

I sent his mom an email to let her know how his morning had been. I tried to ask him what was up, but he wouldn't tell me -- he just acted pissed. His mom wrote back and said, "If you have a chance, call me so I can talk to him."

Since we were alone at lunchtime, I called her and put him on. As I puttered around the classroom, he talked.

He put the phone to ear and said, "Hi, mom."

After listening for a second, he explained, "I didn't get enough sleep last night, so I'm really tired."

Another moment of listening, then: "Yes, but I was feeling frustrated."

As she answered, the mouthpiece of my cellphone dangled closer to his eyes than to his mouth.

"I don't feel like talking to you about that right now," he said in a low voice.

Another quiet moment.

"Yes, I understand what you're saying." His voice was calm and resigned.

I was amazed. I had never heard him talk this way before -- so measured, so clear, so self-aware.

"Javier," I said to him. "All morning you've been letting me know that you're having a hard day. You've been letting me know by not doing your work, by not following directions, and by stomping around the room. But I just heard you talk to your mom in a clearer, more mature way than most grown-ups know how to communicate. Now if you could just talk to me that way when you're having a bad day, we could figure out how to help make your day better."

So far, he hasn't been able to talk to me this way. But I know he has it in him.

Lessons Learned

Over the past 8 years, I have learned many lessons about teaching. Specifically, I learned many lessons about how to make my job sustainable, so that I didn’t have regular mental breakdowns, or quit, so that I kept my cool in the classroom and didn’t cry on the way home. This year, I have had a much harder time holding on to these lessons. I have cried many days after school. Once, I had to turn the reins over to my assistant and leave the room to take deep breaths. I am working far, far too hard, as hard as I worked my first and second years of teaching. I can feel myself reaching the brink of sanity on a regular basis.

I have tried to get better at leaving work at a reasonable time. My goal is not to stay more than one hour after I am done teaching, and I have been more and more successful at that. I have tried to get regular exercise, with mixed results. But the other things I know, that I have to reclaim, have remained elusive. I am writing them down now in order to promise myself that I will re-dedicate myself to these things that I learned gradually, over many years of teaching, and that have kept me sane.

1. My students arrive in my classroom with a certain level of skills. I have no control over that level, over what they did or did not learn before getting to me. My job is to meet them at that starting place and move them forward, as far as I can. I can’t work magic; I can only do what I can do. They will make progress in my class. In fact, they will learn a lot. They may not get where they are supposed to be by the end of second grade, but that is because no one can make up for all that they have not learned yet, at least not in only one year of school. I can do what I can do, and that is all, and it has to be enough, even if we all wish it could be more.

2. If I don’t get all of my work done, or all of my lessons planned to perfection, it’s okay. If I’m not ready for something today, I’ll do it tomorrow.

3. I know how to be a regular education teacher, and I know how to be a special education teacher. Although they overlap greatly, they are two jobs. In one classroom, one adult can do one of those jobs. I can and do infuse my everyday teaching with what I know about special ed,, but I can’t do two jobs at the same time.

4. I can’t do other people’s work for them. Even if I think I can do it better than they can, I have to let them do it or I will resent them and overwork myself.

5. Sometimes, my response to stress is to try to do more, work harder, be more prepared, and control everything more. If I can do a little more strategic thinking and feel better, then great. But if I am working too long, until my brain is foggy, my eyes watering, and my nerves tightly wound, it’s counter-productive.

6. I have to let go of things being perfect in my classroom. This means I have to let other adults run activities and lessons their way, even if I think it would be better if I did it, so that I can have a break. I have to relinquish what happens in my room when I am not there, or with my class when I am not in charge. I don’t have time to worry about that which I cannot control.

7. Having fun is important. Even though my kids are so far behind, and I want to teach them so, so much, we need to play, and build with blocks, and sing, and dance, and be silly sometimes. (One point for me: I have instituted a painting / building / playing time at least twice a week in my classroom, as a time for us to enjoy each other and practice key social skills, and not go crazy from just doing academics all the time.)

8. Breathing is important. Exercising is important. Not working all the time is essential. Crying is good. It is also even better when you don’t need to cry so much. We’ll get there.