In Search of Something More

When I entered the teaching field, they handed me a binder full of lessons on writing, sent me to a day of professional development, patted me on the back, and said, "Teach."

That first year I tried to live by the pretty white binder. I really did. But it wasn't long before I found myself shaking my head in disbelief.

I knew there had to be something more to teaching literacy.

I threw myself into the pursuit of this "something more."

My ideas were a little strange, I suppose, but my students seemed happier. They wrote more. And I was definitely happier. Our classroom was coming alive.

The binder began to collect dust in the corner.

I did my own lessons. I kept them to myself. Partly, I was afraid I'd get in trouble for not following along. But in all honesty, I was afraid to share. Afraid to put myself out there. I lacked professional confidence.

A few years went by and I found new resources, like Jeff Anderson's amazing books on grammar. A new teacher told me about something she did before moving to Texas, called the Oklahoma Writing Project. A chance trip to the bookstore brought me Donalyn Miller's incredible read, The Book Whisperer, which has forever changed what reading looks like in my classroom.

Somehow I found myself applying to join the Summer Institute at the North Star of Texas Writing Project. I don't know what I was most afraid of: applying and not being accepted, or being accepted and making a fool of myself. But something inside me kept telling me to push forward; I was finally getting closer to that idea of something more.

I entered Summer Institute the first week of June -- barely able to contain my excitement (writing! five days a week! all month!) and scared beyond reason (writing! five days a week! all month!)

There are not words that can shine bright enough or shout boldly enough to define my NWP experience. The relationships, ideas, and beliefs that have grown from my one month at Summer Institute have taken root in the essence of who I am. Not just as a teacher, but as a person.

I am stronger -- I fight for what I believe in.

I am confident -- I share my ideas and beliefs freely.

I am proud -- my students have grown emotionally and academically because of my confident, positive approach to teaching.

The National Writing Project changed my life, and some might say that one person is a small thing. But I know it is because of NWP that I am able to confidently share resources with teachers. And perhaps more importantly, I know I have changed the lives of my students.

Just ask the boy who came to me in August, grumbling about how much he hated reading and writing. This same boy is currently writing a screenplay about his favorite superheroes. He also wrote me a poem this morning about how camouflage is his favorite color, because you cannot see it.

His poem made me reflect on the nature of the National Writing Project. You may not realize what you are looking at when you walk through the halls of a school. You may not realize how many hands from a writing project site have touched the teachers, sculpted the minds of students, forever changed someone into the person they were always waiting to become.

But we are definitely here. We are working to change lives, we are reinventing the landscape of literacy as we move forward, and we are necessary. Removing the funding for programs that heighten student achievement and bolster teacher leadership is the exact opposite of the kind of progress our country needs.

I finally found the "something more" I knew was out there, if I just kept searching.
And I don't intend to let it go.

My student, my teacher

This week, my students reminded me that I love teaching. Even though they probably don't realize it, they deserve a huge thank you.

Lately, I've let myself get bogged down with data meetings and testing expectations and -- my favorite -- "peer fear." Oh, you know what I mean -- that strange, oozing fear that seems to flow from room to room, spreading like the Blob as state testing time sneaks up on us.

Thankfully, my students always have my back when I start to succumb to the fear. When I swaddle myself with the love I have of learning and share my passion for discoveries with my students, we have amazing days. You will catch us cheering and shouting and bouncing and laughing (laughing!). Stand outside our door and you might wonder if anyone is even in charge. You might have to search to find me, as I'll be on the floor, or huddled in the corner with a small group of students, or possibly, I'll be lying on the floor next to them, reading.

You just never know what kind of learning you'll catch us doing.

Every day is different. Every day a gift. Every student equipped with a lesson to share.

What did you learn this week?

Breaking Away

Are you doing what you love? When you envisioned yourself as a teacher, surrounded by children in a school bursting with new ideas and creative coworkers, did that mental snapshot include high-stakes testing, anxiety inducing data meetings, and teachers whose spark has lost its luster?

I was especially excited when I finally completed my student teaching and accepted a position at my school. For years I had watched the atmosphere at this campus as my son moved from grade to grade. The teachers were energetic, the theory of brain-based teaching was innovative, and my son loved school. I knew this was the place for me. I barely made it through the interview without frothing at the mouth. Finally, I thought, I will be surrounded by people that share my passion for learning.

My first year at that campus was incredibly deflating. How could I have been so easily fooled? What happened to the energy, the passion, the zest for learning that I had seen as a person on the outside looking in?

Once inside, I discovered myself surrounded by teachers that were buckling under the pressure of a system that seemed purposefully constructed to tear down every good thing they were trying to accomplish. Not enough time, constantly changing schedules, and expectations that seemed to dangle always just out of reach resulted in a group of teachers that were worn down to bare knuckles.

Every day I go to work, I find myself hoping I can avoid certain people. I try to slip unnoticed through the halls, hope my principal doesn't highlight accomplishments in my classroom -- I already feel enough animosity from teachers that have been frustrated with my excitement; I don't want any more rolled eyes, hushed whispers, or cold shoulders. I've had enough. Somehow it is seen as bad to rise above, to hope for more, to continually push the bar. Teachers that dare to break away from the group are seen as dissenters, and not to be trusted.

At this point, I simply want to make it through the year. I love my class; love the energy from my kids, the desire for learning they show every day. We have accomplished miraculous things this year, and I am so proud of their hard work. It is only because of their willingness to try new things and motivation to learn that any of my ideas have found success. I am a dreamer, and these kids -- they are definitely the mechanism that fuels my dreams.

When I began teaching, I believed my encouragement and support would come from other teachers. I believed I would find solace surrounded by individuals all moving forward towards a similar goal. Now I am left to wonder if that was a childish fantasy, or if it is simply time for me to move on. Change seems impossible on this campus. Matriarchs of the school have assembled strange cliques and I don't seem to fit into the mold.

For once, I'm actually happy not to fit in. I enjoy my differentness. I am proud of my ideas and my desire for constant growth. I don't care to gossip and needle the weaknesses of others. I don't have enough energy these days to spend any of it on the ugliness that so many people seem capable of. I have accepted that things aren't always as they seem, I am thankful for the small handful of inspirational teachers I have met along the way, and I am ready to shoulder up against the wind and keep pushing forward. Perhaps a few will follow, perhaps not.

Regardless of my hurt feelings and disappointments, one thing remains true: I will stay true to my beliefs and do what is best for each child entrusted to me. Their future depends on me, and every teacher whose life they light up, one rushed year at a time.