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.

We are here, we are learning.

Idiom Day is one of my favorite days of the year. And it's not just because we all get to dress up in fun costumes. Well, okay -- it's a little bit because of the costumes.

Each year after teaching figurative language to our students, they choose an idiom, design a costume to match the idiom's literal meaning, and come to school for a day of rotation through each 4th grade teacher's classroom for games designed to reinforce their learning.

I love seeing the various interpretations they come up with for their idioms. "Caught red handed" showed up today in several versions: with handcuffs, painted hands, gloved hands, or even wrapped in a large net! My favorite "break a leg" wore an xray screen showing a fractured leg, and I think my favorite costume of the day was a simple red t-shirt with a heart drawn on one sleeve. Simple. Perfect.

As for my amazing team, we showed up as "thrown under the bus," having a "green thumb," the "bee's knees," the ever popular classroom idiom "all eyes on me," and "it's all Greek to me." We had a ridiculous amount of fun letting all the other teachers and parents guess what our idioms where.

In the rotations, the students spent time playing 4 different figurative language games, including Jeopardy with me, where they teamed up to answer questions about idioms, hyperbole, simile, metaphor, and onomatopoeia. They enjoyed finding the figurative language within famous quotes and poetry, and completing popular idioms.

At the end of the day we gave out awards for best in class, funniest, most creative, best overall, best at keeping us guessing, and most over the top. The kids each had a moment in the spotlight to tell who they were and what their idiom was -- everyone clapped and cheered during "the big reveal!"

Next year, I think I'll take it a little further and add a bit of a research element by having my students find out where their idiom originated and sharing that information with our class when they come in costume.

So, yeah. One of my favorites. Love to dress up, love the costumes, the creativity, the laughter, and the months that follow as students run to me with a book in hand shouting, "I found an idiom!" grab a sentence strip, write it down, and post it on the wall -- a symbol to me, to them, to anyone that enters our room -- we are here, we are learning.

Today a wiki, tomorrow the world

They come in loud. A laughing, back-slapping, exclusive all-boys club.  21 hootin', hollerin' boys between the ages of 8 and 11, crashing into the computer lab like a wrecking ball in full swing.  There is no turning back now.

When I first thought of it back in June, I loved the idea of an all-boys club.  Take new collaborative technology, the opportunity to write creatively, and the shared camaraderie of boys becoming a cohesive pack, and see where it takes us.  That was the idea behind my after school club.

The reality was much scarier than the idea, however.  I hadn't actually meant to include 3rd grade, but didn't think to mention that when the forms went home.  I also never considered the fact that there would barely be enough computers for all the boys that wanted to join!  I assumed I'd have a nice, simple group of 10.  12, maybe.  21?  No way.  Third grade.  Did I mention that part?  I'm not sure what scared me more.  A huge group of boys that could easily become an unruly pack of kids that wanted nothing more than to play silly games online, or the fact that some of them were barely out of second grade. 

But there they were  on day one -- all 21 expectant faces asking about websites and online comic creators and blogging.  All eyeballing me with obvious concern.  Did they feel betrayed?  Had no one told them that the all-boys club was going to be led by (gasp) a girl??

How could a woman -- a teacher -- have anything cool to share with them about the Internet?

I probably eyed them with the same concern that day -- how was I going to manage twenty-one rowdy boys on computers at the same time, from three different grade levels?  What had I been thinking?  Why hadn't I planned this better?  Where were my parent helpers?

But I did what I always do when in doubt.  Forge ahead.  If there isn't a path, make one.  And that's what we have done.  Together.

Today was our third meeting.  Three one-hour meetings and the boys no longer look concerned.  In fact, they invite me into their jokes, grab my arm and pull me toward their computers to show me the newest treasure they have uncovered.  As of today, I officially feel like a part of the club.

Five of the boys are from my own classroom and already know how to do some of the things I introduce, so they get to be "experts" during this hour, helping me answer questions, fix problems, and run interference.  They are IT guys in the making.  It's brilliant, because I watch these kids that are typically the awkward, goofy guys in class become leaders.  For one hour a week, they take charge.  I'm eager to see how it changes our regular classroom environment.  I'm eager to see how it changes them.

Today I introduced our club wikispace, and they sank their teeth into it, quickly and repetitively erasing the home page I had created for them before finally figuring out the difference between editing the Home page and editing their own page.  It was a humorously frustrating experience.  Each time it happened we laughed, learned, and moved on.

One of my youngest members sat quietly working in front of his computer.  At the beginning of our meeting, I had asked him to pass out folders, to which he replied, "But I'm just a third grader!"

Now he sat, hunched toward the screen, clicking his way toward discovery.  I watched as he learned how to embed his glog we made a week ago onto his page, save it, and then share it with others.

"I thought you told me you were just a 3rd grader?" I said, grinning at him.

His giant smile was all I needed to see.  And that's a good thing, because a half-second later he was out of his chair and sprinting to a friend to teach them what he had learned.

I can't wait until next Monday.

Lighting the Way

This year my kids are proving to me, over and over again, if I raise the bar they will find a way to scale it. Naturally, this will be followed by a glance back at me with a, "That's all ya got?" smirk. Why not? When I challenge them, they challenge me right back.

Thomas Edison is quoted as saying, "If we all did the things we are really capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves," and I agree completely. I consider it my responsibility to help my students find out what makes them tick, grasp at their passion, and run wildly towards their dreams. They deserve that from me. They deserve a life well lived. I want to help them find that life.

The problem in the classroom (for me, anyway) is finding the way to help all of my students turn their light on. How do we take an uninterested, seemingly unmotivated student and help him or her transform into a child full of wonder? I've spent years searching for that answer, and I assume I'll spend many more -- in truth, if I ever find a solid, concrete answer, I suppose I've lost a little of my own wonder. The minute I stop growing, reaching, searching, and navigating my own maze towards excellence is the exact instant my students have a right to tune me out. I am no longer valid if I am no longer passionate about my pursuits.

I love the delight in their eyes when I show them a new way to look at an old problem. I love the flicker of pride in their eyes when a boy who once hated reading now devours books with a ferocious hunger -- as if making up for lost time. I love when past students bring me books to read because they know I will still read them, and my heart literally jumps when a struggling writer finds words they never knew they had.

This year I am seeing this happen more than ever before. Kids are enjoying what they learn. They are helping one another succeed. They are eager to try new things.

So I have to ask myself ... why? I still teach the same grade in the same school with the same level of excitement that I always have. Why are my kids jumping forward and so eager to challenge themselves now?

A few things have changed -- I went to Summer Institute with the North Star of Texas Writing Project over the summer, I have given them so many technology resources they are giddy to try them all, and thanks to Donalyn Miller's The Book Whisperer, I completely revamped the way I teach reading.

But I think it's more than the sum of these things. I am more confident. I try new things and ask questions later. I step out on a limb and say, "May as well TRY to fly since I'm out here!" more often. I share more resources. I copy less and do more.

Confidence breeds confidence. My kids spend their day with a strong, energetic, confident, passionate teacher. I like a good challenge, and I certainly don't back down from some healthy competition -- and they know this. This year, my kids are in a classroom full of choice lead by a teacher whose confidence is finally growing.

I think we're going to be good for each other, this group of 21 strong-willed geniuses and me.

Challenge #1: Learn how to use Glogster and share your favorite book:

How do you think they did?

Sharing Matters

Yesterday we partnered with a first grade class to learn about descriptive writing. They had all drawn crazy monsters, and we used their drawings to find out how important it is to include details in our writing.

First, every student grabbed a partner and one of the monster pictures. One student described the monster while the other (without looking) tried to recreate the same monster drawing. Each partner got a turn drawing a monster from verbal descriptions only.

The results were actually pretty good, or in the very least, comical. And we all learned an important lesson about accurate details.

Next, each student took one of the drawings and wrote a description of their monster. These descriptions were going to another class to see if they could match up the correct monster with the written description. The kids were eager to see if they could write something detailed enough for a second grade student to match the drawing to the description.

Well, most of them were. Burt was a little hesitant to get started. He had done a fabulous job verbally describing his monster to his partner earlier, and I reminded him of that. He nodded, uncertain. He said very matter-of-factly, "I just don't know where to start."

We looked at the picture together and I asked him what feature stood out to him the most.

"Well, I guess there are about 5 million spikes on his head."

Progress! I told him to start there and just talk aloud like he was telling a friend.

I moved away, checking on some other students. Typically, I try to check in on him often, but this project required more time for other students as well. Before I knew it, time was up and I hadn't checked in on him again. I was upset with myself -- he rarely completes a task without frequent reminders to keep going.

Suddenly, he was at my side.

"You're not going to believe it," he said, holding his paper tightly to his chest.

He flipped the paper around, revealing a page full of writing.

But that wasn't it. The back page was full also. And the words were fabulous. Completely on his own, Burt had described his monster with vivid detail! I let out a whoop and gave him a big hug. I had to share his succes -- he had to share his success! We went to his previous teacher and shared. We went to the reading specialist and shared. We shared with our class. Kids cheered, teachers hugged, he floated a little bit off the ground for a brief while.

I love the happy moments. They make everything worth it.

Breakthrough Thursday

Little steps. Big victories.

Sometimes the steps feel so tiny I wonder if we're even moving forward. I wonder if I am challenging them enough. But I follow my gut, teaching becoming a strange mix between ESP and science, and eventually all these miniature steps pool together and produce an unbelievably satisfying reward.

One of my boys came to class as a self-professed bad reader. That's a pretty hefty title to have to lug around with you from 4th grade into adulthood, I thought, and so began my search for his Holy Grail of books. His family has a big attachment to superheroes, and much of his conversation in the early days of the school year focused on Superman and all his pals and enemies. Perfect. What do you give a boy that hates to read? Comic books, of course. He sank easily into a world filled with good versus evil, enjoying how quickly he could slip through a story.

After a few quick comics, I offered him a slightly larger graphic novel -- still filled with superheroes, of course. The other boys in class were fascinated that I was allowing him to read these books, and soon there were waiting lists for the books he was reading. He began to lift his head a little higher.

Next, more graphic novels. This time, he read things without the stereotypical superhero. By now, he was asking for time to read. In fact, just the other week he said to me with his crooked, dimpled grin, "I used to think I wasn't a good reader but now I think I like reading. I'm pretty good at it."

I couldn't suppress my excitement. I gave him a huge hug. I tried not to smile so widely as to frighten the poor boy. "You're right. You are definitely a good reader."

Last week I grabbed my copy of The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick. I boldy set it on the table beside him.

"Check this out," I said, "My son read this when he was about your age. I think you might really enjoy it. It's sort of like the graphic novels you've been reading."

He was hooked. The other kids couldn't believe he was reading such a thick book. Everyone wanted to know how many pages it had. He carried it everywhere with him. He begged me to let him read instead of doing math, his favorite subject.

Today, he took it with him to dismissal, finished the last few pages while waiting for his mom, and handed it to me as he walked to his car.

"I did it!" he yelled as he passed the book to me.

His transformation began slowly. For days I felt like a kid watching a chrysalis in hopes of catching the new creation as it emerged. I wasn't certain anything was actually going to happen. But when that spark finally did light? It was fast -- FLASH -- and off he went, a reader.