Quarter Two, Quarters Tightening (274)

 So we are in our second quarter of school. We spent the first three weeks virtual and the second three weeks virtual and face to face. Yesterday was the first day of the second quarter and thus, all the options renewed- so we had a mass influx and a slight out flux as students decided to transfer from one venue to the other.

Basically it was a second, first day of school. Meeting new students, some I had virtually but found it difficult to recognize them behind a mask. Others switched from other teachers. My small classes, grew and our once spacious quarters now became a more normal classroom capacity. 

Where students had their own personal space before, now they had students across from them or near them. We are still using hand-sanitizer and wipes every class period to sanitize. Masks are covering mouth and nose. Social distancing as much as possible.

One minute if feels somewhat 'normal' the next- muffled and distorted. Weird times.

But, our cases have not gone up, we are not having any issues. Knock on wood. Here is hoping for more students to return next quarter. Her is hoping for continual decrease in cases- at least not a huge increase. Here is to continually feeling more like a community both virtually in my three classes and in person for my other three.

Education in the time of Covid-19. Here in Texas, at least for now it is going alright. 

Seven Reasons Why We Are Educators: Reason 7- Why We go to Work Most Days Optimistic, Even in a Pandemic (271)

The pandemic let us be honest sucks. It sucks in every way imaginable. One of my students yesterday said “Mrs. CJ, can I tell you something?” I said yes of course, “Covid sucks. I mean it really sucks.” I replied, “I agree.”

There is not a teacher on the planet that is not feeling overwhelmed. Some teachers are teaching entirely virtually. Some are all face to face. While many are a combination of the two. I have three face to face classes and three virtual classes. It is a lot. Not to mention technology issues, attendance issues, and engagement issues of those who are not in my classroom.

We are inundated with messages and emails. Paperwork and phone calls. We are in the building, most of us. We are worried about getting sick, teaching from behind a mask or face shield- muffled and distant. Students faces are hidden so we cannot see looks of confusion. We have to ask them. We have to take the time to speak with every one of them personally. How can we help them from behind a mask? How do we know? Instinct.

We have to really pay attention. We have to create more tutorials, more remediation. More fluidity. With our classes shifting: with new students returning to face to face and others entering virtual learning. We feel at a loss. We feel like we do not have enough time to build the relationships we so long for. We barely have time to get to know them before they are removed from our classes.

Monday starts another first day of school for 273 students who are re-entering the building after weeks of virtual learning. My classes have all been reshaped, shifted. Some larger, some smaller. I lost many students and gained more. I feel a loss already and it has only been six weeks. I cannot imagine what it will be like next six weeks when this happens all over again.

I know every teacher is feeling this disconnect. This absence. So why do most of us still wake up every morning and re-enter our classrooms full of hope and optimism? Why do we not end up like those 80’s stereotypical teachers we see in the movies? I think it is for a several reasons: 7 reasons actually, hence the title of my rapid-fire blog posts:

1.     We as educators look for the positive to outweigh the negative. We like a challenge. We appreciate the struggle we see our students go through every day and we know we are a voice of hope and grace for them.
2.     We are seekers of truth and the truth is- we are important, we are valued by our students and that is what matters most.
3.     We know that every day is a new opportunity to make a difference. To be that one voice that inspires.
4.     We are used to pivoting and adjusting on a dime. Yes, a dime. We adjusted, we are here, and we are making a difference.
5.      It is in our blood, education, we breathe it, it pumps through our bodies like iron. Making us stronger and resilient every day.
6.      We collaborate and share, we listen and learn constantly. Picking up ideas and strategies everywhere we look and honestly- we cannot ignore the opportunity to try them out.
7.      I think ultimately, we are performers and we need our stage. We do not necessarily  need the spotlight on us at all times, but we love the thrill that an audience gives- its an energy like no other.

      We are a profession built around growth. Built around problem-solving. Built around compassion and gift giving. We want to make sure that students get what they need, that they have a voice, that they feel safe. We go to work every day optimistic, even in a time of a pandemic because we are educators and we can see the future unfolding right before our eyes, and its marvelous.

Seven Reasons Why We Are Educators: Reason 6- Why We Should Be Considered Essential Workers. (270)

Essential, vital, indispensable, key. We are essential because we educate. We model. We are present in children’s lives every day as they enter into the relationship of teacher and student. We are a voice of reason, love, and respect. We are key to how children see the world because we help them navigate their world.

We are vital because the future of our country depends on growth oriented, mindful, individuals who have been given the opportunity to think for themselves- but more importantly- given the opportunity to teach themselves how to think. We are not simply bearers of curriculum: facts and data, we are messengers.

Messengers of inquiry, curiosity, and possibility. We are conveyors of the map. We may have plotted the borders and measured the elevations- we are after all the topographers of knowledge. Yet, we are not the navigators or the surveyors. We leave that up to them. This is our gift.

I say to my students, frequently, especially on days of struggle- “I am not here to teach you science, I am here to teach you how to teach yourself science.” This is our burden and our blessing. A burden for we must be patient, we must refrain from taking over. Our blessing because when we get to see it unfold- the moment of realization and recognition takes place; it is pure joy.

We as educators are indispensable because not everyone can teach. Teaching is a skill. A well-designed performance. A well-timed musical number, after months of rehearsal. It is knowledge, staging, production and acting. It is confidence and humility. It is an unscripted theatrical work determined not by actor but by audience. And, audiences are fickle.

We are key. Not just because we are the foundation of our educational system. Not just because we have the expertise and dedication to bring together classrooms full of students and turn them into learning venues both engaging and progressive. Not just because we unlock potential, unlock curiosity and swing open the door of possibility.

But because we are all of those and more. We are energy, emotion, eagerness, and electricity. We are the fulcrum of wisdom, growth, acceptance, and trust. We are the caregivers outside the home. We are essential because we are we, - we are there- we are now, and we are helping set the then.

Seven Reasons Why We Are Educators: Reason 5- Why We Love and Hate What We Do. (269)

I have been running all my life. Making my way towards and away. Towards the classroom, being within one most of my life- whether in school, college or as an educator. Sometimes a class is just amazing- a great teacher, engaged classmates, curriculum of interest. Those are memorable and integral to who I am. They shaped me.

But I have been in even more horrible classes than good. These unfortunately have also been memorable, integral to who I am as a learner, and they have shaped me probably even more. I guess it all came down to whether they were love or hate days. Whether the teacher was enthralled or disheartened with their profession at the time.

They were teachers who gave up on the marathon long before, and were phoning it in. Walking through the motions, of acquisition, of a paycheck. These are teachers beaten down by an unsupportive administration or simply exhausted at giving their all and getting nothing in return.

We have all felt this way at some point in our careers. But we had someone, at least one person who lit the spark from which we lit our own. They reignited our reason.

You feel it when you enter the room for the first time. Either teachers are at the door eagerly awaiting your presence, or behind their desks, with a quick hello, reading a paper, or ignoring entering students entirely.

We all have that image of 80’s movies teachers, complacent, despondent and even rude. We have met them.

So why do teachers have a love hate relationship with their profession?

Its hard. It can be unforgiving, judgmental, and brutal. We can go days without any support or words of encouragement- and we deserve it. We are on our feet all day- engaging, assisting, buttressing, and reinforcing. We are often tired, achy, and hungry. And we have to go to the bathroom and have to hold it for thirty minutes.

The pressure builds, expectations heighten and our value, as sad as it sounds- gets weakened. We feel kicked aside. But we climb back on the path and keep going despite of it. So, we can get fed up and crestfallen. So yes, some days we hate our circumstances. Not our students. Just our predicament.

But we turn around and observe, listen, engage with our students and all is forgiven. We love what we do because we get to see our little impacts daily. We get to hear the shuffling of feet as the come down the hall, hear the giggles and anticipation in their voices.

We get to know these beautiful humans on a level no one else does- because we are their teacher and that is role unique.

Seven Reasons Why We Are Educators: Reason 4- Learning Continual (268)

An educator’s mind is one that is inquisitive and hungry. In constant search of the next meal. The next morsel of technology to devour. The next nugget of honesty from a fellow teacher. We want to hear about what works and what does not- but more importantly why. Why should we invest, why should we listen?

There are hundreds of voices that reach us daily. Thousands if we are active on social media. Whose posts do you actually read? Whose do you recognize, yet occasionally pause to absorb? How often do we miss a post or Tweet? We are bombarded with feeds and our minds have to select, filter, ignore.

Like with all stimulus, our minds respond to those that trigger our senses. As educators we have such a pull towards knowledge. We gobble it up like a treat our psyches have been craving. We read, we watch, we listen. We look for solutions. We solve problems. We tear down barriers. We build mile high pedestals on which our students can stand to see their potential.

We know what it means to be curious and adventurous. We feel the excitement of something fast and furious and brace for the ride. We hesitate, we might even avoid- but then after we ponder, we seek. We actively hunt, comb though, scout and dragnet.

We let fall to the wayside things that do not provide benefit. We are anthropologists, sociologists, and novelists. For every day we observe, collect data, analyze situations and experiences, and ultimately write our playbook.

Learning is to lean within a ring. To lean into possibility, lean on our community of fellow educators and to lean away from things that do not work. We know our students and choose wisely. There is a ring, a giant circle of trust that we build around us. That our colleagues often venture inside of, but that our students are welcomed into.

This orbit is the crux of our comfort level. Those that sync are our lifeline. This is why we get on social media, attend professional development- because the more information we have, the more informed decisions we can make. As educators we like to be informed. We crave information.

So why are we educators- because we are lifelong learners. We are customers of the late-night diner, the drive-thru so we can get back to our work. We are active participants and ultimately, we are bearers of change. Emissaries of growth. Our grotto’s might be personal-sized, but our caverns of collaboration are vast. 

Seven Reasons Why We Are Educators: Reason 3- Self-Care (267)

 “Self-care is never a selfish act—it is simply good stewardship of the only gift I have, the gift I was put on earth to offer to others.” -Parker Palmer

Our gift is education. Our gift is creating communities. Building relationships. Seeing potential and amplifying it. Sponsoring hope and curiosity. But if we are unhealthy- mentally or physically, our spark of optimism and camaraderie is stunted. Our voice is muffled. Our gift gets obscured.

We need to reach far distances- we need to cross tough terrain- swim vast oceans, to reach the minds of our students. Minds of such great thought and potential. We have to tear down walls created from being told they cannot do it, or that they are without. We have to calm nerves and anxieties. We have to inspire, intrigue, and engage.

This is just one avenue we must travel down. We also have to engage ourselves. Listen with intent. Answer with humility. Inquire with concern. Display as a center, an anchor, a mentor. All the while, balancing home life, professional responsibilities that are outside of our classrooms, and our own mental and physical health.

Self-care is as vast as our responsibilities as an educator. Exercise, eating right, lowering our stress levels- these are aspects that might take a back seat to our classroom preparedness and delivery. We often get hyper-focused on the presentation, and to our detriment, for it can never be perfect.

We have to let some of our expectations go in order to stay healthy. We have to realize that our spirit needs to escape this coil of education. We need to let go. We need to focus on ourselves. Like the quote says- it is not selfish to say no, to focus on yourself- rather, it is a responsibility. Because if we don’t our students will suffer- they need us at our best and the only way to stay in the realm of prime- is to make it happen.

I know I forget to do this. Then I get the flu or so worn down I am pretty much useless. I am then forced to retreat, and I am scrambling to get my substitute prepared, my students covered without worksheets and videos.

So, reason three, why we are educators might not seem like a reason. Self-care is not a reason why but more like how. How we can stay present, focused, and fully charged. I meditate, reflect a lot through writing and I unplug a lot. I spend my weekends with family playing board games- not grading papers. Although a few weekends a go I had to. So again, nothing is perfect.

But, if we self-check daily. Ask ourselves what we need. Then we can make sure we are covered first. Then our gift- it will be more beneficial to others and this my friends is a beautiful circle of gift giving.

Seven Reasons Why We Are Educators: Reason 2- Recovery (266)

Recovery. A word that I feel is so integrated in what we do. There are two definitions, both I think are applicable to education. The first, a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength. The second, the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost. Now at first glance, it might seem that we do not have control over either of these. That we have been cemented in a field where we have truly little control.

Yet, as much as I get frustrated, enraged, and plain disgusted at aspects of my profession, I do have control over several things. My attitude, my personality, my mindset, my dedication, my optimism, my instruction and lessons (for the most part), yes we have a pacing guide and a curriculum but how you choose to connect and engage with the content- that is up to me. So, when we really look at it, really see it, we have a lot more control than we think.

If that's true then recovery is very much relevant and a part of our routine. It is integrated into our choices. It feeds our decisions. It amplifies our actions. It follows us around, not in the shadows but center stage. All we have to do is turn and look it in the eye, and accept its offer. It is offering mindfulness, grace, hope and joy. The joy might not be rigged with confetti and balloons, or songs of enlightenment, but it will be vibrating with a feeling of accomplishment.

Recovery is not passive. It is not mysterious or secretive. It is loud and obnoxious. It is the emotion jumping up and down in the corner of our peripheral yelling, “Look over here, you got this!” We just need to make sure to keep our field of vision shifting, flexible and forgiving.

You have to forgive yourself. The setbacks will be plentiful. The climate is harsh- changes ongoing, storms brewing. But, that sunny spot over there- we can get there if we navigate our attitude and allow recovery to speak to us. Recovery from fear, from judgement and especially from self-doubt. All it takes is giving yourself as much grace, patience, and love as you show others.

That is what teaching is after all- constant recovery, constant adjustments, and pivots. There will never be a time where everything is perfect. Where everything goes off without a hitch. We know this. It is a constant struggle for balance, a constant change of shoes, as our soles wear thin- but we do, and we do it with beauty not understood by many. And for that I say thank you.

 

Seven Reasons Why We Are Educators: Reason 1- Relationships (265)

 Seven Reasons Why: Reason One

As teachers we have a lot on our plates and these plates are not stationary. They are spinning in the air- sometimes six or seven at a time. Most days it feels like they are also swarming around us, the dull hum of porcelain ringing in our ears. It is an unexpected, unannounced, unsettling time for everyone, but for educators it is often unrewarding, or at least it can feel like that on occasion.

What is rewarding? I suppose it depends on the educator you talk to. No one would say financial reward. No one would say accolades or reverie. Some might say summers off, weekends free. But even those people bring home grading and lesson planning. Even those people go to conferences and professional learning courses over the summer. So, what is it that keeps teachers coming back- even during a time when many are walking away?

Relationships. There are so many relationships that bring educators joy: peer, student, team. Each a unique tether to the world of education. Each requiring energy. And, we are human, and thus we do not have an endless supply of energy. Some relationships can become strained, while others flourish. Yet, we wake up every morning and go into our virtual or face to face classrooms and give it our all. Returning home at night, exhausted and somewhat satisfied.

There is a heaviness. A thick layer of misjudgment about what we do. We are not considered essential in some respects. We are often thought of as babysitters or judged by the ridiculous saying, I so often hear, “those who can’t do, teach.” But as educators we know the truth and this truth is very personal. So, having like-minded educators in the social media world to connect with means so much. Having a supportive team in your building, keeps us motivated and focused.

But, above all else, the relationships we build with our students is the glue, the sticky sinew of connection that makes it all worth it. Class sizes are huge, some faces are only visible on a screen, while the rest are behind a mask. The smiles might be hidden, the tone and physicality is our expression now. Our voices strained from projecting through cloth is raspy- but our reward, is seeing all of our students interact.

This week I started my one-minute check-in’s. My face to face kids sat six feet away, but we both leaned in. We connected. We built a level of trust that will continue to build this year. My virtual students and I met in breakout rooms on Zoom. We talked life, learning, adjustment. It is so fascinating to hear their perspective. 

It is not something you can get from casual conversation. Look them in the eye and direct 100% of your attention on them for at least 1 minute a week- trust me it is the reason why, the reason why I believe, that educators are the anchor in students lives and we need to hold on tight, because when we do- they will traverse even the most turbulent currents to meet us there.

 

 

Magical Mystery Tour (263)

 It was about 1:30 in the morning, the eve of the first day of school. I was restless, couldn't sleep. So I just stared into the darkness of my room and envisioned a blank wall. I tried to imagine what a wall, that would encompass my mindful philosophy and student personalities, would look like. In the past, I have used 'All About Me' and other colorful handouts for students to share their backgrounds and interests. But, these stayed up for a few days, maybe a week and then ended up in the recycle bin (student choice). So I wanted to do something different this year. Incorporate the same basic idea, but also have it purposeful and relevant every day. A long-lasting and impactful design where students were building a community not just talking about themselves.

What came to mind was my UCLA quad community board. There was everything from lost cat signs to I need a partner to study fliers. It was always a messy, hodge-podge of student communication. This intrigued me. I knew I wanted something like this but with more purpose and interaction. I didn't want students to make something big, but something small and meaningful. I envisioned a business style card. A calling card, as I decided to name them. Something students can read and use to find like-minded students. Students who share the same interests and this in turn will help us become a community rather than a classroom. 

This concept came to fruition and became visible on the second day of school. I handed students various colored card stock, cut small like a business cards, and gave them three requirements: create your personal motto, logo and share three strengths that will enhance your learning and the learning of your classmates, or community members, in this class.

They created their calling cards and then we had a ten minute 'mingle' where students had to introduce themselves to three different students they did not know or that they knew, but rarely interacted with. Then they hung them on the community board. These will be used throughout the year to create pairs, collaborative groups and for students to find other people who share their passions and hobbies. 

I spent yesterday afternoon just reading over all these amazing cards. Students are also stopping to read over the board. It is becoming another focal point for our student-centered classroom.

When Doves Cry (262)

 Chapter One: When Doves Cry

Is it weird I can't remember the date? I remember the song on the radio “When Doves Cry” by Prince. I don’t remember the month or day of the week, but I remember every detail of the day, the week after and the funeral. It plays in slow motion sometimes, even all these decades later.

The Big Chill was a movie we had all seen. Eighties movies weren't all about teen angst. In fact, we, as a group, preferred to see a variety of films, a few of us were inspiring film makers and were in search of a voice, our own unique style. Now television shows in contrast: what we watched, were mostly kitschy, typical, goofy shows that were popular at that time: Robo Tech, Knight Rider, the A-Team and above all else, Miami Vice. We even filmed a few episodes of our own show, Laguna Vice, theme song, local tourist sites in the opening credits and all. We lived and breathed that show for a few years. Looking back on episodes now, it may seem very dated, but the music, the music was very current and meaningful in the 1980’s.

Laguna Canyon was a death trap many called it. No streetlights, a rural twenty-minute, winding road that connected the 5 Freeway and Main Street in the  hometown of my adolescence. About halfway through from the bustle of the freeway, you could turn on El Toro road and travel inland, but the initial expanse was dark and virtually abandoned, except an occasional car speeding by in the twilight. It was a great place to play pi-diddle (one headlight shout out) but not a great place to run out of gas or run off the road, for if you did, it could be hours before someone found you. We didn’t have cell phones; we took our chances. Some of us crashed but lived to tell the tale. That was not the cause for a funeral, for our group at least.

Our funeral was by choice. Not of ours, but of his. No matter how much we felt like a community, things still shook us at our core. It doesn’t matter how much you love, trust, connect- some of us got lost. The weeks that followed we were interviewed by many, questioned by therapists, pitied by many who never gave us the time of day. I remember every glance, every concern, every silent accusation. “How well did you know him? Was he acting weird recently, not himself?” Repeated answers, “very well and no, he was acting normal, perfectly normal.” Looking back purposefully now, I feel the same way. I think when you make the choice, you really make it, you either want to be convinced against it, or you don’t. He didn’t. Thus, we saw him every day, laughing and smiling as always- interacting normally. We never suspected a thing.

Suicide has always been a taboo topic. Some feel if we talk about it, it might inspire people to do it. Recently this has begun to change, at least a little. By talking about depression, we bring it from a place of shame, to a place of hope. But in the 1980’s, it was a topic never discussed unless in the aftermath of one. The conversations did not feel comforting, they felt accusatory, these distant adults were concerned we would have a chain of them and thus they kept us under lock and key. But we were not unhappy teenagers. He wasn’t an unhappy teenager, at least not around us. We were kept in the dark because being such a big group, one of us would have noticed, one of us would have said something, and he decided to take his life.

The floor of the car was covered in broken cassette cases, Tiger Bar wrappers and Diet Coke cans. They crunched under my feet as I turned to climb out from the passenger seat. I didn’t have a car- I was 17 and decided why should I get a license when everyone else in my group had a car and could drive. This day we were supposed to pick him up, we honked for ten minutes, but he never came out, no one did, so we left. She made a three-point turn in her Honda Civic and we headed down the hill a little faster than normal, the bottom felt like it jumped up and bit us in the ass, as we hit the speed bump in a frenzy. Her soda tipped and splashed all over the dash, floor and my lap. I was wearing pink shorts but had to change into a pair of her jean shorts, soda dripping down my legs as I attempted to change while the car was still moving.

The sky was cloudy, I remember because we were all in shorts and the forecast was sunny and warm. It turned out to be anything but. Rain creeped in from the ocean and drenched us, as we ran from the car to campus. I remember laughing because Sam’s hair turned curly and frizzy. She looked ridiculous and she got angry because the weatherman got the forecast wrong. Back then it wasn’t that accurate, it was wrong more than right, but we decided to trust his instincts, so no umbrella in the car, we decided to just take our chances in the beginning storm. My hands were still sticky as we ran to first period, just at the bell. I giggled as I licked the Diet Coke from my fingers.

We went our separate ways, making our way to our first period classes, shouting “Later loves” to one another. Her’s AP Lit, mine Biology. Mr. Reich gave me a glare as I skidded, wet sneakers, into my seat, right in the front, as he sat us alphabetically. I turned to see if he was there, I was going to give him a glare of “where were you?” but his seat was empty. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, conversations started, as Mr. Reich shifted from attendance to handing back our quiz. The dreaded Circulatory Quiz. As he got to my desk, Mr. Reich asked “So where is your friend, Miss Jahant, he is never absent?” This was the moment, the moment I remember feeling dread for the first time that day. Then I looked at the clock and it seemed like it wasn’t ticking at all- each hand frozen in place, as the door swung open and our principal walked in briskly. The rain fell heavier now, and the skies were grey, nothing like a warm and sunny forecast.

My principal looked at me, then down at the floor. I remember thinking to myself, he doesn’t even know me, why is he looking at me? I didn’t do anything, for once, I hadn’t done anything that would have gotten me looked at twice. He walked up to Mr. Reich, who pointed at me and said, what seemed too loud for the occasion, “Take your things Miss Jahant, go with Mr. Owens please.” The conversations silenced and all eyes were on me. This was the second time I felt dread, I was wracking my brain all the way to the door, it slammed behind me. “What’s going on? Why am I in trouble?” He sighed “You are not in trouble, just follow me please.” The eventual answer to all my questions, was so unexpected, I still look back and remember not crying for what seemed hours because it literally felt like I was in an episode of Miami Vice.  

All my friends were in one room, the choir room. Crying loudly. Sam was there- frizzy hair and all- she had given up on trying to contain it, it was sticking straight up in spots. She looked at me and mouthed, he’s dead. I looked around the room, counting all my friends, he’s here, there he is, and then- it dawned on me, all my dread compiled- I dropped to the floor. I still wasn’t crying; I was in shock. “Did he crash?” I said. My band director helped me get up and walk over to a chair, he knelt beside me, no sweetheart, “He killed himself.” I laughed out loud. “No, he didn’t, he wouldn’t- he was happy.” Everyone fell silent, nodding in unison. “You don’t need to be unhappy to choose to take your life,” a stranger said.

We all turned to see someone in the doorway, they looked very official. Later, we found out they were a district grief counselor. There were a lot of conversations over the next week and then a funeral. Purple and green balloons, hundreds of them, each with a message attached, let go at sunset over the beach. I remember waiting until the last balloon was gone. A few messages had come loose and were strewn across the sand. I gathered them up and handed them to his little brother. I remember this vividly, his ten-year old face, with the same look of disbelief, yet an undertone of understanding.

This event rocked our world, created a fissure that never completely healed. But it also made us stronger, we paid more attention to each other, were more aware of how one another was feeling. 

He was our friend. A suicide makes you doubt. Makes you ask questions, you otherwise wouldn’t. It makes you say things you would otherwise leave unsaid. We listened a lot to Peter Gabriel those next few weeks- San Jacinto, Biko, Don’t Give Up and Red Rain are still my go tos for a quiet remembrance. It took a while before Prince was our go to- but eventually he was. Then our musical selection changed, and Paul Simon, Phil Collins and other more contemporary artists made there way onto our mix CD’s. But our music, the music of Prince, U2 and Oingo Boingo remained our cadence.

There was no social media to share our feelings on, we only had one another. People who never knew our names, after that day, knew our names. Our group somehow changed from a quiet, off-beat, basically ignored cohort to almost popular. This we rebelled against, in every way imaginable. It made us isolate ourselves even more. Unlike today, we could do that. We didn’t have Instagram accounts or Facebook streams. We graduated a year later, while a few of us ventured off to campuses across the country- most stayed close by- at least for a while. Then my departure took me to another country- I was England bound and the University of East Anglia was the farthest from a community of friends I have ever had, in fact it was a lonely year indeed.

Post Editorial

I have written a few posts on depression. This is a topic very close to my heart. The more we talk about it- change it from shame to hope, the more we can address the roots of it, which are extensive. Some are easy to spot, while some are not. To this day we do not know why our friend killed himself.

Let’s talk about our feelings and share them so others feeling the same way, feel like they are connected and are never alone.

https://iteacherimother.blogspot.com/2018/08/ps-no-one-is-happy-all-time-journey.html

Sign O' The Times (261)

 Purple Rain

Adolescence is portrayed as very different from generation to generation, yet at the core, it is very much the same. Angst, assertion, and amplified emotions. Every generation had their music, their movies, their culture. For mine, the 1980’s it was built around Prince’s music. He sang our feelings, our heartbreak, our aspirations. “Purple Rain” was our battle cry. For some it was other songs, but for our group, our tight knit cohort- it was the song we fell quiet too. It was the color we wore, at least a splash of, it was the echo of our commitment to each other. We attended a small high school, open campus, freedom to go to the beach during lunch, or just hang in the band quad. We had the independence many schools lack today- but this squelched our rebelliousness, it made us feel free and thus we didn’t search for ways to cause an insurgency.

Laguna Beach was a small town in the 1980's. At least it felt small. Two supermarkets, one high school. Nestled into a cove between Dana Point and Newport Beach, California. Summer was crowded with tourists; our Art's Festival was famous. Sawdust on the floor, I used to walk through it with bare feet, feeling the wood between my toes. After I graduated, I worked there, selling jewelry I didn't make myself. I would spend hours wandering and looking at beautiful art, I could never afford. But the festival didn't feel pretentious, it felt accessible to us. It was the social center of our community from June to August and I wanted to feel a part of it. Yet I was always on the outside looking in. What felt like a rural community was suburban, but from a coming of age teenager perspective, it was heaven. Big enough where we felt we had a connection to the world and small enough where most of the world left us alone for most of the year, at least.

Little Red Corvette or rather an AMC Hornet

Population wise we saw circles and cliques at our high school, but it didn't really matter. The cliques just seemed to ebb and flow, merge and separate like wax in a lava lamp. I had friends, we were a misfit group of oddballs- we were odd even for the 80's. Prince, Oingo Boingo, The Cure, The Smiths, Depeche Mode and Duran Duran were our bands of choice but Violent Femmes, Jane's Addiction and U2 were among the many blaring from our car speakers, as we drove through the streets of our small coastal town. We were the outcasts before the Breakfast Club made it cool to be one. Our vehicles were beaten down jalopies: An AMC Hornet, Oldsmobile and 1982 Honda Accord (duct-taped bumper). Laguna Beach in the 1980's as far as a teens point of view, was not about prestige or popularity, even wealth- it was about making the best of what you had.

Unless you drove Laguna Canyon or El Toro Road- Laguna Beach was unreachable back then, now there is a toll road leading straight to it. The isolation back then, made us creative as teenagers: no cell phones, computers or Internet. We had mix tapes, board games and driving around. This we mastered. We also had MTV- real videos that spoke to us, inspired us. We saw opportunities to have fun and we did. We got bored and found ways not to be bored, like scavenger hunts and lip syncs. These were free. We didn't have a lot of money, but we did have each other, and this is very different from today, mainly because we didn't have everything at our fingertips- we had to go out and find our adventures. Our noses were not facing down to our phones, or up on Instagram trying to outdo one another. We drove to the Circle K and hung out in the parking lot on Friday nights. We had bonfires on Saturday nights at Aliso Beach. We were always together, physically, socially and mentally, we talked a lot, face to face, worked out our problems in person not via trolling or texting. It was very much a different time.

Let’s Go Crazy- or Not

Curfew was in place, but we generally stayed at each others houses so frequently- it was understood, that our responsibility was to check-in, not be home every night. We left a message on the answering machine. The infamous answering machines. We used pay phones to do so, or we left messages with parents and they shared it with one another. Strange to think about that world, free of instant communication. We made it through weeks without seeing our parents faces- messages on the fridge sufficed, when we stopped by to take a shower and grab a change of clothes. 

This may sound like a fictional place, a fairy tale- but it was just life in the 1980's, in a small beach town in California. The place is gone, replaced with modernity but the past is never replaced, it is forever edging the angles and carving the valleys of adulthood. When I see my children engrossed with You Tube and their eyes on a piece of technology, it makes me feel sad. We were lucky, we saw a wide-open space and decided to go check it out. We "hiked to Canada" as we used to call it- getting lost for the day outside in the middle of nowhere, that's a story for later.

These days getting lost is immersing in the Internet, inwards rather than outwards. This novel is going to be a bridge between modern ideals and the 1980's vision of a teenage girl, who may have grown up with simpler perspectives and still holds them dear, but who has adapted to the 'Sign 'O' the Times, as Prince so eloquently put it. Music may have changed, technology advanced, but at the heart of all of us who grew up in a decade of opulence, personal connection and individualism- we remember. We do not necessarily want to go back, but we want to keep those quintessential aspects of our teenage aspirations and dreams alive, for they are the core of who we are. We may use our phones every day for more than their original purpose- to simply talk to one another. They are now tools of global connection, albeit a virtual one. But deep down, we can still envision a pay phone, change in hand at the side of the road, We can still hear that tape rewinding, as we checked our messages.

Raspberry Beret, or Various Hats Maybe

This tale, told through anecdotes and tales of my teenage years and those of my children, is going to be how things may seem drastically different, how the 1980's almost seem foreign to millennial's, but in reality- we are very much the same, simply with different instruments at our fingertips. I hope you join me on this adventure. Every week a new chapter in the story of my collision of past and present, music infused with memory and comparison. 1980’s, 1990’s and the new century. I hope you enjoy the ride. Oh, and did I mention I love hats. I used to wear a huge black one at the beach, blocking my very pale skin from the sun. Many would say I was goth in high school but trust me I was everything but. That, however, is another story.

A World of Pure Imagination or Pure Exhaustion (257)

Week four of school has completed. The first week of school with about 30% of our students back in the classroom. The window is open until September 18th for parents to decide if their children will return for the next six weeks. The rumor has it that about 300 more students will opt to return. So, numbers will change, classroom communities will shift, and hallways will fill. 

To say the least, the building is fluid, the routines are flexible and the sheer amount of work for teachers is increasing. Virtual students, face to face students, large class sizes, small class sizes, paperwork, PLC, planning lessons twice for both formats- the wonderful spontaneity of lore has been replaced with a rigid time frame of planning and tweaking. My spark seems to have extinguished temporarily.

The love of teaching still runs through my veins, I still feel the moment of joy as I hear them walking up the hallway in the morning, I still appreciate the live interaction. But the weight of grading, planning, accommodating, paperwork, parent communication, student feedback, team collaboration- well, it is like a boulder teetering on the precipice and I feel at any moment it is going to tumble on top of me. I can see the dust kicking up before its inevitable roll.

I am a flexible, positive person. I roll with the punches but these days, the dodging and shifting weight seems to be all I do. I cannot catch a moment to relax. My weekends are full of grading and providing copious feedback and I am just about to collapse. 

Now I have felt stress in the past, of course. Things get overwhelming in this profession- this is my nineteenth year as an educator- but this is different. This feels heavier- more emotional- more subtle until it is not. Then the cavalcade begins, and I cannot seem to get clear of the rubble.

I know most of us are feeling this way. Like we are not doing enough. I love having students back in my classroom to interchange energy with and laugh with. But I still have 70% of my students on-line in classes of 45 or so. I am trying so desperately to connect with all of them but the time- the Zoom meetings, the tests, projects etc. We have almost no downtime to really just talk.

We are so busy, that the one thing- the most important thing to me about being an educator- seems to be slipping away. So, I have to do something, now before my spark remains gone forever. I have been searching for something to do, that will not require Zoom breakout rooms- we are discouraged from using them. I found a way to connect with smaller groups while still in Zoom.

I discovered Conversation on Canvas last spring. I met with some students on there to just chat and make connections. I plan on integrating it back into my virtual classrooms. So, I am testing it out tomorrow to reimagine my 1-minute check-ins. I need to keep the class synchronous on Zoom so then through Canvas (they have both open daily anyway) I will have 3 students meet in Conversation throughout the class period. This way we can stay synchronous with the entire class and I can on a separate computer meet with small groups and really get to know them better. It may be a bit chaotic at first, but I will get the hang of it.

It is so important to feel the spark. To feel the joy. To feel the passion. This year my ‘flow’ my ‘groove’ has been absent. It has been about keeping my head above water. Technology crashes, programs will not work for some students’, so I have to have backups to my backups, and this distracts me from the simple and beautiful task of teaching.

Hopefully tomorrow will awaken in me a new feeling of grace and hope. 

I feel sad most days because my connection to gifted education was taken away from me. I no longer have pure classes I have blended classes. I love all my students but the enrichment has been replaced with remediation and engagement.

My love of adventure has been halted by the amount of curriculum and grading periods and procedure and changes. I have basically laid down and accepted the disjunctive nature of my world. I hate it. I have been off writing, social media and everything that used to be of interest and passion for me.

Its time to take back my individuality, my whimsy, my wondrous world of pure imagination. I have to let go of the things I can not control and shape the things I can. It is time to believe in myself again. To make the connections deeper- to find the beauty in just a breath and mindful conversations. It is time to be me again.

To knock off the dust of the tumble and shake clear of the rubble of expectation. I need to blare my music in class (I do already, but more crazy music) let them collaborate more in class and in virtual learning. I need to step back and take stock in all that I have accomplished this last month. I need to see where we started and where we are now.

Then, I need walk into class with a shovel and climbing gear- because changes are frequent. I need to join Zoom and click on admit all and look them in the eye and smile, as I always do- but with more admiration that they are there and learning. That they are ready to interact and grow as individuals. 

Then I need to embrace the fluidity and leave a little breathing room for fun. Structure is good, but at times we need to just let loose. So here is my pledge to myself…

Trust your process. Find yourself in the moment of positivity and hang on to it. Refuse to let the negative pull of frustration and exhaustion take hold. Self-care is important, remember to leave things at work. Stay true to yourself. Listen to the laughter, listen to their voices- on a screen of 45, pause and take it all in, you are a teacher of many- they trust you and believe in you.

So, you owe it to yourself to do the same. You are enough. Now hunker down and expect the tumble, the ground is still unsteady. But your footing is strong. Your fortitude is strong. And your love, passion and spark are eternal for this amazing profession. Just breathe. Your positivity will get you through it.

Vantage Point, Unique (256)

 The moment seems to slow time itself, I am watching from a vantage point, unique. My beloved object, gravity against it, falls to the floor. Impact.

The sound like no other, shatters the silence, shutting my eyes, jarring my body with a deep, intense shiver. In this moment, I feel cold, distant, frozen. The sharpness of reality, erasing a part of me, long entangled with the heirloom's presence.

A keepsake once embodying a memory: now shards, splinters, shavings of the past, strewn across the tile floor. The dust of its demise still swirling above.

The instant, pause, respite between what just happened and realization seems to be at a stand still. I remain motionless, staring at the fragments. Not sure if I will cry or just stare. I cry.

I am an adult and I am crying at a loss. A forfeiture of attachment. The floor is cold on my legs as I sit beside the pile. The aggregation becomes something new. Each segment taking on a life of its own. Whispering comfort.

The tears slow and stop suddenly. I simply gaze upon the assortment of porcelain and glass lovingly, releasing the sadness. A mosaic of childhood, adolescence, motherhood jumbled in a dusty mound. I tear up again.

But, the colors begin to talk to me, sighing with a sense of calm and peace. I feel my grandmother near, smiling. "Life is anything but fair." This is an object, material and impermanent. Where she is eternal.

I sit in a stupor for what seems like hours, but my family is behind me seconds after the noise reverberates. They sit beside me, understanding my bereavement and remaining quiet.

Deep breath. Focus. The fatality of this part of me, this connection to her, is final. I see her in my thoughts now: as a child she is hugging me, as an adolescent she is giving me advice that still lives inside me. It has grown around me like a giant embrace, from her. Shaping me, even today.

I have lost something today that meant the world to me. I gained however, an insight I had let slip away, into the crevices of my mind. A beautiful energy. An essence of her, no longer represented by a fragile statue. But a vantage point, unique.

Forces Balanced (252)

 There was a gnat buzzing, appearing and disappearing, in the glare of the early afternoon sun. Swat…swat… then another one joined in the rebellion. It was a minute event, infinitesimal in the scheme of things, but it was the beginning of the rip, the tear in the fabric. A sound once distant, got louder, more distinctive, as it pushed away the voices nearby. It was a concentrated noise, drawing every inch of her consciousness, to a centered, focal point.

It was a tone, high pitched enough that she felt aligned with the pack of neighborhood dogs, as they wandered down the street. Even they paused and looked around, just as the sound reached her ears. Funny how a simple noise can suddenly unite, even if for a split second. The dogs picked up their pace, the gnats found other organisms to encircle and she, well she remained still, so still in fact that, she forgot she was alive. Every ounce of her being felt connected, blended, whole with the universe. Atoms merged, energy collided, forces balanced.

An orange tabby cat peered out from behind a nearby bush. The fur on his tail was fluffed, something had spooked him. He stepped out into the sunlight, but quickly, second guessed himself and retreated into the shadows. She remained motionless, inanimate, feeling like she too had to take cover at any moment. She chose however, to be stationary, unassuming, so she could determine the cause of her trepidation. The root of disharmony. Nothing happened immediately. It was several minutes before anything of importance occurred at all. Her nerves had settled, and she forgot about the humming, just long enough to let her guard down. The fabric began to separate.

The warmth of the sun felt nice. She rarely sat outside, grass gave her a rash. But today, of all days, she was reading outside. It was a quiet neighborhood and inside seemed so loud and distracting today. The buzz of electricity, the hum of the fans. The walls seemed to have a voice, creaking and stretching from the late summer heat. The windows were shiny, almost blinding, even with the shades pulled. Everything was in sync within the house, every angle nudging her outside, but she didn’t know why. All she knew, looking back on it now, was that something lured her outside and her house knew what she needed most. So, there she sat, itchy legs from the fresh mowed lawn, watching insects fly, cats hide, dogs wander and hearing the most peculiar of notes. The fabric vibrated.

The turbulence was not loud, most people who were out and about, didn’t even appear to hear it. Yet, they seemed to be in a deliberate daze. Like they too were lured outside, and they hadn’t quite figured out why. Some stood in their drive ways debating whether to wash their car. Children were kicking around a ball, not really playing, but more running through the motions of playing. Their smiles were genuine, but their faces almost looked as if they were being pulled upwards, by invisible strings. She continued to remain steadfast, spellbound by the merging of real life and science-fiction. It appeared real enough, to almost anyone else, it would play out like any other day. But to her, something was amiss: Missing cohesion, missing alignment, missing density. She closed her eyes, focusing on one thing, her breath. In, out, in out. Her heart beat slowed its pace. The fabric softened.

She decided to move, at last, slowly, ghost-like. Everything appeared intangible, distant, tenuous. She stood, the ground felt ethereal, like she was floating. Colors seemed brighter, more defined. Edges once unnoticeable, darkened making everything look traced, outlined. She reached out for the leaves of the bush, where the orange tabby was still hidden beneath. The leaves felt solid, but appeared to her mind at least, to be more important somehow than just mere structures for photosynthesis. Their edges, pushing the background and pulling the foreground. Like there was a shift in placement, even though they never moved an inch. There was a transport of energy, a connection to nature she never felt before. Fabric sewn into tapestry.

She crossed the lawn, every blade of grass was telling a story, an infinitesimal story. They seemed to be repairing some rip or tear that formed in the fabric, each a tiny thread, wrapping around one another until there was an appearance of normalcy. She paused, wiggled her toes, allowing the wetness to coat the bottom of her feet. That sensation she remembered. The rash on her legs became less itchy. The sun less blinding. The pause button seemed to be undone and the ripples faded leaving science-fiction behind. Bringing real life back up to full speed.

The tactile vibration of the focusing noise lingered, but the audible vibration disappeared, and giggles sharpened, as the children across the street became noticeable.  The buzzing of the gnat returned. Swat…swat, to no avail and another one joined in the rebellion. The green door, her front door, seemed to lure her back inside. The concrete howled from the heat of the sun. The trees creaked and stretched in the late summer breeze. Even the wind seemed to be nudging her back inside. The door knob glistened, she turned it and the shadow of inside swallowed her whole. But the vibration remains.

Mind Over Matter (251)

 This is a lot of things. It may be depression, anxiety, fear. It is a voice inside our heads. It is despair and denial. But to each of us it is an aching feeling, goose bumps and shakes. It is a part of us, a constant battle. But we must defeat it, look it in the eye and take it down. This is to everyone who at any point has felt alone. You are not alone.

It Has Eyes, A Mouth and Sharp Teeth

Can there ever be perfect fidelity? Allegiance unwavering? Inside today, do you have loyalty, dedication, admiration? Maybe. But does it have fortitude, endurance? One minute you are seeking acknowledgement and homage, the next affinity and union. I myself, am emotionless, simple, direct. Yet, I hold tight to my convictions. As blood runs through your veins, pride courses through mine. Doubt resonates only beside confidence. I have never known failure, so I continue to conquer, defile and embattle brain and psyche. I remind, I hint, I nudge. Some may target a resistance, others accept me willingly, no guilt, no remorse only emblazoned attitude.

To feel me creep, means I am present, I have won. The battlefield is quiet, I stand atop the victory, arms outstretched to make known, I have taken charge. They, who I defeat, do not sign a treaty or wave a white flag, because they know not of their defeat. They simply lock step into a cadence of my choosing. While others stand along the route, gazing upon a parade of military might, they shield themselves from the temptation, from following. The percussion is luring. The uniform may unite, the medals are shiny and in abundance. Yet, the colors bleed into one vision of fallacy and narrowmindedness.

Sudden moves cause a disturbance. Eyes turn to squelch the wave. Some cower, stay in line. Others flee, taking with them their voices of dissent. While others stand firm to their curb, watching the procession turn, from ceremony to spectacle. This is when they step off the ledge and enter the march, not to blend, but to disturb, to break the ranks into individuals. To soften the drum beat and embolden the quiet, to raise their voices above the deafening din. This is where I strike back. I win more than I lose. They often need reinforcements to form a blockage. I, the detour, of rebellious minds, leave them outnumbered.

It Has Hunger and Needs to Be Satiated

I devour bravery, courage, follow-through and I often leave stuffed. I am hungry only temporarily. Your mine now, aren’t you, or are you? Is there ever perfect fidelity? Allegiance unwavering? Is there a tempo that can overpower mine? One minute you are in shadow, facing the past. The next you are tectonic, rumbling, breaking down the hierarchy. Not to stand atop in celebration, but to lead as observer, rebel, voice of reason. I fear you, when you feel empowered, so I am determined to disallow, disillusion, disenfranchise you. Make you feel every bit inferior, so you choose to recoil. So, your only option is to tremble and truckle. Retreat in frustration.

Do you know who I am? I think we may not have been formerly introduced, yet I feel you know my name. I am pleased to meet you. Would you care to have a drink, a cuppa coffee, a bite to eat? I thought not. You might have a bit of strength in you yet. But I have my eye on you and the moment I notice you wavering, your nerves cringing, your confidence flinching, I will be there. Waiting with open arms. Drumsticks in hand, your uniform pressed, so your entry into the demonstration will be effortless. Remain vigilant and I may just lose interest. Remain devoted to your cause, your story, your cadence and you just may never see me again.

Rest Assured Today is a Better Day (249)

 Weeks a go we started a new school year. We gussied up our classrooms, we dressed up nice. Most of us only got to see our students through Zoom for the first few weeks. But many had students arrive by buses and cars, some on foot, eager to start learning. My room was ready- desks 6 feet apart, social distancing on my mind. But, I had to wait three weeks to get some students in front on me.

Hand-sanitizer stations in place, water bottle fillers replacing, good old fashioned bubblers/drinking fountains. Giant orange arrows pointing the way to walk. It is a different feel for sure. My room feels the same, for the most part. But, the hallways and transfer spots feel different. Staged for more predictability. My school feels like a mix of personal spaces assembled within a larger public, controlled, sterile place. 

The smell of cleaners is prominent. Shiny surfaces dripping with disinfectant. The odor is palpable- and students haven't even entered the building yet. Caution is the mood. Distancing the tone. A nervous vibe as we make our way down silent corridors, masks hiding our concern. Smiling is difficult to evoke under cloth. Sometimes it feels there is a bigger distance from the masks than the six feet.

But, we show up daily, turn on our screens and smile. These virtual classes are mask less in our empty, energy-less classrooms. It's draining. And most of us in our building at least, are eagerly awaiting some energy- some laughter, some spirit. Come Tuesday 600 of our 1800 students are returning to in person learning. I for one am excited.

I will have 3 classes of in face students and 3 still virtual- so my day will be bouncing back from Zoom to face 2 face. A change I am excited about. Masks required, no lockers, staggered bell schedule for fewer kids in the hallways. We are taking every precaution. Hand-sanitizer before class, washing desks down with wipes at the end. 

I think it is going to be o'kay. I need to believe that. We are prepared.....and in two days.... here they come.

Places That Scare Us (248)

 It is with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. 

-Antoine De Saint-Exupery

We are afraid of the unknown. The invisible, like a cold chill, makes us feel frightened because we can't see it coming. It spawns distraction and doubt. But if we live our lives with an expectation that we must be constantly learning, trying new things, investigating the world around us- we will feel more at ease with uncertainty. "Live life like an experiment" -Trungpa Rinpoche. If we accept the hypothesis of viability, maybe our variables will lessen.

"In the beginners mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few."
-Zen Master Suzuki Roshi

The beginner's mind seems like an insult to some, "What do you mean I am a beginner? Are you saying I am ignorant?" I have heard people say. It is not at all. To me it means a curious mind. A magical and spontaneous mind. An open-minded spirit. If we stay inquisitive and investigative we stay within the world of experimentation and discovery. I try to learn something new every day. To see things differently. To approach a problem from a new angle. This way my mind stays a beginners mind always.

Minds may become specialists somethings and generalists at others, but if we keep our minds in the realm of beginner- we can always see the world as something static and fluid. Ever changing. This is a place that scares many of us. We like to have things visible and at times predictable.

Yet, learning is never predictable. Life is never predictable. If it is, we need to see it more as an experiment. If we do, we can hypothesize, gather evidence, problem-solve- and ultimately, continue to see the world as a giant laboratory. A huge, flexible workshop. Then it will become our playground- and this is less scary isn't it?

Conundrum- A Teachers Dilemma (245)

 If you walk the Earth, alive and thriving, trying to control everything: interactions, expectations, and opinions- you are going to be very unhappy indeed. You can't control what others think of you. You can't control what other people say, or do, or think. We can't control the chaos and randomness of life. We can't make people think a certain way- convince them of something. On the surface they may follow our lead- but in their minds, what they truly believe, we can't mess with that. Deep down we are who we are, we control our thoughts and beliefs. Although people try to take that away from us.

Control is placing restrictions, claiming jurisdiction, regimentation and domination. It is taking away freedom, latitude and leeway. It feels powerful and mighty and influential- yet, really it is in our minds. Influence is fleeting. Effectiveness wanes, capacity weakens. Because control holds something back and eventually through transfer of energy, counterbalance and agitation- equilibrium is short lived. Words travel fast, imperfection is noticed and people make decisions based on the latest fad. Trends are flexible and fluid. So is control, in most situations.

Domineering someone might last awhile in some cases, but eventually most lose their stronghold eventually. We know sometimes this however, might be a situation unhealthy and dangerous- but in our classrooms, control is not fixed. As much as we want to think it is- it isn't.

Classrooms have been designed over the centuries to place control in the hands of the teacher and to take it away from students. Classrooms were shaped into well-disciplined, structured environments where learning was the focus. Then slowly they have transformed into collaborative atmospheres, although not all classrooms. Some remain very much a sage on the stage. Some remain a "I am in control" situation, that of the teacher. It might be a security blanket, or a protective barrier, but either way this illusion of control is still a desirable state of mind for many educators.

The thing is- we control ourselves. So, then all 32 + students in your classrooms, control themselves. We try to shape them and teach them how to better control their behavior- but that is ultimately a choice- not something we can control. Our students are individual, self-perpetuating, self-centered personalities- all we can do is try to grab their attention, engage them for 30-40 minutes and build relationships based on trust and respect. All the while teaching content, social skills, mindfulness and 21st Century Skills. Right? How can we possibly control anything more than our own actions?

Yet, many try. The "I control my classroom" is a goal many strive for. When really it should be "I have created an environment where things function in order to learn." Then you can accept the inevitable- things will go wrong. Students will act out, be loud, goof off, rough house and even- this is a tough one, not pay attention to directions. If you believe you have everything, every minute detail under control- you are simply deluding yourself. You don't.

But, if we accept the things we control- ourselves and our personality, attitude, response. If we believe in our students, to do the right thing and we accept that they can be guided to do the right thing- our classrooms will be much happier places. Choose to believe. This is the only thing you control. Homework might not get turned in, tests might be failed, behavior might alternate between compliant, engaged and down right annoying- BUT, all of it, every last expectation, interaction, and opinion all merge into your classroom energy. If you accept and generate mindful energy, patience, and understanding- your classroom energy will be positive.

The moment you break down- yell, say something disrespectful- treat a student unfairly, you have lost any control you thought you had. You lost their respect and trust. We can control our words, our facial expressions, our body language, our demeanor, our positivity, our genuine love to be where we are. I have heard teachers say "I hate this class." or "These kids are just awful and I can't wait to be rid of them." You know what- even if they don't hear you say this- they feel it. It you truly hate your students- maybe it is time to find a new profession. This is under your control.

Trust the process- believe in the community and above all else, accept what you can control and what you can't. That is never going to change. The only thing you can change is you, your expectations, interactions and opinions.