The vibration began from a distance, as it made its way forcefully, fatefully from a source not yet known, and it passed through our house, while we sat watching Suburgatory, laughing and sprawled around our bedroom. It rattled our windows, then our house, and while startling, our first thoughts were of the thunderstorms we knew were to arrive. Still, it felt wrong almost immediately, and I moved to the front window to look out when there wasn't lightning and no rain on the street to be seen. Facebook revealed quickly the horrific news of the explosion in West, and the confirmation over time that the impact went 50 miles or more was unnerving and made me sad to the core.
This, of course, came after the Boston Marathon's terrible tragedy, and we had spent time reassuring of safety in our chosen, remote little cozy town. How we had purposefully been living in an insulated spot, with doors unlocked, in a town where murder and violence occurred so rarely that it seemed negligible, removed from our consciousness. The house shaking from a place where I had coached, stopped off at to grab kolaches, spent time exploring with my family the quaint streets, purchased a van from, had been struck viciously, irrevocably changing so many lives. Where can safety be found in this world?
I have felt much more keenly over the last few years a cautiousness, a carefulness toward my day to day approach, as my children have grown older and began their wandering further away, toward college, further down the street to walk the dog, toward relationships that might bring rejection or joy. We have a hesitation, Amy and I, when it comes to letting our kids go into some activities, some social situations, watch too mature television or movies, play games that are beyond their ages. Some of that is moral judgement, I hope, while some of it, a substantial amount, is a fear about their advancing too rapidly into the dangerous, unforgiving world too quickly. We have to balance that, certainly, with a stoking of the fire of resilience, of character, of integrity, of self reliance. Failure is an option, IF there is due diligence and full effort and focus of mind, body, and spirit. We want to raise tough yet empathetic kids who cry from sadness and pain, for themselves or others, but who dust themselves off, who aren't weak or vulnerable to every day life. We want them to live lives of optimism and hope, yet be aware of dangers and miseries and toil ahead.
In the time that I have been an educator, I have began to see an evolution toward mental health awareness, of help through therapies and medicines. There has been a growing education about suicide prevention, recognizing the signs of depression, an availability of services and institutions. I can't help but want to believe that this is a good and positive movement, but it gives me pause lately to think that encouraged willing fragility over resilience is winning out among too many of the students I have or know of, especially among our young men. Lately, there has seemed to be a prevalence of verbal or written threats made toward self-harm, harm of others, and some movement toward action that has taken hold. I believe firmly in the very precept of mental health assistance, but I can't help but hope that support, that heightened expectations, that care and love and belief will win out over base instincts of self-centeredness, self-pity, purposeful martyrdom.
One night this week I had a nightmare that Amy tells me was of a singular nature to her. I was traveling through a place at night that felt like a Gatlinburg, with tourist spots and uphill strolls, and then into a dark house. I bundled up for bed, but went into the kitchen, where we were staying, for a moment, and then heard Jamie cry out to me from a couch she was sleeping on, "There it is right there, Daddy!". Wanting to move quickly yet feeling constraints of the dream, feeling my feet heavy and a dread going down my back in prickly waves, I moved into what became something like our own living room, and I saw a moving shape, a dark shadow. I yelled to Jamie, "Where!" as it moved out of my vision. I steeled myself, growing angry, then yelled again, "WHERE ARE YOU?" louder and with a vibrato that felt stilted and a bravado that felt uncertain. Amy woke me by tapping rapidly on my back and said that I sounded like I was yelling from a long, long ways away. I didn't go back to sleep that night, feeling that shiver, slowly coming to the realization a simple fact: my subconscious fear that I couldn't protect my children every moment of my life was a reality. That I couldn't even see the dreadful apparition in its face, that it was a harmful spirit, a ghost felt certain.
Last night while Amy was gone out with friends and then onto her parents for a visit, I took the kids to Subway, let them stay up a bit playing games, tucked them in, shut down the house. (Though I didn't wander through the house for a normal drink in the dead of night.) Today, we enjoyed the breeze, went hunting for bows at Antique Alley, made plans to reward them for their report cards, got some hot wings, watched some Princess Bride. Soon, the house will be sleeping, and half are, while I write this.
Tomorrow, we will spend time getting ready for the week ahead, eat a family lunch, take a nap, let time take away pain and fear, moment by moment. I will be reassuring in my normalcy, in my demeanor, in my approach. I hope I will set an example of faith and calm that all will be well. I am more certain this week than the one before that I can't protect my children from challenges, from heartache, from pain, but I can try for as long as I can. I have to accept that while I can't protect them always from outer pain that I can help steel them to their core with strength, belief, will to stand strong when the moment comes when the fear, the doubt comes. I can't suggest that I have any magic formula more than those who got up to take part in the wonder that was the Boston Marathon or who simply went about their Wednesday in West, that I and mine are more deserving of safety or ease from pain. I can only hope for it for all, everywhere.
And, some day, not quite today, hurtfully, I will have to grudgingly admit, that there is no completely safe place on Earth.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Bill Cosby for the 21st Century
I had an epiphany the other night while watching TV Land. We did our normal MASH episodes to wind down, (and they have started over recently from the beginning), and Annie, my oldest girlie, came into our room and climbed into our bedroom recliner, as the Cosby Show followed up. She mentioned that the show had started to "grow on her", and she and I watched first an episode where Rudi got in trouble for trying to wear the wrong clothes for the season, and then Vanessa wasn't prepared for her first junior high science fair, playing it safe. I clicked the DVR info, and it detailed that the show was from the 80s. Cliff and Claire Huxtable dealt with their 5 children, then, with steady discipline, love, high expectations and blended into the mix great music, culture and a common sense vision of education. What came to me like a flash was that I was homesick for the Huxtable household.
In the last week and a half, I have dealt with an absentee mother with special needs children, as the youngest of the two brothers has become the "smelly" kid, wth clothes not washed and basic hygiene not observed. His mother's presence in their household had become more rare, as she had developed a relationship out of town, according to him, and his grades had collapsed, with his bewilderment growing. Another day brought a student who had scratches on his face, a black eye and a knot on his forehead, with a parent and a sibling attacking him on to the way to school, in the car. Fragility and a lack of direction has bedeviled so many this year, with parents simply sighing and signing over their children to homeschooling or the nearby alternative program, rather than staying the course toward success, which would require work and committment and every day grind.
With 4 perfectly imperfect children of my own, Amy and I strive to be involved parents in our kids' lives, their school work, their development as people, with morals and structure. It doesn't make me an expert, but I have developed some precepts that I want to follow, need to follow, and I hope on a daily basis I might see from the parents of the children at MHS.
Don't let your kid become the smelly kid.
Being messy and disheveled is a natural part of high school for a lot of kids, but there is a line crossed, when clothes aren't clean, showers aren't taken, and basic care of normal facial issues is let go, for more than a day. The scorn that kids face in close quarters leads to loneliness, detachment, subconscious shame. Make them shower, check their clothers, buy them Stridex, Axe, Sure, toothbrushes, razors. Don't assume they know how or when to use any of the above.
Spy on them like you work for the CIA.
Respect for growth and independence is certainly a part of good parenting, but kids ARE up to things, on more than one occasion. Monitoring Facebook, checking texts, studying the history on websites, smelling clothes, checking cars, should be a fundamental threat or normal expectation. Knowing where they are, who their friends are, the time they come in, is concern not nosiness. I am constantly amazed at the disconnect between families. Or the lack of responsbility. The school connecton? It comes to school with them, without fail.
Let them fall short, disappoint, feel pain.
If a student doesn't turn in projects on time, doesn't study for tests, doesn't turn in homework, they deserve to fail. They DESERVE to fail, and it is their fault. This was avoidable, if they checked Blackboard, went on PowerSchool, sat in the front of the room, made flashcards, asked questions, studied with friends. They don't need you to attack teachers, buy them a new car, look the other way on curfews, hold their hand when the latest bad report card comes in, poo-pooing the bad away. They need resolve, resilience, responsbility. Hold them accountable, while making sure they have they folder they need, that they turn in notes and go to tutoring when they are absent, that they pay for summer school.
Go to meetings with pen and paper and questions.
There are many opportunities to get information about what is going on at school and to help plan for the future at MHS. Tonight, there is a meeting about newest trends in drug use. Coming up after Spring Break, we host a night called, "Ready, Set, Apply!" for juniors and their parents. We invite parents to come in for scheduling conferences. There is Project Graduation that is about activities for seniors throughout their final year. College fairs, FAFSA night, requested conferences with teachers and counselors and principals, ARDs, 504 meetings, all need and deserve your presence.
Love them all the way to the end of the show.
They spun Denise off to Hillman College, because Lisa Bonet became difficult, then they brought her back when "A Different World' lived without her, Theo was diagnosed with dysleksia but became a teacher, Rudi stopped being cute, so they brought in a precocious clone, as things evolved on The Cosby Show. A consistent standard was love, accountability, musical numbers on anniversaries, growth. Hanging in there through tough times, through sullen non-communication, through heartache will pay off, in the end, and they will pass it onto their children.
There is so much to learn from the Cosbys, and I hope that I always strive to be like Cliff. I do have a starter set of colorful sweaters. I need to brush up on my jazz.
In the last week and a half, I have dealt with an absentee mother with special needs children, as the youngest of the two brothers has become the "smelly" kid, wth clothes not washed and basic hygiene not observed. His mother's presence in their household had become more rare, as she had developed a relationship out of town, according to him, and his grades had collapsed, with his bewilderment growing. Another day brought a student who had scratches on his face, a black eye and a knot on his forehead, with a parent and a sibling attacking him on to the way to school, in the car. Fragility and a lack of direction has bedeviled so many this year, with parents simply sighing and signing over their children to homeschooling or the nearby alternative program, rather than staying the course toward success, which would require work and committment and every day grind.
With 4 perfectly imperfect children of my own, Amy and I strive to be involved parents in our kids' lives, their school work, their development as people, with morals and structure. It doesn't make me an expert, but I have developed some precepts that I want to follow, need to follow, and I hope on a daily basis I might see from the parents of the children at MHS.
Don't let your kid become the smelly kid.
Being messy and disheveled is a natural part of high school for a lot of kids, but there is a line crossed, when clothes aren't clean, showers aren't taken, and basic care of normal facial issues is let go, for more than a day. The scorn that kids face in close quarters leads to loneliness, detachment, subconscious shame. Make them shower, check their clothers, buy them Stridex, Axe, Sure, toothbrushes, razors. Don't assume they know how or when to use any of the above.
Spy on them like you work for the CIA.
Respect for growth and independence is certainly a part of good parenting, but kids ARE up to things, on more than one occasion. Monitoring Facebook, checking texts, studying the history on websites, smelling clothes, checking cars, should be a fundamental threat or normal expectation. Knowing where they are, who their friends are, the time they come in, is concern not nosiness. I am constantly amazed at the disconnect between families. Or the lack of responsbility. The school connecton? It comes to school with them, without fail.
Let them fall short, disappoint, feel pain.
If a student doesn't turn in projects on time, doesn't study for tests, doesn't turn in homework, they deserve to fail. They DESERVE to fail, and it is their fault. This was avoidable, if they checked Blackboard, went on PowerSchool, sat in the front of the room, made flashcards, asked questions, studied with friends. They don't need you to attack teachers, buy them a new car, look the other way on curfews, hold their hand when the latest bad report card comes in, poo-pooing the bad away. They need resolve, resilience, responsbility. Hold them accountable, while making sure they have they folder they need, that they turn in notes and go to tutoring when they are absent, that they pay for summer school.
Go to meetings with pen and paper and questions.
There are many opportunities to get information about what is going on at school and to help plan for the future at MHS. Tonight, there is a meeting about newest trends in drug use. Coming up after Spring Break, we host a night called, "Ready, Set, Apply!" for juniors and their parents. We invite parents to come in for scheduling conferences. There is Project Graduation that is about activities for seniors throughout their final year. College fairs, FAFSA night, requested conferences with teachers and counselors and principals, ARDs, 504 meetings, all need and deserve your presence.
Love them all the way to the end of the show.
They spun Denise off to Hillman College, because Lisa Bonet became difficult, then they brought her back when "A Different World' lived without her, Theo was diagnosed with dysleksia but became a teacher, Rudi stopped being cute, so they brought in a precocious clone, as things evolved on The Cosby Show. A consistent standard was love, accountability, musical numbers on anniversaries, growth. Hanging in there through tough times, through sullen non-communication, through heartache will pay off, in the end, and they will pass it onto their children.
There is so much to learn from the Cosbys, and I hope that I always strive to be like Cliff. I do have a starter set of colorful sweaters. I need to brush up on my jazz.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Scheduling for Success? Plan On It.
I am a big believer in planning, in the moment, for things that are coming up in the near future. I like making agendas for vacations to, say, Austin, where the bats will be seen one night, Amy's Ice Cream will be another, and there will be a long walk through the Capitol grounds on the color coded agenda. It drives my Amy to distraction, as she prefers to fly by the seat of our proverbial pants, going to and fro, with the wind. This is also true for me, to some extent, as I face with dread planning too far in advance, whether it is getting ready for Christmas or sweating the details of a home repair, (of which there are many to choose from on a regular basis.)
In the Counseling Center, this translates into a high interest for me for the next day's events of presenting in classrooms, doing a workshop that night, or gearing up physically for one of the 97 days of testing that looms. Not so much do I enjoy the meetings about the meeting, the staffing before the meeting for the future meeting, nor do I enjoy trainings which often have to consist of a Powerpoint, with a handout in my hand that look awfully like the Powerpoint, if the preparation is for a time beyond the length of the program guide of my DVR, which is about a week. I try to stay interested, and I do make notes, which often become "to-do" list about other things, but I do have a noticeable glaze, I have been told, after a period of time. I think the rule applies that I can stay focused for my age, approximately, which is the downhill side of 40, but not always. So, this takes me to the current task that I am finishing today: scheduling my "Rising Seniors" for their final year at MHS. The challenge has been to stay enthralled, interested, supportive of goals that are not just for next year but the years beyond. I hope that I have succeeded, and I think I have, largely, but there is a grind to the last few days that has given me pause and given me impetus to reflect.
It starts in January, this scheduling process of ours, with planning and meetings about the process, the materials to be given, the process that the information should be made available. We have gone over academic planners for weeks, made the decision to put them online for the first time, and we discuss to the last minute what new classes are to be offered, if any. All counselors print out their students who are on pace to graduate within the next year, and then an appointment book is filled, with consideration given to when we call for students, focusing on "non-core" classes to take students out of, if possible, which can irk the electives teachers to no end. Every student's parents get invited to the scheduling conference, which is meant to be 20 minutes long, and letters are sent in the mail home. We give notice on Facebook, our website, Twitter, and we announce the looming moments.
Backtracking for a moment, we have teachers show a Powerpoint of the process with applications needed for classes to be collected by them, give all students a course selection sheet and a transcript. There is a CATE (Career and Technology Education) Expo, with the classes offered on two days, and then at the end of the week, we have a "Registration Relay" with students going through the day, getting recommendations from their core teachers, turning in applications for classes like Ag Power Systems or Partner PE, and then at the end of the day, we gather those from the teachers and sort them. This involved about 1, 600 forms this year.
Monday morning, we start the process with a bang, with parents in tow, often, as I think that the letter of invitation often gives them a chance to get information from the non-communicative strangers that live in their house that they wouldn't get otherwise. The bang comes when there are fireworks between student and parent over grades, lack of effort, or general sullen behavior, with my office a perfect forum to vent. I think it must be the soothing blue on my wall or maybe it is the Kirby Puckett framed picture or maybe my understanding countenance. Or maybe, it is that they are actually sitting next to each other for the first time in a long time, without hot wings in front of them. Questions abound, and the student actually gets quieter and quieter, as the parent takes the reins. I try to redirect answers to the student, but this doesn't always get a response, other than a study of the fingernail that seems to have just gone astray.
There is sometimes simply confirmation of the right path, community service hours owed or not, a quick glance at the transcript, and a sharing of future destinations, if the student is alone. I try not to rush, and this is a time when I find out about a job they have, their position in soccer, or how their grandmother is doing. This is what I live for and actually took classes for, the art of communicating and trying to develop relationships. Then, the phone gives a signal ring that I have another appointment arrived, and I have to scurry.
The last part of the process is giving out information about testing, college visits, websites to go to, college fairs to come and a "Rising Senior" night to publicize. I have our home page pulled up, our Facebook page open, Big Future from College Board to show. I have a stack of forms, and I try to go over each one, while the student is easing out the door, sometimes. In one case, I had a student refuse to stay beyond the bell, as they didn't want to miss math. (!)
Quite often, there is mutual appreciation for time, and a chance to give praise and congratulations for success. I commiserate with a softball player whose tournament was rained out. I get thanked by a grandmother, who didn't seem appreciative in front of their grandson for my bewildered anger over an attitude toward Geometry, but waited for him to leave, so she would stay the "good cop". I have phone calls to follow up or a visit from a kid ranked 507th who wants to take AP classes because he knows he will "try this time." It becomes a bit overwhelming, and I have called for kids the wrong time a couple of times. I have had to follow up with a rescheduled appointment on the fly more than once.
In their mind, they have a clear path planned out, they are optimistic about their schedule being perfect, and they are bubbling with energy and raring to go at that moment. I worry about the next appointment, the next test to give, and I know this for a fact: it will start all over again this time next year. The feeling of semi-dread can do havoc on the mind and body.
But, today, I am thinking there are only 10 more school days until Spring Break. We are going to see Muse in concert, and the kids are going to a camp. I need to get to work planning big moments to come.
In the Counseling Center, this translates into a high interest for me for the next day's events of presenting in classrooms, doing a workshop that night, or gearing up physically for one of the 97 days of testing that looms. Not so much do I enjoy the meetings about the meeting, the staffing before the meeting for the future meeting, nor do I enjoy trainings which often have to consist of a Powerpoint, with a handout in my hand that look awfully like the Powerpoint, if the preparation is for a time beyond the length of the program guide of my DVR, which is about a week. I try to stay interested, and I do make notes, which often become "to-do" list about other things, but I do have a noticeable glaze, I have been told, after a period of time. I think the rule applies that I can stay focused for my age, approximately, which is the downhill side of 40, but not always. So, this takes me to the current task that I am finishing today: scheduling my "Rising Seniors" for their final year at MHS. The challenge has been to stay enthralled, interested, supportive of goals that are not just for next year but the years beyond. I hope that I have succeeded, and I think I have, largely, but there is a grind to the last few days that has given me pause and given me impetus to reflect.
It starts in January, this scheduling process of ours, with planning and meetings about the process, the materials to be given, the process that the information should be made available. We have gone over academic planners for weeks, made the decision to put them online for the first time, and we discuss to the last minute what new classes are to be offered, if any. All counselors print out their students who are on pace to graduate within the next year, and then an appointment book is filled, with consideration given to when we call for students, focusing on "non-core" classes to take students out of, if possible, which can irk the electives teachers to no end. Every student's parents get invited to the scheduling conference, which is meant to be 20 minutes long, and letters are sent in the mail home. We give notice on Facebook, our website, Twitter, and we announce the looming moments.
Backtracking for a moment, we have teachers show a Powerpoint of the process with applications needed for classes to be collected by them, give all students a course selection sheet and a transcript. There is a CATE (Career and Technology Education) Expo, with the classes offered on two days, and then at the end of the week, we have a "Registration Relay" with students going through the day, getting recommendations from their core teachers, turning in applications for classes like Ag Power Systems or Partner PE, and then at the end of the day, we gather those from the teachers and sort them. This involved about 1, 600 forms this year.
Monday morning, we start the process with a bang, with parents in tow, often, as I think that the letter of invitation often gives them a chance to get information from the non-communicative strangers that live in their house that they wouldn't get otherwise. The bang comes when there are fireworks between student and parent over grades, lack of effort, or general sullen behavior, with my office a perfect forum to vent. I think it must be the soothing blue on my wall or maybe it is the Kirby Puckett framed picture or maybe my understanding countenance. Or maybe, it is that they are actually sitting next to each other for the first time in a long time, without hot wings in front of them. Questions abound, and the student actually gets quieter and quieter, as the parent takes the reins. I try to redirect answers to the student, but this doesn't always get a response, other than a study of the fingernail that seems to have just gone astray.
There is sometimes simply confirmation of the right path, community service hours owed or not, a quick glance at the transcript, and a sharing of future destinations, if the student is alone. I try not to rush, and this is a time when I find out about a job they have, their position in soccer, or how their grandmother is doing. This is what I live for and actually took classes for, the art of communicating and trying to develop relationships. Then, the phone gives a signal ring that I have another appointment arrived, and I have to scurry.
The last part of the process is giving out information about testing, college visits, websites to go to, college fairs to come and a "Rising Senior" night to publicize. I have our home page pulled up, our Facebook page open, Big Future from College Board to show. I have a stack of forms, and I try to go over each one, while the student is easing out the door, sometimes. In one case, I had a student refuse to stay beyond the bell, as they didn't want to miss math. (!)
Quite often, there is mutual appreciation for time, and a chance to give praise and congratulations for success. I commiserate with a softball player whose tournament was rained out. I get thanked by a grandmother, who didn't seem appreciative in front of their grandson for my bewildered anger over an attitude toward Geometry, but waited for him to leave, so she would stay the "good cop". I have phone calls to follow up or a visit from a kid ranked 507th who wants to take AP classes because he knows he will "try this time." It becomes a bit overwhelming, and I have called for kids the wrong time a couple of times. I have had to follow up with a rescheduled appointment on the fly more than once.
In their mind, they have a clear path planned out, they are optimistic about their schedule being perfect, and they are bubbling with energy and raring to go at that moment. I worry about the next appointment, the next test to give, and I know this for a fact: it will start all over again this time next year. The feeling of semi-dread can do havoc on the mind and body.
But, today, I am thinking there are only 10 more school days until Spring Break. We are going to see Muse in concert, and the kids are going to a camp. I need to get to work planning big moments to come.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
So, As I Was Starting To Say...Here's Some Wishes!
My original intention was to get specific, wax poetic, become eloquent, if I could, about some specific wishes, and I was carried away with a song in my heart. Here are some wishes for you that I wanted to pass along that are more straightforward.. As I move into my 6th year of counseling and 23rd year of education, I have learned some hard lessons and had some epiphanies that have helped me survive and some days even thrive.
May you have more joy than pain.
Every year, without exception, there have been wonderful moments of students making it to graduation, getting into the college of their dreams, scholarships being awarded, test scores through the roof after much hard work, smiles of satisfaction on once hesitant or unsure faces, and the awesome march forward from freshman to senior, with so many changes taking place. I have gotten to be around lots of butterflies coming out of the cocoon. The vast majority of my students go onto good things, grand times, and their high school experience is one of achievement and safety. Some days, however, all seems bleak, as a student is found to have cancer, is struggling with divorce, tragic, shattering loss of a loved one, has had to move again to a new place, one step ahead of collection agencies. That they can sit upright, much less get through a day of high expectations is daunting to them, and it is our job to bolster, to strengthen, to intervene. I hope the balance of your day is much more on the positive side. The negative takes so much more juice. Of course, it is so much more important, ultimately, to help students face.
May you find diversion during the course of your day that lifts you.
One of the great fascinations of this job for me has been that no matter how brief, to "consult", kibbitz, gossip, mull over student affairs, the weekend, the kid's game the night before, gives me a boost of confidence and energy. There is laughter loud enough to be heard 100 feet away in our lounge during lunch. Netflix has been turned on during lunch, I will admit, and 5 minutes of Words with Friends can get me invigorated. Wandering down the hall can be constructive with conversations with teachers and students, and I can breathe better outside the cave, some days. Sometimes, I just go to the door near the back of our offices and stare at the sky for a moment. There has been construction on a seniors' village across the way for the last six months that I have stared at until I have to pull away.
May you find reserves of strength you need to stay true to your calling.
There were approximately 40 days of testing last year at MHS, and there were weeks and weeks of scheduling, then fixing scheduling, then guidance to talk about scheduling, with paperwork about scheduling. It is very easy to start to get a mentality of just grinding out your day, but the problem with that is that your job, what you were trained for, is to talk to students, to offer counseling, to be able to stand in the gap. I wish for you the ability to face with full energy the needs of your students, when they are hurting and lost, even if there is another test to give, another box to pack. To be in the moment with every single student is a very tough thing to do, and then do again and then again.
May you feel satisfied at the end of a long day.
My mom taught 2nd grade for over 20 plus years, starting in education, when I had begun school, as the last of her three boys, and there were two things that struck me every year about tangible things that she gathered from her job, besides sheer accomplishment: presents from her students at Christmas and the end of the year, with "love you" notes along the way and class photos taken at the end, that she has to this day, on the walls of her garage, that she sees going to and from her car. My mom has always been an education hero, along with being a regular hero, and I know that she has memories of every student that she taught. One of the adjustments for me has been that I may have 480 plus students in a year, with an ebb and flow, an in and out, and I can't possibly know that I have made a difference in all their lives on a daily basis. In fact, we have actually commiserated that at least we didn't "screw that one up" as a measure. This can leave me lost feeling, and it can be very frustrating to just not know what happens to all my students. I hope that you can find victories, gain toeholds. see some real results, know that you have fought your hardest, done your best, gone the distance.
May all your dreams come true.
Whatever your highest goals, your most heartfelt desires for this year might be, I hope that they all come true for you. That you feel a peace, a fulfillment, a strengthened resolve to move forward to do this very important, very misunderstood job year after year with grace and fortitude. And, that you have a great time doing it, with laughter at lunch and a cold beverage now and again. I'll buy!
May you have more joy than pain.
Every year, without exception, there have been wonderful moments of students making it to graduation, getting into the college of their dreams, scholarships being awarded, test scores through the roof after much hard work, smiles of satisfaction on once hesitant or unsure faces, and the awesome march forward from freshman to senior, with so many changes taking place. I have gotten to be around lots of butterflies coming out of the cocoon. The vast majority of my students go onto good things, grand times, and their high school experience is one of achievement and safety. Some days, however, all seems bleak, as a student is found to have cancer, is struggling with divorce, tragic, shattering loss of a loved one, has had to move again to a new place, one step ahead of collection agencies. That they can sit upright, much less get through a day of high expectations is daunting to them, and it is our job to bolster, to strengthen, to intervene. I hope the balance of your day is much more on the positive side. The negative takes so much more juice. Of course, it is so much more important, ultimately, to help students face.
May you find diversion during the course of your day that lifts you.
One of the great fascinations of this job for me has been that no matter how brief, to "consult", kibbitz, gossip, mull over student affairs, the weekend, the kid's game the night before, gives me a boost of confidence and energy. There is laughter loud enough to be heard 100 feet away in our lounge during lunch. Netflix has been turned on during lunch, I will admit, and 5 minutes of Words with Friends can get me invigorated. Wandering down the hall can be constructive with conversations with teachers and students, and I can breathe better outside the cave, some days. Sometimes, I just go to the door near the back of our offices and stare at the sky for a moment. There has been construction on a seniors' village across the way for the last six months that I have stared at until I have to pull away.
May you find reserves of strength you need to stay true to your calling.
There were approximately 40 days of testing last year at MHS, and there were weeks and weeks of scheduling, then fixing scheduling, then guidance to talk about scheduling, with paperwork about scheduling. It is very easy to start to get a mentality of just grinding out your day, but the problem with that is that your job, what you were trained for, is to talk to students, to offer counseling, to be able to stand in the gap. I wish for you the ability to face with full energy the needs of your students, when they are hurting and lost, even if there is another test to give, another box to pack. To be in the moment with every single student is a very tough thing to do, and then do again and then again.
May you feel satisfied at the end of a long day.
My mom taught 2nd grade for over 20 plus years, starting in education, when I had begun school, as the last of her three boys, and there were two things that struck me every year about tangible things that she gathered from her job, besides sheer accomplishment: presents from her students at Christmas and the end of the year, with "love you" notes along the way and class photos taken at the end, that she has to this day, on the walls of her garage, that she sees going to and from her car. My mom has always been an education hero, along with being a regular hero, and I know that she has memories of every student that she taught. One of the adjustments for me has been that I may have 480 plus students in a year, with an ebb and flow, an in and out, and I can't possibly know that I have made a difference in all their lives on a daily basis. In fact, we have actually commiserated that at least we didn't "screw that one up" as a measure. This can leave me lost feeling, and it can be very frustrating to just not know what happens to all my students. I hope that you can find victories, gain toeholds. see some real results, know that you have fought your hardest, done your best, gone the distance.
May all your dreams come true.
Whatever your highest goals, your most heartfelt desires for this year might be, I hope that they all come true for you. That you feel a peace, a fulfillment, a strengthened resolve to move forward to do this very important, very misunderstood job year after year with grace and fortitude. And, that you have a great time doing it, with laughter at lunch and a cold beverage now and again. I'll buy!
Monday, August 20, 2012
My Wish For You, Counselors.
I grew up on the Eagles, the Beatles, lots of Stevie Ray Vaughan, and I even went through a time of some Sheena Easton and Def Leppard in the college years, but I always avoided country music like it was a bill collector, until the last 10 years or so, as marriage and kids and then my leaving the coaching ranks for the counselor chair took hold of my fiber, pulling me back to my smalltown, work--a-day roots. I started liking a little twang, but I refused to buy a pair of boots.
One windy night toward the end of May, as I stood on the football field after an emotional graduation ceremony, my first as a counselor, as the lights went out, and fireworks started to go off, I heard the beginnings of a song called My Wish, which I recognized as being by Rascal Flatts. I was finally, unequivocally captured, as I watched seniors in the darkened stadium dance, heard them laugh, run like kindergartners, their robes flapping behind them, as the music played over the loudspeakers with a backdrop of flares and explosions.
A natural evolution was to develop some Dierks Bentley fondness, some Brad Paisley affinity, go back and grab some George, some Clint Black, throw in some Martina McBride, and I had something going on during the long drive from Mesquite to Grandview, while I was finishing my Master's. And, of course, I deepened by knowledge and appreciation of Rascal Flatts, with Amy even buying me a CD that I played to death, with "Why Wait" and "I Will Stand By You" blaring on the way to work many mornings, when I was a little tired and needed some energy and some deep crooning to make sure my voice worked well enough to talk to kids during presentations. I didn't care if anyone saw me emote, either, as I crossed the bridge to make the final run to school.
So, this March, when I saw the Flatts advertised for a trip to Dallas, I snatched up the idea of two tickets for our anniversary celebration in July. A bonus would be special guests Little Big Town, as most of my kids know Boondocks, front and back, and some other guests, which turned out to be Eden's Edge and Thompson Square, and we laid a blanket out on a not-too-hot night and settled in for a great night, although I did find out sadly that Shiner was considered an "export" beer. We made it through the first three groups, with Amy claiming I had developed a little crush on the poufy haired blonde from LBT, but I was really focused on getting to Joe Don and the boys. Things started promisingly, with some Banjo, and then there wa a turn of events that made me go meh. A part of their concert was to have audience members shout out songs, and they did a minute and a half rendition of them. I was a bit off when they zoomed through Mayberry, as Andy Griffin had just died, but then when they made short work of My Wish, I felt myself have some mild but real disappointment.We enjoyed every bit of the remainder of the show, including the encore of Boston's Foreplay/Long Time, which I want to be played at my funeral. Still, I felt the pull of listening to the full song, and I did that on Spotify the next week, along with full versions of about 40 other songs until I was full.
With, that said, it brings me to where I wanted to go, as I believe country music has become fully part of my texture as a counselor and speaks to all of us, with its makeup of great laughter, heartfelt sadness, appreciation for little things on a grand scale, and occasionally a good drinking moment reflected in me from the inside out. I mean, the Beastie Boys still do it for me, and I know the words to some Gotye, but country speaks to me on our level. And, so, as we get started, I wanted to extend best regard, wishes, to all of you who labor as counselors, in the elementaries with their hugs and pictures that proclaim their love for you, in the intermediates and middle schools where they start to feel great love for their BFFs and their first real crushes, to the high school level, where hormones and testosterone can turn on a dime, and there is such great capacity for joy and pain. I don't want you to feel the slightest bit cheated, so here is the full song, and I hope it speaks to you. I am available for vocalizing this, given time, but you will have to ride wiht me early in the morning on say, a Tuesday, to get the full effect. Here's to you!
One windy night toward the end of May, as I stood on the football field after an emotional graduation ceremony, my first as a counselor, as the lights went out, and fireworks started to go off, I heard the beginnings of a song called My Wish, which I recognized as being by Rascal Flatts. I was finally, unequivocally captured, as I watched seniors in the darkened stadium dance, heard them laugh, run like kindergartners, their robes flapping behind them, as the music played over the loudspeakers with a backdrop of flares and explosions.
A natural evolution was to develop some Dierks Bentley fondness, some Brad Paisley affinity, go back and grab some George, some Clint Black, throw in some Martina McBride, and I had something going on during the long drive from Mesquite to Grandview, while I was finishing my Master's. And, of course, I deepened by knowledge and appreciation of Rascal Flatts, with Amy even buying me a CD that I played to death, with "Why Wait" and "I Will Stand By You" blaring on the way to work many mornings, when I was a little tired and needed some energy and some deep crooning to make sure my voice worked well enough to talk to kids during presentations. I didn't care if anyone saw me emote, either, as I crossed the bridge to make the final run to school.
So, this March, when I saw the Flatts advertised for a trip to Dallas, I snatched up the idea of two tickets for our anniversary celebration in July. A bonus would be special guests Little Big Town, as most of my kids know Boondocks, front and back, and some other guests, which turned out to be Eden's Edge and Thompson Square, and we laid a blanket out on a not-too-hot night and settled in for a great night, although I did find out sadly that Shiner was considered an "export" beer. We made it through the first three groups, with Amy claiming I had developed a little crush on the poufy haired blonde from LBT, but I was really focused on getting to Joe Don and the boys. Things started promisingly, with some Banjo, and then there wa a turn of events that made me go meh. A part of their concert was to have audience members shout out songs, and they did a minute and a half rendition of them. I was a bit off when they zoomed through Mayberry, as Andy Griffin had just died, but then when they made short work of My Wish, I felt myself have some mild but real disappointment.We enjoyed every bit of the remainder of the show, including the encore of Boston's Foreplay/Long Time, which I want to be played at my funeral. Still, I felt the pull of listening to the full song, and I did that on Spotify the next week, along with full versions of about 40 other songs until I was full.
With, that said, it brings me to where I wanted to go, as I believe country music has become fully part of my texture as a counselor and speaks to all of us, with its makeup of great laughter, heartfelt sadness, appreciation for little things on a grand scale, and occasionally a good drinking moment reflected in me from the inside out. I mean, the Beastie Boys still do it for me, and I know the words to some Gotye, but country speaks to me on our level. And, so, as we get started, I wanted to extend best regard, wishes, to all of you who labor as counselors, in the elementaries with their hugs and pictures that proclaim their love for you, in the intermediates and middle schools where they start to feel great love for their BFFs and their first real crushes, to the high school level, where hormones and testosterone can turn on a dime, and there is such great capacity for joy and pain. I don't want you to feel the slightest bit cheated, so here is the full song, and I hope it speaks to you. I am available for vocalizing this, given time, but you will have to ride wiht me early in the morning on say, a Tuesday, to get the full effect. Here's to you!
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Tomorrow's Another Day, So Bring On The Rain?
I had a moment of sheer, relaxed happiness on Friday, our day off, and for many Good Friday. Amy and I were driving down the road on our way to see The Hunger Games, and it just hit me that life was pretty good. This was a too rare moment, so I decided to trace it back, so that I could know its roots and hope for a continuous replication of it.
I factored in the sunlight and the nap I had, and that Amy and I had unwinded with some reality TV and some Draw Something, and that the kids weren't fighting too much. This certainly played a part in how I felt, and it was something I cherished, but I decided it was something more, upon analysis. It began and ended with school and a test called the STAAR.
At one point, we received an e-mail that our insurance rates were going up again next year, and I believe that we will more than likely have a pay freeze again, and this was disconcerting and discouraging. Then, on Wednesday, my turn came to go to one of our middle schools to talk to our 8th graders, our future Panthers, about next year's schedule. My presentation was preceded by a quick reminder by the wonderful English teacher about the Hunger Games' day that they were having the next day, where they could commemorate the book with costumes and hair. Their excitement was great to see and refreshing, and it peeled some of the cynicism away. Their questions as the presentation went on about credits and classes were on-point and funny and probing. I left feeling refreshed and good about the day.
Thursday brought a combination of ups and downs, with a sad meeting with a parent and a senior who wasn't going to make it this time around, but then, as she was leaving, cursing life and probably me, in strolled a senior, on her second senior year with one evasive credit to complete, and she announced that she had finished. This, after a myriad of personal issues, academic struggles, and more than one court appearance that she had faced, with nudging, teacher support, parent contacts, she made it. (I went to pat her on the back, but she winced, as she had just had her "6th tattoo" and it was still tender.) Euphoria for her and relief and happiness for me. It felt like the end of an uphill climb, with a great view at the top, but with tired legs and a crick in the back. Still, I smiled and did the finish line hands when noone was looking.
And, then on Friday afternoon, with the first STAAR tests under our belt at the HS, I qualified through Pearson's to grade the 4th graders, and we have some needed money coming in this month. A quiet, good, solid moment.
My youngest daughter wanted to know what the literal meaning of Easter was today. I looked it up for her, while relaying the Christian meaning of resurrection of Jesus, but I also found this meaning, and I found it appropriate to describe my feeling, as it originated from easterly, to describe when the sun comes up.
This was the song that Amy played for me, as we drove.
I factored in the sunlight and the nap I had, and that Amy and I had unwinded with some reality TV and some Draw Something, and that the kids weren't fighting too much. This certainly played a part in how I felt, and it was something I cherished, but I decided it was something more, upon analysis. It began and ended with school and a test called the STAAR.
At one point, we received an e-mail that our insurance rates were going up again next year, and I believe that we will more than likely have a pay freeze again, and this was disconcerting and discouraging. Then, on Wednesday, my turn came to go to one of our middle schools to talk to our 8th graders, our future Panthers, about next year's schedule. My presentation was preceded by a quick reminder by the wonderful English teacher about the Hunger Games' day that they were having the next day, where they could commemorate the book with costumes and hair. Their excitement was great to see and refreshing, and it peeled some of the cynicism away. Their questions as the presentation went on about credits and classes were on-point and funny and probing. I left feeling refreshed and good about the day.
Thursday brought a combination of ups and downs, with a sad meeting with a parent and a senior who wasn't going to make it this time around, but then, as she was leaving, cursing life and probably me, in strolled a senior, on her second senior year with one evasive credit to complete, and she announced that she had finished. This, after a myriad of personal issues, academic struggles, and more than one court appearance that she had faced, with nudging, teacher support, parent contacts, she made it. (I went to pat her on the back, but she winced, as she had just had her "6th tattoo" and it was still tender.) Euphoria for her and relief and happiness for me. It felt like the end of an uphill climb, with a great view at the top, but with tired legs and a crick in the back. Still, I smiled and did the finish line hands when noone was looking.
And, then on Friday afternoon, with the first STAAR tests under our belt at the HS, I qualified through Pearson's to grade the 4th graders, and we have some needed money coming in this month. A quiet, good, solid moment.
My youngest daughter wanted to know what the literal meaning of Easter was today. I looked it up for her, while relaying the Christian meaning of resurrection of Jesus, but I also found this meaning, and I found it appropriate to describe my feeling, as it originated from easterly, to describe when the sun comes up.
This was the song that Amy played for me, as we drove.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
EOC Thrilling? SOL, So Far.
It's been two months since my last post, and events of historic and magnificent consequence have taken place during that time in the state of Texas and our forward thinking education system, as we have introduced a new test. (This is the part where I hope the sarcasm shines subtly through.)
The EOC, also know as the End of Course exam, also know as the STAAR, State of Texas Assessment of Academic Readiness, has formally arrived this week at my high school, and in my children's elementary , and it has been less than earth-shaking so far. Wait for it...until results come back some time in May. Then, as they say, the fit may hit the shan. I hope not to get any on me.
Now, as I think that there is an outside perception of the different tests and what is done to prepare for them, the proverbial "teaching to the test", I can speak to that and many other components of this experience so far.
With 500 MILLION dollars in mind, school districts have been compelled by the state to go to their service centers, trek to Austin, to gain insight, figure out specifics and generalities for many months. Conflicting info has been a constant, differing opinions have flown around about the impact of the tests on Texas school children, with a final delay of the inevitable, for at least a year, by the TEA Commissioner, once the howling finally got loud enough that there were too many questions left unanswered. In the meantime, teachers and administrators have been sharing the mantra this test would be "much, much harder" than the TAKS, thus raising the anxiety level to new notches. There have been prep sessions and daily reminders for weeks and weeks in my district.
As we drew closer, there were required trainings given by our testing coordinator, with the help of her loyal counselors, as the fine details of the "new" answer documents were pored over, with my belief that they looked very similar. One big difference was noted in that the new tests would have 4 hour time limits, as the TAKS has been a school-day long window of opportunity for students to sleep, look out the window, reflect, scratch their watch and wind their butt, take a break and eat, and delay going onto class. This has taken on heroic proportions in my years of observation. GONE is the chance to make it more of an operatic ordeal, and this is relieving, somewhat.
When the tests arrived, they were unloaded into a secure room, before being taken and placed into testing boxes by Harriette and LaDon and other counselors, (but not me, as I hate that stuff) which I would equate to paper crates with handles, along with pencils, required signs and paperwork, extra clocks, bathroom passes. This is done in conjunction with room assignments and teacher assignments, which in some districts can be nightmarish, as space is an issue, with appropriate desks and failure of educators to be available and reliable. Ours is a smooth and non-problematic assigning, as I honestly believe we have 99% of our teachers in a "seasoned" status, when it comes to testing. You always have the crank who doesn't like the makeup of their class roster, and there has been the odd ball who doesn't like a student using their faculty restroom, as the hallways we test in requires a cloistering, but people show up and they know how to conduct themselves.
Rosters are placed where students can see them a few days ahead of time, and those students who must be moved are given notice, but both groups seem to have memory losses on a regular basis, so we are around to send them the right direction, which may require a hike for some to the other side of the campus, so there is grumbling. This year we used our math and science wings to give the test to this first group of guinea pigs, uh, freshmen, and there was AC issues and some noise from surrounding classrooms, but no real problems with meltdowns or misbehavior, with the exception of a group of students taking an alternate test, which they weren't happy about, as is the norm for that grouping.
Then, onto the test! There is a lot of hurrying and waiting, and this year felt very similar to me, in that the pacing felt like TAKS, the bathroom breaks seemed like TAKS, and students finished at a normal pace. We all started from the loudspeaker, took at break at the same time for pizza and Subway, and we finished on the dot, with a 4 hour test window. Students mentioned to me that it was easy and breezy, but we will see. Teachers took their tests to turn in one day, picked them up the next day, then we were done with the regular tests, with "field tests" given to a group, ESL tests to others, and one lucky young man got to take his English II test, as he was a year ahead of his class. (Only 9 students out of approximately 600 missed taking test, which will be made up this summer.)
Tests are gone over and bubbled appropriately, packaged in groups of 25, then placed in boxes for send off, with a hauling over to the admin to come. Sighs of relief will commence.
So, ultimately, has the world changed with this new test? Sadly, no, as there was a flow in the same river toward "accountability" with the advent of the STAAR. Other factors regarding true learning will remain secondary, regardless of NCLB being weakened. Districts will be labeled starting year after next, students will graduate or not, as it is with the TAKS, and the waiting can begin...for the next acronym.
The EOC, also know as the End of Course exam, also know as the STAAR, State of Texas Assessment of Academic Readiness, has formally arrived this week at my high school, and in my children's elementary , and it has been less than earth-shaking so far. Wait for it...until results come back some time in May. Then, as they say, the fit may hit the shan. I hope not to get any on me.
Now, as I think that there is an outside perception of the different tests and what is done to prepare for them, the proverbial "teaching to the test", I can speak to that and many other components of this experience so far.
With 500 MILLION dollars in mind, school districts have been compelled by the state to go to their service centers, trek to Austin, to gain insight, figure out specifics and generalities for many months. Conflicting info has been a constant, differing opinions have flown around about the impact of the tests on Texas school children, with a final delay of the inevitable, for at least a year, by the TEA Commissioner, once the howling finally got loud enough that there were too many questions left unanswered. In the meantime, teachers and administrators have been sharing the mantra this test would be "much, much harder" than the TAKS, thus raising the anxiety level to new notches. There have been prep sessions and daily reminders for weeks and weeks in my district.
As we drew closer, there were required trainings given by our testing coordinator, with the help of her loyal counselors, as the fine details of the "new" answer documents were pored over, with my belief that they looked very similar. One big difference was noted in that the new tests would have 4 hour time limits, as the TAKS has been a school-day long window of opportunity for students to sleep, look out the window, reflect, scratch their watch and wind their butt, take a break and eat, and delay going onto class. This has taken on heroic proportions in my years of observation. GONE is the chance to make it more of an operatic ordeal, and this is relieving, somewhat.
When the tests arrived, they were unloaded into a secure room, before being taken and placed into testing boxes by Harriette and LaDon and other counselors, (but not me, as I hate that stuff) which I would equate to paper crates with handles, along with pencils, required signs and paperwork, extra clocks, bathroom passes. This is done in conjunction with room assignments and teacher assignments, which in some districts can be nightmarish, as space is an issue, with appropriate desks and failure of educators to be available and reliable. Ours is a smooth and non-problematic assigning, as I honestly believe we have 99% of our teachers in a "seasoned" status, when it comes to testing. You always have the crank who doesn't like the makeup of their class roster, and there has been the odd ball who doesn't like a student using their faculty restroom, as the hallways we test in requires a cloistering, but people show up and they know how to conduct themselves.
Rosters are placed where students can see them a few days ahead of time, and those students who must be moved are given notice, but both groups seem to have memory losses on a regular basis, so we are around to send them the right direction, which may require a hike for some to the other side of the campus, so there is grumbling. This year we used our math and science wings to give the test to this first group of guinea pigs, uh, freshmen, and there was AC issues and some noise from surrounding classrooms, but no real problems with meltdowns or misbehavior, with the exception of a group of students taking an alternate test, which they weren't happy about, as is the norm for that grouping.
Then, onto the test! There is a lot of hurrying and waiting, and this year felt very similar to me, in that the pacing felt like TAKS, the bathroom breaks seemed like TAKS, and students finished at a normal pace. We all started from the loudspeaker, took at break at the same time for pizza and Subway, and we finished on the dot, with a 4 hour test window. Students mentioned to me that it was easy and breezy, but we will see. Teachers took their tests to turn in one day, picked them up the next day, then we were done with the regular tests, with "field tests" given to a group, ESL tests to others, and one lucky young man got to take his English II test, as he was a year ahead of his class. (Only 9 students out of approximately 600 missed taking test, which will be made up this summer.)
Tests are gone over and bubbled appropriately, packaged in groups of 25, then placed in boxes for send off, with a hauling over to the admin to come. Sighs of relief will commence.
So, ultimately, has the world changed with this new test? Sadly, no, as there was a flow in the same river toward "accountability" with the advent of the STAAR. Other factors regarding true learning will remain secondary, regardless of NCLB being weakened. Districts will be labeled starting year after next, students will graduate or not, as it is with the TAKS, and the waiting can begin...for the next acronym.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Incorrigible, Frustrating and Draining. To Know Them Is To Love Them.
You first get to know many "problem" students through a random moment of glancing at a progress report. You might meet them in a PowerSchool check. There is a discipline referral that is about dress code or cursing or a walk off the campus. They end up owing credit recovery for absences or they are on the list for truancy. Sometimes, they spring up immediately in a folder that is thick. You can tell by the heft, quite often, that their road has been a troubled one. A foster care designation is often a tragic surety of a dead-end future. Word gets to you about a divorce, a job loss.
You make lists, you send out passes, you go into classrooms, and you look for them in the cafeteria or hallway. Quite often they don't come to your office, because they are absent or they just won't come. They will take the pass and head out of their room, wander around, and then never come to the office, betting on not getting caught.
There is a disassociative quality to the whole thing that can set in, and then...you meet them.
They finally come in, maybe because they know that they can't get away with not doing so, or they want to get out of class, or possibly, quite often, they want some help, some affirmation, something. And, you work hard to give that to them, after there is some rapport established over minutes, then hours, then days, then weeks, months, years. A comfort zone can develop with them, a fondness for their idiosyncocrasies, sometimes their excuses, and you feel for their desperate moments, their hopelessness. You work with them to smooth their path, come up with a plan, pat them on the back after good moments. Sometimes, you kick their arse for rudeness to a teacher, for apathy, for crossing the line back to the bad place.
Progress is made, then setbacks come. A home situation deterioates, a project isn't turned in, and a test is failed. You call for them, then notice that they are absent for one, two, three days. A class is failed, a court apperance occurs, and they come in despondent. You notice that they are dressed too casually, with unshaved faces or their piercings in their face, more so than usual. (There is a forgiveness for such things in the Counseling Center, but a scolding does take place.). Then, they want to know about GEDs or homeschooling, and the last two years, as we have no alternative program at my school, information about the Wings Program at DeSoto. Carefully, we lay out options, encourage, to think hard, more often than not, about staying in our school, working out a solution. They nod, look gloomy or indifferent or hopeful, and they leave to go back to class, or quite often, back home again, as they know that the dress code enforcement is coming or the thought of staying in class is too much.
You think happy thoughts, and you might make a hopeful phone call, and you wait. There is a system we have in place, after withdrawals started not showing up where they claimed they were going a few years ago. We have a withdrawal form given through Cheryl Holt, counseling secretary, then onto our transition specialist Terrye Lybrand, who works closely with the students and their parents in figuring their next step, which can be a simple transfer to another school because of a move, but with these students it is a good bye to the regular route. If we have our head down or get busy, we don't notice that they have shuffled through.
First Class e-mail dings, and there is a missing subject line. This indicates that a student has transferred out.
The hours spent rush back, there is a gut punched feeling, cursing a bit mixed in that you don't have a magic wand or even a mundane solution in that true alternative school that has so much going for it but that.
Then, you say a little prayer, asking for the blessings denied for or by that student leaving, and you move on to the next one, hoping for some fresh air of success to inflate your will. The papers, the folders, the reports walked and breathed, laughed and cried in your office, and you feel better and worse for knowing them as the people they became to you. Sometimes, news comes back to you that they graduated and are happy. Sometimes, you hear about their police report or their new baby on the way.
You frown and smile, then you turn to the fresh progress report on your desk, dreading the ding that might come in a quiet moment.
You make lists, you send out passes, you go into classrooms, and you look for them in the cafeteria or hallway. Quite often they don't come to your office, because they are absent or they just won't come. They will take the pass and head out of their room, wander around, and then never come to the office, betting on not getting caught.
There is a disassociative quality to the whole thing that can set in, and then...you meet them.
They finally come in, maybe because they know that they can't get away with not doing so, or they want to get out of class, or possibly, quite often, they want some help, some affirmation, something. And, you work hard to give that to them, after there is some rapport established over minutes, then hours, then days, then weeks, months, years. A comfort zone can develop with them, a fondness for their idiosyncocrasies, sometimes their excuses, and you feel for their desperate moments, their hopelessness. You work with them to smooth their path, come up with a plan, pat them on the back after good moments. Sometimes, you kick their arse for rudeness to a teacher, for apathy, for crossing the line back to the bad place.
Progress is made, then setbacks come. A home situation deterioates, a project isn't turned in, and a test is failed. You call for them, then notice that they are absent for one, two, three days. A class is failed, a court apperance occurs, and they come in despondent. You notice that they are dressed too casually, with unshaved faces or their piercings in their face, more so than usual. (There is a forgiveness for such things in the Counseling Center, but a scolding does take place.). Then, they want to know about GEDs or homeschooling, and the last two years, as we have no alternative program at my school, information about the Wings Program at DeSoto. Carefully, we lay out options, encourage, to think hard, more often than not, about staying in our school, working out a solution. They nod, look gloomy or indifferent or hopeful, and they leave to go back to class, or quite often, back home again, as they know that the dress code enforcement is coming or the thought of staying in class is too much.
You think happy thoughts, and you might make a hopeful phone call, and you wait. There is a system we have in place, after withdrawals started not showing up where they claimed they were going a few years ago. We have a withdrawal form given through Cheryl Holt, counseling secretary, then onto our transition specialist Terrye Lybrand, who works closely with the students and their parents in figuring their next step, which can be a simple transfer to another school because of a move, but with these students it is a good bye to the regular route. If we have our head down or get busy, we don't notice that they have shuffled through.
First Class e-mail dings, and there is a missing subject line. This indicates that a student has transferred out.
The hours spent rush back, there is a gut punched feeling, cursing a bit mixed in that you don't have a magic wand or even a mundane solution in that true alternative school that has so much going for it but that.
Then, you say a little prayer, asking for the blessings denied for or by that student leaving, and you move on to the next one, hoping for some fresh air of success to inflate your will. The papers, the folders, the reports walked and breathed, laughed and cried in your office, and you feel better and worse for knowing them as the people they became to you. Sometimes, news comes back to you that they graduated and are happy. Sometimes, you hear about their police report or their new baby on the way.
You frown and smile, then you turn to the fresh progress report on your desk, dreading the ding that might come in a quiet moment.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
David Moore, Texas Educator: A Week In The Life
David Moore, Texas Educator: A Week In The Life: I never knew what a counselor really did until I became one. I am still not sure if I am doing exactly what others do outside the realm of m...
A Week In The Life
I never knew what a counselor really did until I became one. I am still not sure if I am doing exactly what others do outside the realm of my world. In fact, I think that each and every place is probably unique to the locale, the makeup of the kids, the dynamic of the ratio of kid/counselor. Country, city, you get the drift. Elementary, middle school and high school are completely and utterly different, I have discovered, from conversations had and mutual blank stares while trading acronyms in district wide meetings.
Now, while I am detailing what I do, as I said once before, there is a rhythm to the year, with highlights and lowlights, and some weeks can be frantic while others are mundane and have a grinding quality. So, in order to fully edify and illuminate, I am going to do, by memory and creative license, a condensed version into a week. Everything is true, but the time frame and details are changed for dramatic purposes.
MONDAY
Over the weekend, there was a move by a family from a neighboring town. They want to enroll first thing, and they don't have all required paperwork. They must make phone calls, ask for faxes, meet with their assigned counselor, after Cheryl has greeted them and explained what is required, by law, to be able to enroll. They don't like it, and they are not dressed to sit in a school setting. One "uncle" has their pajama bottoms on, with Homer Simpson prominently featured. The student is mad, sad, glad, sleepy, scared to be moving to what is their third school in the last two years. They will be reassured, assessed, checked over for discipline issues at their prior school, which WILL be transferred to us (something they don't want to happen.) Parents and their grandparents and a squirmy toddler finally leave them sitting alone, waiting on a schedule and a tour. We strike up a conversation with them, and we try to make a connection.
E-mail and phone messages are checked, triaged for urgency. A grandmother has died, and the parents are letting us know, and they have concerns about missing school. Someone needs a transcript or a VOE (driver's license attendace form) or a password for PowerSchool. There is a request for a conference to discuss the teacher who has failed their preciousness, and there is a call from a teacher who wants to know why another student has been put into their room that holds 30 with Susie being 31. We apologize and shrug, all at once, as there is no place to put that student and helpful suggestions about space aren't asked for or appreciated.
We call for students as the day starts, with our aides delivering passes. Many we call for are absent, but we block that time aside. There is a link to not being there and why we are needing to call for them. We make plans, hear rationalizations and justifications, and we give information regarding tutoring times. Some are receptive, and others give death stares and stumble out.
TUESDAY
Classroom guidance day in English classrooms to our freshmen, sophomores, juniors or seniors. We divvy up the assignments into mostly 5 classes out of the 7 periods, but sometimes we go to 6 classes, if a counselor is away. We talk about study skills and show a Cosby clip where Cliff gives Theo the business. We play a game related to GPA and how much more goes into preparation for college than just grades. We give information about the SAT or ACT or PLAN or PSAT. We do surveys, and we hand out transcripts, and we go over scheduling requirements. (The state of TEXAS makes changes daily, monthly, yearly, and we have to get ahead of the curve. Sometimes, we get twisted.) We end most sessions by imploring or inviting students to come see us with issues, get applications turned in for classes or college, and there is some begging involving tutoring.
WEDNESDAY
Testing day with the PLAN, the PSAT, an EXIT level TAKS test in the library technology center or the administration building. Our jobs have been to conduct trainings, get materials into testing boxes, check those materials out, roam the halls maing sure rooms are unlocked, desks are arranged, clocks are on walls. During testing, we put out little fires, with a reluctant scholar slobber sleeping on their desk, a late genius strolling in late, and a dress code issue that is beyond reasonable. We check tests back in, sort them, count them, package them, check for mistakes, load them up and we take them on a huge cart across the campus. They can't be left alone, at any point, and every single one must be accounted for or there is high anxiety. We leave later that day than usual to make sure all is secure, but we do get to wear jeans.
THURSDAY
Meetings are plentiful, as we meet in ARDs wtih our Special Ed kids and their parents, either in person or by phone. 504s convene in our offices or the conference rooms,. Some take a few minutes, and some take hours, with legal types in the room. (I have personally been in a meeting with 16 people discussing one child's modifications, and I have heard some obsene language. Police have been summoned to be there as a precaution. I got breathed on by a nice lady with some Bud Light on her breath. She called me Tiger once on the phone.)
We trudge over to the admininstration building to meet with all the other counselors of the district. Sometimes, there are cookies there, and we have an agenda. It is nice to see all the other counselors, but we often have very little in common.
A military rep asks to meet with us to check on the progress on their recruits. A college rep comes by to give breakfast and update us on all the exciting opportunities there. The local workforce contact comes by to tell us of specifics of their program. The mental health facility invites us to come tour their programs, and there is a future lunch invitation.
FRIDAY
Traditionally, this has become on most Fridays "Lamp Day" as previously mentioned, and there is a sense of closure to the week. This is a day for catchup on paperwork, schedule changes, recommendation letters, checking credits. Jeans are worn with a spirit shirt, and there is a pep rally.
Many teachers are gone to events or tournaments, and there is a free flow into the Counseling Center by students with wanderlust or real problems. We try to touch base with students with more dire circumstances before the weekend. More students are absent on this day than Monday, so that makes time even more precious when they are there, with reassurance for the weekend ahead.
Once a month is birthday cake day in the lounge. We make sure we grab our piece early before it all disappears. There is sighing, and then there is an empty building by 4.
SATURDAY
Some of us give the SAT or ACT on 9 Saturdays a year. We get paid for it about a month or so later, and often it comes in handy. The duty is about 5 hours long or so, and we feel that it offers a reassuring testing experience that we are there on our campus. We get to see our students' pajamas and what their hair looks like in a backwards cap. They get to go the college of their choice or get that scholarship.
SUNDAY
Transcripts books are worked on from home, often, and e-mail is checked late in the evening. Tragedy strikes, and we spend time back at school helping kids or getting ready to do so on Monday.
A new week looms ahead, and there is less sleep on Sundays than any other. Sunday is a day of reflection, of rest, of dread and anxiety.
Henry Kissinger once said it well, "There can not be a crisis next week. My schedule is full."
Now, while I am detailing what I do, as I said once before, there is a rhythm to the year, with highlights and lowlights, and some weeks can be frantic while others are mundane and have a grinding quality. So, in order to fully edify and illuminate, I am going to do, by memory and creative license, a condensed version into a week. Everything is true, but the time frame and details are changed for dramatic purposes.
MONDAY
Over the weekend, there was a move by a family from a neighboring town. They want to enroll first thing, and they don't have all required paperwork. They must make phone calls, ask for faxes, meet with their assigned counselor, after Cheryl has greeted them and explained what is required, by law, to be able to enroll. They don't like it, and they are not dressed to sit in a school setting. One "uncle" has their pajama bottoms on, with Homer Simpson prominently featured. The student is mad, sad, glad, sleepy, scared to be moving to what is their third school in the last two years. They will be reassured, assessed, checked over for discipline issues at their prior school, which WILL be transferred to us (something they don't want to happen.) Parents and their grandparents and a squirmy toddler finally leave them sitting alone, waiting on a schedule and a tour. We strike up a conversation with them, and we try to make a connection.
E-mail and phone messages are checked, triaged for urgency. A grandmother has died, and the parents are letting us know, and they have concerns about missing school. Someone needs a transcript or a VOE (driver's license attendace form) or a password for PowerSchool. There is a request for a conference to discuss the teacher who has failed their preciousness, and there is a call from a teacher who wants to know why another student has been put into their room that holds 30 with Susie being 31. We apologize and shrug, all at once, as there is no place to put that student and helpful suggestions about space aren't asked for or appreciated.
We call for students as the day starts, with our aides delivering passes. Many we call for are absent, but we block that time aside. There is a link to not being there and why we are needing to call for them. We make plans, hear rationalizations and justifications, and we give information regarding tutoring times. Some are receptive, and others give death stares and stumble out.
TUESDAY
Classroom guidance day in English classrooms to our freshmen, sophomores, juniors or seniors. We divvy up the assignments into mostly 5 classes out of the 7 periods, but sometimes we go to 6 classes, if a counselor is away. We talk about study skills and show a Cosby clip where Cliff gives Theo the business. We play a game related to GPA and how much more goes into preparation for college than just grades. We give information about the SAT or ACT or PLAN or PSAT. We do surveys, and we hand out transcripts, and we go over scheduling requirements. (The state of TEXAS makes changes daily, monthly, yearly, and we have to get ahead of the curve. Sometimes, we get twisted.) We end most sessions by imploring or inviting students to come see us with issues, get applications turned in for classes or college, and there is some begging involving tutoring.
WEDNESDAY
Testing day with the PLAN, the PSAT, an EXIT level TAKS test in the library technology center or the administration building. Our jobs have been to conduct trainings, get materials into testing boxes, check those materials out, roam the halls maing sure rooms are unlocked, desks are arranged, clocks are on walls. During testing, we put out little fires, with a reluctant scholar slobber sleeping on their desk, a late genius strolling in late, and a dress code issue that is beyond reasonable. We check tests back in, sort them, count them, package them, check for mistakes, load them up and we take them on a huge cart across the campus. They can't be left alone, at any point, and every single one must be accounted for or there is high anxiety. We leave later that day than usual to make sure all is secure, but we do get to wear jeans.
THURSDAY
Meetings are plentiful, as we meet in ARDs wtih our Special Ed kids and their parents, either in person or by phone. 504s convene in our offices or the conference rooms,. Some take a few minutes, and some take hours, with legal types in the room. (I have personally been in a meeting with 16 people discussing one child's modifications, and I have heard some obsene language. Police have been summoned to be there as a precaution. I got breathed on by a nice lady with some Bud Light on her breath. She called me Tiger once on the phone.)
We trudge over to the admininstration building to meet with all the other counselors of the district. Sometimes, there are cookies there, and we have an agenda. It is nice to see all the other counselors, but we often have very little in common.
A military rep asks to meet with us to check on the progress on their recruits. A college rep comes by to give breakfast and update us on all the exciting opportunities there. The local workforce contact comes by to tell us of specifics of their program. The mental health facility invites us to come tour their programs, and there is a future lunch invitation.
FRIDAY
Traditionally, this has become on most Fridays "Lamp Day" as previously mentioned, and there is a sense of closure to the week. This is a day for catchup on paperwork, schedule changes, recommendation letters, checking credits. Jeans are worn with a spirit shirt, and there is a pep rally.
Many teachers are gone to events or tournaments, and there is a free flow into the Counseling Center by students with wanderlust or real problems. We try to touch base with students with more dire circumstances before the weekend. More students are absent on this day than Monday, so that makes time even more precious when they are there, with reassurance for the weekend ahead.
Once a month is birthday cake day in the lounge. We make sure we grab our piece early before it all disappears. There is sighing, and then there is an empty building by 4.
SATURDAY
Some of us give the SAT or ACT on 9 Saturdays a year. We get paid for it about a month or so later, and often it comes in handy. The duty is about 5 hours long or so, and we feel that it offers a reassuring testing experience that we are there on our campus. We get to see our students' pajamas and what their hair looks like in a backwards cap. They get to go the college of their choice or get that scholarship.
SUNDAY
Transcripts books are worked on from home, often, and e-mail is checked late in the evening. Tragedy strikes, and we spend time back at school helping kids or getting ready to do so on Monday.
A new week looms ahead, and there is less sleep on Sundays than any other. Sunday is a day of reflection, of rest, of dread and anxiety.
Henry Kissinger once said it well, "There can not be a crisis next week. My schedule is full."
Thursday, January 12, 2012
A Light In the Darkness
I am no fan of bright lights. Whether it be in the big city or simply in my office or slumbering in my bedroom, the harsh glare of overhead lights shocks my brain and leaves me without rest. I used to blame it on an astigmatism that flares with weariness. As days marched on this semester, I slowly had the epiphany that I was experiencing doldrums of a new dimension.
We have in our offices quite often something we call "Lamp Fridays", which is, of course, a day of only lamps without the fluorescence burning into me, I first began to breath easier, but then I realized that I was slowing to a crawl as the weeks passed. There is a subdued, quieter feeling to our offices that I believe the kids sense. This started to become something more than subdued for me. Just before Christmas break, I began to have a strong desire to sit all alone in the dark, dimming even the mildest of lamps.
This may have been to do with the fact that I have more than one child struggling with cancer on my caseload. Brave, big eyed young ladies. It may have been that we had more than one student lost to illness or accident. Again, smiling, dimply bundles of energy snuffed out.
The sheer bulk of 477 students in my alpha, each with their own unique joys and miseries, started to become like running in mud, a steady, unrelenting slog. Finals are a "hurry up and wait" process, with anticipation and dread equally ladled. Counting credits, staring at exam grades, doing math, helping students who had to miss exams, due to commitments and an appendicitis, helped pass the time. Christmas music through Pandora or an early gift CD with some Bing Crosby gave some background rhythm to the day. Great food and company with a Secret Santa party and a fantastic present of a Twins banner lifted my spirits.
But, again, I wanted to crawl into a dark place, stay quiet and still for a while and ponder things. This I did after wrapping up things with an unplugging of all lamps and the mini-fridge in my office. I had one last conversation with a student in a soundproof room over their rough home life. Then, while it took a long time to get out of the parking lot, it was a short trip home and a snoozling moment.
Days of shopping, some Christmas family gatherings, then to Christmas Eve. In Grandview there is a traditional service, with songs, with communion, and then there is a lighting of candles. A night a year or so ago saw driving snow.
I will admit, without rancor, that I was not in the happiest of places that evening, as I helped Amy gather the four together, packed them in the car, scrambled then to find a seat inside the crowded church.
Music began to play, songs were sung, in a traditional style. I looked over and saw a man I worked with, who lost his wife to leukemia, sitting alone, singing with conviction. Down the way from him was a lady who had been dealing with serious medical issues with her son and his family, with a peaceful look. Behind me, I honed in on the sweet voice of my 7 year old Jamie, who is a GLEE fan and made us play their Christmas CD repeatedly. Robert sat next to her on a row behind us. Her voice was sure and without a hint of hesitation. Next to me was Annie, my 9 year old, who blazes with great intelligence and personality, intent on the words on the screen. Moving through the service, I reflected on my lost loved ones. My dad, my Aunt Linda, my grandmothers and grandfathers, who all had such faith and sheer strength in their daily duties. I felt a low moment, a pang.
Then, as I got to watch Annie take her first communion, a veil started to lift. I looked over and saw wild Stephen also take part in this for the first time, and how quiet and still he was. I looked at Amy, my mom, and I took a deeper breath. The lights went out completely. Some words were spoken, as first one candle, then another begin to flame. Soon, it was our turn, and I watched how carefully, reverentially, maturely, my children guarded their candles, holding them higher.
I felt the light come back within me. I felt a restoration and a resilience start to build. As I blew out the candle in my hand, I felt it start to glimmer within me again. I gathered all, we went out into the night, and I noticed the stars for the first time in a long time.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Nightmare? Oldest Wants to Become An Educator When He Grows Up!
My oldest son Robert is a senior at Grandview, and he is inching his way toward graduation
Having lived through the experience of a Preview Day at a state university in recent weeks (how do college students walk that much, but then that could explain the plethora of bicyles), and as the reality of my oldest going to that "green" place is sinking in, we have started to discuss possible majors. His choice, and it gives me pause and pride and then fear again, is to become an educator.
More specifically, he wants to teach math and coach football. If he is to go that pathway, and he could change his mind, as reportedly 80% of freshmen surveyed do change their majors, I want him to keep some things in mind on how he should conduct himself as a professional and what is best route to go. This has been hard earned knowledge. Why wouldn't I share it with him? (The taking it part is trickier.) I will start with these five things:
1. Look for entry level positions with a spirit of humility. You don't know all you don't know until you actually get out into the coaching ranks and secure that first classroom. Learning to drive a bus, write a lesson plan that has some sense of coherence, the appropriate tone to take in given situations. Being willing to take on the extra duty to learn how to do it, and this may involve laundry or field striping or sweeping the gym floor, will give depth and texture and appreciation to every strata, and competence is admired and noticed. Starting off at a middle school is a wise place to lay a foundation.
2. Show up for all meetings prepared, regardless of their importance, with a contribution to make that is about calm assertion. Do your homework on grades on little Johny, with a sample of work or an anecdote of misbehavior that doesn't judge but calls attention to need. Shake hands with parents, stay off your phone, talk quietly and if necessary forcefully, but don't let them ever know you would rather be some place else. Start all meetings the way you should run practice, which is to state an objective, then pursue it, with a closing restatement of goals at the end. Stay courteous, no matter what. And the time will come when faced with explosiveness, rudeness, wrongheadedness or just straight up nuttiness, you will feel the urge to bite someone. Always stay in character as the calm professional. When possible, "staff" ahead of time and de-brief with other professionals aftewards. You will find that you are not alone, and you will gain balance in your emotions and approach.
3. Teach as long as you can, as hard as you can, and as good as you can, MINIMUM, 90% of the time, as a goal you set. Now, I know that may be saying that one should take 10 days off a semester, but what that is referencing is the reality that there are going to be days that you are tired, ill, out of sorts on the content of the lesson or the pace of the class, and while you must do the job of maintaining standards of performance and expectation, there might be days for remediation, for that special food day, a day when many of your students are gone, and you can't move forward with a major lesson. Yes, dare to show a relevant movie or an irrelevant, as a reward, not as a rule. Make those rare opportunities to bond, to give students a human side, to take a breather, to gird themselves and you for the next challenge, then move forward renewed. Take a "mental health" day, once or twice per semester, to recharge and come back stronger and clearheaded, if you feel the "thousand yard stare" coming on, and that is something that you will understand when you experience it.
4. Be a "go-to" guy on your campus. Serve on a committee, offer to drive that bus to that field trip, be vigilant on hall duty/lunch duty/bus duty, and don't forget to bring food to that gathering. Bring up that fight before it gets started. Cover a class when Mrs. Schwartz has to go to the dentist with her dog with a spirit of willingness and generosity. It is those moments that others will remember when they view you beyond your classroom or field performance, and it may help you keep your job or get the next one.
5. Dress for success every single day. Now, I know that may seem superficial, but there is a respect for your profession and those you are teaching when you wear that Zebra tie the first day of school, have the appropriate shoes, take part in theme days with some creativity and fun. Following a professional dress code may seem like a no-brainer, but I have known many, both male and female, who look like they just rolled out of bed, ate Sonic in the car, and smelled like old cheese on the way past toward the lounge. Doesn't breed confidence; does open the door to a pervasive disrespect.
These may all seem common sense or obvious, but way back in 1990, long before graying hair and children, I was young and dumb and full of gum. I learned hard lessons, and so will you. You will falter, and you may even fall. The getting up part, the grinding, the moving forward to the next challenge will define you. Along the way, wear a clean shirt, smile politely, and don't forget the school secretary's birthday.
One last word of advice, if you chose to accept this mission: above all, love what you do, or go do something else. There is no greater profession to do more good or harm than teaching.
Sure you don't want to be an engineer?
Having lived through the experience of a Preview Day at a state university in recent weeks (how do college students walk that much, but then that could explain the plethora of bicyles), and as the reality of my oldest going to that "green" place is sinking in, we have started to discuss possible majors. His choice, and it gives me pause and pride and then fear again, is to become an educator.
More specifically, he wants to teach math and coach football. If he is to go that pathway, and he could change his mind, as reportedly 80% of freshmen surveyed do change their majors, I want him to keep some things in mind on how he should conduct himself as a professional and what is best route to go. This has been hard earned knowledge. Why wouldn't I share it with him? (The taking it part is trickier.) I will start with these five things:
1. Look for entry level positions with a spirit of humility. You don't know all you don't know until you actually get out into the coaching ranks and secure that first classroom. Learning to drive a bus, write a lesson plan that has some sense of coherence, the appropriate tone to take in given situations. Being willing to take on the extra duty to learn how to do it, and this may involve laundry or field striping or sweeping the gym floor, will give depth and texture and appreciation to every strata, and competence is admired and noticed. Starting off at a middle school is a wise place to lay a foundation.
2. Show up for all meetings prepared, regardless of their importance, with a contribution to make that is about calm assertion. Do your homework on grades on little Johny, with a sample of work or an anecdote of misbehavior that doesn't judge but calls attention to need. Shake hands with parents, stay off your phone, talk quietly and if necessary forcefully, but don't let them ever know you would rather be some place else. Start all meetings the way you should run practice, which is to state an objective, then pursue it, with a closing restatement of goals at the end. Stay courteous, no matter what. And the time will come when faced with explosiveness, rudeness, wrongheadedness or just straight up nuttiness, you will feel the urge to bite someone. Always stay in character as the calm professional. When possible, "staff" ahead of time and de-brief with other professionals aftewards. You will find that you are not alone, and you will gain balance in your emotions and approach.
3. Teach as long as you can, as hard as you can, and as good as you can, MINIMUM, 90% of the time, as a goal you set. Now, I know that may be saying that one should take 10 days off a semester, but what that is referencing is the reality that there are going to be days that you are tired, ill, out of sorts on the content of the lesson or the pace of the class, and while you must do the job of maintaining standards of performance and expectation, there might be days for remediation, for that special food day, a day when many of your students are gone, and you can't move forward with a major lesson. Yes, dare to show a relevant movie or an irrelevant, as a reward, not as a rule. Make those rare opportunities to bond, to give students a human side, to take a breather, to gird themselves and you for the next challenge, then move forward renewed. Take a "mental health" day, once or twice per semester, to recharge and come back stronger and clearheaded, if you feel the "thousand yard stare" coming on, and that is something that you will understand when you experience it.
4. Be a "go-to" guy on your campus. Serve on a committee, offer to drive that bus to that field trip, be vigilant on hall duty/lunch duty/bus duty, and don't forget to bring food to that gathering. Bring up that fight before it gets started. Cover a class when Mrs. Schwartz has to go to the dentist with her dog with a spirit of willingness and generosity. It is those moments that others will remember when they view you beyond your classroom or field performance, and it may help you keep your job or get the next one.
5. Dress for success every single day. Now, I know that may seem superficial, but there is a respect for your profession and those you are teaching when you wear that Zebra tie the first day of school, have the appropriate shoes, take part in theme days with some creativity and fun. Following a professional dress code may seem like a no-brainer, but I have known many, both male and female, who look like they just rolled out of bed, ate Sonic in the car, and smelled like old cheese on the way past toward the lounge. Doesn't breed confidence; does open the door to a pervasive disrespect.
These may all seem common sense or obvious, but way back in 1990, long before graying hair and children, I was young and dumb and full of gum. I learned hard lessons, and so will you. You will falter, and you may even fall. The getting up part, the grinding, the moving forward to the next challenge will define you. Along the way, wear a clean shirt, smile politely, and don't forget the school secretary's birthday.
One last word of advice, if you chose to accept this mission: above all, love what you do, or go do something else. There is no greater profession to do more good or harm than teaching.
Sure you don't want to be an engineer?
Friday, November 11, 2011
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered: A Week of Wonder
Often as I get into my school year, I feel like I am living in a fever dream.
This week as Joe Paterno's greatness suddenly became a hazy sadness, Rick Perry forget one of three things he had to remember, a kid with a fedora walked out of our school, because his mental dysfunction had enough clarity to know that he might be mistreated, were he to be locked away in an alternative setting. Dozens went to various meetings to do with basketball, while a grand total of 3 out of 500 showed up for a senior student transitional meeting. A brave battle with cancer begin for a female senior, with word coming to me of a freshmen with bi-polar tendencies stealing a car and ending up in jail, in part, because he couldn't follow rules about simply going to classes all day.
The spectacle that is a school setting can startle, can thrill, can stun into silence, and it can bring about a numbness that only be dispelled by hysterical laughter over a dark, twisted remark or a trip to Sonic for a Route 44. The sheer wonder of a week like this one is not in the depth of tragedy or the absurdity of behavior or even the gut-wrenching pain, but it is that it is simply an ordinary week that will be matched or topped in a later time in a different setting.
It turned 11-11 on 11-11-11 a few minutes ago, and I was in a lengthy conversation with a student, whose teacher said he pulled out a newspaper to read in the midst of receiving instruction. He was outraged, miffed and defensive. The moment passed, and I didn't notice anything special about it, until an e-mail went out acknowledging it. Right after that, I received an e-mail that another student under my care was dealing with impending pregnancy. I wonder if she noticed anything significant about this date.
Yesterday, I had a conversation with a student about her successes toward graduating. Today, she was removed from our campus for not living in the district or having it confirmed appropriately. Close to 15 students that we have worked feverishly with on our campus have thrown their hands up and headed to a nearby district's alternative program, as we don't have one available. They will graduate under a different umbrella, I hope.
Circular reasoning when pointing out issues with freshmen, confident direction shown by seniors are all part of the day, and then sometimes the opposite is true. Up is down, white is black.
Then, the bell rings, I almost hit two students making out just outside a door in a alcove with it, and I get dirty looks, as I head for my car, and I can take the name tag off, unclasp the watch, and I feel sanity restore in my tired brain, as I cross the bridge for the ride home. I sometimes hang my head out the window and let the breeze soothe me. Then, it turns biting cold or I start to sweat. It varies, but it is the same.
This week as Joe Paterno's greatness suddenly became a hazy sadness, Rick Perry forget one of three things he had to remember, a kid with a fedora walked out of our school, because his mental dysfunction had enough clarity to know that he might be mistreated, were he to be locked away in an alternative setting. Dozens went to various meetings to do with basketball, while a grand total of 3 out of 500 showed up for a senior student transitional meeting. A brave battle with cancer begin for a female senior, with word coming to me of a freshmen with bi-polar tendencies stealing a car and ending up in jail, in part, because he couldn't follow rules about simply going to classes all day.
The spectacle that is a school setting can startle, can thrill, can stun into silence, and it can bring about a numbness that only be dispelled by hysterical laughter over a dark, twisted remark or a trip to Sonic for a Route 44. The sheer wonder of a week like this one is not in the depth of tragedy or the absurdity of behavior or even the gut-wrenching pain, but it is that it is simply an ordinary week that will be matched or topped in a later time in a different setting.
It turned 11-11 on 11-11-11 a few minutes ago, and I was in a lengthy conversation with a student, whose teacher said he pulled out a newspaper to read in the midst of receiving instruction. He was outraged, miffed and defensive. The moment passed, and I didn't notice anything special about it, until an e-mail went out acknowledging it. Right after that, I received an e-mail that another student under my care was dealing with impending pregnancy. I wonder if she noticed anything significant about this date.
Yesterday, I had a conversation with a student about her successes toward graduating. Today, she was removed from our campus for not living in the district or having it confirmed appropriately. Close to 15 students that we have worked feverishly with on our campus have thrown their hands up and headed to a nearby district's alternative program, as we don't have one available. They will graduate under a different umbrella, I hope.
Circular reasoning when pointing out issues with freshmen, confident direction shown by seniors are all part of the day, and then sometimes the opposite is true. Up is down, white is black.
Then, the bell rings, I almost hit two students making out just outside a door in a alcove with it, and I get dirty looks, as I head for my car, and I can take the name tag off, unclasp the watch, and I feel sanity restore in my tired brain, as I cross the bridge for the ride home. I sometimes hang my head out the window and let the breeze soothe me. Then, it turns biting cold or I start to sweat. It varies, but it is the same.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
GO RANGERS! If Only People Cared As Much About Their Local School.
Awash in the excitement of the Texas Rangers and their heroic efforts and great success, I have had many friends drape themselves in gear, change their Facebook pages, throw the antenna flags up, and there is such a joy and commonality of all that hoopla. I am excited for them, as my beloved Twins had a horrific year, and I hope for great success in the World Series. The sheer exhiliration it brings can not be matched, but I will venture that the moments can not equate to the day-to-day thrill of being a Zebra or a Panther or an Eagle.
Living in Grandview, little girls and boys grow up wanting to be Zebras and compete for the high school teams or play in the band or wear the special jacket of the FFA. It starts early as an outstanding student in the elementary school is a MVZ: Most Valuable Zebra, of course. The clothing is black or white with stripes involved, and there is a distinctive Zebra sticker on most cars in town. (Think: Denver Broncos.) In recent years, Grandview's youth football association has been very successful, wearing the black and white, as the Little Zebras take on Godley and Glen Rose and Tolar and the like. Rivalries start early and are sometimes 4th and 5th generation in their hostile foundation. During the Homecoming football game recently, I counted about 1, 000 noses, and there are only about 1, 200 souls in Grandview, according to the last census. It is a living, breathing thing.
Every day is a great day to be a Panther in Midlothian, as they say, and there is a tremendous pride in wearing the blue and working for cake and camaraderie in my school, as the pay has stayed stagnant and slightly behind the area. The sense of community is still very strong, although we are now headed for the 8 thousand plus mark in total enrollment in the district. The Homecoming parade stops the town in its tracks, as schools let out two hours early. Graduation teeters above the 7, 000 mark in attendance, and all games and events are very well attended. I always felt a certain pressure coaching at Midlothian, regardless of where we were playing, because I knew there would be more fans than the other guy could muster, regardless of geography. If Mom and Dad and Gran Gran were coming out to the game, then the expectation would be to always find playing time for their darling.
Sadly, the community I live in and the one I work at may be an exception to the rule in our larger school districts, as many don't feel the same connection to their local high school. There is more allegiance to the Cowboys and the last two years to the Rangers. There is a growing sense of detachment, I think, to our public schools, and where that may take us alarms me. Someone without an excuse to cheer in the stands might have a tendency to not hold the value of investing in our schools dearly.
The only solution I see is if our politicians and monied interests and senior citizens, without kids in the schools, become fans again. We should make every effort to get the stickers out, the invites to the games, and the accomplishments made to be a payoff on the investment of tax dollars. We must seek out old and new support, and we must work harder to get them to the pep rallies and the parades.
We must convince them that WE are a team, and we are all in this together.
Living in Grandview, little girls and boys grow up wanting to be Zebras and compete for the high school teams or play in the band or wear the special jacket of the FFA. It starts early as an outstanding student in the elementary school is a MVZ: Most Valuable Zebra, of course. The clothing is black or white with stripes involved, and there is a distinctive Zebra sticker on most cars in town. (Think: Denver Broncos.) In recent years, Grandview's youth football association has been very successful, wearing the black and white, as the Little Zebras take on Godley and Glen Rose and Tolar and the like. Rivalries start early and are sometimes 4th and 5th generation in their hostile foundation. During the Homecoming football game recently, I counted about 1, 000 noses, and there are only about 1, 200 souls in Grandview, according to the last census. It is a living, breathing thing.
Every day is a great day to be a Panther in Midlothian, as they say, and there is a tremendous pride in wearing the blue and working for cake and camaraderie in my school, as the pay has stayed stagnant and slightly behind the area. The sense of community is still very strong, although we are now headed for the 8 thousand plus mark in total enrollment in the district. The Homecoming parade stops the town in its tracks, as schools let out two hours early. Graduation teeters above the 7, 000 mark in attendance, and all games and events are very well attended. I always felt a certain pressure coaching at Midlothian, regardless of where we were playing, because I knew there would be more fans than the other guy could muster, regardless of geography. If Mom and Dad and Gran Gran were coming out to the game, then the expectation would be to always find playing time for their darling.
Sadly, the community I live in and the one I work at may be an exception to the rule in our larger school districts, as many don't feel the same connection to their local high school. There is more allegiance to the Cowboys and the last two years to the Rangers. There is a growing sense of detachment, I think, to our public schools, and where that may take us alarms me. Someone without an excuse to cheer in the stands might have a tendency to not hold the value of investing in our schools dearly.
The only solution I see is if our politicians and monied interests and senior citizens, without kids in the schools, become fans again. We should make every effort to get the stickers out, the invites to the games, and the accomplishments made to be a payoff on the investment of tax dollars. We must seek out old and new support, and we must work harder to get them to the pep rallies and the parades.
We must convince them that WE are a team, and we are all in this together.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Here's To The "Extra" People On Our Campuses!
Yesterday, I did a very, very foolish thing, as I took a couple of pain pills that had formerly belonged to Amy for a dental surgery, as my ankle was tweaking, with probable gout making an impact. (Too many Cherry Dr. Pepper's from Sonic had added up, I think.).
Nurse Judi, that is Judi Fiorenza, was summoned by the concerned ladies in the office, as sweat had started to drip off my ears profusely, and I had a nausea come over me that didn't make the monthly birthday cake we have taste near as good as usual. She patiently checked me over, encouraged me, dimmed the lights, and she gave me as good of care and treatment, as I would have received at any hospital. When Amy came to get me to take me home, Judi walked me gently out and helped me get into Amy's car for the wobbly ride home. Then, I am sure she moved on to care for, along with Nurse Brenda, Jenkins, that is, the dozens of students that they take care of on a daily basis with calm and efficient kindness. (Thanks, Judi!)
These ladies are part of the "extra" personnel that the Legislature made many school districts take aim at in our last legislative bludgeoning, as there was an inference that having nurses to render care, librarians/media specialists to give academic support and knowledge, aides of many stripes to fill in the gaps in learning and relationship building, and tremendously hardworking custodians to make sure that the learning environment is pristine and appropriate, was "extra", somehow. The others on this list might include groundskeepers, bus drivers, day care workers, and cafeteria workers. I would strongly suggest that these folks in my educational experience are essential, rather than extra. They work long hours for often very little pay, making less than poverty level in many cases, and they are quite often the glue that holds a campus together, the human face that often reassures or provides comfort to not just students but the community.
I get a great feeling saying hello to "Miss Joyce", one of our longtime custodians, when I am out and about, seeing her smiling face doing a probably very dirty job, as she has an ennobling, humbling quality to what she does, which she does very well. It is the Cindys of our office that have been a calming presence for many years in the front office of Midlothian High School, regardless of the principal in charge, dealing with budget and room scheduling and mountains of paperwork. That is, Carlisle and Rodgers, who are wonderfully professional and sweet and kind and good at what they do. It is Debbie Fallen at the front desk, who serves as the face of the school, dealing with often angry or unruly parents and students with a never wavering professional demeanor. Julie Phillips is a great example of a special ed aide with a high energy and shining smile, who greets the students as they come into Content Mastery, no matter how large the number or attitude of the student. Cheryl Holt has worked for many, many years in the Counseling Center as a jack-of-all-trades, getting parents paperwork to register students, taking IDs, answering dozens of phone calls a day, filing countless paperwork, putting out fires and calming fears of new students. Her ear must buzz at the end of each day from her headset, and yet she keeps her sense of humor and wicked laugh. Brenda Lott has worked as a principal's assistant for more than a little while, providing niceties for functions and gathering t-shirts for dress code and doing a newsletter each week to encourage staff closeness. If she retires this year, as she says she is planning on, there will be a void left by her leaving.
I haven't done justice to all the many, many who make up our school district and the thousands of others who aren't seen by mindless demagogues in Austin as being only budget items, only "extra" people. I would take that extra and stretch it to extraordinary, and I would fight ferociously anyone who might suggest that the soul of our campus wouldn't be diminished by their loss. They deserve more respect, more noteworthy attention, and they deserve more money.
Nurse Judi, that is Judi Fiorenza, was summoned by the concerned ladies in the office, as sweat had started to drip off my ears profusely, and I had a nausea come over me that didn't make the monthly birthday cake we have taste near as good as usual. She patiently checked me over, encouraged me, dimmed the lights, and she gave me as good of care and treatment, as I would have received at any hospital. When Amy came to get me to take me home, Judi walked me gently out and helped me get into Amy's car for the wobbly ride home. Then, I am sure she moved on to care for, along with Nurse Brenda, Jenkins, that is, the dozens of students that they take care of on a daily basis with calm and efficient kindness. (Thanks, Judi!)
These ladies are part of the "extra" personnel that the Legislature made many school districts take aim at in our last legislative bludgeoning, as there was an inference that having nurses to render care, librarians/media specialists to give academic support and knowledge, aides of many stripes to fill in the gaps in learning and relationship building, and tremendously hardworking custodians to make sure that the learning environment is pristine and appropriate, was "extra", somehow. The others on this list might include groundskeepers, bus drivers, day care workers, and cafeteria workers. I would strongly suggest that these folks in my educational experience are essential, rather than extra. They work long hours for often very little pay, making less than poverty level in many cases, and they are quite often the glue that holds a campus together, the human face that often reassures or provides comfort to not just students but the community.
I get a great feeling saying hello to "Miss Joyce", one of our longtime custodians, when I am out and about, seeing her smiling face doing a probably very dirty job, as she has an ennobling, humbling quality to what she does, which she does very well. It is the Cindys of our office that have been a calming presence for many years in the front office of Midlothian High School, regardless of the principal in charge, dealing with budget and room scheduling and mountains of paperwork. That is, Carlisle and Rodgers, who are wonderfully professional and sweet and kind and good at what they do. It is Debbie Fallen at the front desk, who serves as the face of the school, dealing with often angry or unruly parents and students with a never wavering professional demeanor. Julie Phillips is a great example of a special ed aide with a high energy and shining smile, who greets the students as they come into Content Mastery, no matter how large the number or attitude of the student. Cheryl Holt has worked for many, many years in the Counseling Center as a jack-of-all-trades, getting parents paperwork to register students, taking IDs, answering dozens of phone calls a day, filing countless paperwork, putting out fires and calming fears of new students. Her ear must buzz at the end of each day from her headset, and yet she keeps her sense of humor and wicked laugh. Brenda Lott has worked as a principal's assistant for more than a little while, providing niceties for functions and gathering t-shirts for dress code and doing a newsletter each week to encourage staff closeness. If she retires this year, as she says she is planning on, there will be a void left by her leaving.
I haven't done justice to all the many, many who make up our school district and the thousands of others who aren't seen by mindless demagogues in Austin as being only budget items, only "extra" people. I would take that extra and stretch it to extraordinary, and I would fight ferociously anyone who might suggest that the soul of our campus wouldn't be diminished by their loss. They deserve more respect, more noteworthy attention, and they deserve more money.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
An Appetite for Destruction? No, Just Hungry for Knowing.
I have a mission. I must learn more about the outside world of education beyond high school. It is a quest, so that I can pass along detailed knowledge to my students hungry for news.
Tomorrow morning, I will go to Le Cordon Bleu in Dallas to sample culinary arts cuisine, mingle with tech school recruiters, who will probably be young and enthused or older and fanatical about their special places and what it can mean for students. I will be sincerely interested, if not on an equal level of enthusiasm, because this is an area of knowledge for me that is very superficial, that of two or four year career programs. It is a dirty and dangerous job, but someone has to do it, and I am willing to take one for the team, as I am thinking that there may be some cream cheese involved or possibly something made with foam, like Marcel from Top Chef fame.
I will state that I believe in continuing education for all educators. To attend workshops, study online, go to conferences or symposiums or forums with "breakout sessions" or SPECIAL guest speakers can quite often make a difference, impart wisdom, inspire and motivate beyond a rote inservice. There is so much beyond the classroom that can make for a better, well-rounded teacher or administrator or even counselor, by exposure, by contact with other viewpoints, innovations and visions. An appetite for
(An example of what I don't get to go to would be that Temple Grandin, of autisim fame and an HBO movie, is coming to Dallas, and I would love to see her speak, but there isn't time or money. I am jealous of those who can afford to go.)
This year, I have traveled to UTA to hear updates from a College Board rep, with all the bells and whistles. Nothing really new, but there was an oppotunity for me to travel into the heart of the UTA campus, stroll through the student center with its bowling alley and hoards of laptop tapping, unshaven and largely catatonic Mavericks. This made me feel refreshed and envious, all at once. UTA has had some phenomemnal building going on, with a beautiful, new engineering building that made me think that the campus had reached a different strata. There was a giant cinnamon roll with a Mountain Dew inside for me that made me feel like my heart was going to stop, but it kept me focused, as well.
Next week, I will get to go to Maggiano's in Dallas to eat and gain insight about Texas Tech and Houston, while mingling and eating afterward on the universities' dime. I have heard great things about the menu offered, but of course I can't be bought with noodles and sauce. It will take pesto to really win me over to the desired goal of the exemplary status of the Red Raiders and the Cougars. I think there will be a free bag and maybe an environmentally friendly sippy cup.
Later, there will be a trip to UNT on a Friday to gather new information about the ACT and the Eagles' new stadium and restaurant management program. The parking is a bit iffy, but there is great care taken to make you feel welcome once inside the green carpeted student center. There is a plethora of information available, and some free t-shirts, sometimes. I confirmed my impression that Denton would be an appropriate fit for Robert, the oldest son, two years ago, while on a junket there. There will be a three-course meal provided, perhaps, to bookend the muffins of the beginning.
Ofter trips have been made in recent years to Baylor and its law school, TCU for an update and a dorm tour, the regional service center for some fresh ideas, and I toured a local mental health facility that specializes in suicide intervention. There have been cookies, Subway, Campisi's catered, and a variety of bottled waters, some of which I am not sure were actual brands.
I think the common threat that I have discovered while pondering the value of getting outside my three and a half walls of my office is that food is offered as a positive connection with the nourishment of my brain with invaluable and generous portions of creamy and delicious and buttery knowledge. Or, something similar. Hard to think with your stomach growling and your mouth watering.
Tomorrow morning, I will go to Le Cordon Bleu in Dallas to sample culinary arts cuisine, mingle with tech school recruiters, who will probably be young and enthused or older and fanatical about their special places and what it can mean for students. I will be sincerely interested, if not on an equal level of enthusiasm, because this is an area of knowledge for me that is very superficial, that of two or four year career programs. It is a dirty and dangerous job, but someone has to do it, and I am willing to take one for the team, as I am thinking that there may be some cream cheese involved or possibly something made with foam, like Marcel from Top Chef fame.
I will state that I believe in continuing education for all educators. To attend workshops, study online, go to conferences or symposiums or forums with "breakout sessions" or SPECIAL guest speakers can quite often make a difference, impart wisdom, inspire and motivate beyond a rote inservice. There is so much beyond the classroom that can make for a better, well-rounded teacher or administrator or even counselor, by exposure, by contact with other viewpoints, innovations and visions. An appetite for
(An example of what I don't get to go to would be that Temple Grandin, of autisim fame and an HBO movie, is coming to Dallas, and I would love to see her speak, but there isn't time or money. I am jealous of those who can afford to go.)
This year, I have traveled to UTA to hear updates from a College Board rep, with all the bells and whistles. Nothing really new, but there was an oppotunity for me to travel into the heart of the UTA campus, stroll through the student center with its bowling alley and hoards of laptop tapping, unshaven and largely catatonic Mavericks. This made me feel refreshed and envious, all at once. UTA has had some phenomemnal building going on, with a beautiful, new engineering building that made me think that the campus had reached a different strata. There was a giant cinnamon roll with a Mountain Dew inside for me that made me feel like my heart was going to stop, but it kept me focused, as well.
Next week, I will get to go to Maggiano's in Dallas to eat and gain insight about Texas Tech and Houston, while mingling and eating afterward on the universities' dime. I have heard great things about the menu offered, but of course I can't be bought with noodles and sauce. It will take pesto to really win me over to the desired goal of the exemplary status of the Red Raiders and the Cougars. I think there will be a free bag and maybe an environmentally friendly sippy cup.
Later, there will be a trip to UNT on a Friday to gather new information about the ACT and the Eagles' new stadium and restaurant management program. The parking is a bit iffy, but there is great care taken to make you feel welcome once inside the green carpeted student center. There is a plethora of information available, and some free t-shirts, sometimes. I confirmed my impression that Denton would be an appropriate fit for Robert, the oldest son, two years ago, while on a junket there. There will be a three-course meal provided, perhaps, to bookend the muffins of the beginning.
Ofter trips have been made in recent years to Baylor and its law school, TCU for an update and a dorm tour, the regional service center for some fresh ideas, and I toured a local mental health facility that specializes in suicide intervention. There have been cookies, Subway, Campisi's catered, and a variety of bottled waters, some of which I am not sure were actual brands.
I think the common threat that I have discovered while pondering the value of getting outside my three and a half walls of my office is that food is offered as a positive connection with the nourishment of my brain with invaluable and generous portions of creamy and delicious and buttery knowledge. Or, something similar. Hard to think with your stomach growling and your mouth watering.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Coaching Myself to Be A Good Parent
As the air turns much more crisp, and the days start to get shorter, I sometimes have vivid dreams late at night of coaching again, as I did for 15 years. I am in a gym, in a dugout, on a bus, and I am sometimes driving or playing with a dry erase board. I am dressed in a polo and shorts and a cap, or I am in a sweater vest with shiny shoes. Sometimes I have the feeling of being like Tom Landry, and I have channelled the wonderful-at-cursing coach from Bull Durham. I never get to finish a game, and there is more often than not no scoreboard. There is always a yelling crowd, and I can always feel piercing stares and burning eyes from parents, and this makes me itchy, and I make myself wake up. (I have that skill not often enough.)
Then, I go to a soccer game for one of the kids, and I set my chair up, get them squared away, and I proceed to stare at the back of a parent coaching from the opposite sidelines of the real coach. He is in anguish, yearning to run on the field. Another parent put an umbrella up, which inadvertently blocks the view of all others from about 20 percent of the field. There are equal amounts of imploring Juan and Tanner in Spanish and English to pass or run harder. It is passion, and then one of the boys has a ball kicked into his gut, and he goes down in pain. The response from the other team is to encourage their sons to run past and around the boy, now writhing on the ground, and it becomes something twisted.
And, I am taken back to nights of confrontation after wins by parents whose children didn't play "enough" outside of lockerrooms, in parking lots, getting on the bus. I can remember every moment of long, uncomfortable conferences, as playing time was hashed over, and childhood accomplishments were lauded as proof of my ignorance or lack of judgement. "T Ball Champion" of 1994 had a quest of being an Olympian, and I was in the way. Practice habits were discounted, reality of talent is an oblivious subject that inflames, and other children are doggedly drug in, despite repeated reminders, that privacy and respect must be maintained. I recall clearly screams from the stands, muttering in the workplace from teacher parents, a morning when a parent miffed at junior high playing time came to my home one early Saturday morning and scared Amy with a knock on the door. Crank phone calls, cold stares, Amy getting bumped while plregnant at a playoff game by a respected civil servant lady. My children heard things they didn't understand while playing in the grass, and my parents who patiently made sacrifices out in the cold heard condescension and criticism.
So, as I added my own children, I began to ease out of coaching to the position of counselor to spend more time with those I loved and was missing seeing grow, as I got weary and wounded to the point of exhaustion. A thought germinating was brought to life by a couple of parents who got a hold of the ear of a weasel of an athletic director who liked to look at himself but not you in his office mirrors, and I was demoted my last year. My obsession was not enough, my desire too temperate, and I didn't like to play a political game and break bread and drink a few beers with John and Sam and Bob. It was really a blessing to be pushed the direction I was going a little more firmly, that of a parent in the stands. The hottest day on record that last game in May made the air that much sweeter on the charter bus.
And, so the question, becomes, what kind of parent am I now in the stands? I get anxious, angry, frustrated, excited, thrilled, exultant and morose. I cheer hustle, heart, gusto, and I concentrate on the demeanor and attention of my kids when their coach speaks. They get rebuked for not showing appropriate respect for teammates, for not being into games. We have quiet talks about what can be done different or better. I try to ask the most important question of all: did you have fun?
After most games, I make sure that the chair is packed, that we have snacks, that we have what we need to head home, and I don't look back at the field or gym. On days or nights like that, what awaits me, if I am lucky, when I sleep is a deep and dreamless slumber.
Then, I go to a soccer game for one of the kids, and I set my chair up, get them squared away, and I proceed to stare at the back of a parent coaching from the opposite sidelines of the real coach. He is in anguish, yearning to run on the field. Another parent put an umbrella up, which inadvertently blocks the view of all others from about 20 percent of the field. There are equal amounts of imploring Juan and Tanner in Spanish and English to pass or run harder. It is passion, and then one of the boys has a ball kicked into his gut, and he goes down in pain. The response from the other team is to encourage their sons to run past and around the boy, now writhing on the ground, and it becomes something twisted.
And, I am taken back to nights of confrontation after wins by parents whose children didn't play "enough" outside of lockerrooms, in parking lots, getting on the bus. I can remember every moment of long, uncomfortable conferences, as playing time was hashed over, and childhood accomplishments were lauded as proof of my ignorance or lack of judgement. "T Ball Champion" of 1994 had a quest of being an Olympian, and I was in the way. Practice habits were discounted, reality of talent is an oblivious subject that inflames, and other children are doggedly drug in, despite repeated reminders, that privacy and respect must be maintained. I recall clearly screams from the stands, muttering in the workplace from teacher parents, a morning when a parent miffed at junior high playing time came to my home one early Saturday morning and scared Amy with a knock on the door. Crank phone calls, cold stares, Amy getting bumped while plregnant at a playoff game by a respected civil servant lady. My children heard things they didn't understand while playing in the grass, and my parents who patiently made sacrifices out in the cold heard condescension and criticism.
So, as I added my own children, I began to ease out of coaching to the position of counselor to spend more time with those I loved and was missing seeing grow, as I got weary and wounded to the point of exhaustion. A thought germinating was brought to life by a couple of parents who got a hold of the ear of a weasel of an athletic director who liked to look at himself but not you in his office mirrors, and I was demoted my last year. My obsession was not enough, my desire too temperate, and I didn't like to play a political game and break bread and drink a few beers with John and Sam and Bob. It was really a blessing to be pushed the direction I was going a little more firmly, that of a parent in the stands. The hottest day on record that last game in May made the air that much sweeter on the charter bus.
And, so the question, becomes, what kind of parent am I now in the stands? I get anxious, angry, frustrated, excited, thrilled, exultant and morose. I cheer hustle, heart, gusto, and I concentrate on the demeanor and attention of my kids when their coach speaks. They get rebuked for not showing appropriate respect for teammates, for not being into games. We have quiet talks about what can be done different or better. I try to ask the most important question of all: did you have fun?
After most games, I make sure that the chair is packed, that we have snacks, that we have what we need to head home, and I don't look back at the field or gym. On days or nights like that, what awaits me, if I am lucky, when I sleep is a deep and dreamless slumber.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Remembering 9-11 While Moving Forward.
10 years ago on September 11th, 2001, before it became 9-11, the day started out like any other first-of-the-year day for me, as the air was starting to become cooler in the mornings, and I was running a bit late. Amy was home with baby Stephen, and I spent some time with her, as she was slumbering, as the result of being more than 6 months pregnant with the baby that was to become Annie. Time was sweet in the mornings before school in our little blue house.
I remember looking for a parking spot, listening to the radio, a few minutes late, when I heard that a plane had crashed into one of the WTC towers. Thinking surely it was an accident of some type, I hurried into my classroom and turned on the ancient TV that in one corner, and as things began to unravel, I realized that this was no accident, with the second plane hitting. Hurrying out into the hall to find someone to talk to about it, as I had first period off that year, I heard a lot of quiet and then the steady sounds of TVs on all over the building. A coach had rolled a TV out that was normally used for showing workout videos, and all around, you could start to hear the buzz. As I recall, there was an announcement and then a flurry of e-mails to keep things calm and on schedule, and that we attempted to do, as another plane crashed, and then another in the countryside in Pennsylvania. Amidst all this, Amy called me in a panicked voice, as the electricity had flashed off in Grandview. (Terrible coincidence, it turned out, as a transformer had quit.)
We went through our day on schedule, suspending real classwork in most cases, but following the bells, eating lunch, telling kids to get out of the halls, following routine. The day's specific moments after that first shock have largely faded from memory, as they have been replaced by other days, with tragedy or joy or mundane routine. Things returned to normal in the weeks after that in the school setting, while the world changed profoundly, and this made me wonder if that is what we should be doing: providing a calm in the storm, a steady and consistent wave of movement forward, a safe haven. Should that moment have been more of about provocative learning? About connecting our lives to those who were going through horror in NYC, in DC, and on a lonely field outside Philadelphia?
Then, this past week, Jamie, who is my second grader, came home with an assignment to be a part of a mural that would honor the day and the victims, as she was to draw or get off the Internet pictures representing her thoughts on things. Now, as a 2nd grader, it hit me that she had no real clue about what happened then, and I was okay with that, but she wanted to do her best to help out, and we found pictures that showed one tower being hit by a plane, and then another picture with obviously wounded and suffering people helping each other through the ash and destruction. She wrote the word HEROES under that one. As she got ready to get out of the car the next morning, with her poster contribution, she held it up, and she told me that there was an "evil man" and he planned things to hurt us. I reassured her that while this was so, that she was safe, and she hugged me and went into the building a little more serious than normal.
Yesterday morning, I was checking texts, as I was getting ready to head out the door, and there were two from another counselor and my boss about the very sudden, horrible death of one of students, a sweet-faced girl from what I could recall, (and I didn't have her as one of my students, but felt gut punched for this girl and her family and friends), from a unknown cause. We went into crisis mode, offering services to the dozens of students who came into our office or were in classrooms, and other counselors came to help, who had a connection to her, through her church or through a neighborhood connection. We set a room aside, and we offered them some comfort or consolation, I hope, as there were tears and vulnerable stares of grief. During the time when announcements are made, there had been plans to have our "moment of silence" for 9-11 remembrance, but on this day, the decision was made to announce this sad loss, as we moved 9-11 to Monday. Tears flowed, and there was an air of somber weariness throughout the day.
And, I realized that we did what we had done on 9-11: we had continued living while carrying the grief with us, tucking it gently but firmly away, as it could not deter us from moving forward to what was ahead.
I remember looking for a parking spot, listening to the radio, a few minutes late, when I heard that a plane had crashed into one of the WTC towers. Thinking surely it was an accident of some type, I hurried into my classroom and turned on the ancient TV that in one corner, and as things began to unravel, I realized that this was no accident, with the second plane hitting. Hurrying out into the hall to find someone to talk to about it, as I had first period off that year, I heard a lot of quiet and then the steady sounds of TVs on all over the building. A coach had rolled a TV out that was normally used for showing workout videos, and all around, you could start to hear the buzz. As I recall, there was an announcement and then a flurry of e-mails to keep things calm and on schedule, and that we attempted to do, as another plane crashed, and then another in the countryside in Pennsylvania. Amidst all this, Amy called me in a panicked voice, as the electricity had flashed off in Grandview. (Terrible coincidence, it turned out, as a transformer had quit.)
We went through our day on schedule, suspending real classwork in most cases, but following the bells, eating lunch, telling kids to get out of the halls, following routine. The day's specific moments after that first shock have largely faded from memory, as they have been replaced by other days, with tragedy or joy or mundane routine. Things returned to normal in the weeks after that in the school setting, while the world changed profoundly, and this made me wonder if that is what we should be doing: providing a calm in the storm, a steady and consistent wave of movement forward, a safe haven. Should that moment have been more of about provocative learning? About connecting our lives to those who were going through horror in NYC, in DC, and on a lonely field outside Philadelphia?
Then, this past week, Jamie, who is my second grader, came home with an assignment to be a part of a mural that would honor the day and the victims, as she was to draw or get off the Internet pictures representing her thoughts on things. Now, as a 2nd grader, it hit me that she had no real clue about what happened then, and I was okay with that, but she wanted to do her best to help out, and we found pictures that showed one tower being hit by a plane, and then another picture with obviously wounded and suffering people helping each other through the ash and destruction. She wrote the word HEROES under that one. As she got ready to get out of the car the next morning, with her poster contribution, she held it up, and she told me that there was an "evil man" and he planned things to hurt us. I reassured her that while this was so, that she was safe, and she hugged me and went into the building a little more serious than normal.
Yesterday morning, I was checking texts, as I was getting ready to head out the door, and there were two from another counselor and my boss about the very sudden, horrible death of one of students, a sweet-faced girl from what I could recall, (and I didn't have her as one of my students, but felt gut punched for this girl and her family and friends), from a unknown cause. We went into crisis mode, offering services to the dozens of students who came into our office or were in classrooms, and other counselors came to help, who had a connection to her, through her church or through a neighborhood connection. We set a room aside, and we offered them some comfort or consolation, I hope, as there were tears and vulnerable stares of grief. During the time when announcements are made, there had been plans to have our "moment of silence" for 9-11 remembrance, but on this day, the decision was made to announce this sad loss, as we moved 9-11 to Monday. Tears flowed, and there was an air of somber weariness throughout the day.
And, I realized that we did what we had done on 9-11: we had continued living while carrying the grief with us, tucking it gently but firmly away, as it could not deter us from moving forward to what was ahead.
Friday, September 2, 2011
I Didn't Know The Job Was Dangerous When I Took It. I Would Do It Again.
As the first two weeks have swiftly completed themselves, with a massive gathering called a pep rally to conclude it, and a Labor Day weekend ahead for some rest and grilling, I thought I would give a quick rundown of what a counselor might do. And, where I have come to where I am now.
When I reached a crossroads of my career a few years ago, as I had coached for 15 years, and we had just welcomed our 4th bundle of joy to the world, the choice I had to make was threefold: stay as a teacher, after a period of great activity and variety with what goes with coaching and teaching; go into administration, as many coaches have done before and trade coaching a game to watching students watch a game and not necessarily have more time to spend with my family; become a School Counselor and get an office and more of an 8 to 4 job (so I thought), with the duties that I thought would largely consist of doing schedules and listening to a few problems, here and there. Now, clearly you can see why I went the counseling pathway, as I viewed it much more favorably. And, I do believe that I have made the right choice, without question. But, little did I know, what would go into my average day and the adventures that were ahead of me, as I went through my classes at TAMU-Commerce.
Counseling classes in college consist of much theory, history, and then some practical listening skills honed, as I was assigned to work with other counselors, recording our efforts for posterity. (Those tapes WILL resurface when I run for President, I am sure.) I learned how to be still, focus on the person in front of me, interject appropriate comments, keep a supportive affect, and worked diligently to avoid "closed ended" questions. I was very fortunate to be hired during the time I was taking my classes, so I was able to put into practice my training on the listening part and the sitting quietly in conversations with students, while others had to rely on sporadic exposure and balance their teaching jobs. I had to go from a very directive personality to a much more empathetic manner, and this I am still working on, on a daily basis.
Yet, there was a wide gap in my expectation and the reality of my job duties. I was very lucky to have a great set of mentors and veterans to work with, in a district that is considered to be one of the top in the state and an economically upscale place in Midlothian. From inside I discovered that there is a whole layer of life going on, and that perfection and women vacuuming in pearls was Beaver's world, not mine.
My job has included helping new students transition from their previous school, quite often in flight from a divorce or financial downturn. "Temporary residency" is a term in high demand at our school. I have had two students die at the hand of drunk drivers, and I went to classrooms to tell the news, 7 times in one day, and offer support, and then attend the funerals. I drive by the roadside cross and graduation teddy bear of one everyday.
More and more students need school supplies, and I work to get them what they need or communicate to teachers their plight. There are students who have tried to harm themselves or others, and there have been painful phone calls to make, facilitating treatment outside the school. Truancy and misbehavior and dropping out are daily occurrences, and my job is address, correct and prevent those, the best I can, or I try to help with the next move, when they leave us. Parents have set in my office and pleaded for help, or they have viciously verbally attacked teachers or their own student. In some cases, more and more, it seems, parents have simply walked away or abandoned their children, and more students "couch surf" than ever.
There is constant paperwork to complete, with schedule changes frantic and complex the first month of the year, and then again to start the second semester. Transcripts must be checked and re-checked, and graduation plans finalized, with my math skills called into use to determine the appropriate "plan." I have convinced several to hang in there for another semester or even an extra year to finish. I have lost several others. Testing begins in October with the PSAT and TAKS retests, picks up steam again in the 4th Six Weeks, and then culminates in May with AP and the new EOC exams, which I can't fathom how they are going to fit. This often involves sheer manual labor, with movement of tests boxes, counting of materials, packing and rolling giant carts. Test anxiety creeps up during testing with some students, and we also wrangle those teachers who aren't at their best during the mundane moments.
Special nights during the year include orientation for freshmen, graduation path/separation anxiety for seniors, and a College and Career Night with 80 plus schools. We go to classrooms to do guidance on testing, on credits, on planning, on goal setting, on the PSAT, PLAN test, and we play a GPA game. I have been in charge of the ASVAB, the military qualification test, for the last 4 years, and we give the ACT on certain Saturdays and the SAT on two others. Recently, we have had added two nights of football game supervision. We speak to the faculty on different required issues, such as bullying and dating violence. We also help them with follow-through on CPS reports. There are weekly meetings to attend as a staff.
Things come to a grinding halt, some days, and I have to crank the Pandora to keep my adrenaline up. So, where does this leave me, as I ponder the question of did I make the right choice? My small, still voice tells me that I am chose the right thing, when I do the one thing I was really trained to do, listen.
When I reached a crossroads of my career a few years ago, as I had coached for 15 years, and we had just welcomed our 4th bundle of joy to the world, the choice I had to make was threefold: stay as a teacher, after a period of great activity and variety with what goes with coaching and teaching; go into administration, as many coaches have done before and trade coaching a game to watching students watch a game and not necessarily have more time to spend with my family; become a School Counselor and get an office and more of an 8 to 4 job (so I thought), with the duties that I thought would largely consist of doing schedules and listening to a few problems, here and there. Now, clearly you can see why I went the counseling pathway, as I viewed it much more favorably. And, I do believe that I have made the right choice, without question. But, little did I know, what would go into my average day and the adventures that were ahead of me, as I went through my classes at TAMU-Commerce.
Counseling classes in college consist of much theory, history, and then some practical listening skills honed, as I was assigned to work with other counselors, recording our efforts for posterity. (Those tapes WILL resurface when I run for President, I am sure.) I learned how to be still, focus on the person in front of me, interject appropriate comments, keep a supportive affect, and worked diligently to avoid "closed ended" questions. I was very fortunate to be hired during the time I was taking my classes, so I was able to put into practice my training on the listening part and the sitting quietly in conversations with students, while others had to rely on sporadic exposure and balance their teaching jobs. I had to go from a very directive personality to a much more empathetic manner, and this I am still working on, on a daily basis.
Yet, there was a wide gap in my expectation and the reality of my job duties. I was very lucky to have a great set of mentors and veterans to work with, in a district that is considered to be one of the top in the state and an economically upscale place in Midlothian. From inside I discovered that there is a whole layer of life going on, and that perfection and women vacuuming in pearls was Beaver's world, not mine.
My job has included helping new students transition from their previous school, quite often in flight from a divorce or financial downturn. "Temporary residency" is a term in high demand at our school. I have had two students die at the hand of drunk drivers, and I went to classrooms to tell the news, 7 times in one day, and offer support, and then attend the funerals. I drive by the roadside cross and graduation teddy bear of one everyday.
More and more students need school supplies, and I work to get them what they need or communicate to teachers their plight. There are students who have tried to harm themselves or others, and there have been painful phone calls to make, facilitating treatment outside the school. Truancy and misbehavior and dropping out are daily occurrences, and my job is address, correct and prevent those, the best I can, or I try to help with the next move, when they leave us. Parents have set in my office and pleaded for help, or they have viciously verbally attacked teachers or their own student. In some cases, more and more, it seems, parents have simply walked away or abandoned their children, and more students "couch surf" than ever.
There is constant paperwork to complete, with schedule changes frantic and complex the first month of the year, and then again to start the second semester. Transcripts must be checked and re-checked, and graduation plans finalized, with my math skills called into use to determine the appropriate "plan." I have convinced several to hang in there for another semester or even an extra year to finish. I have lost several others. Testing begins in October with the PSAT and TAKS retests, picks up steam again in the 4th Six Weeks, and then culminates in May with AP and the new EOC exams, which I can't fathom how they are going to fit. This often involves sheer manual labor, with movement of tests boxes, counting of materials, packing and rolling giant carts. Test anxiety creeps up during testing with some students, and we also wrangle those teachers who aren't at their best during the mundane moments.
Special nights during the year include orientation for freshmen, graduation path/separation anxiety for seniors, and a College and Career Night with 80 plus schools. We go to classrooms to do guidance on testing, on credits, on planning, on goal setting, on the PSAT, PLAN test, and we play a GPA game. I have been in charge of the ASVAB, the military qualification test, for the last 4 years, and we give the ACT on certain Saturdays and the SAT on two others. Recently, we have had added two nights of football game supervision. We speak to the faculty on different required issues, such as bullying and dating violence. We also help them with follow-through on CPS reports. There are weekly meetings to attend as a staff.
Things come to a grinding halt, some days, and I have to crank the Pandora to keep my adrenaline up. So, where does this leave me, as I ponder the question of did I make the right choice? My small, still voice tells me that I am chose the right thing, when I do the one thing I was really trained to do, listen.
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