A String Around My Finger

Take two minutes to write about something you did over the summer, or something that's happened recently. I'll warn you, as I do my students, that you will be asked to share.

Those were the directions we received at the opening session of this year's Professional Learning Community. Each school year, for the last four, our school system's English Language Arts department has used our mandatory monthly meeting to sponsor small, interest-based groups. We read a book and discuss it, apply it to our practice, and share the results. It's great in theory, but over the years, I have been somewhat disappointed in the outcome.

Even so, I am open-minded about this year, and I hope the experience will be enriching. Already it's given me reason to pause and think.

Today, when we were required to put pen to paper, the first topic I considered was the time Heidi had to be carried down the mountain. I stopped writing a few words in, though, because I didn't want to explain to the group who Heidi was.

More than half the people there (including the facilitator) know her personally, but that wasn't enough: I did not feel safe enough to put that part of my life out there, even though it was a really good story. By the time I had rejected that topic, two minutes had ticked away to one, and I had nothing on my paper. After that, it was kind of a lame scramble to fulfill the requirement, and so, to be honest, my piece was nothing I cared to share. But I did.

I, too, ask my students to write and share, and I know the value of a safe learning environment, but sometimes I get distracted by the objectives of the lesson and forget how hard it can be to find a topic you care about, especially in the treacherous landscape of middle school.

Today was a good reminder.

Back in the Saddle

When I was in high school, I was lucky enough to take a few bike trips through some amazing areas of Europe. In addition to touring the Ticino Canton of Switzerland where our school was located, I also spent a week riding through Tuscany and another cycling through the south of France.

I confess that at the time I could not have fully appreciated the splendor of those opportunities, but even so, each trip was unforgettable to me-- there are still nights when I dream of some stretch of pavement damp from an earlier shower, with lilacs, daffodils, and recently plowed fields sprouting their first green on either side. The road curves, and I literally gasp-- it's the Alps, or the Mediterranean Sea, or the Towers of Siena. Their beauty is visceral.

I will also never forget how much my ass hurt on the second day of every trip; just sitting on the narrow seat of the touring bike was excruciating. We all groaned and whined our way through the first couple of clicks until the rhythm of the pedals and the sound of the tires on the asphalt shhhhhhishhhed our complaints away as we rode into the rising sun.

We did what we needed to do, and after a while, it didn't hurt at all.

In Mourning

Rock Me

It's so funny what you know and don't know, what you're interested in and not. Years ago, identifying birds became something I wanted to do, next it was plants, of course animals (and, yes, their scat), seashells, and so forth. Every time we go to Maine, we collect rocks, and it's easy to pick out the pink granite that is visible on Cadillac mountain or the fine-grained black stone that will always win the smoothest rock contest, but I have to confess that my knowledge of them ends there. I like rocks, but I've never been moved to catalog my collection.

Today we went to the Natural History Museum with our god-daughters. Our idea was to show them the nature photos and the titanaboa exhibit, but they wanted to go to the insect zoo and the gems and minerals, too. The bugs were fun-- I love the bees, and we saw a zebra butterfly emerge from its cocoon. I was a little skeptical about the rocks though.

I shouldn't have been. Because of the late hour, we only saw about a third of the exhibit, but it was fascinating. It showed me how much I do and don't know about the stuff that makes up 99% of the earth. Of course I recognize diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and opals, but I have no idea what most of them are made of or what they look like unpolished and uncut. I've seen geodes, sand roses, and all sorts of crystals, but I have never bothered to organize my knowledge of them into any meaningful kind of framework.

My life-long lack of engagement in this topic crystallized for me when I approached a single case. Herkimer Diamonds said the tag, and reading the display materials about these rare six-sided crystals that are only found in a small area of Upstate New York was like a prism refracting a single now into so many thens. I remembered hearing my father talking about "Little Falls Diamonds" on more than one occasion, but I could not recall when or why.

Something about digging ditches and building the Thruway, maybe? I don't know... my memories have been almost completely buried by time, and it's going to take some excavation to uncover the story. That's okay. I want to know, and it is just such a desire that polishes simple facts into meaningful information.

Anthem

When I was in high school, every senior got half a page in the yearbook. We were able to pick a candid photo and any other content we wanted. Most kids chose a quotation, and I did, too. Mine was from The Lorax by Dr. Seuss: But now, said the Onceler, now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better-- it's not.

I liked it for it's altruistic idealism, and to be honest, I still like it today for the same reason.

Last year, when the CGA movie version of The Lorax came out, I read the reviews with interest. There was a soft spot in my heart for the book, but I couldn't see how a feature length film was possible. The critics were split, and so I stayed on the fence, although when one of my favorite students strongly recommended the movie, I totally took notice.

Flash forward six months and hundreds of other movie and DVD releases-- tonight the god daughters, Allyn and Delaney arrived for the weekend, and eight-year-old Delaney was all about The Lorax. She was all set to recount the whole story word-for-word and sing the songs, too. Her enthusiasm elicited a lot of heavy sighs and eye-rolling from her mom and sister, but it resonated with me. In my family it was I who often over-shared the details of books, movies, and TV shows that I found especially moving.

So tonight? We watched The Lorax and it was good, really it was, but more gratifying was watching the delight in Delaney's eyes as she  mouthed almost every word. 

Too Much of a Good Thing

Hard to believe that there is only one more day of summer vacation left. It's tempting to look at all the things I have not accomplished and to wish for more wide-open days of sleeping in, movies, and food trucks. In fact, today at the pool I let my reluctance slip a bit when I was talking to six-year-old Savannah.

"Are you excited about school starting? Is first grade going to be great?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Oh yes!" she said.

"I'm not that excited," I told her.

She was confused. "Why?"

"Because school is a lot of work," I replied. "I might just like to sleep late and go to the pool every day instead. How about you?"

If I was looking for an ally, I was in the wrong place. "School's not hard!" she scoffed. "It's really fun... maybe even more fun than the pool."

I sighed and nodded because I knew she was right.

A Room of One's Own

The past six years have seen a swelling enrollment in our school system. Even though it wasn't really that long ago that it seemed as if they might close our middle school, now the opposite is true: we are running out of space. As our school becomes more and more crowded, a solution is for teachers to share classrooms. We teach 5 out of 7 periods of the day, but the rooms are in demand even when we are not teaching.

I understand the problem, but what that approach does not take into account is that we have other duties to perform during the non-teaching time, and our classrooms also double as our offices. It is unreasonable to think that we can get as much work done when we are forced to be away from our desks, our phones, and our materials.

Before this, our rooms have been commandeered for use after school and on the weekends by various organizations for classes, meetings, and youth groups. Besides having to pack up and leave whether I am through for the day or not, over the years I have had things damaged and lost by the people who use my room after hours.

To be required to share our professional space is at best an inconvenience and at worst a lack of regard for teachers and their time. With growing enrollments, added accountability measures, and shrinking funds, each year we are expected to do more with less, and now there will be times when we won't even have a place to do that.