Teaching

Fellow Educators, Let's Take a Beat

Before we begin, let’s take a beat.

Breathe in through the nose.

Hold it.

Let it fill you with energy.

Slowly exhale, breathing out through the mouth.

Okay. Let’s go.

Today is day two of remote learning for many, and for many, this day was preceded and followed by announcements from municipalities, especially in Texas, with “Stay Home, Work Safe” orders which set off another wave of panic and uncertainty. Needless to say, our efforts at being present in the learning is scattershot, at best. At least, I know it is for me, and I consider myself to be a damn good teacher and technologically savvy. 

As an instructional coach, I have been providing support to teachers since last Thursday when the call came down the shift was taking place. In these short few days, I’ve gleaned a few bits of wisdom from both interactions with fellow teachers and administration.

  1. Allow space for the learning to happen: The way we do this is by focusing on the learning process and the feedback cycle as students move towards mastery. This also means bye-bye to traditional “grades” (which I’ve never been a fan of anyway). We have an opportunity to teach as we’ve always wanted now that the state standardized test requirements are waived, so focus on giving productive feedback to measure learning, not a numerical value.
  2. Give up control: You can’t micromanage this process. You will have to give up control. Teachers, you can’t expect students to adhere to strict due dates. Administrations, you can’t expect teachers, especially those with young children, to adhere to strict schedules and traditional “hours of operation”.
  3. Try something new: This is kind of a no-brainer as it is all new. However, we are in a watershed moment, fellow educators. This will forever change the face of education. We are either willing to get with the 21st-century, or the 21st-century, our schools, and our students will get on without us. Take the time to learn the technology we’re being asked to use to provide high-quality remote instruction because they’re not going away. (gasp I think this means worksheets are finally dead!)
  4. Remember to breathe: At the end of the day, the week, or quarantine, the major thing we provide is a sense of normalcy, a sense of safety, and there is nothing in education that measures the impact this has. 

Is it going to be easy? In a word — no. It’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be hard and riddled with potential pitfalls that fray our nerves. I mean, it’s downright scary, if you think about it, but it always is when you stand on the edge of an unexplored frontier. However, if we allow opportunities for growth, if we give up the urge to monitor every moment, if we learn from trying different things, and if we just remember to pause and breathe, we will see that that fear can be excitement — if we only let it be.

Featured image by Dingzeyu Li on Unsplash

Teaching, Unbound

EdTech Conference Thoughts

Teachers with tech tools are like nifflers with shiny things. We see them and we have to have them. Kept to a manageable minimum, tech tools are innocuous, but like our beastly counterpart, we keep stuffing them into our pouches until they’re spilling out and tripping up our best practices in the classroom.

I used to be a niffler, and to some extent, I still am. I love tech tools: the bells and whistles and lights shining in my eyes like Christmas lights or fireworks. I get wrapped up in the buzz of “What’s new? What’s hot? What’s now?”. But something happened to me about 4 years ago. I failed as a teacher. I failed as an instructional coach, and I failed as a human being. None of the tools I had collected saved me from that failure

Without going into the soul-bearing aspects of that failure, I came out on the other side understanding that if I were going to be recognized for anything it would need to be as a consummate educator dedicated to best practices and to the advocacy of equitable access for students. I came out on the other side understanding it’s not the tech tool that will get me there, no matter how “cutting edge” I stayed or how many tools I sprayed and prayed would stick. What would get me there is reflecting on my practice and understanding that in education we have to move beyond implementation to transformation.

The same analogy can be applied to almost any educational program, book, philosophy, and Golden Gate Bridge people try to sell you. We shove them into our pockets and down our students’ throats without first considering whether what we’re doing will help students, especially disenfranchised students and students of color. I think in education we’ve become so desperate for something, anything, to work that instead of acknowledging the issues and addressing the problems, we put little pink plastic band-aids on them. When those band-aids inevitably fail, we wonder why they didn’t cure the hurt, and we blame someone else and find another shiny thing to hold up the dam. Instead, what we really need to do is blame ourselves and take a good long look at the reflection staring back at us from the water escaping.

All of this is a roundabout way of saying… At some point, we need a Newt Scamander to watch out for us and occasionally shake us free of all that baggage and bring us back to our senses. It’s okay to enjoy tech tools. But it’s not okay to forget that it’s not about the tool. It’s about you and the young people sitting in your schools. Don’t sacrifice reflecting on and pushing for best practices for the sake of the next best thing.

Be a Newt Scamander for yourself so you can be a Dumbledore for your students.

Photo by Rami Al-zayat on Unsplash

Teaching

Good Morning from 35,000ft

Good morning from Europe!  I am over Glasgow, Scotland making the final push for Amsterdam.  Currently it’s about 9am here even though my watch and phone read 2am.  I feel pretty accomplished stealing around 3-4 hours of sleep, albeit an hour of that was spent contorting my body in a new ways to ensure blood flow to my posterior.

The most surprising and delightful part about the flight was tasty food, especially a mango sorbet which was served.  I would’ve been happy without my spinach lasagna if I could’ve opted for another sorbet.  Zoe and I agreed on this point.  More mango sorbet for everyone!  It seems a little thing to be happy about, but it’s always the little things that make a difference when most of the time my flights have beverage service consists a few pretzels or snack mix, if you’re lucky, and 8oz of your drink of choice.

We did fly through a storm last night that was rocking things pretty good.  It was an exercise in how well I could balance food on my fork instead of wearing it like an artist’s palette on my shirt.  Afterwards it was the impetus that rocked Zoe and I off to sleep.  It’s good to know we can sleep during a storm even at 35,000 feet.

All in all the flight was uneventful except for the scare the facilities in the lavatory gave me when they flushed.  It immediately reminded me why I don’t go more often on flights.  Loud noises aside, I still remember the stories my Dad would tell to discourage my sister and I from wanting to go on the plane.  Needless to say, his tactics still work.

For now, it’s time to say adieu.  The map cycling on the screen informs me that we descended about 20,000 feet and are 15 minutes away from touchdown.  As much as I love flying, I’m ready to stretch my legs out and feel the weight of the ground pushing against my feet as I set out to explore Amsterdam.

This post initially appeared on Mis Ross’s Blog via my school district.
Featured Image: My view as we descend into Amsterdam on the morning of April 10th.
Teaching

‘Twas the Night Before Amsterdam

If you called me a procrastinator, I would say guilty as charged.  Most of the time I am distracted by lines of poetry and prose that I compose while I’m washing the dishes, cooking dinner, grading essays, lesson planning, and a multitude of activities where I’d rather be doing something else.  Tonight that activity is packing.  In all reality, I know I should’ve already packed for the trip, but I at least made a checklist of what I wanted to take so I’m not completely behind schedule.  

The sheer excitement I feel pulsating through my veins is the same excitement I would feel climbing into bed on Christmas evening.  The excitement that no matter how tight you squeeze your eyes shut hoping to fall asleep you can’t.  At least not until that sweet exhaustion anticipation has caught up with you and you drift off, a small smile still playing at the corners of your lips.  However, the nap after opening presents is the soundest, most peaceful rest of the year.  That will be me tomorrow about 6pm as we take off from Chicago O’Hare on an eight hour flight to Amsterdam.

For now, it’s the night before Amsterdam, and I am letting visions of tulips dance in my head:

‘Twas the night before Amsterdam, when all through the house
I was frantically searching for the perfect blouse.
The luggage stood empty; the clothes were not there.
I has to de-fuzz them as they were covered in corgi hair.
Final arrangements were made, itineraries were reread
When all I wanted was to sleep in my bed.
The hotel and “must see’s” were checked on the map.
A forte for planning would ensure no mishap.
When all of a sudden I squealed with laughter.
This anxious excitement was all procrastination blabber.

Tomorrow the adventure starts; it’s sure to be blissful.
But if I don’t get some sleep it will be more like abysmal!
So, I leave these words with you before I settle down for the night-
“Happy to travels to all, and to all a good flight!”

This post initially appeared at Miss Ross’s Blog via my school district.
Featured Image: Pixabay – “Flight” by ThePixelman (CC0 Public Domain)
Teaching

Embarking on an Adventure

I have always wanted to travel internationally.  The cultures, ethnic food, and historical locations have been a magnet drawing the vane of my imagination since I can remember.  Once, back in college, I was this close to spending a semester abroad in Cork, Ireland.  Through a series of unfortunate events, my passport was packed away in a keepsake box, and a few years later I entered the field of education and worked to open up worlds of possibilities for my students through teaching literature.  Looking back now, it seems almost serendipitous that I would find myself drawn to San Antonio, AFIA, and the chance to dig out that old passport and dust it off.

We had been gathered together by Mr. Rockstroh sometime in late November.  It was the holiday season for the school, and there were quite a few announcements that needed to be made.  Admittedly, my mind was wandering towards lessons and planning and grading, as it’s wont to do, when something stuck.  “We’re sending one facilitator and one student to Amsterdam to participate in programs with the Anne Frank House.  How cool is that?”  How cool indeed!  Immediately, the fire of memory and expectation sparked inside me.  

Reading the Diary of Anne Frank as a young girl, the prose Anne wrote that elicited such youthful earnestness and a timeless evocation of wisdom and worldly understanding spoke to me and helped me find an escape during a time when I struggled with self-identity and angst.  The beauty of the diary’s words helped me to see the beauty in the world, in myself.  Now, as an adult, Mr. Rockstroh’s announcement sparked the desire for the opportunity to go to Amsterdam and to learn in order to bring that beauty back and use it as a mirror for my students to look into to see their beauty and potential.

The decision wouldn’t be made quickly, but we would be receiving information to follow.  An anxious Christmas break ensued and a return to classes in January was full of anxiety as I waited to hear how the facilitator would be selected to attend.  The application and selection process had commenced for the student, but still no word had been given on the facilitator selection.  I checked my email messages every day and casually inquired about it in passing conversation as I didn’t want to pester or seem overly eager.  Then one morning my email dinged “Facilitator Application – Amsterdam Trip” from Dr. Etienne.  Without hesitation I opened it and devoured the contents.  We would be writing an essay explaining why we would like to attend.  I both simultaneously groaned and cheered.

There are three internal voices that speak up when I really want for something: the “I’m going to get it no matter what” competitor’s voice that makes me seem too ambitious at times; the “I am not good enough to make this happen so why should I even try for it” self-conscious voice that talks me out of achieving as much as I could; and the “Carrie, don’t listen to either of them – just do your best and speak from your heart” voice that echoes the soft intonation and kind encouragement of my mom.  Ultimately, I listened to my heart because you can never go wrong making that decision.

So now, I am a week away from stepping on a plane that will whisk me across the world to Amsterdam, to exploration, to growth, to discovery.  In the days to come I will have to pack, unpack, and evaluate everything: clothes, preconceptions, learning, language, emotion, and things I can’t even think of yet.  I don’t know how to feel except as a bundle of excitement and hope.  I am the proverbial wide-eyed and slack-jawed child staring at presents wrapped in the colors of joy, reflecting back the twinkling lights of promise, and I am beyond thrilled to bring you along on this journey.

This post initially appeared at Miss Ross’s Blog via my school district.
Featured Image: Pixabay – “Luggage” by MikeBird (CC0 Public Domain)
Teaching

An Educator’s Soul

A week ago, my school selected me among several staff members to travel to the Netherlands.  I am beyond excited to have been given this rare and wonderful opportunity to attend the educational programs and participate in discussions at the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam.  Below is the essay I wrote as part of my application.  These words move beyond the page to my very soul.  They are my beliefs, my hopes, my dreams.  I hope they help you dream, too.


I want to be a world builder, an architect drafting plans for human greatness.  I draw inspiration from those who have come before me; their words reaching back through the ether of a dusty page.  With this raw material, I form it into dialogue and reflection, and I use it to brush away the ash of anger, insecurity, fear, hate, and war that the world tries to slip under my door.  It is the lens through which I see beauty left in this world.

Being an educator gives me the opportunity to share this beauty with others.  I could live a thousand lifetimes and not experience the full gamut of joys that come from dedicating one’s life to the pursuit and dissemination of knowledge.  My Dad has an old saying: “The only thing in this world they cannot take from you is your education.”  The older I become, the more I read, and the more I see the tribulations in this world increasing, the more I understand its truth.

I believe Anne Frank inherently embraced this truth, and it was through her understanding that an etching of its beauty was placed upon the soul of the world.  Even though her talent and proclivity for evoking the human spirit through word was taken too early, she achieved her dream of becoming a writer, and while she may not have wanted it, she became a most wondrous educator.  I, too, want my words to matter, to have them leave etchings on the hearts of those I teach.  I, too, want the quiet conscience of having done all the good I can to build up my students.

Armed with these beliefs, I want to participate fully in all things to increase my capacity for human greatness.  I owe it to the futures of my students to increase their capacity to hope, love, and dream – to be resilient in the face of adversity.  I want them to look out the windows of their school and see the beauty that awaits them.

Featured image: Pixabay- “Tulip” by corinaselberg (CC0 Public Domain)