On August 5, I began the year with a new group of second graders in a new school. For these children, I was the consistency in their lives, and they quickly learned I would be there each day to teach, learn, hug, problem solve, question, and hope that what I was doing was making a difference in their lives. Every day pushed me to my professional limits, and I am convinced I was learning as much from the children as they were from me.
As the weeks passed, I could see glimmers of hope and a community being formed.
"Where is I Broke My Trunk? That Mo Willems is a funny guy!"
"Darrion stole my Fly Guy book!"
"Can I have a conference with you?"
The language of readers, writers and mathematicians floated above the noise and chaos.
We moved from, "I hate math!!" to "When are we going to play magic circle? Are we counting by 10's today?"
From "Who dat girl name?!" to "Can we do that name game again in morning meeting?
From "I GOTTA USE IT!!" to "May I use the restroom please?"
These were the glimmers of beginning of year hope, along with my own community of friends, family, and colleagues across the country that nourished me and reminded me that the work we were doing was adding up to something.
I was watching a new community of second graders growing right in front of my eyes.
But at 11:15 on the Thursday before the long-awaited Labor Day weekend, my principal told me I'd be moving to teach fifth grade. "A fifth grade teacher is leaving and the district called and we lost a unit in first grade. So....we're giving the first grade teacher your class and you're moving to fifth grade. You'll need to move your classroom and be ready to go next week."
On Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, I taught and said goodbye to my second graders and prepared to move down the hall to teach a fifth grade orphaned class on Wednesday.
THIS is the reality of public school. This is where the rubber meets the road. This is where you learn why we have a teacher shortage and good teachers are fleeing the profession.
This is when the mandates and decisions made by our state, nation, school districts, local boards of education, and "education turnaround committees" are hurting, rather than helping.
This is the brutal reality of pouring your heart and life into creating a community of learners, of saying goodbye to kids who are used to people walking out on them and never coming back.
BUT....here's the beautiful part. Because I am a part of a profession that puts everything into this work for children, I've had cheerleaders, supporters, encouragers, and hopeful reminders of how precious and how valuable our work is for children.
My family and my professional community have emailed, called, blogged, Voxed, written, and reminded me daily that I can do this, and the kids are going to be okay. It's part of God's plan for my life.
I'm living out my purpose in the craziest way possible this year, and I would have walked away and said goodbye to the profession after 21 years, if I hadn't had my "community" to wrap their arms around me.
Today, if you're a teacher in a classroom...walk across the hall and wrap your arms around a colleague you admire. Remind them that the work they are doing is powerful and life-changing.
Remind them that together, we are a powerful and beautiful community who can change the world, one child at a time.
As the weeks passed, I could see glimmers of hope and a community being formed.
"Where is I Broke My Trunk? That Mo Willems is a funny guy!"
"Darrion stole my Fly Guy book!"
"Can I have a conference with you?"
The language of readers, writers and mathematicians floated above the noise and chaos.
We moved from, "I hate math!!" to "When are we going to play magic circle? Are we counting by 10's today?"
From "Who dat girl name?!" to "Can we do that name game again in morning meeting?
From "I GOTTA USE IT!!" to "May I use the restroom please?"
These were the glimmers of beginning of year hope, along with my own community of friends, family, and colleagues across the country that nourished me and reminded me that the work we were doing was adding up to something.
I was watching a new community of second graders growing right in front of my eyes.
But at 11:15 on the Thursday before the long-awaited Labor Day weekend, my principal told me I'd be moving to teach fifth grade. "A fifth grade teacher is leaving and the district called and we lost a unit in first grade. So....we're giving the first grade teacher your class and you're moving to fifth grade. You'll need to move your classroom and be ready to go next week."
On Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, I taught and said goodbye to my second graders and prepared to move down the hall to teach a fifth grade orphaned class on Wednesday.
THIS is the reality of public school. This is where the rubber meets the road. This is where you learn why we have a teacher shortage and good teachers are fleeing the profession.
This is when the mandates and decisions made by our state, nation, school districts, local boards of education, and "education turnaround committees" are hurting, rather than helping.
This is the brutal reality of pouring your heart and life into creating a community of learners, of saying goodbye to kids who are used to people walking out on them and never coming back.
BUT....here's the beautiful part. Because I am a part of a profession that puts everything into this work for children, I've had cheerleaders, supporters, encouragers, and hopeful reminders of how precious and how valuable our work is for children.
My family and my professional community have emailed, called, blogged, Voxed, written, and reminded me daily that I can do this, and the kids are going to be okay. It's part of God's plan for my life.
I'm living out my purpose in the craziest way possible this year, and I would have walked away and said goodbye to the profession after 21 years, if I hadn't had my "community" to wrap their arms around me.
Today, if you're a teacher in a classroom...walk across the hall and wrap your arms around a colleague you admire. Remind them that the work they are doing is powerful and life-changing.
Remind them that together, we are a powerful and beautiful community who can change the world, one child at a time.
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