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One of those days...

eminnm — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 05:01:53 +0100

OK, so today was the proverbial roller coaster of awesome and awful. In points to speed along:

Start the day with my kids NOT LISTENING at all. As in, I explain something, or I give directions, or I remind them for the umpteenth time that Napoleon (who shows up in our story about Egypt…long story) was a French war hero who won lots of battles, and ten seconds later, “Wait, who’s Napoleon?” UGH. Repeating yourself gets old.
Continue the day with them NOT UNDERSTANDING MAPS. OK, this is not their fault and isn’t bad-kid behavior, but it’s still super frustrating. Over and over we go over the sentence frame, “Austin is ______________ of Houston,” and how to fill in the direction (north, southeast, etc.). Over and over and over. Still they do it backwards. Over and over and over. See #1 about how much they were listening to my explanations.
Progress to Math where they ROCK at measurement, completely unexpectedly. They do fine with my interactive fun team activity, keep it together to consider types of measurement, and then are adorably, inexplicably in love with GallonBot, who is a modern, “grown-up 4^th grade” version of their 3^rd grade friend, Mr. Gallonman. Plus they know how to use him to convert units of capacity, which is the whole point. We weren’t even supposed to get to him until tomorrow, so go kids for moving quick.
Lunch Bunch with 5 of my kids is cute and hilarious in a truly funny way, not even an I’m-laughing-because-you’re-9-and-think-it’s-funny way. I remember that I really do love my kids. And I notice with pleasure that their ability to express what they mean in full sentences is growing.
Going over yesterday’s math test is only helpful if they listen to what I’m explaining. Which, as per #1, they do not. Sigh.
Health Break (i.e. Recess for the diabetes-prone). All heck breaks loose. The other 2 4^th grade teachers are at a training for the afternoon, so their kids are all nuts because they have subs. One of my kids loses his recess tomorrow for being a punk about kickball (cutting, making fun of kids). This kid, who used to be in my class but was moved for behavior reasons, kicks the ball away instead of bringing it in when it’s time (also may or may not have been aiming at my head…) and then is hugely disrespectful when I talk to him about it.
Reading Group. One of my kids may or may not have stolen a fancy pencil from another kid’s desk. He denies it after much questioning, and the only witness I have is one of my kids who is a notorious liar. Great. Also I learn later this kid, who’s really a good kid, has recently been talking a lot about gangs and ICP (Insane Clown Posse, this band that’s popular with kids here, who sings a lot about murdering people with machetes. Charming) and was found with an iPhone and cash despite not being able to afford that.
Writing Time. During a brainstorm conversation about whether it is better to seek glory or knowledge (our next writing prompt), this kid, who at the beginning of the year was practically nonverbal, raises her hand in something other than Math (and that doesn’t happen often either) for literally THE FIRST TIME ALL YEAR. She VOLUNTEERED to speak!!!!! I was so incredibly excited I almost did a little happy dance in the middle of class.
End of the Day. As I’m meeting with kids for 30 seconds each to go over report cards, one of my boys decides to take the stapler from the back table, open it, and use it as a gun to shoot staples at other students. Later I learn from someone who subbed for me that last week he made a sharp paper dagger and drew blood on it. Then he lies to me and tells me he was stapling a paper, when I saw him with my own eyes. I am so incredibly furious at him, because he knows better and because this behavior is so completely and totally unacceptable, that I can’t even talk to him.
My girls basketball team goes to our first tournament. The girls play FANTASTICALLY. They listen, they play a zone defense, they fight for rebounds. They are awesome. And I remember why I coach basketball: even though it takes so much time, even though I really don’t have that time to spend, I love it. It makes me happy when the rest of the day made me insane.

Break my heart.

eminnm — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 02:08:36 +0100

The results are in. His working memory, or how much information he can keep in his head at once, is in the 3^rd percentile. Cognitive efficiency, or how well he can make his brain do what it’s supposed to, is in the 1^st percentile. Short-term memory, or how well he can remember what you told him 12 seconds ago, is below the 1^st percentile. Full-scale IQ is fine, in the low 100s. But he cannot remember what you told him yesterday, what you told him last week, what you told him 12 seconds ago. Also he can’t read guided notes, can’t write himself notes. How in the world is he supposed to learn anything in a regular education setting? But that’s not really the worst part. I knew he didn’t care too much about answering questions correctly, I knew he would rather sit quietly and let cobwebs grow on him than seek out a way to do the work. Today I learned that he actually had been planning on leaving school when he was 14. He thought for some reason that 14 was the magic age where you didn’t have to go to school anymore if you wanted to drop out, and, at the age of 9, he was already waiting around for that day. When he was told that he was required to go until the age of 18, he was stunned. He gave this perfect summary of what makes learning hard for him: “Sometimes I get an idea in my head but I don’t know what words to say it to someone else.” That is exactly what the problem is, in a nutshell, and by the time he finds the words to say it, he’s forgotten what he was going to say. But when he was asked if he was ready to work on that so it would get easier? “Nope.” He is not my lowest kid, or at least he’s tied for lowest with two other kids. But one of these other kids is a solid worker and she will do any assignment you give her to the best of her ability. The other comes to school every day and gives 110% on tasks that he isn’t good at and, to a certain extent, can’t do. He is hard-working and cheerful and funny and enthusiastic. That kid is my hero. I knew school was hard for this kid in question. But what’s breaking my heart is that I didn’t know how much of what I was asking him to do is stuff he flat out can’t do. And I didn’t know how much he doesn’t care.

Surprise! Learning!

eminnm — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 02:58:52 +0100

My mother requested that I write this post, so here goes. I love being surprised by how much one thing can affect learning. The thing this time is a new whiteboard easel, which I got (amazingly!) from EXTRA money my school had???? Whaaaat??? This never happens. But anyway. Because I had this whiteboard, I could do something new with my reading group. Every time we got to a word we really liked or a word we didn’t know the definition of, we wrote it on the board and talked about it. On the minus side, our reading went reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaallly slowly as every kid wanted to be the one whose word gets on the board. But the plus side was huge. We were reading James and the Giant Peach, which is great for this kind of activity because Roald Dahl makes up words on a regular basis, or hyphenates things together, or just generally makes words awesome. I was shocked, once more, by how many words my kids are simply not understanding when we read, but at least we had a chance to talk about them. Kids were suggesting words like “pandemonium,” “toboggan,” “glaring,” “gorgon,” and “squelch.” We had fun just saying the words together. Go ahead. Say it. Say, “squelch.” Talk about onomatopoeia, right? The best part about all this came when we finished the book. We had our little mini-discussion, talking about what we appreciated or didn’t appreciate about the book. As usual, the kids went right for the literal: “I liked it when James….” or “I didn’t like it when this sad thing happened.” But after we went through that a little, I asked them if they had any opinions about the way the author wrote the book. And oh, my goodness. One of my new students, who has only been here two weeks, said, “I liked when Roald Dahl made up words.” Why? “Because it’s a little unusual. Like usually when you read you see the same words, but in his book it makes it unusual and interesting.” Another student recalled the brilliant comment by my smartypants about one particular sentence: “I liked it when there was that really long sentence about drowning that made you feel like you drowned too. It was like the book was real.” A third student: “It was a little hard because I didn’t know a lot of words and I didn’t like that, but also we got to learn lots of new words so that was good.” And finally, “I liked when they sang songs. Then it rhymed and was kind of funny. It was hard to understand, but it was good once we talked about it.” I love my students. One tiny thing, a whiteboard to note words, makes us pay attention not just to WHAT was written, but HOW it was written. And then we can talk about whether it worked or not, or whether we liked it, or whether it made us confused. This, for all you teacher types, is Evaluation, highest level of Bloom’s, and, full disclosure, it was totally an accident. But we’ll be doing it again.

"Sometimes it feels like it's never enough."

eminnm — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 05:30:35 +0100

The title of this post is a direct quote from my mentor teacher, of 12 years' experience in my dysfunctional school. Every time someone says something about how there aren't any good teachers out here, or teachers don't really care about kids, I think about this woman and remember, once more, why overgeneralizations are stupid. This quote was said in reference to her 3 semi-gifted students. I say semi-gifted because, as she pointed out, in a better school these kids would just be good, but in our school they really do appear gifted. The problem is that you get to thinking how smart these kids are and you are so proud of them and how hard they work, and then they take a district-mandated standardized test like they did today and you watch it all come crashing down. Granted, this test was bad, and it mostly tested problem-solving (which is really hard to teach and our kids are generally awful at it) and area and perimeter (which we are scheduled to teach two weeks from now). Not exactly a well-aligned or fair or even useful test. But the kids don't see that. All they see is a test that they thought would be easy, because they have learned so much, that turns out to be really hard. Consequently, they are demoralized and we are reminded, once again, that even our best students aren't good enough. As I wrote to someone not too long ago, being here has taught me in a very real way about inequality and injustice. If you took any one of those three kids, or for that matter any of four of my kids (who are not as obviously academically adept as those 3), and plunked them down in my childhood elementary school and gave them 15 years, there is no reason they can't have all the things I have achieved. Disclaimer, I have been accused of thinking, shall we say, over-optimistically, that all my students are so smart. But some of the things these students say... One of my reading group students, upon reading a paragraph-long run-on sentence about a deluge of water crashing on a character, made the connection on her own that the author wrote that way to make us feel "like we're out of breath and drowning too." One of my math wizards helped out a second grade TEACHER when she told my whole class about a problem classifying groups of shapes that she had found honestly challenging today (why was she co-opting my class to tell them this story? Unclear). His answer to her confusion? "They're all quadrilaterals." And one of my newest students reads 191 words per minute (which, I think, is about how fast I read), comprehends all of it, and, in the two weeks she's been in my class, has read five chapter books and is now working on Swiss Family Robinson. These kids are SO SMART. And we push them as hard as we can, but at the end of the day, you can only go so far ahead when the rest of your peer group is so far behind. Teachers try to give every student everything, and this amazing woman I quote does more than I could even imagine pulling off, but it just isn't possible to give everyone everything when they all need so much. With tears in her eyes, love in her heart, and rough, raw emotion in her voice, she speaks the truth: "Sometimes it feels like it's never enough."

Parent Surveys

eminnm — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 03:36:31 +0100

I sent home a parent survey to try to get parent voices involved. It was basic stuff--what do you see going well? What would you like to change? Would you like to hear from me more? That sort of thing. On the minus side, having sent it home twice, I only got 3 back (we'll send it again). But here's what one mom said: "The last two years my son has been afraid of his teacher. This year he likes his teacher. He likes to read. Keep it up." Wow. Just...wow.

On the first day of Christmas, my students gave to me...

eminnm — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 01:49:35 +0100

On Friday we had our Christmas assembly. Side note: anyone who says rural America manages to separate religion and school is kidding themselves. 98% of our students are Christian (there’s one Muslim family in the school), many of them devoutly so. Also, because of the stunning lack of outside world experience our kids have, most of them have only a vague idea that Jewish is a religion. Our nod to multiculturalism was our final research paper this quarter, where the kids researched Ramadan, Hanukkah or Kwanzaa and wrote a paper describing the holiday and who celebrates it. Except that in the end they had so very little background knowledge that three kids thought Ramadan was a country and another two thought Muslim was a food. They also frequently used the phrases “Hanukkah people” and “Ramadan people” and “Kwanzaa people,” as in: “The Kwanzaa people light candles.” Oops. Anyway, what all this boils down to is that the whole school pretty much ignores all other holidays and goes nuts for Christmas. We have Christmas trees in our classrooms (even me, because what kind of Grinch could look into the wide eyes of 9-year-olds and lecture about nondenominational holidays when they ask “Why we can’t have a sparkly tree like Ms. So-and-So’s class?” Plus there was an extra). Santa came to Specials, and we got a grant to give the kids giant stockings full of little toys and other essentials like toothpaste and vitamins. And we had a Christmas assembly. It was the cutest thing ever. Because it was supposed to be an Elvis Christmas Assembly (though almost everyone missed the memo), there were adorable things like kindergartners with drawn-on sideburns and fifth grade Elvis boys giggling as fifth grade fangirls cheered for them. Plus there was the best act of all: our grade’s act, the Southwest 12 days of Christmas! Here are the lyrics our students came up with (with explanatory commentary by me): On the 12^th day of Christmas my true love gave to me: 12 Timberwolves Howling (Our mascot is the Timberwolf, and here all the kids get to howl.) 11 Roadrunners Running (State bird of New Mexico = roadrunner. Mu-meep!) 10 Sacks of Flour (Blue Bird Flour, of course. Why this is the only brand we have here, I don’t know.) 9 Spicy Chiles (Everything has chile on it here, and the age-old question is, “Red or green?” Best answer: Christmas, which means both. When you have to pick just one, it totally depends on what restaurant you’re in. Don Diego’s: red. Salsa’s: green.) 8 Navajo Tacos (Navajo tacos are way overpriced and taste like a heart attack but they’re so delicious! They’re a staple of the Flea Market, powwows, and pretty much any public activity. Basically it’s pinto beans, lettuce, tomato, onion and cheese on a big piece of frybread. Mmmmmm.) 7 Turquoise Bracelets (Turquoise is for protection in Navajo culture, and is a VERY popular jewelry medium. A huge number of people are silversmiths and jewelers out here, and they sell their crafts either at the Flea Market or walking around through restaurants and other public places. Pretty much everyone on my Christmas list is getting jewelry…surprise!) 6 Tasty Pinons (Pinon is a kind of tree, and apparently the nuts are really tasty, according to my kids. Gathering pinons to eat is a pretty traditional activity, the kind of thing you do with your grandma. I have yet to taste a pinon, mostly because I don’t live near pinon trees.) 5 GOLDEN FRYBREADS! (Frybread is the most quintessential Indian food ever. It is exactly what it sounds like: dough, slapped flat and round, then fried in Crisco, served with either salt or honey. At our school’s cultural night, one of my favorite moms and a few of the grannies taught me how to make it.) 4 Prairie Dogs (These things are a menace. They’re everywhere, and they dart in front of cars, and people get in accidents because of them. But they’re super cute and the first time we came out here to interview at the school we actually stopped the car to watch their adorableness, so they have a special place in my heart.) 3 Lost Sheep (Navajo are sheep-herding people, traditionally. Sheep get lost. Nuff said.) 2 Moccasins (Traditional moccasins are so beautiful. There are different ones for men and women, and people only wear them for ceremonies or dances, because they’re really expensive.) And an Elvis in a Pear Tree!

Today was the best day ever.

eminnm — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 00:41:07 +0100

I had the best day with my kids today. It was the last day of school before winter break, and we were careful to finish almost all of our testing yesterday because Christmas is one of the two holidays a year that are school-approved to have a party. My mentor teacher and I were talking about it, and since our kids work so hard (we're pretty much sure that our kids are working harder and at a faster pace than any other grade level, which may say more about our school than about us, but still), we wanted to have one complete day of fun stuff. Here's the thing: I adore my kids. I love them to bits. I have issues with some of the teachers, I have issues with my school administration, but I completely and unconditionally love my kids. And that's when I'm always pushing them, always making them work and do things they don't really want to (and sometimes doubt they can) do! Can you imagine how much I love them on a day when they get to have pure, unadulterated fun??? We took our spelling and vocab tests quick first thing this morning, and then we played Winter Mad Libs. It's the first time we've done this, because the definition of an adjective remains stubbornly elusive despite my anchor charts, but we went over it carefully and left examples on the board, and they rocked it. Plus, they LOVED it. All these silly little stories about finding a Cruzito inside a present, or swimming down the Thanksgiving tree, or (once they realized kissing was a verb...let the boy/girl craziness begin) kissing a Lyle through the night sky. They couldn't get enough. We probably did Mad Libs and laughed for an hour. Then, the activity I'd been worried would turn into a chaotic fiasco: gingerbread houses. Well, really graham cracker houses, which we constructed around our milk cartons from this morning so that they wouldn't collapse immediately. I made a vat of frosting, which stunned them as they were under the impression that frosting could only come in a can, and paired two kids to a giant plate of candy. Miracle of miracles, it went incredibly smoothly. No fighting, no anger, kids were excited about other people's projects and admiring their peppermint-marshmallow trees. A bunch of kids chose to work together and pool resources (VOLUNTARY collaboration? For my kids who could barely talk to each other at the beginning of the year, much less plan a project like a graham cracker school bus?) and made cars and mansions. One of my lowest academic-skills kids decided he was going to make a plane, and I completely doubted it. He has really low fine motor skills and broke one of his crackers immediately. But he patiently "glued" it with icing, made braces and supports from other crackers, and twenty minutes later, lo and behold, he had a plane! It was pretty amazing. I even got to make a house, so enraptured and on-task were they, and my lopsided milk-cartonless wonder brought many giggles. Second miracle of the day, we cleaned up in 5 minutes and washed our desks (which was instantly a game because the spray cleaner looks like snow and I wrote their initials on their desks in cleaner...this was the joy we had today). Lunch had to be in our classroom, and I left them for about 7 minutes to get my lunch with stern warnings that I expected them all to be eating calmly when I returned. As I'm walking down the hallway to our room, I see Malakai, the posted lookout, as he ducks back inside and half-yells, "She's coming! She's coming!" But when I opened that door, I saw 16 students calmly, innocently eating lunch, only to die laughing as I mentioned, "You know, you're not as sneaky as you think you are." Then we watched 15 minutes of Planet Earth's Ice Worlds, our favorite lunch-in-the-classroom activity, and laughed at the funny waddling penguins. We had a Christmas assembly, and our act deserves its own post so stay tuned for that, but afterwards it was FINALLY time to open our presents (which they'd been rearranging, studying, asking about, and generally salivating over all day). We did a gift exchange, so each child brought a $10 or less present for another. Some of them went way overboard, and some I bought because they couldn't afford it. We had snacks and excitement, and I was worried that they would ruin it in that this-is-so-fun-I-can't-control-myself way kids have. But they totally settled down when I asked them to, and we did a totally calm, super fun exchange. One kid would pick a present to give to its recipient, no matter who had brought the present. Then that child would open it, we would collectively ooh and ahh, they would thank each other, and that child would pick another present to give out. I was so proud of how good they were being to each other. Everyone waited their turn politely, and all I had to do was ask casually, "Who gave you that present?" and they immediately thanked each other for the gift. A few parents came to join us and I was so thankful that they weren't watching absolute chaos that it took me a few minutes to realize that I was actually blown away by how great my kids were being. A bunch of them got me presents too, which made me want to tell them to stop spending their money on me because they don't have any, but they were so proud to give me things and so sweet. They gave me a sweater, a watch, earrings, a necklace, lotion, a scarf, a mug, and candy, and I was pretty much overwhelmed with their generosity. Did I mention I love them? We spent the rest of the afternoon putting Legos together, throwing footballs outside, eating gingerbread houses, listening to music from my iPod, and asking the Magic 8 Ball (which they called the Magic Meatball until I explained) questions like, "Will I ever have a boyfriend?" (I swear, this started literally today) and "Will I get an A+ in math?" One of my boys, who is so smart and I already adore him, was so smiley and goofy and sweet to everyone that I realized how much I would be obsessed with him if I got to be fun all the time instead of pushing them so hard. He put on the clip-on earrings one girl got as a gift and did a honky-tonk guitar dance to a crazy country song, and my heart melted with how much I love him. He also wrote 4 different post-it notes on our Parking Lot (where kids can put questions, thoughts, etc.) saying things like, "We're going to miss you!" and "I hope you have a great Christmas!" and gave them to me, pretending 4 different kids wrote them. It was pretty much the most perfect, wonderful day. They were playful, goofy in an under-control, fun way, sweet and adorable. One of our class rules, the one I call their Number One Job (sometimes I just ask them, randomly, "What is your #1 job?" and they answer with this rule), is Be Phenomenal To Each Other. It used to be Be Excellent To Each Other, but on the first day of school, Daisy, who is so smart and has such a great vocabulary, answered the #1 question with, "Be phenomenal to each other," and we voted that that was better anyway. We say it all the time, and sometimes it drives me nuts how, even then, they are still rude to each other. But today they were, in every way, phenomenal. To each other, to me, and just in general. Phenomenal.

I love basketball.

eminnm — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 04:57:02 +0100

First of all, thanks to all who wrote such kind words on my last post--I am continuously blown away that people who aren't my parents read what I write, and especially when people like Gary Rubinstein and mathinaz (two people whose blogs I read on a regular basis) appreciate my musings...pretty heady stuff. Anyway, I wanted to tell you about basketball. I am coaching basketball as the assistant to my fellow fourth grade teacher, mentor, and all-around awesome person who is honestly the biggest reason I'm not falling flat on my face right about now, classroom-wise. And although many learned and wise people have strongly advised me against doing anything extracurricular (like my afterschool tutoring, or my masters classes, or basketball...oops), in this case (OK, in all those cases), I'm booting their advice right out the window. I love basketball. I love to play, and used to be a 3-teams-a-season kind of kid back in the day. But more than that, I love getting to hang out with the kids in a way that is NOT academic. There's this incredible urgency associated with all my academic time with them. If we aren't actively learning, I've been TFA-conditioned to get this awful feeling like this is time we can't afford to waste. It's good because we get more out of our time, and we create extra time in lunch lines, at recess, and afterschool to get that stuff done. But sometimes you just need to shoot some hoops. Basketball is a break for the kids and for me (though not for my voice, which for the second time this year is completely gone). It's a time when a kid with zero academic confidence, who asks why we bother giving him tests since he knows he can't read, gets to be a superstar. A kid who, at 13, doesn't know his letters, barely talks, and hardly understands the words that are spoken to him, gets to bounce down the court with a beatific smile on his face, thrilled to be doing something he finally understands. A girl who has serious learning disabilities, and such bullying and behavior problems that she is maybe two incidents from a district behavior hearing, gets to be part of a team, and gets to hear praise from adults for her actions. As for me, I get to be the one building them up and telling them what a great job they're doing. Sure, we do that as much as we can in school, but for some kids their academic confidence is so shattered that they don't really believe you when you're telling them they're doing well (which is heartbreaking, but not uncommon). But in sports, they get to be great. They get to be Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, and LeBron James all rolled into one. I get to know kids who aren't my students, and then all day long in the hallways hear "Ms. EMinNM, we've got practice today, right? Think we're gonna win next week?" And those 5th graders, not my students, have become just as much my kids as the ones I spend all day with. They worm their way into your heart, the little monsters. The real thing about basketball for our kids is this: sports is a place where they haven't lost their dreams yet. In academics, so many have lost the luxury of sky's-the-limit dreams, crushed under failing grades and language difficulties. But nobody's told them they can't be fantastic ball players in the NBA. And I'm not about to start.

Want to be a Corps Member? Be prepared.

eminnm — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 02:48:12 +0100

TFA has just welcomed its newest members of the corps of 2012, those who applied first and second deadlines. And while I welcome you with open arms, am excited you are here, and truly believe you will do your best for your kids, you have no idea what to expect. So, not to be the downer or dream-crusher, but let me just give you a snapshot, you 2012s and prospective applicants. Because I’ve been there, I’m doing that, and you deserve to know. As a teacher, you will work harder than you have ever worked before, because if you didn’t work hard before, you will need to now; if you were already a hard worker, you will push yourself to work even harder. You will have students who will astonish you with what they do not know, to the point that kids who are not-that-far-behind will start to look like the success stories. Until you remember that to the middle-class kids, not-that-far-behind means only 1 grade level ahead of the “national average,” rather than 3. You will hear stories that will break your heart. Parents will cry at your conferences, kids will tell you tragic stories nonchalantly, as if they were normal, and you will never, ever be able to understand where they are coming from. You might go home to visit your parents, back to your middle-class house with beds and heat and running water. You’ll go out for a fancy dinner and drop from your shoulders a burden that is at once enormous and so quotidian you haven’t even realized how tight your shoulder muscles have become. And when you get back on the plane to head to what is now home, part of you will long desperately to stay in that easy world where Mom takes you shopping and the only future you have to worry about is your own. But your kids will worm their way into your heart. Even as you shop with Mom, as you wash your hair, as you drive to the grocery store, half your brain will be planning reading activities that help Isaiah and Lila decode a grade-level book, or math games that will get Oscar to finally remember the steps of long division. When you grade a test and they passed with flying colors, your smile will hurt your cheeks, it’s so big. When you explain how to find the product for the umpteenth time and their eyes light up with understanding, you’ll want to do a little happy dance right there in the classroom. As you kids lie in pairs around the classroom, engrossed in Dr. Seuss and having real discussions with their partners about setting, climax, and character traits, you will be so proud of them you’ll dig out your camera just to document this moment. The beauty and the tragedy, you will come to understand, is that you control the show. On the one hand, everything you do and all the hard work you put in will directly impact and help your kids to grow and learn. You will see your effort and planning pay off, and two and half months in, you will look at your kids and what they can do and remember how they were in August, and think, “Hey, I had something to do with that.” And it’s beautiful. At the same time, you have to live with the knowledge that nothing you do will ever be enough. You will never close the achievement gap for your kids. They will never get the education they deserve, no matter how good you are (and let’s face it, you’re not that good). You, as one person, cannot change the broken system they are stuck within, at least not in time for it to matter for Tyrell. And you can’t quit, because no matter how tired, inexperienced, annoyed, overwhelmed, and generally bad you are, you are all they’ve got right now. You are the only time they have a 4^th grade teacher, or a 9^th grade social studies class, or a 6^th grade science lesson. This is real life, this is the big time, and, because they matter, you matter. You won’t believe me now. You’ll think, like we all secretly do, that maybe you’ll be the one to be special and be good right away. Maybe your school will be supportive. Maybe your kids will be angels. You won’t. They won’t. But you’ll do it anyway, because when all is said and done, you believe it is better with you there, working your patootie off, than without you.

I hate it when that happens...

eminnm — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 13:30:30 +0100

I can't get over this. Best misspelled fourth-grade answer ever: vocabulary sentence for the word "pressure." Sentence: "I put pressure on a balloon and it poop right in my face!" Don't you hate it when that happens? ;-)