BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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What Does it Mean to Be a Teacher?

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I’m a teacher. I know what that means. I know what’s required of me as a teacher, and I know how to achieve those demands. I know my responsibilities to my students, their families, my colleagues, and my supervisors. I know how to help kids understand complex ideas. I know how to challenge them to approach problems from multiple perspectives. I know how to encourage them to do their best and strive to do better.

I also know how to develop curriculum, design lessons, assess achievement, improve accountability, and instill excitement. I know how to calm fears, increase independence, and promote collaboration. I’m not bragging, most of my colleagues know these things too. It might be news to you that we do all of these things and more.

While visiting with a friend today, I learned that many people don’t realize teachers usually create our own curriculum and assessments. She sheepishly admitted that she thought teachers were simply handed a curriculum and materials at the beginning of the year and their job was to just follow along. She went on to tell me that volunteering in her son’s classroom opened her eyes to the reality of modern teaching. She now spreads the word to others when she comes across those misconceptions.

To clarify, yes, there are teacher’s manuals for many subject areas, but I don’t know any teachers who rely solely on those to teach their students. They simply don’t meet our students’ needs or properly align with our grade level standards. Some of them assume that we have far more time to teach particular concepts than we do. Others only skim the surface of topics, leaving students without the deep understanding necessary for further learning. At times, the text book publishers assume our students have more previous knowledge than they do, and other times they skip important concepts completely. And let’s face it, text books are often boring. Today’s students require more novelty and active engagement. The teacher’s guides don’t provide that, the teachers do.

Of course that’s not all it means to be a teacher. It also means you laugh with your students, you receive countless crayon pictures, and you know when a kid REALLY needs to go to the bathroom. It means you grade papers, complete report cards, identify and secure services for students with learning disabilities, conduct parent-teacher conferences, attend staff meetings, make copies, organize and chaperone field trips, participate in professional development, read professional journals, pin countless teaching ideas on Pinterest, scan hundreds of files on Teachers Pay Teachers, put up bulletin boards, pass out thousands of papers, and share tales with friends and families until they dread spending time with us.

Unfortunately there are some aspects to teaching that are far less pleasant. We have to cope with student misbehavior, we have to endure countless interruptions to instruction, we have to report suspected abuse or neglect, and we have to mediate conflicts between our students. We have to assist students coping with stressful situations, and we sometimes become targets. There are those who, in their attempts to advocate for their children, either intentionally or unintentionally undermine our efforts to educate those children. Adults who excuse bad behavior, don’t require effort, or bad-mouth teachers end up doing students a disservice. It is difficult for students to develop a sense of responsibility and respect when it isn’t required of them or modeled for them at home.

Recently I read an article about the suicide of an ivy league college student. On the outside it appeared that everything was going fine for her, but she was struggling. The article went on to state that suicide rates among college students are on the rise, and it speculated that one of the main causes was the lack of problem solving skills that many young people have as a result of parents micro-managing their lives. All too often parents are quick to fire off an irate e-mail if a child loses recess as a result of wasting time in class, or they demand make-up work for assignments that a child has chosen not to complete. They rush to school with forgotten lunches and library books and instruments rather than allowing their children to experience the natural consequences of those common oversights.

I submit that not allowing kids to fail once in a while is a huge mistake. We grow by learning from our mistakes, not by having others bail us out when we make them. It’s our duty to raise responsible, independent kids who are hard-working problem solvers, not dependent kids with a sense of entitlement. Those kids may be smart and funny and wonderful, but sadly they don’t tend to be very resilient, a quality that success in life demands. Let them have small failures in elementary school, when it doesn’t “count” so much, rather than allowing them to rely on adults to get them out of situations as they get older. Kids whose parents don’t hold them accountable have a difficult time learning accountability, and that makes them poor candidates for employment, not to mention people with whom you might not want to enter into a long-term relationship.

The good news is that those situations are the exception rather than the rule, but they happen often enough that teachers often feel as if they’re walking on eggshells. Rather than taking the time to find out what really happened, many parents simply take their child’s word as gospel when they have some complaint about school, and go on a tirade directed toward the teacher. Rarely are school situations as dire as parents make them out to be, and usually a calm conversation can clarify a situation and provide a satisfactory result. Jumping to conclusions and becoming hostile is simply not the way to go.

Parents, please remember, we have the same goal. We became teachers because we want to help students learn. We want to instill a sense of wonder at the world, as well as develop the skills necessary to make sense of it. Don’t forget, it is in the teacher’s best interest that your child is successful in our classroom. We want your child to be happy, engaged, and learning. We don’t want your child to feel stressed out, unsuccessful, or unappreciated. We want each student to feel safe, valued, and smart. Teachers aren’t out to “get” kids, they’re out to educate and empower them.

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An Open Apology to Fourth Graders

Dear Fourth Graders,

On behalf of compassionate fourth grade teachers everywhere, I’m sorry.

1. I’m sorry that you don’t have as much recess time as you really need. I know that you need to run around and play more. I know that you need more opportunities to be with your peers in unstructured environments and more time to work out your conflicts without adult interference. I know that you need to exercise your imagination as well as your body, and that the short amount of time that you get to do this each day isn’t enough. I also know that your opportunities for this kind of play and social interaction outside of school are extremely limited in most cases. I’m sorry that most of you don’t live in “free range” neighborhoods, where you can ride bikes, play in friends’ yards, and feel like you own the outdoors. I’m sorry that for the most part those days are gone.

2. I’m sorry for the sad excuse that is your school lunch on a daily basis. Back in the good old days there was a delicious hot lunch waiting in the cafeteria for students each day, prepared with love by the ladies behind the counter in hairnets. I’m sorry that much of what you receive these days comes out of microwaved packages and hardly resembles a home cooked meal. Furthermore, I’m sorry that you don’t know the difference and think that it’s perfectly fine. I’m sorry that your tray is disposable and that we’re adding millions of these to landfills everyday, along with the packaging that your lunch came in. I’m sorry that your lunch time is no longer about enjoying a meal with your friends, but rather about shoving as much of this processed junk into your mouth as you can in the tiny amount of time you’re allotted. I’m sorry that these days items such as “trout treasures” are on the menu, and that someone thinks that serving cucumber slices with a pancake lunch is a good idea.

fracti83. I’m sorry about fractions. I know you don’t like them and that they’re confusing. I agree. They’re a little difficult to understand once you get past the basics, and frankly most people only really need to understand the basics. You, however, are in fourth grade, so you are expected to understand a lot more than that. You are expected to be able to identify lots of equivalent fractions, to order fractions on number lines, and to complete operations with them. You need to be able to rename them, decompose them, add them, subtract them, and mix them with whole numbers. You are also expected to be able to show multiple representations of all of these mathematical gymnastics, so relying on the old pizza diagram just doesn’t quite cut it anymore. I know that your parents have never seen the kind of work that we’re doing and that they can’t help you and they feel as frustrated by this as you do. I know it’s a lot, and I know there are umpteen million things you would rather do than draw a model of yet another fraction pair, but we have to do it. I’m sorry.

4. I’m sorry about all the tests. You think they’re normal, after all you’ve been tested half to death since before you ever set foot in a classroom, but I know the difference. Taking a TestI know that you’re tested too often, and frequently on all the wrong things. I’m required to test you reading against a stopwatch. I’m required to administer long complex tests via computer three times a year in math and reading. I’m required to make sure you’re prepared for a multi-day end of the year assessment that someone else wrote on content that I’m not convinced is even developmentally appropriate for you. Oh, and this year the test is brand new and nobody seems to have any clear idea of what it will actually be like. I’m sorry. I’m sorry it will be a surprise, and I’m sorry that it’s so darn long. I know you’re a little kid. I know that your attention span is fairly short. I know that this test is way more important to me than it is to you, and I’m sorry that I keep trying to get you to understand that I really need you to take it seriously and do your best. It should be enough that I’ve been teaching you all year and that I know what you understand and what you don’t, but unfortunately, some very powerful people don’t see it that way. I’m sorry.

5. I’m sorry that we just don’t have time for all the fun things that I know you would love, and that would help you to enjoy school and someday look back on it with fondness. I’m sorry that celebrating holidays is pretty much a thing of the past. I’m sorry that we’re so “culturally sensitive” that we end up doing virtually nothing out of the ordinary ever, for fear of upsetting someone. I’m sorry that our curriculum leaves so little room for art and drama and good old-fashioned fun. I’m sorry that we don’t do as many projects as you would like. I’m sorry that I have to rush you to learn, when I know that a slower pace with more time to process is what so many of you need. I’m sorry that I have to put my better judgement aside so frequently as a result of what I must accomplish on a daily basis. I’m sorry that room mothers (and fathers) and Valentine’s parties and time for games and crafts and show and tell have become a thing of the past in so many cases. I’m sorry that so often we don’t get to see the real you in school as a result.

6. I’m sorry that you think everything about school is as it should be. I know you would just LOVE to spend a week or two on a thematic unit studying the tropical rainforest, or that working together to make a group quilt would be a valuable and rewarding activity, but those types of learning experiences are so difficult to squeeze into the already demanding curriculum. All hope is not lost though. Your teachers really do want you to love school, so they hang on to those events and activities that they hold most dear, in hopes that we can leave some lasting impression of fourth grade, beyond tests and fractions and lousy school lunches. I’m sorry that we can’t do more of them, though.

7. I’m sorry that I only get you for one year. Fourth grade is a tough year. You’re expected to be a good reader by now, only many of you aren’t, yet. You’re expected to work independently at this age, except that many of you struggle with this expectation daily. You’re expected to be organized, but for a lot of you that’s just not possible. You’re expected to solve your own problems, except that many of you have little experience with this skill, so you’re not very good at it yet. Add to that the fractions and the testing and the quick pace and the lack of downtime, and fourth grade ends up being a very stressful time for many kids. It’s also a time when class sizes increase (at least in my district) and it’s when some children are beginning to show signs of puberty. It’s a year of challenges, but one that you’ll get through. I wish I could keep you for fifth grade. I’ve had that pleasure before, and that second year together is magic. We know each other, we work together as a team, and you do amazing things that you just weren’t quite ready to do the year before. I can’t keep you, though. I have to send you on at the end of the year, but I know you’ll be ready, and for that, I’m not sorry at all.

I know you don’t always understand why I do what I do in school, and why you have to do what you have to do, but please trust me. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I make descisions about your education with an open mind and an open heart, within the parameters that are allowed. I care about you, and your future. After all, your future is tied to mine, and I want you to be as well prepared, in all ways, as possible.

With love,

Your Fourth Grade Teacher

 


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Feeling Kind of Monday

Yesterday was a wonderful day off from school in celebration of Martin Luther King Jr. Day. It was a beautiful day in my desert southwest city, and my son, my mother, and I took full advantage of it. We enjoyed a wonderful lunch on a restaurant patio, then worked it off hiking around our Desert Botanical Gardens. medThey had both seen the Chihuly glass installation there the last time around (son was in 5th grade then, now he’s in 10th), and it was fun to see how it differed from last time.

We soaked up the sunshine and warm weather, marveled at the beauty of the glass, and logged a couple of miles of desert hiking (well, strolling anyway). We entered the huts on the grounds that showed how the ancient people lived, and we inhaled the scents of lavender and sage. We read the signs, posed for pictures, and chatted with other visitors. It was a magnificent day. All on a Monday.

That means today feels like a Monday all over again. It’s time to jump in the shower and face the work week. It’s time to teach some new vocabulary, work on the skill of summarizing text, and try once again to demystify the world of fractions. Somehow I don’t feel up to the task. I feel ill prepared, although I’ve done my lesson plans and reviewed the week’s material. I just don’t feel ready. I feel like a need another weekend. Is that bad?

I’m not getting one though, at least not for four days. Oh, Four days. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Yes, I can do this. I’m certain I can. Wish me luck. I’m off to fraction hell.