The Kids Gum Wrappered My Table...

 I started this as a post on Instagram, but it needed more explanation, so here we go. 

A few weeks ago, a couple of students in my first hour started "silverleafing" one of my tables. By silverleafing, I mean taking gum wrappers, peeling the the foil part from the wax paper, and pressing the foil onto the surface of the table, using their fingertips to make it stick.  It was an interesting process. They were listening to what we were doing in class, but they continued to press the foil. At the end of class, they drew a box around it with Expo marker, and wrote a message to not touch the work they had done. Ok, they also signed my name to it. And, oddly enough, the kids in my other classes left it alone. 

The students added to the table for several days in a row, bringing wrappers to class that they saved throughout the day before. I won't lie and say that it never became a distraction, but a gentle reminder they were able to do it because it was supposed to help them focus pulled them back into class, most times. 

As days passed, an interesting thing happened. At the beginning of the year, this class, while an incredible mix of kids with different views and interests, was spread throughout the room. It worked and it fit the class well. But as the silver portion of the tabletop grew, the spread of the class compressed. Kids moved to the table, and those that didn't watched from a few feet away. They would come to class and offer one another pieces of gum to chew. Kids from other classes started leaving wrappers for the project. The further it went, the more possessive they grew over their group project.

Last week, as the metallic surface spread, I was talking to one of the students, Brooklynn, who had started the project. She mentioned how much she enjoyed getting to do it and that other kids were taking part. This is a student who spent more time staring at her phone than listening to classmates or working with me over the last 2 years. That is no longer the case. She's not the only one. I asked her if she knew why I was happy to let them do it, and she said because it was something they enjoyed. I asked if she noticed anything about the class. She commented that "it is our family activity, Mr. Kohls!" 

And that is what made me smile that morning. It warmed my heart. Kids laugh together, they talk more, and they share a seemingly silly, simple pride. So, it's not so silly. 

They are laughing together. "So?" you might say. The most important answer: we need to. 

We need to laugh. We need to talk. We need to be together. We NEED those things. The learning comes when we are able to do that. 

We're learning, and I think it has been even better since the project took off.

 I have had a few people ask "Why would you let them do that?" 

Why wouldn't I? 

It's the little things...

 My brother gave a speech in high school, and his central themes was simple: Don't sweat the small stuff. 

It went over well. He had good things to say about being positive and not letting the small stuff tie you up or make you stumble. It was, and is, something that I think of fairly often. 

But, as with everything, there are two sides to consider here. I'm not saying we should sweat the small stuff. That's easy to do, and sometimes it is necessary, but I still believe my brother Darrel (no, I do not have another brother Darrel) was spot on in his message to anxious high school seniors. I also think there is another angle, however. Not "sweat the small stuff", but "enjoy the little things". Yeah, the rules of Zombieland can be pretty insightful too.

Sometimes, that little thing might be a Twinkie. Did you know they actually do have a shelf life, and it is a lot shorter than we assume? We don't think they do, but a some point, they too will be past prime, and we should not let them go to waste while holding on until later. 

Staying with the food theme, maybe that little thing is the extra breakfast bowl that a friend and colleague just happens to bring to school and nonchalantly asks if you want as she passes your room on the way to lunch. On that day, Jimmy Dean meant more that simply a sodium-laden, carb-packed way to restart the day. It was a little thing. And I enjoyed it. I think she enjoyed sharing it too.  Win-win.

This week, I have found myself sitting down with more students for one on ones; sometimes they are for a few moments while others stretch longer. Yes, that is my job, to teach, facilitate, and advise my students in their studies.  But sometimes it feels like we are always pushing forward, trying to drive toward that next academic milestone or assessment. In these one on ones, it was more like we were walking, taking a stroll. We were enjoying the scenery, breathing in the air, and making the most of moment without really trying too hard. And it meant more. For me, those moments are when I feel like a teacher. Or more accurately, like the teacher I want to be. 

On a little bit of a side note, during one of these moments this week, I was reading a student's writing and we were talking about it, as well as where she was headed with it. I glanced up to see one of our administrators at the door.  That is not unusual; our principals are in the halls and in our classrooms quite often. He was there to speak to the same student that I was seated next to, and he very easily could have pulled her at that moment. But he didn't. He nodded, and said, "Whenever you are done.  No hurry." And we, the student and I, continued to talk. He stayed at the door, casually leaning on the jam, watching the class; I think he joked with a student seated near the door.  It's a little thing, but I appreciate that, and that he let our moment continue.  This was the first time I have been able to really share this type of moment with this student, and without knowing it, he showed that he valued that. 

Sometimes, those little things are just a bit odd, but they need to be valued too.  A yellow skullcap pulled on during practice becomes 3, then 6, then 10, until an entire group of teenagers becomes a herd of Minions waiting to see if someone will notice and laugh. A student asks if you want to see something funny, and shows you a picture of her "catdog" seated on the windowsill,  and then tells you about how he walked off the edge of the deck yesterday, not because he is blind but because "he is stupid." A one on one discussion about a student's writing becomes sidetracked into a small group conversation about how ridiculous some punctuation rules are, and an attack on the monicker of semicolon. A student requests that you add "the Awesome" to her name when you address her because "you know I am." Self-conscious boys break into dance when a certain song comes on the stadium playlist during practice, or better, spontaneously start singing together. 

Every year, I find myself stuck in a race where I forget to value the little things, and instead find myself sweating the small stuff.  And every year, I have a student, usually several students, who consciously or unintentionally remind me that the little things matter. A lot. And I need to savor them, enjoy them, and let them be what they need to be at the moment. 

So find a little thing. A really good one. It's there, somewhere, and it is waiting for you to notice. 

"I got something to say..."

"I got something to say..."

I was thinking through how to start this post, and that statement came to mind. As I continued my early morning walk, mulling over the ideas in my head, that line kept creeping back in. It was always that line too, not the grammatically correct one. I kept hearing it in different voices, but was struggling to place it correctly.  Then it hit me: it was from a lot of different places.

Some of you may be saying, "Duh, it is from To Kill a Mockingbird, when Mayella melts down on the stand." Ok, only the English teachers are actually saying that. 

Others might say, "Nah, it is preceded by 'Yo Dre,' by Ice Cube during his NWA days."

Still a few more might say, "Really? That's obviously Joe Eliot of Def Leppard, working through the intro to 'Rock of Ages"."

And some of you may not want to admit it, but as Misfits or Metallica fans, you are mentally screaming, "No! DO. NOT. FINISH. THAT LINE!"

But honestly, none of that has anything to do with what I want to say. Or does it? Each example above is followed by something that the speaker felt was pretty important, no matter how disturbing it was (looking at you Lars). 

So maybe that is why I fell into that seemingly unrelated mental rabbit hole. I, in fact, got something to say. And who do I want to say it to? That is important too. 

Parents.

1. We are not in opposition. Teachers and parents are not naturally at odds. I truly believe that. I know it may seem that we are. I try to be honest with the kids in my classroom, or how else would they trust me? So, I need to be honest here too. I have read the social media posts and heard the public figures say teachers want to destroy our kids, attack what we love. I have heard them call teachers evil. Those posts, those broadcasts, those rants, anger me, and they hurt. We used to be able to talk to each other, as opposed to making someone who disagrees THE OTHER, the one we have to feel hatred for. It shouldn't be that way. I have different perspectives on some things than some of my close friends, but we are still able to be friends. I'll also admit that I have also seen others post and rage, some of them educators (that honesty thing isn't easy at times) as they attack parents in their districts or set all teachers as opponents to parents. I've seen some of those teachers attacking other teachers too, but that is for another day. Now, I do not speak for all teachers, and I will never try to.  This is my voice, my post, and sometimes I struggle with what I want to say, and at those times I tend to listen. One of my proudest moments as a teacher was this year, when a student told me that one of the things she learned, one of the biggest points of growth, was that she can hold strongly to her principles, can speak them boldly, and she can also listen to others who differ in their perspective. She said she understands things better now because of that.  I may have some different perspectives on some things than some of my students' parents. I may align on some things pretty closely. Above all, I truly believe that nearly all of us align very well on one particular thing, THE particular thing: We want what is best for kids. You want what is best for your kid in particular, and often, what is best for all kids. That is what we are striving for. What is best for kids. Over the years, as we have weighed what to do, what to try, what to prioritize, the question my colleagues, my principal, my mentors have posed in the most crucial times is "Is it best for kids?" That is the guiding force. It really is. We want those kids we see every day, the kids you nurture and guide at home, to succeed. We are not in opposition in that desire.
2. We, teachers, are parents too. I don't mean we are trying to take the place of you for your kids. Definitely not. What I mean is many of us literally are parents. I had a discussion with a parent a few years ago about something we had done in our classroom that their child had come home and discussed with them. The parent said it was a good discussion, but she questioned why I had chosen to use a particular piece of content in our room. That's a question I can answer. After explaining my reasoning, I added that with everything we do in my classroom, it passes one test first: would I be ok with my son or daughter in my classroom at that moment? In fact, my son and daughter both were in my classroom as students, and I continue to ask that question now that they have moved on. Now, I do not pretend that every parent would agree with my answer. I understand that. But I love my kids. I want no harm to come to them. Have we had uncomfortable situations? Yes. Have I weighed the discomfort with the benefit of the situation? Yes. Have I made mistakes? Oh yeah. What parent hasn't? And again, see #1. 
3. I am going to make mistakes. I try to minimize them, but I, like you, am human. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be doing this job. I wouldn't have answered the calling, and a calling it is. I have a really strong grasp of my content, and I know the science behind learning. I was and am a nerd. But the intellectual part of the work is definitely only a part of it. The part that makes me love teaching, that makes me happy to return to the classroom after a rough day (or year) is the human side. And that side is going to lead me to make mistakes. And when I do, I will try to do better. There is a quote from Maya Angelou that says, "Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better." I try to live by that. One of the things we stress in our classroom is that learning is never-ending. Learning is the most important thing. That goes for me too. So, when I make a mistake, I want to learn from it. It might be hard to face sometimes, and I might get defensive. Sometimes, it might turn out that it wasn't even a mistake. We're all learning here. We want to do our best. Again, see #1. 
4. I am excited to see your kids. The last year and a half have been hard for a lot of people and we are still rolling with the hands we have been dealt. Not every part of the country (or even our State or county) was in the same situation or dealt with it in the same way. I realize everyone's situation is a little different. I was excited last fall that we would be face to face and have our kids in our classrooms and on our playing fields. Was I happy about masking and returning to rows of desks and enforcing social distancing guidelines? No, not really, but to have kids safely in our classrooms, it was worth it. Was I stressed, worried, anxious? Immensely. But I was excited to work with the kids in person again. I am excited to be together again this year, even though circumstances are once again not certain. I went through my rosters as soon as I found out they were available. When one of my sophomores-now-juniors emailed me and asked if I am excited to have her in class again, I could honestly answer "Yes" and mean it. Every day, I am excited to work with the young people that grace our halls, whether it be in the classroom or on the field. Am I excited every single day to face every single kid? Maybe there are days when I am not jumping with exuberance to interact with a particular student. Some days are tough, and some days, people can be rough. Sometimes, that excitement gives way to disappointment, and those days are difficult. Let's face it: some days suck and are exhausting. But I want to be there on those days too, and it is usually on those days that someone will surprise me, amaze me, inspire me. Every day something happens that makes me excited to be a teacher and gives me hope. Sometimes, I have to have someone remind me to look for those moments or think through the day to remind myself that they did in fact happen, and sometimes we have to pull on the smallest of victories. That's not always easy. But it's worth it.
5. This one is big. I will talk to my students in less than two weeks about this one. It's vital to our classroom and to our learning. It's vital to any kind of relationship. Communicate. That said, no one enjoys getting yelled at or raked over the coals. I get anxious having to make the uncomfortable phone calls home, reading an angry email, or walking into a meeting where people are clearly upset or angry. I would prefer we communicate before we get to that point. Share your thoughts. Ask questions. Listen to understand. If you need more, let's continue that conversation. I tell my students to talk to me, email me, message me, drop a note on my desk, whatever, if you need me to know something, need to ask something, or if they are upset. We are working together here. I acknowledge that it is possible that we may not always agree, but hopefully we will understand one another. And hopefully we can keep ourselves headed toward that common, ultimate goal. #1. 

"See, I told you..."

 I have so many amazingly talented students, and I am blessed to get to sit and talk with them. They enlighten me, they make me laugh (a lot), they cause me to stop and think, and they challenge me to be better. Often, these conversations hang on; I cannot shake them, for reasons both good and bad. They usually lead me to write, sometimes so I won't forget them, often so I can think through what they really mean and where I might go with them. 

The conversation I am thinking about right now is a frustrating one. And so, I write.

Recently, some of my students who took the ACT received their scores, and they were discussing them as class started. As I walked into the room, one student told me she did poorly (in her eyes) on the reading section. "See, I told you I was a terrible reader." 

Earlier this year, I told this young person to stop saying that. She told me that the first day of class, and we talked about why she felt that way. She told me that some of her teachers in grade school told her that because she did poorly on some of the tests they gave. She believed them. It was how she viewed herself, and it was a part of her as a student and as a learner. As we progressed through the year, she showed me what kid of reader she actually is. 

Thoughtful.

Imaginative.

Speculative.

Creative. 

Driven.

Does she read as quickly as some of her classmates? No, she does not. Does she remember minute details after a quick reading, or a somewhat focused reading? Most of the time, no. Does she dive deeply into a text when she is engaged, thinking about the characters and who they are, feeling the emotion spilled on the page by the author, contemplating why things happened, what might happen next, and how it relates to her? Definitely. 

This student has taken part in every classroom discussion. She asks questions. She listens to other students when they ask questions or present ideas. She composed original music to fit a character's development throughout a novel.  She wrote poetry to represent different themes and plot elements in another novel and recorded them as songs. Even added a humorous take on one element as a bonus track. She has produced a wealth of evidence that she can not only understand what she reads, she can consume it and use it to produce other creative pieces. 

Then, with one test result, the confidence that had grown so much during the year was replaced with resignation. Resignation to something that is patently false. Untrue. Wrong.

I struggle so much with this. I celebrate with my kids who come to me and proudly tell me how they did on the ACT or some other test. They are excited and proud of themselves. Usually, these students have already proven themselves "worthy" on a variety of other occasions over the semester, year, or school career, but the affirmation granted by that single measure seems to outweigh all the other learning, growth, and creation. I am proud of them for doing well, yet I wish they were as excited and affirmed by their repeated and visible learning that occurs on days other than one scheduled Saturday and in places other than one random classroom. 

A while back, a past student told me she scored significantly lower on her second ACT than first. She was doubting herself and she was incredibly frustrated. She hadn't suddenly become a few points "stupider" and was not any less talented. She didn't suddenly become a student who didn't work extremely hard and find ways to improve.  What had changed? She took her second test in room that had been the site of past trauma. She couldn't focus. And according to the test, she was not longer the bright, talented person she had been before. Or at least that's how some might see it. She had earned a good score on her first attempt and was hoping to improve by taking it again. But what if she had been randomly placed in that room during her first attempt?  Would she have been able to bounce back? How might that have changed her future education, one in which she has since proven successful? That question doesn't just frustrate me; it frightens and angers me. 

So back to the conversation in my class stuck with me. "I am a terrible reader" stayed pinned in my mind. 

I told that student something that I honestly believe to be true. 

"You are not a terrible reader; that test does a bad job of measuring how you think."

These tests are one measure, on one day, and yes, we can learn from the results. But they are ONE measure, on one day. I wish we - teachers, colleges, scholarships programs, newspapers, parents, and students -  could be allowed to feel that way about them. 

Until them, I want  to continue to help kids build confidence, provide a space to grow and learn in different ways, and celebrate their hard-won successes, no matter where those successes presented themselves.

And, like trying to get off of Voxer, I don't really know how to gracefully end this post. 

Kohls, out. 

WHY and Things Falling into Place

 Good morning! That's when I am writing this anyway. If you are reading later, then I hope you are having a pleasant day, a splendid evening, or lovely night. You probably desire it. 

Yesterday, I read a Tweet that caught me a little off guard, not because it was argumentative or controversial, not because it was political or vulgar. It caught me off guard because its sentiment has been expressed and bounced around my circle for some time, but yesterday, it made me think, and I decided a reply on Twitter would not allow me to hash out my thoughts. I  always tell my students that if a piece of literature makes you think, then it has done is job, so I guess the Tweet did its job. 

The Tweet came from Simon Sinek and had popped up on my feed because it was liked and replied to by some of the educators I follow. I have no beef with Mr. Sinek. He encourages positive, optimistic leadership, and I like a lot of what he shares. The Tweet that caught my attention is incredibly positive as well, and the replies were full of different ways it can apply to those people's lives. So, why was it stuck in my head, bouncing around my mind trying to form a coherent thought?

We've spent ELA Team time and district PD time discussing our WHY. I have written about my WHY more than once. We encourage one another to remind ourselves of our WHY, especially when we are struggling or frustrated. We have taken the "Why I Teach" selfies. We even encourage our students to begin exploring their WHY. So, what besides a "Yeah, I get it" thought would stop my scrolling and make me hit the W at the bottom of the Tweet so it magically transported itself into my Wakelet? 

Well, as a person who deals daily with language, it bothered me. I think I get his point and understand what he is trying to convey philosophically. However, that is not what it said to me when I read it. I don't know if anyone is aware of this, but the last year has been somewhat difficult, not only in education, but life in general. However, the thought that was forming in my head is not restricted to this unique (hopefully) period in time. 2020-2021 has made it clear, as it has with so many other things, but the issues have been here long before the dumpster fire of a year began. What struck me in this little message on Twitter was that it is unfairly unrealistic, especially at a time when so many educators are struggling to get something, let alone everything, to consistently fall into place. 

Knowing your WHY is vital. It will be what drives you. It will focus your efforts.  It will give you energy. I am blessed as a teacher to have my WHY greet me on a daily basis (receiving a dab of hand sanitizer each day this year), and it is what keeps me going. However, to say knowing your WHY means "everything will fall into place" is kind of ridiculous. And it is a little bit dangerous. Let me explain. Each day, I am fortunate to work with amazing people. Award-winning teachers, championship-winning coaches, Kansas Teachers of the Year, Horizon Award winners, State and National Coaches of the Year, student-inspiring mentors, people who make a different each and every day in countless ways. I often say that I just ry to keep up with them. We work each day with extraordinary young people, we see our former students celebrate academic, professional, and personal successes, and that lifts us up. But guess what? I have witnessed every single one of these amazing people question themselves and what they are doing, often on a daily, and sometimes on an hourly, basis. These people KNOW THEIR WHY. They focus, refocus, and rededicate themselves each day. And yet, somehow, things do not simply fall into place. 

To say that they will simply fall into place, if you really know your WHY, is in short, unfair. When we say things like this, we set ourselves up for failure. When we shower fresh teachers with these nuggets of philosophical "truths," we are encouraging them to doubt themselves when things don't just fall into place despite their conviction to and passion for their WHY. It tells our more experienced teachers who are making attempts to grow and develop to do what is best for their students that they just need to WHY harder. It makes those same new and seasoned teachers and administrators question whether they should even be in the profession because let's face it, sometimes no matter what we do, things are not falling into place. 

I don't think the sentiment Mr. Sinek was trying to convey is the problem. As I said, I appreciate Mr. Sinek's positive approach and sentiment. The problem is the 280-character world we live in, where everything has to be a bite-sized platitude or sound-bite nugget of knowledge. It reminds me of the old saying "If you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life." Great sentiment, but completely false. You will work harder than you can imagine each day, but you will want to because you love what you do. This is similar. Knowing your WHY is vital. It is a key component to finding success. Each of us needs to have that WHY in clear focus. But it is not going to make everything magically fall into place. Knowing your WHY will drive you to pick up the pieces, to fish them from under that furniture and brush them off to see if they fit better in a different spot. Your WHY will cause you to stay with that piece that doesn't seem to have a place to fit, and push you to carve out a new opening, a little larger or in need of sanding perhaps, or maybe a completely in new shape, previously not part of the board, one that didn't seem obviously necessary before but is now. Your WHY will make you want to learn how to construct your own board from scratch because the old one isn't what will work best now, or lead you to find someone who can see the board form a different angle and can help you see it differently too. Your WHY won't make everything fall into place. Your WHY will make you love finding a way to help things fit together.

So, find your WHY. Bring it into clear focus. Find ways to consciously remind yourself of that WHY as often as possible. Some days, things will fall into place; on most days, they won't.  And it is on those days that that WHY is the most important. 

"Just" Another School Day

 Today, I am writing because I am up at 4 am after staying up late watching history, sad history, continue to unfold. I am not entirely sure this will be coherent. I am sure it may be more for me than for anyone else, Regardless, I write, and I write because yesterday I sat and watched a surreal scene unfold before me. As teachers, our conversations quickly turned to our students, how we will do what is best for them today, tomorrow, and as we move forward.

My first inclination was to try and process what was happening. I was struggling to do that. Still am, to a degree, which is part of why I am up. As teachers, so often, we attempt to process not only everything that is going on in front of us and how it will affect our families, our spouses, and our children, but also how it will affect our kids in our classrooms, the young people we care so much about, their well-being. their futures, our relationships with them, and our ability to help them grow and succeed. As we watched a mob force their way into the Capitol, teachers were already discussing "what do our classrooms look and sound like tomorrow?"

As the evening progressed, I saw many posts and messages that stated, in one form or another "tomorrow is not just another school day." I get the sentiment. I really do, and I grasp the idea. But still. 

Not just another school day. 

Many of my students will know immediately why that statement, written in that way, makes me tense up. You see, as we are seeing with immense clarity, words have meaning. Words have power. That word "just" is one that I have grown to despise. I have written about it, taught lessons on it, and tried to remove it from my own usage when possible. "Just". It is dismissive. It is insulting. It is subtle but it is powerful. 

You see, every day is another school day. No day is just another school day. Or at least it shouldn't be. 

"Well, ok, but what it means is that tomorrow is not a normal school; it has significance." 

Uh huh. Gotcha. That doesn't make it any better.

First of all, point me to the last "normal" school day any of us has had. Go ahead; point it out on the calendar. I'll wait. 

Actually, no, I won't. I have things to do. You see: today is another school day, and I, like so many other teachers who are now awake, still awake, or tossing and turning, will figure this out. Today (and tomorrow) is another school day (and for those who don't know, even days that are not school days are school days. If you know, you know). It is significant. It is important. So, I am going to try and figure out how to do today what I hope I do in some way every other day: create a space (unfortunately a virtual one today) of hope, where my kids feel safe and confident enough to process, to ask questions, to question me, to think critically, to learn, and to grow. 

Today is another important school day.