A Special Gift

Hey, I'm on Christmas break.  Yesterday, I purposely stayed away from school "stuff" as much as I could. I have grading to finish and I need to send some resources to the student-teacher who will join us in January. I felt I needed it.  Ok, I admit, I read some articles that were posted by the amazing people of my PLN on Twitter. I interacted with some students through messages. But that isn't work. I love those activities. Today, I will grade a little. Or a lot. But first, I thought I would throw down a blog entry. It is a mixture of ideas that have not made it to the page or have not made it to a point that will allow me to hit Publish. Today, in the spirit of the season, I want to talk gifts.

All right, this blog post started out as a list of gifts I am happy to have already received this year. However, then as I read back through it, I realized it was getting a little long, so I have decided to cut this one down to just one gift. I will get the rest of the list out at some point, probably as a year-end list of some sort. But for now, let's just focus on one special gift I have received this year, and how it relates to my professional world. 

That special gift?

Dad is alive for Christmas.

I turn 47 in a few days, so I have been blessed with nearly 47 years of growing up with my parents. But that does not change the fact that it is a gift to be able to say that:

Dad is alive for Christmas.

Ten days ago, this was not a certainty. I will not go into a lot of detail, but it is truly a gift. Thanks to Dad being Dad and Mom being there with him, he survived a surgery that astonishes me. His surgeon, one of numerous people who played Santa and put this gift together, is incredible. He is a brilliant man who can hold life in his hands one minute and then take a knee to speak to a family the next, and do both with a calmness and humility Other doctors have told my parents that he is one of the most intelligent people they have ever met. Oftentimes, people of such brilliance struggle to communicate with "average people" or they are on a different level that creates a barrier between them and the people they work with. This is not the case with this doctor. He performed surgery that was extremely high risk, and at 1 a.m.  walked out into a waiting room to explain how things went. This was what I noticed first as he began to explain things: he took a knee.  This surgeon, one of the most intelligent men that intelligent men had ever met, a person who my Dad literally owes his life, looked at my mom and the rest of us who sat in the chairs of the surgical waiting room, and he took knee. He put himself at a level even with Mom, and looked her in the eyes, and he explained everything that he had done in terms that were understandable without being condescending. He patiently answered our questions, despite the fact that he had been in surgery all day and had others scheduled for that morning. He put us at ease with honesty and sincerity.

When I drove back to school later in the week after Dad's surgery, my teacher mind landed on this fact: that surgeon once sat in a classroom where he was impacted and influenced by someone. Maybe he was fortunate to have sat in several classrooms where that happened. No, let me rephrase that. My Dad, my family, and I are fortunate that he sat in such classrooms. Maybe it was a lockerroom, auditorium, concert hall, or lab. Did the teacher, coach, pastor, Boy Scout leader, band director, librarian, or whoever it was who sparked the imagination, fed the talent, or instilled the confidence in this man know the impact they were having at that moment?

Who is in my classroom that might one day be "that person" for a family? Who is sitting in your classroom? And what might each of is do that sparks or, regretfully, stifles, the inspiration that person needs. It might be a question, a conversation, a pat on the back, or a refusal to give up when that kid wants to quit. It could be something as simple as a greeting when someone feels invisible or a word of encouragement when someone feels like everyone is against them. We can never really know, and we cannot waste the opportunities we have each and every day.

That kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it? It changes how that dreadful sentence sounds: "Well, just one more __________ and I'm done." One for day, one more week, one more semester, or one more year. I've heard it before. I am embarrassed to say, I have thought it and said it, going into a break, or nearing the end of the year. But we cannot let that steal away the opportunities that we have. When we feel that way, we have to take a deep breath, draw on those around us who lift us up, and remember why we are there in the first place. We cannot enter our classrooms with that "just one more" attitude. Not to sound bold, but what we do can be too important. If that is the attitude a teacher carries, then he should not walk through those doors. It's not ever "just one more year." It's 120 or more young people who walk through our classroom doors. We never know when that opportunity to make that positive impact might present itself for "that kid" who will eventually become "that doctor, that soldier, that writer, that leader, that builder, that parent, that teacher."

So, as I said, this post began as a Christmas list. We as teachers are given gifts each and every day. They are the kids who walk through our doors, who pass us in the hallways, who look to us for hope or help. Few professions are given these gifts. We are. Remember that, and in essence, that makes every day Christmas.

To My Students: Thank You.

I have been absent from the blogosphere for a while (I know: you have been suffering whether you realized it or not, obviously), but I have had numerous idea floating in the draft stage for much of the fall. I felt that today, in the afterglow of Thanksgiving, I would try to smooth out a couple of these rough ideas and share.

In the spirit of the season, I want to say “Thank You!”  I have innumerable people who deserve to hear that, and I have to do a better job in telling the people in my life that. I don’t want this to take on an Oscars air with the sound of your browsers closing in place of the play-off music, so I won’t go through a list here. I’ll work to make those personal. Instead, here today, I want to say “Thank You!” to my students. At times, you frustrate me, but so often, you tend to amaze me, and sometimes I take that for granted.

Thank you for making me look at the world in a new way or from a new angle. This weekend, I was grading Fahrenheit 451 projects, and some of you blew me away. You created artwork, wrote poetry, composed original music, expanded analysis, and developed ideas beyond what we had discussed in class. Some of you took our discussions about Mildred, a character for whom I have never held anything but contempt, and wrote prequels that created scenarios to explain how Mildred deserves our sympathy, empathy, and understanding. You created a world that could easily evolve into the one Bradbury created, but saw it through a young woman’s eyes as she suffered hardship and trauma. One of you included details you learned from researching how lack of communication can lead to difficulties in marriage. Another began your tale with an innocent little girl who had her world torn apart, and turned inward in order to survive. Another of you told me a story of sister whose brother fell into the desperate pit of addiction and hopelessness, which led to her own downfall. Thank you for offering these fresh views into a classic that I had read one way, only for you to flip that view on its head, not with immature arguments based purely on a desire to be right but with sincere examination and heartfelt desire to ask “what if?” in a way Bradbury would have to respect. You have taken the ideas beyond the text, moved so far beyond the novel we studied. This is just one example, and there are many more as you push me to see things differently so often.

I want to say “Thank You!” to you for reminding me in so many ways why I became a teacher. You make me laugh throughout each day, struggle to hold back tears more that I should, and swell up with pride more often than you know.  I have been able to watch some of you grow up from the time you were in kindergarten. You have become incredible human beings, and your work ethic, determination, and perseverance are inspirational. Your talent and abilities truly amaze me at times. Your intelligence and willingness to reach higher is impressive.  However, perhaps the most incredible acts are those that may seem simple and random, but demonstrate that maybe, no, definitely,, our world is not headed in such a bad direction after all. I am proud of you as you reach out to show appreciation to people in our community, even though no one would think twice if you didn’t. I am inspired by little gestures you do even when you think no one is watching, simply because you want to brighten someone else’s day. I am lifted up by your desire to change the world, starting now and here, in our little corner of it, because that is where you know you can make an impact.

I want to say “Thank You” for your bravery. You put yourself out there in ways that show a determination that I sometimes envy. For some of you, it is risking failure and trying something new. That is hard sometimes, especially when you have always wanted to do it “right” and are now taking risks to truly learn and grow. Some of you show up every day, which is an act of courage in itself for some people. Some of you put yourselves out there on a daily basis, opening yourselves up for admiration, recognition, and applause, sure, but also for criticism and ridicule, and that takes guts. Our world is better because of your bravery, even on the days when it doesn’t seem like it is worth it.

As I said, my list of individuals whom I need to thank stretches miles, and I can never truly do any of you justice. I could continue on, page after page, with all of the ways I am thankful. So, in the smallest way, I start here, to the young people in my life now and who have moved through my life over the years and are now not-so-young people who continue to make the world better: Sincerely, thank you.

As the Year Begins...

Deep breath.

And then another.

Tomorrow morning, football practice starts, we have our district kickoff, and the school year officially begins.

This is one of those times of year that never gets old.  I am legitimately excited, so much so that last week, despite once again needing to be up shortly after 5 am the next morning for summer strength and conditioning, I could not settle down enough to fall asleep. The clock crept toward midnight, and my mind raced, my train of thought stopping in seemingly random chambers of my mind, turning over ideas and worries, anticipation and excitement. I tend to have nights like those.

The school year will officially start for teachers Monday morning, but it began long ago. I spent every day this summer with kids and coaches, colleagues and friends, mentors and motivators. I was blessed to travel with a group of amazing people who, honestly, reignited something that makes me not just excited to be a teacher but extremely proud to part of this family. I spent mornings and afternoons throughout the summer in our hallway with members of the ELA team, a group of people who drive me, challenge me, and elevate me. They are family. I was fortunate to be included in gatherings of leaders in our district as we planned and polished professional learning. So often, content, calendars, and planning were interspersed with laughter. Not the uncomfortable laughter that says, "Yeah, let's just move on ok, and get this done" but instead, heartfelt and heartwarming catharsis that brightens a day long after the meeting has ended. Yes, I have had a little down time away from school, but my time with all of these people rejuvenates me.

The school year starts, officially, for our students later in the week. However, that is misleading too. They have been engaged for months. I have also spent countless hours with kids, and I am better for it. Hours at camps, in the weightroom, or in a van can reveal a great deal about people. I get to see kids all summer, not just BHS football kids, but cheerleaders, band members, debaters, dancers, MS athletes, youth football players, and so many more. Watching, kids sweat and push themselves, seeing young people protect one another and build each other up, getting to know what drives individuals to do what they do, and observing kids grow in their own ways give me a completely different feeling than some other people when I hear an adult say "Kids these days." Add to that that the resources at our fingertips today have allowed me to virtually interact with my kids despite the fact that they are not in school, giving me a chance to celebrate with them when they are at a peak they proudly post, check in with them when a vague Tweet triggers a concern, and watch them from a distance as they grow in so many ways. This all makes me even more excited to see them walk through our doors later in the week. Occasionally, former students have touched base with me this summer, asking for input or sharing where they are headed. Those moments mean a great deal to me as our relationships shift and grow as they boldly stride out of our door, but forever remain "our kids".

I will struggle to sleep tonight, and the next, and definitely the one after that. I will continue to take deep breaths. But I am ready. I am ready to see my kids and my Buhler family on a daily basis. I am ready to take on the challenges that lay ahead, even those that I am not fully aware of yet.  Are there going to be dips and struggles.  Oh boy, there will be those. But without darkness, we cannot know light. Without cold, we cannot know warmth. So, bring it on. We'll keep grinding and growing. Driving and developing. Laughing and lifting. And we'll do it together.

Have a great year.

"...someone actually cares about what I'm saying."

It's summer. Ahhhh.

So naturally, I am preparing to head to a conference for the next 5 days. I'm genuinely excited about the trip and the chance to learn from some of the most amazing educators in the country, some of whom will be in the cars that leave early Sunday morning. I get to spend a great deal of time in a vehicle with the other teachers form our district, which I am excited about. Whether traveling with coaches, other ELA teachers (I am blessed to work with an incredible team), or elementary teachers (you would be amazed at how much HS teachers learn every time we get the chance to collaborate with these amazing humans), "windshield time" can be unbelievably rewarding.

I will probably post about the trip after we return. But for now, I want to talk about cleaning out my bag for the trip.

More specifically, what I found when I cleaned out my computer bag in preparation for the trip. As I removed the collection of pens and pencils, lanyards, notepads, and senior announcements, I pulled out several folded pieces of paper. These were no ordinary scraps of loose-leaf or random doodles. These were teacher treasures. I had found several letters from students from this year. I normally read these letters after school is out and put them in my desk drawer. They create a "rainy day" file that can come in handy at times throughout the year and serve as a reminder of the amazing people I have been blessed to work with.  This correspondence was in the inside pocket of my bag, which is right where they needed to be. I needed to reread them today.

As I read through these gems, certain particular lines stood out and grabbed me. "Thank you for...not making me feel dumb for how I feel" one special young person wrote. She followed that with "I appreciate everything you do for me, especially just making me feel like someone actually cares about what I am saying." Affirmation is an incredible thing, and we all need it in some way. To be our best, we need to know that we can be our best, and that our best is worth being. This is an incredibly bright young person, someone who is intelligent and caring. Far too often, she has felt "dumb" or that how she has felt at a given moment was viewed that way. And it matters. The negatives matter, even if they are unintentional. Fortunately, so do the positives. My young lady here, she reminds me of that on a regular basis. She doubts herself, and she gets in her own way. We all do that sometimes. And when we do, we don't need someone to remind us of what we feel we cannot do; we need someone to turn us around. 

What she does not realize is that she is doing that for me too. As a person and as a teacher, I doubt myself. Often. To hear her say that I had some positive impact, so influence that might help her succeed and grow as a person is a reward few people outside of teaching and coach can understand.

Another letter was penned by another caring, intelligent person who, at first glance, has everything in the world going in the right direction. A closer inspection, well, it reveals that she actually does have a whole lot in her life headed toward the brightest of horizons. To say I have been blessed to work with her is a massive understatement. She challenged me when I was not doing enough, and she let me tag along as she developed as a writer and as a person. I smiled as I read her letter and shared memories came forward in my mind. Then I read this: "You've taught me that school is a safe place. You've taught me that it's okay to show emotion. You've taught me to notice the gifts that all students possess, that some might hide their talents."

"You've taught me that school is a safe place." Honestly, that should never have to be taught to anyone. It should be a given, an automatic, and expectation. This bright, talented, positive world-changer is thanking me for teaching her that.  That means that at some point, it was not clear, it was not a given. It was in question. That bothers me.  I am glad she now feels that way, and that I had a role in it, but every student, every child who steps through the doors of our buildings and our classrooms deserves to feel, at the very least, that they are in a safe place. They should know, every moment, that "someone actually cares..."

So this is where it gets dicey for me. I am proud that I have somehow been able to connect with these students in this way. It is why I teach. Here's the rub: I know I have not done this for every one of my students. I have students in my classes leave my classroom feeling that I did not treat them with as much respect as I should have, that I did not hear their voices as clearly as they deserved to be heard.

I have to do better. I have to be more aware of what I say, and I have to make a conscious effort to make our room and our world (or at least our little corner of it) a safe place. If they do not have that, they cannot grow as they should. They will always have roadblock, a barrier, that causes them to hold back, to swallow their voice at times they should be speaking out. And it lands on me to to the best I can for them. 

So, to the letter-writers and the affirmation givers, thank you. You truly do hold a place in my heart. You always will. And to those whom i have failed, I apologize. That is not enough, I know, and i will do better.

I have to. You deserve it. You all do.

"I'm just trying to do good here."

"You have a kind heart. I can tell you pray every day, inside it."

Those words were uttered by a man I had never met, and will probably never again see. But they are lodged in my mind, and I feel the need to share a story I have not told anyone. Bear with it, if you will. It has a point.

One week ago, I had the opportunity to travel with two other coaches to a mid-sized city to observe spring football practice, interact with coaches, and get an up-close look at a major college program as they try to rebuild. One morning, I woke up, and not wanting to wake the other two people who were not afflicted with whatever it is that keeps me from sleeping past 6:30 am, I grabbed shorts and shoes and slid out the door.  A combination of hatred for treadmills and the clear, warm morning led me outside for a walk.  I wandered, really without a direction except to see neighborhood.  It was pretty cool. I met every person on the street the same way I meet every kid in the hallway before school. I nodded and said "Good morning" or "Hello." Apparently, despite the fact that this city is as Midwestern as it can get, size does matter. My small town greetings were not brushed off, but most simply nodded, maybe smiled, but none responded with much else. That is, until I turned down a one block street with a bench at the end.

As I walked, I noticed a man trodding along ahead of me. His coat was dirty and crumpled, and his hat was sweat-stained.  He was a little bit ahead of me, and when he reached the bench, he dropped onto it, more heavily than would seem warranted that early. I nodded and said, "Good morning" as I neared the bench. It was then that I noticed just how rough and grisled he looked. However, he looked up, and for the first time that morning, someone replied, "Good morning." I kept walking past the bench, but then I had to stop. Behind me I heard him say, "Bless you. You are a good person." It slammed me to a stop. When I turned around and walked back, he looked up at me. "You have a kind heart. I can tell you pray every day, inside it." Odd? Maybe. Strange from a stranger? Perhaps. But his words, words he had no reason to say, struck me. Hard.

I did not know what else to do. I had slipped out without grabbing anything. And he was not asking for anything either. So I did the one thing I can do.  I talked. The only thing that seemed appropriate was to say "Thank you." I meant it. We talked more, briefly.  As I walked away, I said, "You hang in there. Have a good day."

"I will. I'm just trying to do good here."

Tonight, with the weather clear and calm, I went for another walk. The rough, haggard man sat in my mind. Recently, an incredible colleague of mine said that great teachers, teachers who make a difference, share a heart, and they let it guide them in what they do. Today, one of our students presented her Passion Project, which explored the effects of affirmation on others. I'll post the video component below.  It is worth a look. In essence, she skillfully illustrated this thought that has been rolling in my head but that I was struggling to form into something more coherent.

Affirmation Creation

"I'm just trying to do good here."

The young lady wanted her project to drive her classmates to find those who mean something to them, those who have a positive impact on their lives, and let them know it, while they can. It is simple, it is free, and it is meaningful. As she told my class, for some, affirmation is a love language that can have a significant effect on people. But we have to use it. Too often, we let the opportunity pass.

Sometimes, I might read too much into things.  My students will tell you that is true. And maybe that is what I am doing here. But so what.  I realized I do pray every day, inside my heart. And over and over again, my prayers are answered. My kids are bright, loving individuals. They are incredible in being who they are. At school, amazing young people move through my room each day. Some have organized workdays to help a local homeless shelter, while another has organized a student-driven club with the mission "to make sure every student knows they have someone in their corner." Students are teaching grade schoolers to care for animals, conducting lessons on the dangers of judging a book by its cover, guiding Cares Club kids to explore the benefits of fine arts, and constructing motors using exotic metal alloys. One young lady has published a literary magazine for teens and submitted a manuscript for publication, several students have composed music and performed in amazing fashion, a young man has explored how writing serves as therapy for young people, and a young lady has explored how healthy exercise can improve mental health. The list can go on, but you can get the idea. These are amazing people. They are not "just kids". They are kids who have drive, intelligence, talent, and, most importantly, heart.

This afternoon I walked into the hallway outside a classroom where I had covered a class. I saw one of my students and said, "Hey, you missed my class today." He ran to me, gave me a hug, and said, "I know buddy! I'm sorry." How could I not end my day happy? A prayer, in its own little way, was answered. Just as so many others are, every day.

And I am inspired by those people I see each day. Those individuals remind me each day that they, and I, are striving for one thing:

"I'm just trying to do good here."

30 for 30 2018 Let's Do It.

So, April is National Poetry Month. One challenge that is blowing up my Twitter - my Twitter feed is populated by teachers, poets, and students, among other positive people - is the 30 for 30 Challenge . This has nothing to do with ESPN, but everything to do with writing. I will be challenging my Creative Writing Class when we return to school tomorrow to attempt this challenge. Since it is up to me model what we do, I am going to follow the lead of author Jason Reynolds, whose novel in verse Long Way Down is a must-read, and Sarah Kay, whose style and sincerity serves as an example for so many of our students; I am attempting the 30 for 30 Challenge. I plan to add each day's attempt to this post.  They may be rough, and they may be flimsy at times, but I will try my best. You have to get your hands dirty to grow a garden, so maybe these will be a few seeds that can grow.  Or perhaps it will all be manure.  Either way, it will be mine.

April 5

(#wtwrites prompt: What is your favorite monster’s self-care routine?)

“A Creature’s Dilemma”

Why wash this face

When none shall see it

But as a mask that haunts the night?

Why scrub these hands

When none reach for them

But as claws that carry them fright?

Why bend these lips

When none shall kiss them

But shrink from their whispered breath?

Why hold to this clean soul

When they’ve already damned it

And scream for my torturous death?

April 4

(#wtwrites prompt "What is something from your childhood that you lost, but still remember?")

Brownie

Eyes that never shed a tear

Nor turned downward in disappointment.

A smile that seemed stitched as

A permanent reminder that kids,

They should be happy.

A back that seemed to be purposely made

To serve as a pillow,

No matter how heavy the head.

And ears, hanging limply,

But forever at the ready to listen.

No one was ever so loyal,

So steadfast and true,

As he was,

My constant companion,

Until tossed one day away,

Or pushed back in the shadows.

April 3

“Wounds”

Surrounding me, silent, are loved ones with wounds -

Some hardened to scars, some fresh and raw -

That no one sees at a glance,

But that inflict just as much

Pain

As a spear in one’s side

Or nails through one’s palms,

Wishing only for some salve -

A healing hand,

Warm heart,

Kind word,

Gentle smile -

To embrace them in

Healing hope.

April 2

One day, words

that spin like steel balls in a Pinball Game,

Bouncing plunger to bumper to flipper

Setting off flashes and clangings

That seem unending

Driving every other thought into the darkness

And shadows,

Will roll gently from my mouth or spill smoothly from my pen.

But not today.
------------------------------------------------------------------

April 1

Easter morning,

But the stone was still here,

Sitting heavy in hearts,

Under the gray cast of the cold dawn,

Heavy clouds hanging low,

And bitter cold, not crisp, piercing,

Screamed, sending those seeking solace

To seek shelter.

Then,

As the day called for its close,

The sun peeked through,

Sending slants of celestial substance,

Taking the day

Behind the gray that blocked our view,

Reminding us so subtly

Of what seems to simple:

It was always there,

Waiting for us to remember

It is not about the clouds or the stone,

But always about the sun.

I Am Proud of You

Today, on the Thursday before we start spring break, on the day the NCAA tournament officially started with games airing during the school day, I was reminded exactly why I teach. It was a simple, short conversation with a student.

She called me over to her seat and said, "You know the other day, you told me you were proud of me.  I'm still thinking about that today."

That is a treasure chest moment.

Two days ago, my students were to have written a rough draft of a spoken word poem. I had received an email the evening before. This student had written her poem, she told me, but it was really personal, and she didn't think it was very good.  I told her we were revising the next day, so it would be a great time to look at it.

So we sat down at the back of the room, and she opened up the piece she had written. It was heart-wrenchingly personal. It was emotional, and it was powerful.  I was a struck by the images, the sincerity, and the honesty. I thanked her for letting me read it. We talk about how creative writing often requires us to put ourselves out there, to open up our hearts or our heads and bleed on the page. She had done that. She was concerned if it was good enough, if it met the requirements of the assignment.  After assuring her that that was a distant second in order of importance at this point, we looked at her poem from that angle, pointing out how she had used questions to open the poem, then turned to a statement,  shifting the tone.  We found alliteration in one middle line that overlapped with internal rhyme before flipping to more alliteration and rhyme to round out the line in a unique and powerful cadence. We looked at how she might work in a visual metaphor near the end to strengthen her theme, which had developed well throughout the poem.

"Oh, I didn't know that stuff was in there," she said. That's how things happen sometimes.

At one point, as we both knelt in front of one of my tables and discussed what she had written, some tears were shed. I reached over, put my had on her shoulder, leaned closer, and told her, "I am proud of you." I told her that because I truly am proud of her. She had written a really powerful poem; she had bled on the page. More importantly, she had shown me a growing confidence that allowed her to do that.  An inner strength.

Sometimes, lessons are about so much more than content. Actually, most of the time, they are about so much more than content. We can never be completely sure where and when those opportunities are going to arise, or what form they will take. We have to provide an environment where they can happen, and encourage them through our daily interactions. I am blessed to teach a subject that lends itself to those lessons, to those moments. I am blessed to work among people who drive me to be better each day. I am blessed to walk into a school and a classroom full of young people who are doing great things, sometimes things that may not be noticed at first glance, but are, nevertheless, amazing. Kids who are battling every single day, looking for the chance to push themselves to be better, stronger, more. I am proud of them.

And I am proud to be their teacher and grow with them.