Maybe I'm not Your Type

 Today is Sunday. This week we start back with students. We've been planning and prepping and meeting the last week, and may teachers have been planning in some form for months. Soon, TeacherTok and EduReels will be full of "Sunday Scaries" posts. I find those interesting. Do I get a little anxious, especially at the beginning of the year and throughout the fall? Sure. Am I scared? No. Really. No. Do I think some teachers really are? Yes. I understand that there are some out there who legitimately are. Do I think some teachers are a little overdramatic and jump on this trend with a little more gusto than necessary? Uh, yeah. But hey, if they need to do that to ramp up for the year and for the week, then they can go for it. It's satire (sometimes). And sometimes it's not that serious (as the young'ins might say).

So people will say, "Of course you aren't having Sunday Scaries. You're a type B teacher." 

And to that, I say, "Stop."

Just stop.

We have this bad habit as teachers of trying to categorize things and people. For a while now, teachers have been dropping their colleagues into boxes labelled "Type A" and "Type B."  I'm looking at you @educator_andrea. It is often in fun and does have its roots in what we see each day in our hallways. And it is kind of funny. Some teachers even take it and run with it, making it their whole teacher personality. Fine. Have fun. But here's the thing: it's inaccurate and, if we are being honest, lazy. 

I know full well that I would be dropped in the Type B Teacher box. Some of my outward habits make that an obvious choice. For those that do not know, from what I can tell, Type B teachers are those that roll into the classroom - often a little late - apparently with no plan, a vague idea of what day it is or where their desk is, a free spirit, and lax approach to all things structured. A calendar? Never. Sticky notes (according to the reels and tiktoks) are the only ways this person plans or organizes ideas, and usually they can offer little help to a colleague who needs something, because let's face it, they are just flying by the seat of their pants. 

And right now, some of you that know me, are saying, "yep, that's Kohls." And in some ways, probably not the ones you think of, I meet some of those criteria. However, as with all stereotypes and labels, I am not Type B in more ways, and in the ways that I find most important. Is my desk a mess? Sometimes, but I only use it as a place to put things because I'd rather sit with the kids, so it does not matter. Do I forget where I put my coffee cup? Sure. I move around the room a lot. Are there times when I cannot tell you with certainty what we will be doing on a specific day next week? Definitely. But that is not because my sticky notes are lost or I haven't planned that far ahead. Quite the opposite. 

Those "Type A" teachers who feel most comfortable when their carefully selected planners are written in using ink, duplicated for a 3 ring binder, transcribed to the Google calendar, and used to schedule Google Classroom posts weeks in advance (yes, that is an exaggerated and unfair generalization of type A teachers) may not realize this, but many of us "Type Bs" have been planning just as long. I plan as  I walk in June. When I drive. When I am sitting on the patio. They might be acute, a particular day's lessons, or they might be the big picture, stretching out in front of my along the walking path. Sometimes, those plans are jotted down immediately, if they are particularly striking or surprisingly polished. It might be on a sticky note. Or in a notebook. Or in my phones notes. Or a voice memo. More often than not, however, they roll around my skull, often for hours or days, developed and revised in chunks and portions, added to and tossed and recalled from the scrap heap, before they are ready to flow as ink or graphite across a page. And even then, it may not ever make it to the typed page or a spiraled planner, which I do not own. But when it is ready to be implemented, it has been rolled through the creative cycle, often multiple times. 

And sometimes we do find it worthwhile to step off that trail that was laid out, to follow a faint rabbit trail or the sound of an unseen and unplanned wonder that might lay around a corner. You know, the whole "Road Not Taken" thing. And sometimes it does make all the difference. And sometimes, to harken back to Kid President, there are rocks, and glass ("Not cool, Robert Frost!"). But we are somewhat fine with taking that risk, probably because we have rolled something like it through the fog of our minds hours, days, or months ago. We just didn't write it down or pick a day or time to pencil it in. We just planned for it to happen at some point. And we know where the main trail is, or at least where it eventually leads, and know we will get back there.

It's not that we do not care or feel like planning is worthwhile. We plan. We care. A lot. Probably too much or we would put ideas on paper sooner, rather than rolling them around to see if they gather moss. We simply are ok with veering away from that guide and that mental work if we see it as valuable. Call it confidence, if you want. We are sure enough in what we are doing to let it go a little bit. Or call it insecurity. Nothing is ever perfect, so sure, if something new comes up, we'll give it a shot. 

And if that is not you, that's ok. If your confidence skyrockets with each entry in your planner and your comfort level corresponds with the numbers of weeks ahead you have planned, that is fine. As they saying goes, "We're built different." And that's ok. We are going in the same direction and toward the same destination. We should be able to help each other along the way. 

I guess where I am going, eventually, is this: the memes and skits are funny, but putting people in boxes and thinking that is everything about who they are is frustrating, judgy, and a little dangerous. If we are willing to do this and do it unthinkingly with those we work with, then we are going to do it with our students. And when we do this, it is often done so we can judge them. I know, despite trying not to, that have done it. I have to be better. I can always be better. And I will be.

I have a plan. 

"'Little ditty 'bout so much more than Jack and Diane"

I have the pleasure of teaching a class titled Pop Culture Literature, and in that class we dive into=, popular culture literature. The semester usually begins with song lyrics, and this year, and the beginning of the semester, has been rich with text to choose from, supplied by the likes of Kendrick Lamar, Phoebe Bridgers, Taylor Swift, Luke Combs, and others. This week, as we reviewed the elements of narratives and storytelling, we jumped in tot he wayback machine and pulled up a classic from when I was the age my students are now: "Jack and Diane" by John Cougar Mellencamp. Simple story from a simpler time used to review simple concepts. Or so I thought. This is what happens when you ask kids take our material and lessons and apply the critical thinking skills they supposedly are not being taught "these days."

 

The conversation began easy enough, a somewhat traditional lesson, as we identified the speaker (3rd person POV), discussed the setting (small town in the American heartland, outside the Tastee Freeze), and began to look at the conflict. After all, without a conflict, there is no story. That is where it got more interesting. The tale is one of Jack and Diane against the small town they are growing up in, doing the best they can, right? My students thought differently. "I don't like her," one student said, and when I asked "who?" she said, "Diane. She's holding him back." The conflict is between Jack and Diane. 

To paraphrase the analysis: Jack wants more. He's "gonna be a football star." Future tense. He wants more than the small town has to offer. Diane is "debutante," the princess in this small town. She has her placem socially. She doesn't want to leave. If she "runs off to the city" she'll be nobody. She'll lose her status. But she can't let Jack see what the larger world offers because he'll see that too, so she tries to convince him "we ain't missin' a thing" there in their little Bible Belt town. 

Jack did not go unscathed either. According to some of my kids, he is telling Diane that she isn't good enough for him, that life with her is, or will one day be, boring, and he has "major FOMO." He fears losing the thrill of living and having to endure a boring life in a boring town with her. Ouch. And he's pretty self-centered. He talks about what he wants, and wanting to "do what I please" with little regard for what Diane wants. (And yes, they got that line, and many of them were more than a little flabbergasted by it.) Yes, he is expressing the age-old lament of teensagers in small towns - to run off to where there is something, anything more - but Diane is small town, and she likes it. So he wants to run away from her. 

So why are they even together? That was the next question. I can't remember if I asked it or if they did - as these conversations build, they ask as many questions of each other as I do of them, and that is how it should be. Essentially, they said, he's the star football player, and she is popular girl. They are expected to be together. They don't fit, and they have different goals and dreams, but the expectation is that they will be together. Who else would they choose? So they get together, hang out, and maybe even sneak off behind the shady trees. But they don't really fit together as people. "Neither one is wrong," my kids said. "They just want different things."  To quote the T. Swift lyric we looked at on Tune Tuesday, "We learned the right steps to different dances." No one is the villain here. They just shouldn't be together. 

That's quite the blow to the teenage Kohls who didn't really listen too closely beyond "Suckin on chili dog" and air drunmed into the bridge. But it makes sense. The conflict is never resolved. Some felt they stay and grow up in the small town. Jack doesn't argue with Diane, afterall, and maybe she did remind him that they were not missing anything. They had what they needed to be happy. Others feel Jack moved on - "And walk on" - and leaves to go be a football star, maybe going to college while Diane stays put. Or, as one student said, "They're 16? Why are talking about running off now? They have time." Good point. Does the conflict need to be resolved at that moment? If they are not careful and don't slow their roll, they may be made "women and men" before they are ready. BTW, they question that too. They bring up the "back in my day" living in the Bible Belt, and yet needing saving as 16 year olds. 

Here's where I was headed with this: We hear so often that we are not teaching our kids to think critically. But we are. We have been. It takes many forms, but it is developing those skills. This little discussion about narrative elements - one early in the semester - allowed these kids to flex their critical thinking muscles, to hone their critical eyes, and not gloss over what they have in front of them without wondering. They didn't wait for answers or for me to tell them what to think. They asked questions, they disagreed with me, and with each other. We start with seemingly simple texts, like "Jack and Diane," and build into some more difficult ones that pull in so many important issues for them and for us as a whole. Kids are thinking and they have ideas about this world, their world, and about what they want, or don't want. They question things. They wondered what it would have been like for Jack and Diane, with no cellphones, no Life 360, no posting everything to Snapchat or Instagram, and just being able to be 16 and bored, or 16 and happy. 

And no, they don't really see the world the same as we do. They bring more information into their views than we ever did. They sometimes want more. Sometimes, they want less. Essentially, they want to have a chance to grow up and tell their stories. 

And so do I. We all deserve "a little ditty."

"An Important Insight"

 I have gotten away from writing for others to read. I have been writing, but it has been for me. Some of my writing has been creative, while some has been reflective. Some are just random thoughts. I heard on a podcast episode from The Daily Stoic titled "Paper Trails: How Notebooks Changed the World" that discussed how so many great people have written not to be read by others, but to gather thoughts for themselves, to allow them to reflect, to hash out ideas, to record their state of mind at the time for reexamination later. I by no means consider myself a great man, but I do hope to learn from them. So I write now much more for me, with no intention of it being read, and it has helped me. I think I am a little more authentic and honest with myself in those sessions. 

With that being said, I feel that today's ideas deserve to be read. These ideas are not mine, but they are the thoughts of some of my students, and what they said is too good to be kept to myself. Of course, I shared it with a friend and fellow teacher who teaches the same class, but a broader sharing is necessary.  It's that good. 

Today, we completed our Poetry Bracket Challenge Classic Region. The two poems still standing in this region were "Speak Gently" by David Bates and "Dulce Et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen. These two poems had won favor by my students over pieces such as "Nothing Gold Can Stay," "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night," "My Papa's Waltz," and other greats. Both poems are powerful in different ways. Numerous students love "Dulce Et Decorum Est" because of its vidid story, because the poet is able to put us inside the gas mask, on the muddy road leading away from the trenches, and make us feel the horrific chaos of the scene. We are able to see his perspective, one that none of us have ever had to experience. Powerful, painful, moving, emotional. Those were words that floated out to describe the poem as a whole. We talked about how the poet created those emotions. They did the same for "Speak Gently," but the emotions are obviously different. Uplifting, inspiring, hopeful. 

Then we had a moment that I, as a teacher, truly cherish. I don't know if has the impact on the kids that it does on me, but it is the kind of thoughtful, meaningful moment, that hits me. There have been a plethora of thoughtful comments and meaningful discussions, and yet this one stands out for me. It gives me hope, honestly. One student, Megan, raised her hand, waiting patiently and politely for other students to finish their thoughts (as she often does). She expressed that she prefered "Speak Softly." She said she appreciated the message of the other poem and how it was delivered, but ofr her, "Speak Softly's" message stood out. I hope I get her words correctly because when she said them, they struck me. "If we listened to "Speak Softly" more, maybe we wouldn't have what happened in 'Dulce...'." 

If we listened to "Speak Softly" more, maybe we wouldn't have what happened in 'Dulce'."

We had discussed how different these two poems are in so many ways - style, word choice, poetic structure, subject matter - and yet here was Megan, pointing out how closely tied these poems could actually be. How what appears so divergent is actually hold a common, meaningful thread. But we have look for it. We have to want to. 

I often say it my classes: they give me hope. Maybe we need to start listening. 

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"Dulce et Decorum Est"

BY WILFRED OWEN - 1920

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Notes:
Latin phrase is from the Roman poet Horace: “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.”
Source: Poems (Viking Press, 1921)

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"Speak Gently"

by David Bates - 1845

Speak gently! It is better far

To rule by love than fear;

Speak gently; let no harsh words mar

The good we might do here!

Speak gently! Love doth whisper low

The vows that true hearts bind;

And gently Friendship's accents flow;

Affection's voice is kind.

Speak gently to the little child!

Its love be sure to gain;

Teach it in accents soft and mild;

It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they

Will have enough to bear;

Pass through this life as best they may,

'Tis full of anxious care!

Speak gently to the aged one,

Grieve not the care-worn heart;

Whose sands of life are nearly run,

Let such in peace depart!

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor;

Let no harsh tone be heard;

They have enough they must endure,

Without an unkind word!

Speak gently to the erring; know

They may have toiled in vain;

Perchance unkindness made them so;

Oh, win them back again!

Speak gently! He who gave his life

To bend man's stubborn will,

When elements were in fierce strife,

Said to them, "Peace, be still."

Speak gently! 'tis a little thing

Dropped in the heart's deep well;

The good, the joy, that it may bring,

Eternity shall tell.

"It was never meant to be this way."

  It's just hitting mid-June and I have been rolling this post around for a couple of weeks. I have been walking more, and that has given me a chance to think through, mentally compose, scrap, rewrite, revise, and file away what I have to say, then overthink it and avoid writing it, only to think through it again. Today, after coming back in the house, drenched sweat after walking the Kansas humidity, I finally started scribbling in my writing notebook. That helped, and led me to now transfer many of those scratches onto the digital page. So, here we go.

As summer began, I was speaking to someone not in education who told me he had heard that a lot of teachers are really stressed out right now, maybe even looking to leave teaching. He said something about not understanding it, that we were getting the summer off, which he followed with the chuckle that seems to always follow that statement. (I won't go into that one right now. Maybe later.) He wondered “What did teachers really have to be stressed out about?” 

Now, there are many reasons teachers are stressed. Some are seasonal, and while it is relaxing to take a deep breath and exhale at the end of the school year, the transition routinely creates an odd sense of discomfort for me as the routine shifts (although my routine is still fairly regular each morning since I help supervise summer workouts). The energy of a full day of teenagers filling my classroom disappears, and I struggle with not seeing some of the people who I work with every day for 10 months no longer being regular, face to face figures in my day to day. (Once again, working with athletes and coaches all summer helps with this, and soon enough we will get together to plan or socialize.) Some of the stress is more chronic and has built up over the last few years. That has taken numerous forms. Some of the stress is more acute. Painfully acute. 

This conversation took place during the last week of May. Yes, that week. 

What could teachers be feeling stressed about?

The day after the tragedy at Robb Elementary, I received a message from a young person who graduated in the spring of 2020 and is on track to graduate with a BS in Nursing in a couple of semesters. Messages from former students are special. They talk about a song they heard that we had discussed, or maybe recommend a movie we should look at for Pop Culture Lit class. They will recommend books they have read or fill me in on milestones that have reached. Sometimes, they just want to say "Hey," ask about a Tweet I had posted, or call me by my first name. I love them. This message, as the kids say, hit different.

On one hand, it warmed my heart, and it reminded me why I love teaching. And yet, in the next breath, it was gut-wrenching and turned my stomach in knots. With her permission, I will share a few bits and pieces of what she wrote.

"The tragedy that happened in Texas made me want to share my outpour of gratitude for you. Your classroom always felt so safe for me..." 

Your classroom always felt so safe for me.

That part. When someone tells me that, it warms my heart; it makes me feel that I have done something right. For a teacher, or at least for myself as a teacher, creating a place where people feel safe is important. If someone feels safe, they can breathe, they can relax. They will be more willing to be themselves. In writing, we often talk about how intimate or vulnerable writing can be, how putting yourself on the page takes confidence and a willingness to take risks. It takes a certain level of safety. Discussion is the same in that way. We so often talk about how we can create that environment for our kids, and how much it can affect their learning and their growth. The more I have learned about trauma, the more significant it has become in my mind that I continue to improve in helping to create a classroom, a school in fact, where kids can feel that way. Where they can breathe. 

She continued. "If anything in that manner were to ever happen, your classroom was the one I would always hope to be in - or if I was close enough, the one I would have ran to."

Bigger than feeling comfortable enough to allow herself to be vulnerable. A place she would feel protected. Physically protected. She is literally speaking of life. Life and death. 

Life and death.

That hit me. The idea that she had thought about that, that she had looked back to her time in school, and she had considered this. She kept going. The next part I will share is what truly hit me with a gut punch. 

"...I am so so thankful that all three of my sisters have a teacher like you to run to in such a scary and cruel world."

I wanted to immediately tell her thank you for everything that she had written, to let her know how much it truly does mean to me that she feels that way. But before I could type out a message, I had to let fall the tears that I had been holding back. (Yes, I cry. A grown man, a teacher. A football coach. It happens in my classroom. I have teared up as kids read their own poetry or when something we read hits in a new way. That is another post too.) 

Why did that hit me so hard at this moment? Here is a young person with the kindest of hearts. She sees good in people. She feels she is destined to help others. She finds the good in the world. It is simply part of who she is. This person had played out a scenario in her head, mentally composed a scene that no one, let alone someone so young and fresh in the world, should ever envision, in which people she loves, people she cares deeply for, have to run to a place they hope is safe, within a place, school, that they should be able to assume is, in fact, safe. She has run through that scene, and in it three sisters find a place, my room, where she believes they are a little less likely to die. 

If you haven't already, think about that. They should never have to. 

I know I have.  A lot of teachers I know have. We have awakened from those images in the middle of the night, and we have planned what we can do to avoid seeing it play out in reality. How we can truly create that place where kids feel safe.

And that is the key. Not so much "how will we deal with this when it happens?" More "how can we keep this from happening? How can we - WE as in all of us, not only educators but all of us - reduce the possibility that it occurs?” 

So, why are so many teachers feeling stressed out? It’s actually fairly simple. We’re teachers. We work with people. Often challenging, sometimes infuriating, and many times amazing people. And we care about them. As people.  (Yes, I know there are teachers who do not fit this mold. That too is another post. A long one.) And that caring that so many teachers feel for so many young people does not evaporate simply because the bell rings. It may take on a different form, but it is still there. 

The message I received, a message written so eloquently, ended, in part, with these words: "Lastly, I am sorry you are put in this position. It was never meant to be this way."

Listen to the kids (and the kids who are no longer kids). 

It was never meant to be this way. 

Top 10 Student Quotes of the Year, Pt 2

*Quick Note: Since writing this on Sunday, my kids dropped some great additions (it's only Tuesday), so I will probably add to this series later.

So, here we go with Part 2 of the Top Quotes from Students the past year. They are not necessarily the funniest, most enlightened, sharpest, or most clever. Some are. Each one is on the list for its own reason. 

And away we go.

#5 "You have to admit: I HAVE grown." 

This actually a really important statement. The student I have front and center in my mind is a bit of a perfectionist, and this comment was about her growth in that area, in allowing herself to not be perfect, for a little while, and make mistakes. I have had her in class for multiple years, in multiple classes. She is talented and bright, and as a sophomore, she got in her own way so often. She would basically freeze up, or melt down, if she couldn't be perfect. Now, understand that I am not pushing our kids to settle for mediocre or to just get by rather than striving to be great. What we had many discussions about was that she was not going to be perfect every time in every effort she made. And that is ok, because by letting herself be imperfect, she would grow and develop and eventually be great, or at least better than she was to begin with or than she would have been if she just stopped trying if she couldn't be perfect. And she is 100% correct: she has grown, immensely. She still gets frustrated when she struggles, but she also knows how to work through those struggles, she will ask for help without seeing it as a weakness (sometimes), and she is becoming much closer to her own "imperfectly perfect". 

#4 "Can I stay after and read my poem for you?"

Oh, if you teach English, you know how much this statement can mean. The student who asked me this had not spoken much in class. Her writing was good, and the ideas that came through in that form were well-developed and showed a great deal of critical thinking. But we do a lot of discussion in that class, and this student had not been heard from very often. She listened intently, and I saw through our written activities and responses that she was "getting it." But one day during our poetry unit, she asked if she could stay after and read an original poem to me. A friend stuck around for support and listened. The student turned away from me, and,phone in a shaking hand, read the poem she had written. I will not go into the content, but it helped me better understand why she had not spoken up very much in class. It was so incredibly well-written, swirling together the techniques we had studied in the poems we covered in class. It was sincere and honest, it I was touched that she was willing to write, and even more impressed that she had read it aloud. It meant a lot to me. It always means a lot to me when students allow me in, even if it is an assignment, and they allow themselves to be vulnerable and take risks in their writing. I think that shows a great deal of strength on their part. 

#3 "If you'd been through what I have, you'd quit asking questions too."

This one hurts. I hesitated to put it here, in Top 10 list, for many reasons, but it is a meaningful statement and it reminded me how much work we have to do. That I need to keep trying to get better. A student had apologized for asking me questions on a project. They were clarifying, extending, and learning, and they had paused several times to ask questions. And they literally apologize for doing that. For learning. For stretching. I told them, "Please stop apologizing for that. You know better. You are supposed to be asking questions. It's how you learn." That was when they revealed that not everyone seemed to feel the same way. That asking questions is too often met with snarky responses or degrading comments. Disapproval. Flat out rejection. It hurts to know that some teachers do so much to tear down the confidence that it takes to ask a question or reveal a need for help.  So many teachers do so much to lift our kids up and help them build that confidence. Our students work to develop that strength, to find their voice. Why would someone consistently work against that? We owe our kids better.

#2 "Wow. this class went so fast."

All right, shift back to a positive one. I love hearing this when the bell rings. I know a lot of teachers do. I wish I could say it happens all the time, that every day flies by for my students and they are engaged and engrossed and lose track of time in our learning. I wish I could, but I know it's not true. I can do so much better, and I have so much work to do. But on those days, in those classes when things are hitting right, when the conversations are bouncing around the room, when the activities touch on something creative or inspiring, when the questions are popping into minds and flying past lips, when the content is meaningful and relevant to the kids in the room, it is a great feeling, and the bell is a disappointment. Let's strive to make those hours, those days, much more common. 

#1 "Love you."

I know for some teachers, this one is uncomfortable. I once read a biography of Vince Lombardi - When Pride Still Mattered, I think - and in it he spoke of a time when he was asked what made the Packers different. His response was simple: love. He later said he wished he had worded it differently because people mocked it. I believe the term he said he wished he had used was "heart-power". The sincere caring for one another as human beings. That was what he meant when he said love was what made their lockerroom special. That is what we need in our profession, and I see it on a daily basis with my fellow teachers and coaches, with the young people that walk through our doors. I have heard football players express it as they leave the coaches' office after practice and when they come to the sideline one last time after the final game. Kids have said it as they leave the classroom at the end of the semester or year, or after grabbing a granola bar from the desk drawer. They will say it after a teacher lays into them for making poor choices or because someone did something seemingly small that helped them feel comfortable being who they are. And I have said it too. Students who would never say it to me say it to the teacher down the hall because that is the connection they have built. It's heart-power. And we need more of it, especially right now. 

So, there you go. There are so many other things my students have said that I could include. They will keep coming to me now that I have hit "Publish" and that is a good thing. Our students say so much that has meaning, sometimes clearly, sometimes veiled, and sometimes without even knowing it. 

We really need to listen. 

Top 10 Student Quotes of the Year, Pt 1

The Top 10 list is the hallmark of the transition from old year to new year. Top 10 Songs of 2021. Top 10 Worse Lyrics, Top 10 Worst Hit Songs, Top 10 Plays, Top 10 Moments, Top 10 Games. Name your area of Twitter, TikTok, or Youtube, and there is a Top 10 for that topic. I understand I may be a bit tardy; the last week of January may be a little late to the game, but, honestly, I didn't feel like it. Until now. So, here it is... 

My Top Ten Quotes from Students from the Last Year (That I Remember Right Now and Feel Comfortable Sharing Here). Quotes presented in no particular order, and were chosen for vastly different reasons.

#10 "I need to hear the rest to understand what you mean, but your words, I can't describe them in any way other than beautiful." 

This happened during my Advanced Creative Writing class. It was the first assignment of the semester, and I had asked that each person share with the class at least one line they were proud of. Our creative writing classes have always included a great deal of sharing, peer feedback, and celebration of writing. I feel that I failed at that last semester in Creative Writing. I had not been able to build the trust in our classroom that we needed, and that still bothers me. So, I was refocusing on finding ways to do that this semester. A smaller class helps. So, the students shared, some their entire poems, some single lines. We offered feedback and asked questions. As one student read her lines from the back of the room, seated on the floor couch that allowed her to be partially shielded from the eyes of the rest of the class by a low table, the words spilled across the room. They truly were beautiful, and the classmate feedback centered on that and how much they made us want to hear the rest. The quote above came from a young writer seated across the room, and it was echoed by several others. I loved how they were given sincere responses. A bit later, something happened that made me smile for so many reasons. After hearing others share, and listening to the people in class respond to other writers' lines, that young writer raised her hand and asked if she could read her entire piece. It didn't disappoint, and she smiled after reading it and hearing the additional words of her fellow students. I thanked her after class for being willing to share the entire poem. She told me she was really nervous, but after listening to everyone else, she thought she could do it. It was something that won't show up on any evaluation or be presented at any teacher workshop, but moments like that mean so much to our class, to our growth, and to our learning. "I can't describe them in any way other than beautiful." 

#9 "Just a minute. Let me look."

Yeah, that quote, out of context, makes no sense and holds no meaning. So let me give some context. I teach a class called "Pop Culture Literature" and in it, we explore various types of literature that might not be seen as traditional or "accepted" in the classic vein. We research and develop a standard of what good literature actually is, and we apply that standard to popular music, TV shows, films, plot-based video games, and other media. I love teaching the class, and at the end of each semester we examine how our learning in class has met the ELA standards. And if I am being honest, we may do more worthwhile and legitimate research in this class than in any other. For me, when a student says, "Just a minute. Let me look," I am happy. When they say that in the middle of discussion we are having in class, it means they are researching a question that had come up. They are searching for context or support for an idea that was thrown into the conversation. They are looking for a writer's motivation, or exploring a more complex literary device. And they are not fighting it; they are hungry to do it. They want to make the connection and find out the why. Usually, the student will have the lyrics up on their Chromebook screen (if they have loaded yet), and they will pull out their phone and research. It's pretty neat. 

#8 "Mr. Kohls, adults are stupid." 

Yeah, that was said out loud and with complete sincerity. And while it may sound harsh, it was not meant to be disrespectful. It was actually said in my classroom as well as conveyed to me by my brother as a message from my nephews. It was about the much-feared, dread-inducing "TikTok Challenge Schedule" that laid out supposed TikTok challenges for each month of the school year. If you are a teacher or a parent of a teen, you know what I am talking about. "Mr. Kohls, that isn't on our TikTok. It might be on teacher TikTok, but it's not us. Do you really think it would be planned out like that? I'm sorry, Mr. Kohls, adults are stupid." I guess I could have been offended. But here's the thing: they were being honest. The same group had told me only a few moments earlier in that conversation about "devious licks" that "Dude, sometimes kids can be stupid." The same group also said that trashing the bathrooms or stealing soap dispensers was ridiculous and disrespectful. "People have to clean that up and fix those things" they said. "And those people are already stressed out." I admit: I get to work with amazing people every day. No, they are not perfect, but they are really good people. 

#7 "It's when you are uncomfortable that you learn because you have to ask yourself why you are uncomfortable."

This comment came up during a conversation in Honors Sophomore English about a poem that touched on some potentially sensitive topics. As I often do, I put the question to my students: Should we be reading this and discussing it? Their answer was a definite "yes!" They are in school to learn, not just things, but how to do things, and the most important thing they need to learn to do is think. 

#6 "A good teacher can make me feel safe enough to be uncomfortable without being anxious."

Woah. This comment was made in the same conversation as #7. It is such a simple statement that is so complex and challenging in its application. It's something to work for. 

*Ok, that is the end of part one. I could go on, but this is getting a bit long for a blog post. And this is what the Youtubers and TikTokers do, and really, we all just want to be that cool. So "Part Two" will be coming soon. 

How Do We Move On and Upward?

Last week in Trauma Literature class, we were doing a small group activity in which we proke down an excerpt titled Trauma Affect by Meera Atkinson and Michael Richardson. I was in one of the groups, and the portion we were examining more closely discussed the "proliferation of trtauma" through technology. The people in my group talked about social media, about how quickly and continuously we access what is happening around the world. They pointed out that we do not even hoave to open our phones to read an article or watch a video because an alert pops up immeidately when news or specualtion of news occurs anywhere in the world. Reports of a shooting in Michigan? An alert drops down from the top of millins of screens before the students in the school have escaped from their classrooms. An earthquake thousands of miles away? A buzz and banner let us know before the aftershocks have subsided. A new strain of COIVD19 adds a new layer to what seems to be an unending stack of anxiety? It's trending on multiple platforms that ping you visually, audibly, and tactilely so you don't miss out. CAN'T miss out. Do we expereince each of these traumas directly? Perhaps not. But when students in a school states away experience a shooting, our students and staff immediately put faces on sillohettes of not only the alleged shooter but also the victims, and those faces are beside them at a table or across the cafeteria. The earthquake doesn't rumble under our feet, but the rubble piles up in the hearts and the heads of young people who wonder what the world they are left with will look like. And the neww strain of this virus? For too many, it means they will add to a list of people they already know who have lived too many days in isolation. It means anothe layer of anxiety about visiting grandparents or, unfortuanetely, attending another funeral. It means that once again, they have to consider not what will happen this year of their HS careers, but what will be taken away from them, what memories and expiences won't be talked about 10 years from now. It was during this conversation that it struck me, something so simple and clear. I was in the midst of a really good day. I had laughed with my students. We had started exploring new learning as we returned from break. We were creating poems about how to leave the past behind, or how to bring pieces of it into the new year. We had meaningful discussions about lyrical dissoance and irony. We had shared snacks, and thhey were delicious. During the week, I had spent times with friends, colleagues, people that make me better, personally and professionally, and had left those conversations lighter and happier. That week, my daughter was starting a new job, one that allowed her to step further into the world she wants to be a creative and lively part of. My son was exploring his next steps on pursuing his passions. My wife was rested from her own break, and she was laughing more as we enjoyed more moments together. In short, life, in the narroer view, is pretty damn good at that moment. It has been a while since I have been able to honestly say that, and say it with my chest. Like so many teachers, and so many others, a weight has set on me, draped itself on my mind, and even when I lifted it up, it seemed as if I was looking at everything through a shadow that it was casting. And that sucked. I know of many others who were feeling the same way. But at that moment, and I told the kids in my group this, I was ok. The world in front of me was good. Ironically, we were discussing trauma and how it invades so much of our lives in so many ways, but it was really true. I think one reason was because in the midst of this discussion, the kids naturally turned to their solutions. They spoke of setting timers on their phones to limit their doom scrolling. They showed me how on the newer software updates, we can turn off those alerts, those banners and buzzes, at particualr times of day, not so we stay ignorant or blissfully unaware, but so we can take a step away and let the world in front of us reappear and refocus. Or so we can sleep. These kids have trauma in their lives. They know it. Tbey told me how they feel conflicted when a friend talks to them about someth8ing they are going through because they truly want to help, so they feel they cannot tell that friend what they themselves are going through for fear of adding it to their friend's load. So, they talk to someone else if they can, but understand that in doing so, they are putting that friend in the same position, and they feel guilty about that too. "That's why we have therapists, Mr. Kohls!" one said. "And you!" another piped up. That made me feel better, and worse at the same time. But the fact is, these kids get it. Yeah, things are tough all over. Some places more than others. Some people more than others. But what can we do to deal? What can we do to make sure we don't stay in that place of hopelessness or internal dispair? How can we make our little place in the world a little brighter, and in turn, maybe, illuminate a little wider circle of the world. If we can do that, those circles will start to overlap, and then we are no longer in the dark alone. One day last week, I sat in a gathering of amazing people. I won't call it a meeting. Meetings are different. Sure, we had a goal and task before us. But, for me anyway, that was secondary, at best. This was a gathering, as one leader phrased it, of dremaers and doers. And at that moment, it was important to remember that for some, dreaming was important. The group ranged from early elementary teachers to HS content teachers to district-levle adminsitrators. And I honestly cannot tell you what we "got done" as far as moving through the assigned tasks. I know someone can tell you because they took notes. In that gatheirng, a friend and colleague put a thought into words: How can we not simply "move on" from the upheaval and trauma of the last few years; how can we "move upward" because that is what has to happen? We are working on how we can do that, and I can tell you that I am in a different headspace than I was in when I came out of break. That time with those people helped me get there. The time with particular people earlier in the week did too. And that is what I need to consciously do. I need to turn off the alerts a little bit each day - literally and metaphorically - and turn to who and what pick me up. Walk down the hall between classes to hear the voices that reset my mindset. Intentionally immerse myaelf in "meaningless" conversations that are actually beyond meaningful in the connections they allow to form. Celebrate the pumpkin cheesecake dip and vanilla wafers a student brings to class. Listen wholeheartedly and without mental distraction to the kid that reads a poem they wrote. The opportunities are legitimately endless. I have to allow then to fall into focus before me. The bigger world will be there later, whenever that may be. We can deal with it then. And by letting those things happen and recognizing them for what they are, we will be able to deal with it. We will be able to dream. We will have the energy grind. We will find those way to let the circle of light expand, just a bit, and begin to overlap. We will be ok.

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.