"...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.

Sorry, Daryl. We Have to Move On.

Last week, The Walking Dead returned from its midseason hiatus, and the show's viewers waited with bated breath.

I did not. I wished I could have. I easily could have turned on AMC and spent time watching a premiere episode of a show that once held my students' captive I could have used it as planning time for the next day's discussions.

You heard me. Watching TWD could have been lesson planning.

You see, at BHS, we have implemented a number of new course offerings, and one of them is called Pop Culture Literature. The class sprung up from student interest.  Years ago, we would have "Walking Dead Mondays" in my senior English classes.  Student who were enthralled by the show would excitedly discuss how the setting had changed the conflicts, the characters such as Rick, Carol, and Dale had developed deep internal conflicts that had, in turn, created conflicts within the group, causing other characters to change drastically. Remember those days Mason, Calloway, and Kaitlin?  Later, after those students graduated, sophomores like Sydney and Shalee would pick up the conversations, discussing the importance of Daryl's angel's wings, Merl's unexpected heroic turn, the Lizzie's Lennyesque looking at the flowers, and Morgan's need to clear. Students knew they could postpone a day's lesson if they could get the ball rolling in the right direction. They could focus our class time on plotline set in Georgia and Alexandria, character motivations of Michonne and Beth, the irony of Father Gabrielle's unwillingness to sacrifice himself, and the allusion of the "biter battles" in Woodbury to the diversions used in ancient Rome's Coliseum and avoid having to analyse and discuss the assigned curriculum and, you know, literature.

Because studying literary concepts and how that relate to society is, you know, boring, right?

Those conversations were relevant, organic, enthusiastic, and meaningful. Think about it. This show focuses on an ever declining society where herds of mindless beings who once were rational, thinking human being move through the landscape with consumption as their only driving force. Could any premise be more applicable to the world our young people have grown up in? The kids were learning, even if they did not realize it.  Some definitely did know it, and they made the best of if.  Others did not, but they still learned more about characterization, symbolism, conflict, theme, allusion, and dozens of other concepts that they may not have ever truly grasped. And they connected to their worlds, to their lives.

That is why Pop Culture Literature developed into a full class.

So, back to my original train of thought. TWD is virtually nonexistent in our discussions now. I did not even watch it in anticipation of the literary discussion it could drive the next day. Why? Do these kids not get it? Do they fail to understand the subtleties of a well-written piece of modern, popular culture literature? Absolutely not.  In fact, it is just the opposite. The kids have not fallen off; the literature has.  During those Walking Dead Monday's, the content was rich and begged to be analyzed. Unfortunately, the show has lost it literary edge. Students tell me the plot has become predictable and redundant. They point out holes in the storytelling, and criticise "gimmicks" that have taken over content, expressing a dissatisfaction with nonlinear storytelling that is now overdone and arbitrary rather than fresh and driven by creative purpose. They are not impressed by the special effect violence, which they feel has become gratuitous, and they feel no connections to characters because they have lost their focus.

In other words, from a literary standpoint, the show is now longer good.  It is not worth their time. It does not make them feel, and it does not make them think. They want quality, and they are not mindless zombies who are going to tune in just because it is on. They are not accepting it as worth their time, as "good",  just because a critic or promo tells them it was. They are thinking for themselves.

So, we examine "good literature" in class. NF, Kendrick, and Kesha are the focus some days. Riverdale seems to be gaining steam, partly because of its plot and conflicts, partly because of the character development and symbolism each one carries. We still reach back to "older" pieces, like Green Day's American Idiot, The Breakfast Club, and The Lion King to name a few, that have enough quality to stand the test of time. We examined the symbolism of the feather scenes in Forrest Gump, and I want to examine the use of black and white a storytelling technique in American History X. We will look at the literary power of nostalgia in pop culture. Eminem was once a major player in our discussions, and he still holds a place, but this last album is being picked apart, not simply because kids "just don't like it", but because, from a literary angle, it just is not a good. Sometimes, my kid disagree about whether a piece (be it song, video, show, or film) is good or not, and they have developed standards by which to measure its value, rather than just yelling louder and claiming "Yes it is!"

In other words, they are thinking, they are developing those thoughts, and then they are expressing them in a critical and educated manner.

And right now, they think The Walking Dead is not worth their time and effort. I have to respect that. There is better literature out there, more meaningful discussion to be had. Sorry, Daryl. We have move on. We've learning to do.

Can I Ask A Question?

Today, we did discussion circles as part of our study of Cormac McCarthy's The Road. The novel is written in a fairly unique style, and while some students struggle at the beginning, it has become a favorite of many of our students at BHS. As I placed students in their respective circles, one young person told me she could not be in the inner circle, the one that would drive the discussion. "I don't think I get a lot of what we were supposed to read," she said. She seemed perplexed by my response.

"That's fine," I told her. That means you will have to ask questions. Those are important to discussion too."

"Oh. You mean we can do that?" she said.

This a bright student.  She speaks well, and she is active in class. And she wants to be right. That, my friends, is rub.

So often, it seems as if our kids want more than anything to get the right answer. They want to be correct. That's it. How they get there is irrelevant. If they cannot be most definitely right, they feel as if they have done something, well, wrong.  That seems logical.  It is how we have taught them to be. The problem with that is, if someone's primary goal is to be right, then the best way to do that is never to stretch beyond what is comfortable, what you already know. That thought process seems to be "If I don't know that what I am thinking is right, and absolutely right, I will settle back and wait to find out, or at least find out what the right answer is." Not knowing for sure is uncomfortable, but it means one are in new territory, that one's mind is wrapping around or rolling about something different. That means learning. And that mean growth. But to take an active role in that means putting oneself out there, risking being (gasp) wrong, or worse, seeing something differently than everyone else did, or thought they did. That is scary. That is necessary.

And it is my job to create a classroom where they can feel vulnerable, where they can take the risk of being wrong once in a while.

In the previous hour, which is another talented group, but much smaller and therefore more willing to show more vulnerability, I noticed students in the discussion looking my way after each comment. They seemed to asking "Is this right? Did I say what you wanted?" As the discussion progressed, they quit looking my way and looked to one another.  Well, most of the time.  Sometimes I would squirm in my seat, wanting to speak but knowing that I needed to let them feed the conversation rather than be prodded by me. And feed it they did, and it grew.  They built off one another's comments. They found passages to support each other's thoughts. And they asked questions.  "Hey, did anyone else wonder why..." became a powerful tool not a sign of weakness or uncertainty..

At one point after a particularly insightful analysis that meandered through several of our discussion points for the day, a student turned to me and apologized. "I'm sorry. That might have been a little off topic."

I told the group that they had no idea how happy I was at that moment. They had gotten away from original starting point of the discussion, and in doing so, they had delved more deeply into the development of the two main characters, examining their changing relationship and questioning their motivations. I hadn't asked a question in 20 minutes or more, and the hour had flown by.  In addition, the outer circle was primed and chomping at the bit, ready for tomorrow, when they would be able to jump in with their ideas, commentary, and questions.

The young lady about whom I spoke at the beginning of this post did ask questions. So did her classmates.  They stopped worrying so much about if what they thought was right and started looking at why they thought it. They expressed ideas and made connections and drew parallels. The class bounced from point to point, and it was a little messy.  It was what I had hoped for. Even better, it is what I am looking forward to tomorrow.

'Meet Them Where They Are' or 'Crybaby, Dierks, and La La Land'

Every teacher hopes for that near-perfect lesson, the one that hits all the right buttons with the students, that weaves together vital ideas and presents them in a way that is understandable and relatable. Those lessons, those days, are the good ones.

I had one of those days last week. The kicker was this: it wasn't mine. It happened in my classroom, during one of my class periods. However, I had very little to do with it.

That day, a young lady walking into my classroom knowing that she was supposed to present to the class. She told me she was nervous, repeating what she had told me the day before, revealing that she was literally shaking. This is a talented, intelligent student who performs on stage in front of an audience, acting or singing with grace. But this is different, for her anyway. This was scary, and she smiled her nervous smile and took a deep breath.

This young lady then proceeded to spend more than 30 minutes enlightening the class of 25 teenagers on the concepts of imagery, symbolism, character development, allusion, tone, and conflict.. Students asked questions afterward and appeared to be legitimately engaged as they moved through themes of perception, body image, and loyalty. We even touched briefly on the validity of separating art from the artist. She began with a slight quiver somewhere beneath her voice and ended by answering questions with insight and confidence.  Mind you, this was on the last Friday prior to Winter Break. During 6th hour.

"What was the topic and lesson?" you might be asking. This young lady had presented a case for the literary value of music of Melanie Martinez, a singer-songwriter who rose to fame on The Voice and whose debut album Crybaby has gained widespread popularity. In doing so, the student pointed out allusions to Alice in Wonderland and drew comparison in tone to poetry by Edgar Allan Poe. She took the class on a walk through the album's structure as a "novel" of sorts, demonstrating how the protagonist changed and drawing on specific lines and images from the lyrics and videos to reveal how symbolism was used and conflicts developed.  She chose particular songs to dive deeply into, supporting her thoughts and ideas. The major themes of the work were laid out and illustrated in entertaining clarity.  She truly taught the class that day.

And she did it well. And I was across the room most of the hour, learning with the kids and jotting down questions I wanted to ask when she finished. The other students asked most of those questions before I had a chance.

The day was part of our final for our new Pop Culture Literature class. This student is one of the last ones to present. Students have enlightened us on character development and conflicts in Green Day's American Idiot and the film Homeward Bound, analyzed rhyme and metaphor in music of J. Cole, and examined plot structure through a Dierks Bentley album and La La Land. Color symbolism has taken center stage in discussions ranging from Riverdale to Wizard of Oz, from The Lion King to The Walking Dead. The role of music in setting tone and influencing character were presented through the film version of The Great Gatsby.  I could continue through the wide-reaching topics ranging from Red Dirt Country to modern musicals.

It has not all been perfect. Far from it. I may not have guided some students well enough. Some students did not stretch themselves, and they barely scratched the surface of their self-selected topics. Many glossed over comparisons to accepted literature in their arguments, a vital component of the project. Even in some of those situations, however, good things have resulted. One young man struggled greatly. He has no confidence in his ability to write, and he doubts every idea he has regarding what we read. After "failing" his case study argument, I pulled him aside. We discussed where he had fallen short of expectations and where he might have used ideas we had discussed during his project development. Then I brought up paths he could take moving forward. His first response was "If it means redoing stuff, I will just take the bad grade." Then I dropped a bomb on him. I did not get upset and say, "Fine!" That is what he wanted; that way, he was off the hook. An F was not that big of deal. He'd had them before. Instead, I told him I was not going to let him, or me, off the hook that easily. That would not be fair to him. I laid out what we needed to do, and how we would do it.  Since then, we have spent a good deal of time working one on one, talking about his lyrics, finding a poem that could be used for comparison, and finding examples of internal and end rhyme used by J. Cole. I have typed while he talked.  He asked me for a simple cheat sheet of different rhymes. This week, he neared the end of that path. I told him all he had to do was polish up what he had written, and we would be good. Then he dropped a bomb on me. He said, "Can I add another paragraph about the meaning of the songs on the album?" He wanted to do MORE. He is getting it, and as a result, he wants to do more than the minimum. He wants me to be able to see what he thinks, to show me that he has learned something. That is big. And a major contributor to that shift is what he has been learning from the other students in his class. He has learned more about rhyme and metaphor and theme from them as they argue their cases. Does he always pay attention to them? I will just say "No, he does not." He doesn't always pay attention to me either. He still gets distracted and fidgets, a lot. But he is learning, learning from our one on one discussions and definitely learning from the others in the class.

So, where am I going with this rambling walk through my class? Honestly, I don't know. I just felt that these two students' stories were important to me as a teacher. Sometimes, the best learning takes place when we give our kids some tools and materials and then step back and let them go. Sometimes, we have to meet them where they are, instead of where we wish they would be. This semester in this new course, we have dived deeply into high level concepts such as symbolism and character motivation, irony and paradox. We have examined themes that lead uncomfortable conversations about major issues in our schools and society today. All revolving around popular music, TV shows, and films. Sometimes, we need to take a step back and regroup. Refocus on what is important: is learning taking place?  Sometimes, we need to thank our lucky stars that we have supportive administration and leadership who are willing to let us run with ideas as long as we can show that it is best for our kids, even though others are raising critical eyebrows. Sometimes, I have to say "Thank you" to a team of colleagues to have had the vision, imagination, patience, and guts to be a part of this shift. And sometimes, when things are not going the way "they are supposed to go" in my classroom, I have to remember that I have amazing kids, and they can go down amazing paths.

And because of that, because they and the kids who will follow them, are my kids, I have to keep trying to get better and make what happens in my classroom more worthwhile.

After all, it's all about the learning, right? For all of us.