My End of the Year Teacher List

I have had a veritable plethora of blog drafts rolling through my head lately.  Maybe it is the end of the school year vibe, or the fact that I have trouble even finishing sentences lately, or maybe the guilt I am swallowing as I avoid grading, but those drafts don't fully develop before I move on to the next amazing thought. Then, last week, I read Micheala Esau's latest offering in the William Jewell student publication. It was a list of things she has learned during her first year of college. Yesterday, Lindsey Maschler structured her welcome speech at Buhler High graduation as a list of things she will miss and not miss from her time in high school. As so often happens, inspiration came from my students, or in this case, former students. So, my end of the school year 2019 list is here. I guess it is for teachers.

Listen to your students.
This should be a no-brainer, but it is amazing how often we need to be reminded to just listen once in a while. I have a huge advantage over some teachers in the fact that both of my kids who share my DNA have also been my students. Emily, currently driving toward the end of her college career, is my go to resource for Pop Culture Literature. She is insightful and thoughtful, and her ideas on what will touch a nerve or feed a flame with my current students is invaluable. She reminds me that each student is so much more than "just a kid", and that words, looks, and actions have meaning. My son Dylan, who graduated yesterday, has offered me the opportunity to truly step into the shoes of a student in our classes. He is honest and fair. He does not complain to complain, so I know when he tells me something he has noticed, it is sincere, and when he tells me what is triggering new thinking or causing him to view things from a new perspective, those observations are legitimate. I have the advantage of daily professional learning through honest student feedback, and I need to take advantage of that.

My other kids, the ones whose parents share with me as they walk our halls and stride through my classroom door, need to be heard just as often. "Duh." you say. And you are right. But this goes so far beyond listening to see if a kid knows the answer for an upcoming test, or if they have questions of the material from yesterday's lecture. We use discussion often in our classroom. During our Honors Sophomore English Exit Interviews this spring, the most consistent feedback has related to the importance of those discussions. Students say that it is during discussions that they feel they have grown the most as learners, and often as people. Some pointed out that discussions have taught them that it is important to listen to the ideas other people have because it has caused them to think more deeply about their own ideas. It is ok to think differently from another person and listen to what they have to say. It is ok to disagree with other people and speak up with civil confidence in a way that will allow them to hear you. It is ok to disagree with yourself. That comment struck me. One student who said that for the first time, she let herself be wrong, and that that is what allowed her to learn. This happened during discussion. Some days, I played an incredibly minor role in discussion. Those were the amazing days. Those were the days that students not only thought deeply, but listened just as deeply, and by stepping back, they owned the material, the lesson, the learning. I know this because I could listen to them. They taught me new ways to approach things. They renewed my excitement. They allowed me to grow as a teacher and as a person.

Currently, we are in the process of exploring ways to improve our schools. The process is called redesign. The greatest resource we have had in this process has been our students. They have incredible ideas, and they will find the research to back it up. We have to listen to them. I heard someone complain that when we ask students for input on big issues such as redesign, the kids just don't understand how the system works. I completely agree. And that is one of their greatest assets. They are not bound by "the system", so their ideas are not restricted by it, and that is what we need. Sometimes, we have to get out of our own way, and listening to our kids just might be a way to do that.

Listening to our kids is a continuous process that takes on many forms. I won't go into them all here, but just think about how often we have the chance to really listen to our students, and, sadly, how often we forget to do that.

That leads me to item #2 on my list:
Be a learner. Always. Growth is just as important for teachers as it is for students.
I would say that for many teachers, one of their hopes is that when a student leaves their classroom, that young person is in some way better than when they walked through the door for the first time. I know it is one of my top goals. But guess what: each of those students is going to have an effect you too. The learning that goes on is a two way street. And because of the students who I am blessed to work with, I am a better teacher, a better leader, and a better person.

Sometimes, that learning is content-focused. Every year, something happens that causes me to view our literature in a new perspective. It might be the student who lights up as she picks up on new allusions that had set hidden before she uncovered them. It might be a use of color symbolism in a new film that a student tweets about over Christmas break. Of course, those content-based epiphanies usually springboard into even more significant learning, swirling into themes and perspectives that go far beyond the page.

Sometimes, that learning has little to do with content. It is about people. And when it comes down to it, that is what is most important, regardless of content. My kids have taught me enough about patience, tolerance, grace, resilience, and vulnerability to fill volume upon volume of teacher education textbooks, textbooks which no one would probably read, because you have to be in the middle of it to learn these lessons. And for those who ask "But what about the content?" these are the lessons that allow content to be learned. Not learned more effectively; learned at all.

Once again, this leads to my next item:
Be open. 
I tell my students that when we write, really write as we want to write, we are sweating and bleeding on the page.  That is difficult. And if we expect young people to shed that metaphorical blood, we have to be willing to do the same.  Sometimes it is in the form of laughter; sometimes it is tears. Sometimes it is simply being willing to admit a mistake. That whole "Never let them see you sweat" or "Don't smile before Christmas" garbage has gotten in the way of so many promising teachers.  Does anyone actually believe it makes you a better teacher? We want our kids to stretch and risk failure.  Guess what? That means we have to be open to failure too, and we have to be vulnerable with our kids to do that.

We also need to be open to letting other people in our rooms.  This could be sharing our stories on social media, celebrating our student successes. It could be asking questions on that platform to gain new insights from our PLN. It could be listening to parents' concerns and seeing where they arise from. It could be welcoming other teachers into our classrooms. We are not in competition. We are in this together.

This spring, I had a student-teacher for the first time. I had STs come into my room in the past, but in my 25 years, I had never allowed myself to welcome a preservice teacher into my world for a whole semester. I can tell you this: it has been one of the best experiences of my professional career. She has forced me to examine why I do some of the things I do, she has identified areas in which I need to improve, and she has brought fresh ideas and perspectives to my classroom. In short, she has made me a better teacher, and she is a new friend. If I had let my insecurity keep that door closed, the biggest losers would have been me and, in turn, my students.

For now, I will end this list with this related item:
Find your people. 
We are not in this alone. Teaching is a social profession and a collective passion. We cannot do it alone, and we do not have to. I touched briefly on the advantage of having a student-teacher this semester. She is now one of my people, and we were blessed to have real-time conversations on a daily basis. Sometimes, we helped each other improve from one day to the next, or from one moment to the next. That blessing extends down my hall. The best support system I could ask for is only a few steps away. Hallway collaboration is a powerful tool, and at times in my career I have not taken advantage of that. The teachers, coaches, administration around me each day are an uplifting force. I couldn't survive without them.

I know some people will say, "That is nice if you have those people down the hall. But I am my whole department" or "The people down the hall are kind of toxic. I can't deal with that right now." Fair enough. However, your people are not limited by the walls of your building. Some of the best "people" I have are elementary teachers. I always admired grade school teachers, but I now know just how much I can learn and grow from being around them. It's incredible.

Go even further: your people are only a tweet, vox, or insta post away. Voxer groups give me a chance to connect with awesome teachers in an instant. I learn and draw inspiration each and every day from teachers across the country thanks to Twitter. Hanna Lehr, that student-teacher I was bragging about, turned me on to so many new resources on Instagram. I have been active as an educator on Twitter for quite a while, but this is a new platform for me, and it offers new chances to grow. So reach out. My Twitter handle is @JasonKohls. You may not gain a lot from following me, but you will get to see the amazing people I follow, and what hashtags might offer a chance to connect further. And I follow back. I fill my timeline with as much positive learning portals as I can.

There you have it, my list.  I know it rambled and is yet incomplete. It is what it is.

What would you add?

Today's Lesson

So, I just looked at my Blogger page and am ashamed to admit the number posts that carry the blazing orange Draft label.  Ok, I'm not quite Hester strutting around with a scarlet A stitched on my pullover, but still, for someone who is on his kids to write, develop ideas, and share them, it is a little embarrassing. I even went into an older draft and deleted what was there to start this one, just so another Draft wouldn't be sitting there screaming at me next time. It's been a rough winter, and I have puked thoughts on the electronic page, but I cannot seem to scrape them into a pile worth publishing.  But I am going to on this one.  I promise.

All right. Moving on.

This semester, I have been blessed to have a student-teacher. No, that is not one of the things that has made it a rough winter; quite the contrary. Mrs. Lehr has been one of the bright spots. She and the others in my BHS family are the primary reasons I have made it to the point where I can see Spring Break on the horizon with my sanity intact.

One of the greatest things about Mrs Lehr taking on my classes has been the opportunity for me to be in the student role. Today was one of those days. During Honors Soph English, we were taking part in a Poe-Tree activity (Mrs. Lehr was pretty tickled at her pun), and I was able to sit in with a group whose members had pulled "Strange Fruit" from the Poe-Tree.  Mrs. Lehr starter question was "What is your initial reaction to the poem after reading it?" After a student read the poem aloud, I looked around the circle. "I don't like this. How it makes me feel." "I got a chill just now." "I'm really uncomfortable right now." "This makes my stomach hurt." One student just shook her head. Another bit her nails.

So, we got to discuss visceral reactions. Good poetry, good literature of any kind, can do that. It makes you feel. Then you get to my favorite question, the one kids probably get tired of us asking: Why? That is when we really start thinking. The kids ran with it. This poem, for this group, did it through imagery. It juxtaposed the beauty and serenity with the grotesque and disturbing. That left a knot in some kids' bellies. It did so with lines loaded with sensory details, but open enough to allow each reader to bring their own connections, those little bits of themselves, to the table. Each student said they could close their eyes and picture the scene; however, each individual's scene was a little different. Grandma's yard, an sunlit field with a single poplar, a warm countryside broken up by scattered trees, fields awash in the perfume of magnolias.  And then, as one student said, "The scene withered." The beauty dimmed. The overpowering scent of burning flesh and rot drowned the magnolia. Darkness suffocated the sunshine.

One young lady said at that point, images of her younger relatives invaded her mind. That upset her. A lot.

The group talked about imagery, about metaphor, about powerful words.  We talked about the "blood on the leaves and blood at the root." We talked about our past, about our more recent history. And we talked about today.

Mrs Lehr has already come up with ways to make the activity better. She felt like in one of our classes we didn't reach as many students as we could have. And I agree; we can do things better. Always.

At the end of this hour, the student I was next to looked up at the clock. "Oh wow. We talked the whole hour."

Yes, we did. And from where I was sitting, it was a pretty valuable hour.


We'll do better. We always have to look at how we can do better. That's how we grow.

The Teacher in Me Says "I Love Netflix"

I love Netflix.

I can hear some of my teacher friends and fellow parents screaming or groaning already.

Netflix. That hole that keeps kids from doing homework.
The Siren that hides below the desk top on a cellphone pulling them away from those lectures.
That desert that leads young people to damnation with "Watch Next Episode in 3...2...1..."

Yes, that Netflix. 

You see, Netflix is making me a better teacher. Since the day a young lady named Sydney let me use her account because she wanted me to watch Dexter, I have enjoyed watching what the streaming service has to offer, and I have enjoyed even more talking to people, usually students, about what we've watched.

Netflix gave us a conduit, a connection, a common ground. Once you have that, well, conversation is bound to follow. And with conversation comes thought. And with thought comes understanding.

This weekend, I have a conversation, through text messages, about Black Mirror: Bandersnatch. Sam and I discussed the storytelling technique the film uses. We also discussed the themes of the film that he had thought about, in particular, those related to drug use and the desire for control in people's lives. A similar conversation had taken place in one of my English classes last week. Students were talking about the film as the bell rang, and we took the opportunity to carry that on after class started. We touched on the irony of making choices that seem to be so wrong, but are in fact the only choices that can lead to a positive outcome. My kids got into the concept of control and making decisions, the idea that maybe no one truly has complete freedom to make decisions for themselves, uninfluenced by outside forces.

I don't know what good could come from talking to 16 year-olds about feeling like you have little control in your life. What relevance is there in that discussion?

We may have even had one of those "mind blown" moments. It was neat.

It goes beyond Bandersnatch. Over Christmas break, multiple students messaged me with ideas about Bird Box. They connected it literature we had read. They examined symbolism and character development. They dove into theories they had about theme. We discussed themes about anxiety and depression, about parental protectiveness, about hope for the future, and how these themes and concepts were expressed in film. Heady stuff.  On their time. During a vacation. And I don't even have these kids in class anymore (although they are still my kids).

One summer, a student sent me a recommendation for the Black Mirror series. He thought it connected with Fahrenheit 451 and felt I would like it. I did. And it gave us another way to discuss the "pores" we can find in pop culture literature, the texture that adds depth, not just to literature but to our lives, to society, and to our experiences.

In short, I love that Netflix gives another way for people to think, to see themselves in a variety of ways, to find those windows and mirrors and sliding glass doors that make literature of all kinds, GOOD LITERATURE of all kinds so valuable and worthwhile.  

Yeah, it can be a distraction. It can get in the way sometimes. It's not all hunky-dorry. But nothing is. And if it can create another connection to students, a way for them to talk about what they think and feel, a way for them to learn, especially on a higher level, a way for me to get a little clearer glimpse of who they are, well, I'll take it.

A Special Gift

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

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

That special gift?

Dad is alive for Christmas.

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

Dad is alive for Christmas.

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

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

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

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

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

To My Students: Thank You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the Year Begins...

Deep breath.

And then another.

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

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

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

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

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

Have a great year.

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

It's summer. Ahhhh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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