These Damaged Petals

Over the last week, we have been diving into poetry in my Honors Sophomore English classes. Not so much the technical aspects such as rhyme and meter, but the imagery, the emotion, the ideas that poetry can and should convey. It is one of my favorite units, and each year, some of the kids amaze me. This year is not disappointing me.

We recently took a look at the imagery of Shane Koyczan's "To This Day". I asked my students to identify some of the images that they found particularly powerful or which might connect to them personally. They then wrote reactions to those images. The reactions could be academic or they could be purely visceral. After all, poetry can create those varied responses, and they are all legitimate. Some of my kids responses, in all honesty, floored me. They were personal, they were open, and some of them were raw. Many of them added to the view I already hold of some of these young people: they are strong and amazing, and they do and will make this world a better place.

Another activity in our class is writing a response poem. The students locate a "classic" poem that they connect with, something that speaks to them. They then take the imagery, symbolism, or theme of that poem and write a response, an original piece that presents their voice or view on the idea. We look at pieces presented as part of the "Get Lit Classic Slam", partly because there are some incredible pieces created by high school students as part of that program. The poets are not dusty and dead; they are living and breathing and often look just like my kids.

As part of the process, I try to write with my kids. If I am going to ask them to bleed on the page, it is only right that I do the same. Sometimes, I fail miserably. Sometimes, I do ok. So, yesterday, I was scrolling through our poetry booklet online, looking for a poem to use as my classic poem. I love Frost, and thought I might use "Out, out..." or "Nothing Gold Can Stay."  Then I hit a title that, at the time, screamed at me. "The Rose That Grew from Concrete". The piece is actually part of an interview with Tupac Shakur. Tupac is more famous as a rapper, but he was a poet in his own right. His words were later used in a voiceover of a Powerade commercial. Poetry is everywhere.

I listened to the words of Shakur, and as I heard and read them, the responses I had read from my students came to mind. Our kids are just that: kids. They are YOUNG people. Yes, they are growing up, and yes, we must help prepare them for the future. But part of preparing them is remembering that they are learning as they go. And they stumble, and they fall. Sometimes, they fall hard, and it is sometimes not of their doing. And even if it is of their doing, isn't part of our role to help them grow past that fall? For some of our kids, school is the safest place in their world. Perhaps, the only safe place. We cannot steal that from them; we have to capitalize on it and help them grow beyond whatever it is that is dragging them down. And the scary part about that is that we never know exactly who needs a ray of hope that day, or for what reason.  That nod in the hallway, the softly asked question, the @ on Twitter, or the pat on the back might be so much more than just that little gesture. It may be the glimpse of sunshine that helps turn around a day. Every one of our kids deserves a chance to grow, and so many of them do. They take what tries to knock them down, they stomp it into submission, and then they use it as a stepping stone to something better. Sometimes, they just need a little boost to help them get up.

So, as the year moves toward a close and we zero in our focus on graduation, grading, and finals, we need to remind ourselves of why we are there in the first place. We are there for the kids.  We should celebrate them as they grow.

Classic/Inspiration

From “The Rose That Grew from Concrete”

By Tupac Shakur

You see,

You wouldn’t ask why the rose that grew from concrete had damaged petals.

On the contrary,

We would all celebrate its tenacity,

We would all love its will to reach the sun.

Well,

We are the roses.

This the concrete.

These are my damaged petals.

Don’t ask me “why?”

Ask me “how?”

Response

“These Damaged Petals”

By Jason Kohls (2017)

Petals that cling desperately,

As if fluttering to earth was a spiralling into hell,

Turn brown around the edges,

Lose their crimson hue,

And their delicate grasp,

Making that descent to the dirt that lay beneath.

But it is not into the flames of torment that the petals

Fall.

Not toward the searing pain of death,

But, in reality,

Quite the opposite.

As the drying petal falls,

It leaves behind a scarlet blossom,

Beautiful and delicate,

One whose fragrance still dances on the night breeze,

For it is only as the rose sheds it damaged petals,

Letting them flutter to the earth from which it grows,

Can the flower’s beauty

Turn itself to the sun,

As the petals, preserved in their dried state,

Remain about the rosebush,

Blanketing the dust in elegance,

A part of the past,

That leads to continual future.

In a Little Different Direction.

On different days over the last week or so, I was blessed by one of the most valued experiences a teacher has. Well,  one that is incredibly rewarding for me anyway. That experience is simple and "everyday", and yet, so cool. It is when a former student sticks his or her head in the door and smiles or strides across the gym toward you just to say, "Hello!" With college spring break last week and BHS still in session, I was blessed to experience just that.

That is not really what this post is about, however. Instead, it is about blogging, and to a lesser degree, Twitter. Last Friday, Lacy Pitts, yes, the one and only Lacy Pitts, stuck her head into my room and smiled, then laughed, because that is what Lacy Pitts does. I was talking about The Great Gatsby with another student at the time, and Lacy snagged a seat and jumped right in. Lacy could always talk about literature and writing. The fact that she is now at KSU and beginning her journey toward becoming a mover and shaker in Ag policy has not changed that. Over the next hour or so, we just talked. I gave her a hard time for being a sorority girl. She criticized me and the rest of the ELA department for not implementing flexible seating and our new ELA Jr/Sr curriculum while she was at BHS. She recommended Lincoln and the Bardo and Quiet: The Power of Being an Introvert and she talked about what makes each one worth reading. Lacy raved about specific singer-songwriters that I need to add to my ITunes playlist and include in our literary discussions in class. We talked about other BHS students who have made the trek to Manhattan and the frustration of GTAs instructing classes, as well as her job and studies, which take her to Topeka once a week. It was a great time, for me anyway.

Then Lacy called me out.

When Lacy was in high school, she had started blogging, and that was the trigger I needed to get myself into the practice. I had thought about it for some time at that point, but I had not actually jumped in. With this HS junior turning out thoughtful posts on a regular basis, I had no excuse not to start writing. If Lacy blogged and I had not done so for a period of time, I felt obligated to focus and put digital pen to electronic paper. I returned the favor and called her out from time to time. And maybe that is why Lacy felt she could confidently call me out last Friday.

It started with Lacy admitting that she need to blog. I told her I aimed for once a month, sometimes more. Then she hit with this:

"Coach Kohls, you need to blog more for your kids. Remember why you started blogging and who was your audience. They need to see you as that creative person, who does the things you are asking them to do."

Lacy went on to remind me that she had called me out for the same thing on Twitter a while back. "It's a way for kids to see you on a different level. It's important."

Over the last three years or so, I have shifted what I write on my blog and what I post on Twitter. Previously my blogging was pretty much all over the place, and it included creative writing, personal posts, musings about my son and daughter, and ramblings about what was happening in my classroom. I have since moved into writing nearly exclusively about education, fellow teachers, my classroom, and my students. I follow a lot more educators and learn from them through Twitter on a daily basis. I still Tweet primarily about my school kids and celebrate their awesomeness. My feed is also loaded with responses to Twitterchat questions that focus on education and conversations with fellow teachers about classroom ideas.

Both platforms have become incredibly important for me as a teacher and allow me to grow each and every day. Sometimes I blog to share what we are doing in our classroom, and sometimes I write to think through thoughts that I am struggling to wrap my head around. My Twitter life has connected me with teachers not just from #313teach and across Kansas, but also from Philadelphia, Boston, Little Rock, and Minneapolis. We have been able to connect with poets and writers from across the country and around the world. Twitter has changed how I learn and how I share the stories from within our halls and classrooms.

However, Lacy made me think. Was I missing an opportunity to connect with my kids at that level that Lacy was talking about, a connection I was making in the past and now need to establish again? I still connect with kid sn Twitter and "Are you going to Tweet that?" and "Hey, Mr. Kohls, you better like my Tweet" are common refrains in Room 202. However,  I haven't written posted anything creative on my blog in a while. How can I push my kids to post on Crusader Chronicles, the BHS creative blog, if I am not putting creative work out there?  I told Lacy that maybe I needed to start another blog that was focused just on my creative writing and less "teachery" ideas. That way I would not lose what I have with my more professional blog while putting out there what I once put into Ramblings.

So, I am going to do just that. Leave it to Lacy Pitts to make me add one more thing to my plate. Lacy reminded me that when she was at BHS, I had been working on a serial novel that I used to post on my blog, but I had not put out anything new on that in a long time. She was right. So, I am kicking off Rambling in a Little Different Direction. with an unfinished piece of goofy little fiction that is just meant to be fun. I doubt very many people will read it, which is fine, but I better get at least one hit on that page.

I'm calling you out Lacy.

Battling 'Just Tell Me What to Do'.

I was caught completely off guard this week during pre-enrollment by a student comment: "Why can't we just have Junior English? Just tell me what to take. I'm not going to like it anyway." 

The student hit me, hard. At first, I didn't understand how he could say such a thing, and my initial reaction was frustration. We had made a fairly major shift within the ELA department, eliminating on-level Junior and Senior English from the curriculum and replacing them with high interest and high relevance semester class offerings.  We had spent a great deal of time crafting the change, drawing on ideas from the past and dreaming big for the future, focusing and refocusing our purpose, and drawing on student input to help develop the curriculum. It wa a team effort, and the administration and BOE had been extremely supportive, asking the important questions and expressive the appropriate concerns which revolved around one principle: What is best for our kids? We had polled students about what courses they felt they would gain the most from, and we had drawn from research students had done regarding what should be done to improve education. Our semester courses now include Passion Pursuits, a research and writing class that allows students to research a passion they hold and then use that research to do something bigger. That had been a part of our Senior English curriculum for some time, and we did not want to lose it; in fact we want to expand it. That semester is required during the junior or senior year. We now offer War Literature, Pop Culture Literature, Media Criticism and Review, Gothic Lit and Fantasy Fiction, Creative Writing, Heroes and Mythology, and Technical Writing and Lifelong Reading. Dual credit classes are now a part of the course offerings. Our seniors are a little upset with us because they wish we had made the change earlier. Graduates have emailed or tweeted us about how much they wish they could have been a part of this change. 

And here is a student complaining that he wishes he didn't have to choose what was interesting to him and could just be told what to do. 

I lamented the comment and my frustration in the hallway. Hallway collaboration is a key part of my personal development as a teacher. Our hallway is populated with amazing people with incredible minds, and I try to tap into that wealth as much as possible. Later, one of those teachers Voxed me about the conversation we had. We do that a lot, and our collective minds usually lead to something positive.

Many of our kids, much like many of our teachers, have been trained to do what they are told. Student voice and student choice require them to take ownership of their learning. It is not that they do not care or do not want to be active in their learning; some of them just do not know how to do that because they have never been given that power.  We encourage our gifted students to "enrich their learning", but the majority of our students have been driven to, basically, just get as many answers right as possible. Pass the test and do what will earn the points to get a passing grade. That is what they have learned to do. And the truly bothers me. Here is an opportunity for  each student to decide how he or she wants to improve as a writer, a reader as a learner, to select what is most interesting and relevant to him. And he was complaining. 

After thinking about it and discussing it, I came to realize that he was not really complaining about the choices and options: he was complaining about how he had been taught to approach his education for 11 years. School was something that had been done to him.  Now the rules were changing, and it was making him uncomfortable. As we have tried more and more to involve our students in owning their learning in our individual classrooms through PBL, inquiry, and more, we have seen it before. When we have tried to guide students to initiate, extend, enrich, and demonstrate their learning, some students immediately want to be told what to do. The freedom and uncertainty can be scary. "How much do I have to do to pass/get an A?" is a common query, especially from honors students. The grade has always been the goal, the prize, and we have ingrained that into their thinking. It has been our fault, and it is our responsibility to shift the thinking back to learning, back to thinking. We need to recapture the excitement we see in our elementary kids. Some students are hungry for that, and they are feasting in our classrooms and in our building. As they do, they ask less and less often about grades, and they take more and more risks in their learning. Others are less comfortable, not because they are being obstinate or do not want to learn, but because they honestly understand their learning, their education, in such a way that makes owning their learning somehow wrong, or at least unexpected. As with every lesson, we have to demonstrate how this is relevant, how it will benefit not just all of our students, but each student as an individual. 

In other words, I need to be a teacher. I need to facilitate each kids' learning, even if it is learning about owning his own learning. If I can do that, then we all learn more. And we all win.

I Have a Right to Be Frustrated.

I have a fairly strong memory, especially for conversation and events. Sometimes, that is a true blessing. Sometimes, it can drive me nuts. Sometimes, it can do both.

One Sunday afternoon during football coaches' meetings one recent fall, we discussed how poorly a group was playing. It may have been offensive linemen taking the wrong steps, defensive backs not making reads, or linebackers continually going under blocks. That does not really matter. What matters is that they just kept doing "it" wrong. They did not seem to get it. Darn kids!

I remember what Coach Warner said as we broke up the meeting to prepare as offensive and defensive staffs for the next week. "If they are not doing it right, then that is our fault. They're kids. We're coaches. It's our job to coach them up."

Today, I was incredibly frustrated with one of my classes. They just are not getting it. They are not responding to what we are doing in class the way I want them to react. Don't get me wrong: some of them are rocking it. They are rolling with what we are doing, they are learning the process, and they are learn from the process. But the others? They are not. They will not write for this project. When they do, they are not taking what we have learned and applying it. They keep asking the same questions, and they keep making the same mistakes. And I am getting frustrated!

And I deserve to feel frustrated. I truly do. I have that right. I should be frustrated. WITH MYSELF.

All I wanted to do was grind my teeth and wallow in self-pity. But no. For whatever reason, our coaches' meeting discussion popped into my mind tonight. "It's our job to coach them up." Well, shoot. If they are not getting it, that is my fault.

Here is the amazing thing. As soon as I thought about it, ideas started to turn over in my mind. Within five minutes, instead of a clinched jaw and simmering frustration, I had ideas of what I can do as we move forward. Some are ideas I have been holding on to, some are great ones that I have stolen, and one might actually be new, or new to me anyway. All of them are positive and can move us in the right direction. They can help us all learn.

And that, my friends, is win.

Hey, Coach! Let's go to EdCamp!

Monday, USD 313 Buhler will host EdCamp313. I was fortunate to be a part of the planning for the event, and I am truly excited for what is to come. I attended my first EdCamps last summer. I was a part of nEdCamp, in Hesston, Kansas which takes the EdCamp idea and focuses it on literacy and reading, and enjoyed EdCampICT in Andover, Kansas. (By the way, nErdCamp just opened registration for June 2017. If you live in Kansas or will be in the Midwest, you really need to check it out. It has had a massive effect on my classroom and mindset).

EdCamp is a national program that tabs itself as an "unconference". In essence, instead of teachers sitting in a room listening to a presenter speak for 45 minutes to an hour and then, maybe, taking questions for a few minutes, educators identify topics that they want to learn more about or collaborate on, and then do just that. The educators lead the discussion, and teachers share their expertise or questions. It is organic, it is collaborative, and it is rewarding.

We had a great group of educators who helped plan for the event. The response from the district and the area has been amazing. Despite this, as we near EdCamp313, many teachers are anxious. The concept is a little different from traditional Professional Development, so that is understandable. However, as the concept becomes clearer, the ideas are beginning to flow. Some are ideas that relate to some of those "forgotten groups" on PD days. In the traditional model, those ideas that popped to mind on Saturday before the Monday PD might have been met with the following response:  "That is a great idea. I wish we had thought of that before we set the schedule. We will make a note of it for next time." Yesterday, as those new ideas started to flow, the response was "Sweet! I can see that being a great session!" Put yourself in your students' shoes. If a student came up in class and said he had a unique view on Poe's use of color in "The Masque of Red Death", and I replied, "Hold on to that thought. I will talk about it with my classes next year. I already have my plans written for this unit," I would lose that student for the day, and probably for the year.

I consider myself a blessed teacher, for many reasons. One blessing I have is that I not only work with students in the upstairs south hallway at BHS, but also in the weightroom, on the track, and on the football field. I have amazing colleagues in every one of my classrooms. Coaches, honestly, have been doing EdCamps for a long time. When coaches go to coaching clinics, they will listen to terrific speakers, and usually take notes and ask questions. However, the real growth occurs in the hotel lobbies, at the restaurant, and in the rooms after the sessions officially end. Napkins, table clothes, and mirrors become learning tools and dry erase markers scribble secrets and innovations that change the outcomes of games the next season or drive workout in the off-season. Coaches will listen to a "big-timer" speak, and two hours later, that same coach is sitting in a hotel room listening to his audience members point out flaws or tweak his ideas to be even better. A group of six or seven coaches will meet up by accident in the lobby and "skip the next session" because they are hashing out how to adjust to no-back set motion because one of them beat a common opponent the year before.

EdCamp basically says, quit feeling as if you are "skipping a session"; those meaningful discussions actually should be the sessions themselves. Don't feel bad about it. Do it more often. Think of it as hallway collaboration with your most talented colleagues, but the hallway is much, much larger. Oh, and by the way, while you are at it, get the emails or cell numbers for those guys you sat around the table with, and check out how their teams do next season.  Call them, tweet tweet @ them, or email them with congratulations and questions. Keep picking their brains.

Keep growing.

That is what EdCamp313 will be about tomorrow. Growing, building connections, collaborating, and improving.

And that is exciting.

What Sign Hangs on Your Door?

Christmas break in Kansas always offers something special. Some Christmas breaks have been white, with inches of snow piled up and the roads slushy and sloppy. Other years, break has been windy and cold, but dry. This year, a week after Jack Frost made a bold entry with lows around -10 and blowing snow, Kansas did what Kansas does, and flipped the script entirely. What does that mean? It means that highs in the 50s and sunshine made it really difficult to put off exercising over break. So, I hit the streets to try and combat the effects of my students' amazing generosity with food in the days leading up to break.

As I was walking my route through the streets of Hutchinson, I was faced with a decision as I came to an intersection. I looked right and saw one sign.

I then looked left and saw another sign.


The decision was obvious and easy, and I hung a sharp right. And then I started thinking. Walking on a pleasant Kansas afternoon lends itself to doing that.

I tend to see meaning in things. A metaphor in a line of poetry, a lyric in a song, colors in a setting description in a novel, the clothes a character in a TV show wears, the angle from which a scene is shot in a film. My son and daughter have inherited the habit, and I am happy about that; it causes them to think more deeply about what they read, hear, and see.  Sometimes, I think my school kids think I overdo it a little bit. I am an English teacher, so cut me some slack.

So, I started thinking about those signs. They were positioned so closely, on opposite sides of the same intersection, and yet, they are so different.

Which sign would I want someone to hang outside my classroom door? The choice, for me anyway, was simple. Obviously, I would want "Children at Play" adorning my classroom door, if I had to choose. "No Outlet" is just the opposite of what I would want a kid to think of when he or she walks into my room. That sounds like torture to me. No way to let anything out. No way to get out. A trap, a cage, a dead end. If a student feels that way about a classroom, or about school in general, why in the world would that kid make any effort, or see any purpose in being there?

Let's look a little closer at that "Children at Play" sign. That sign is there for the drivers. It is an announcement to look out, be careful, and pay attention. Kids are being kids. They are playing. Don't mess that up and turn something so perfectly child-like into something scary and tragic because you are in hurry or too preoccupied to notice what is going on in front of you, to see children doing the very thing that children are supposed to do.  The sign is there so the children can play and can feel comfortable enough to let themselves play. It might be tossing a ball, playing roller hockey, jumping a homemade bike ramp, or creating chalk masterpieces at the end of a driveway. It might be playing some new game that doesn't even have rules yet, and just develops as they play it. That's what kids do.

So, if I had to choose, I would want "Children at Play". I know that not everything we do in my classroom is going to be 'fun', but I want kids to feel comfortable in my classroom, comfortable enough to play a little. To skin an intellectual knee now and then because they feel they can take a chance and try something new, or stretch themselves in something they are good at without the fear of being blindsided by some thoughtlessness that barrels through. I would want the sign to remind me to pay attention, to see what is going on in front of me. Maybe to even take part in the game, or help prop up the ramp so they can catch a little more air.

The choice is obvious and easy.

So, as the new semester kicks off, what sign would you want hanging in your classroom?

Reading, Like Winning, Is a Habit

Vince Lombardi once said, "Winning is a habit. Unfortunately, so is losing."

He was right. One could easily plug in other habits, both positive and negative, and the statement would hold true. Take, for example, reading. Earlier this week, during a Senior Exit Interview, I found it hard to restrain my excitement when one of my students uttered the words "Reading is becoming a habit." I cannot think of a better Christmas present from one of my students, although Sydney's coconut dessert bars and Allyson's homemade cookies do come close.

Today was the last day of classes for the fall semester at BHS. We have experimented extensively in our hallway this semester, trying or expanding flexible seating in several classroom, diving headlong into student-guided project-based learning, implementing a 10 minute sacred reading time in some classrooms, and, in general, just trying to find new and effective ways to engage and learn with our students. I am blessed to have a team full of brave souls who will kick the side out of the box, explore what possibilities exist, and then either rebuild the box into a boat, rocket, or terrarian or burn the dang thing, whichever makes the most sense for our kids. It makes life in our hallway exciting, for me and for our students, and it is incredibly freeing.

In our senior classes, we have long used project-based learning to extend research and "doing something" with what our students have learned in areas that they are particularly passionate. We are in the midst of this process as the semester ends, as seniors have completed the initial research and have written proposals of what they hope to do with or springboarding off of that learning. Greg Froese and I decided that we needed something other than a traditional final at this point, something that would allow us to engage with the students and entice them to reflect on their second to last semester high school life.

We settled on a form of Senior Exit Interview. While somewhat exhausting over these last few days of the semester, they have been something I wish I had been doing every year.

The one-on-one conversations that I have always found worthwhile are happening with each student. As they prepare to present evidence of growth and learning and answer questions about how they could improve, the anxiety levels rose, but not excessively high. Questions were raised about the need to "dress professionally", resulting in my giving up one of the teacher's most treasured days, Jeans Day, as I agreed to forego that luxury and maintain my professional dress as well. They gathered evidence and wrote a letter of application, stating their current grades and explaining what adjustments were in order, and why.

During these interviews, I asked each senior about our 10 minute time, a  period of sacred reading time we have at least four days a week. In one senior class, we call it Tyna Time, in honor of one young lady who complained about how much she hates to read when we started it. Not a single student, not even Tyna, expressed negative feelings about the time. I learned a great deal about their thoughts about reading as well as what we as a school may have been doing to our kids' love of reading.

"I'm in a lot of activities and sports, and I work. I don't have very much time to read. Reading time gives me a chance to actually read." This statement was from a wrestler, but it was echoed by multiple students. In our conversations, a common thread emerged. At the very time when our students should be reading more, and at higher levels, than any other time in their school careers, they are reading less. Look at our examples of the "best" students in our schools. These individuals are "well-rounded", which means they are involved in activities, they play sports, they hold leadership positions, they take college and AP classes, they work weekends and evenings, they take part in youth groups, and they help out at home. We want them to do those things, and we celebrate those that do. Think about that. Is it any surprise that those kids are giving only the quickest skim of reading assignments and abandoning reading for pleasure completely? Over and over again, students echoes that for them the most positive aspect of our 10-minute Time was just that: 10 minutes of time.

Those 10 minutes allow a seed to grow. It allows the habit of reading to regenerate for many students. "I find myself reading more during the day now." Be still my heart. Oh, and for you fuddy-duddies who complain about the ubiquitous cellphone? "I used to play on my phone a lot in school. Now, I find myself reading instead." She might have a book in her hand as opposed to her phone, or she might be reading an ebook on her phone, but she is reading.

One major component of our reading time has been student choice. Some of my kids read classics like Gulliver's Travels while others sang short story collections off my shelf. Some read graphic novels. A few read technical articles about topics ranging from fish habitats to welding techniques. I honestly do not care, as long as they are reading and reading closely. After listening to my seniors and after having a "So, what are you reading?" sharing day in my on-level sophomore class, I am more comfortable with this. My sophomores were talking about their reading much as they talk about movies, TV shows, or popular music. How cool is that? Some related the books they have reading the first semester to particular movies or TV series. Some admitted that they had started and dropped multiple books because they cannot find something they like. This resulted in peer-suggestions for books that might be appealing. "Oh, you would love..." began more than one conversation. I am not naive enough to think every kid is 100% invested in their reading, but more students are now, and some who are all in are surprising.

Some people may also argue that the open choice aspect allows students to take "the easy way out". Maybe, but one of my final interviews opened my eyes even more as to why we are doing what is right for our kids. One young lady, one of those quiet kids who has magic behind her eyes that she hides if she can, told me why she loves our reading time. "I'm a slow reader," she told me. She said she always felt like she could not keep up with some of the more difficult books classes have read. She went on to say that the nature of our reading time allowed her to pick books that are "too hard" for her to read in class. She is not worried about keeping up or passing a particular reading quiz. Her worries about being behind the other students or getting lost trying to keep up are gone. So she reads more difficult books, rereading as needed, and she actually enjoys them. She reads them more often, and she understands what she is reading. If she doesn't she goes back and rereads parts of the book, or talks to the another student or her mom, whoever recommended the book. Reading, rereading, reading more challenging texts, finding ways to overcome struggles, and talking about the reading.

And we have not even touched on what "learning" and reflection that comes from all of this reading.

So, I guess in the end, I just want to say that I am encouraged, to say the least. I know this approach to reading is not really new, even in our school, but it seems to always come with some sort of strings attached. Thank you to NerdCamp for reigniting the conversation last summer. Thank you to Sam Neill for her enthusiasm. Thank you Sam, Greg, Amber, Kiley, and John for being the greatest ELA team, and for providing the most amazing hallway collaboration on the planet. Thank you for our supportive administration. Thank you to Janea Gray for not only providing our kids a place they can land in the library, but also for suggestions, support, encouragement, insight, and expertise, not only for our kids, but for us.

And thank you to the young people who walk through my door each day and who stream through our halls. Have a Merry Christmas.