"I got something to say..."

"I got something to say..."

I was thinking through how to start this post, and that statement came to mind. As I continued my early morning walk, mulling over the ideas in my head, that line kept creeping back in. It was always that line too, not the grammatically correct one. I kept hearing it in different voices, but was struggling to place it correctly.  Then it hit me: it was from a lot of different places.

Some of you may be saying, "Duh, it is from To Kill a Mockingbird, when Mayella melts down on the stand." Ok, only the English teachers are actually saying that. 

Others might say, "Nah, it is preceded by 'Yo Dre,' by Ice Cube during his NWA days."

Still a few more might say, "Really? That's obviously Joe Eliot of Def Leppard, working through the intro to 'Rock of Ages"."

And some of you may not want to admit it, but as Misfits or Metallica fans, you are mentally screaming, "No! DO. NOT. FINISH. THAT LINE!"

But honestly, none of that has anything to do with what I want to say. Or does it? Each example above is followed by something that the speaker felt was pretty important, no matter how disturbing it was (looking at you Lars). 

So maybe that is why I fell into that seemingly unrelated mental rabbit hole. I, in fact, got something to say. And who do I want to say it to? That is important too. 

Parents.

1. We are not in opposition. Teachers and parents are not naturally at odds. I truly believe that. I know it may seem that we are. I try to be honest with the kids in my classroom, or how else would they trust me? So, I need to be honest here too. I have read the social media posts and heard the public figures say teachers want to destroy our kids, attack what we love. I have heard them call teachers evil. Those posts, those broadcasts, those rants, anger me, and they hurt. We used to be able to talk to each other, as opposed to making someone who disagrees THE OTHER, the one we have to feel hatred for. It shouldn't be that way. I have different perspectives on some things than some of my close friends, but we are still able to be friends. I'll also admit that I have also seen others post and rage, some of them educators (that honesty thing isn't easy at times) as they attack parents in their districts or set all teachers as opponents to parents. I've seen some of those teachers attacking other teachers too, but that is for another day. Now, I do not speak for all teachers, and I will never try to.  This is my voice, my post, and sometimes I struggle with what I want to say, and at those times I tend to listen. One of my proudest moments as a teacher was this year, when a student told me that one of the things she learned, one of the biggest points of growth, was that she can hold strongly to her principles, can speak them boldly, and she can also listen to others who differ in their perspective. She said she understands things better now because of that.  I may have some different perspectives on some things than some of my students' parents. I may align on some things pretty closely. Above all, I truly believe that nearly all of us align very well on one particular thing, THE particular thing: We want what is best for kids. You want what is best for your kid in particular, and often, what is best for all kids. That is what we are striving for. What is best for kids. Over the years, as we have weighed what to do, what to try, what to prioritize, the question my colleagues, my principal, my mentors have posed in the most crucial times is "Is it best for kids?" That is the guiding force. It really is. We want those kids we see every day, the kids you nurture and guide at home, to succeed. We are not in opposition in that desire.
2. We, teachers, are parents too. I don't mean we are trying to take the place of you for your kids. Definitely not. What I mean is many of us literally are parents. I had a discussion with a parent a few years ago about something we had done in our classroom that their child had come home and discussed with them. The parent said it was a good discussion, but she questioned why I had chosen to use a particular piece of content in our room. That's a question I can answer. After explaining my reasoning, I added that with everything we do in my classroom, it passes one test first: would I be ok with my son or daughter in my classroom at that moment? In fact, my son and daughter both were in my classroom as students, and I continue to ask that question now that they have moved on. Now, I do not pretend that every parent would agree with my answer. I understand that. But I love my kids. I want no harm to come to them. Have we had uncomfortable situations? Yes. Have I weighed the discomfort with the benefit of the situation? Yes. Have I made mistakes? Oh yeah. What parent hasn't? And again, see #1. 
3. I am going to make mistakes. I try to minimize them, but I, like you, am human. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be doing this job. I wouldn't have answered the calling, and a calling it is. I have a really strong grasp of my content, and I know the science behind learning. I was and am a nerd. But the intellectual part of the work is definitely only a part of it. The part that makes me love teaching, that makes me happy to return to the classroom after a rough day (or year) is the human side. And that side is going to lead me to make mistakes. And when I do, I will try to do better. There is a quote from Maya Angelou that says, "Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better." I try to live by that. One of the things we stress in our classroom is that learning is never-ending. Learning is the most important thing. That goes for me too. So, when I make a mistake, I want to learn from it. It might be hard to face sometimes, and I might get defensive. Sometimes, it might turn out that it wasn't even a mistake. We're all learning here. We want to do our best. Again, see #1. 
4. I am excited to see your kids. The last year and a half have been hard for a lot of people and we are still rolling with the hands we have been dealt. Not every part of the country (or even our State or county) was in the same situation or dealt with it in the same way. I realize everyone's situation is a little different. I was excited last fall that we would be face to face and have our kids in our classrooms and on our playing fields. Was I happy about masking and returning to rows of desks and enforcing social distancing guidelines? No, not really, but to have kids safely in our classrooms, it was worth it. Was I stressed, worried, anxious? Immensely. But I was excited to work with the kids in person again. I am excited to be together again this year, even though circumstances are once again not certain. I went through my rosters as soon as I found out they were available. When one of my sophomores-now-juniors emailed me and asked if I am excited to have her in class again, I could honestly answer "Yes" and mean it. Every day, I am excited to work with the young people that grace our halls, whether it be in the classroom or on the field. Am I excited every single day to face every single kid? Maybe there are days when I am not jumping with exuberance to interact with a particular student. Some days are tough, and some days, people can be rough. Sometimes, that excitement gives way to disappointment, and those days are difficult. Let's face it: some days suck and are exhausting. But I want to be there on those days too, and it is usually on those days that someone will surprise me, amaze me, inspire me. Every day something happens that makes me excited to be a teacher and gives me hope. Sometimes, I have to have someone remind me to look for those moments or think through the day to remind myself that they did in fact happen, and sometimes we have to pull on the smallest of victories. That's not always easy. But it's worth it.
5. This one is big. I will talk to my students in less than two weeks about this one. It's vital to our classroom and to our learning. It's vital to any kind of relationship. Communicate. That said, no one enjoys getting yelled at or raked over the coals. I get anxious having to make the uncomfortable phone calls home, reading an angry email, or walking into a meeting where people are clearly upset or angry. I would prefer we communicate before we get to that point. Share your thoughts. Ask questions. Listen to understand. If you need more, let's continue that conversation. I tell my students to talk to me, email me, message me, drop a note on my desk, whatever, if you need me to know something, need to ask something, or if they are upset. We are working together here. I acknowledge that it is possible that we may not always agree, but hopefully we will understand one another. And hopefully we can keep ourselves headed toward that common, ultimate goal. #1. 

"See, I told you..."

 I have so many amazingly talented students, and I am blessed to get to sit and talk with them. They enlighten me, they make me laugh (a lot), they cause me to stop and think, and they challenge me to be better. Often, these conversations hang on; I cannot shake them, for reasons both good and bad. They usually lead me to write, sometimes so I won't forget them, often so I can think through what they really mean and where I might go with them. 

The conversation I am thinking about right now is a frustrating one. And so, I write.

Recently, some of my students who took the ACT received their scores, and they were discussing them as class started. As I walked into the room, one student told me she did poorly (in her eyes) on the reading section. "See, I told you I was a terrible reader." 

Earlier this year, I told this young person to stop saying that. She told me that the first day of class, and we talked about why she felt that way. She told me that some of her teachers in grade school told her that because she did poorly on some of the tests they gave. She believed them. It was how she viewed herself, and it was a part of her as a student and as a learner. As we progressed through the year, she showed me what kid of reader she actually is. 

Thoughtful.

Imaginative.

Speculative.

Creative. 

Driven.

Does she read as quickly as some of her classmates? No, she does not. Does she remember minute details after a quick reading, or a somewhat focused reading? Most of the time, no. Does she dive deeply into a text when she is engaged, thinking about the characters and who they are, feeling the emotion spilled on the page by the author, contemplating why things happened, what might happen next, and how it relates to her? Definitely. 

This student has taken part in every classroom discussion. She asks questions. She listens to other students when they ask questions or present ideas. She composed original music to fit a character's development throughout a novel.  She wrote poetry to represent different themes and plot elements in another novel and recorded them as songs. Even added a humorous take on one element as a bonus track. She has produced a wealth of evidence that she can not only understand what she reads, she can consume it and use it to produce other creative pieces. 

Then, with one test result, the confidence that had grown so much during the year was replaced with resignation. Resignation to something that is patently false. Untrue. Wrong.

I struggle so much with this. I celebrate with my kids who come to me and proudly tell me how they did on the ACT or some other test. They are excited and proud of themselves. Usually, these students have already proven themselves "worthy" on a variety of other occasions over the semester, year, or school career, but the affirmation granted by that single measure seems to outweigh all the other learning, growth, and creation. I am proud of them for doing well, yet I wish they were as excited and affirmed by their repeated and visible learning that occurs on days other than one scheduled Saturday and in places other than one random classroom. 

A while back, a past student told me she scored significantly lower on her second ACT than first. She was doubting herself and she was incredibly frustrated. She hadn't suddenly become a few points "stupider" and was not any less talented. She didn't suddenly become a student who didn't work extremely hard and find ways to improve.  What had changed? She took her second test in room that had been the site of past trauma. She couldn't focus. And according to the test, she was not longer the bright, talented person she had been before. Or at least that's how some might see it. She had earned a good score on her first attempt and was hoping to improve by taking it again. But what if she had been randomly placed in that room during her first attempt?  Would she have been able to bounce back? How might that have changed her future education, one in which she has since proven successful? That question doesn't just frustrate me; it frightens and angers me. 

So back to the conversation in my class stuck with me. "I am a terrible reader" stayed pinned in my mind. 

I told that student something that I honestly believe to be true. 

"You are not a terrible reader; that test does a bad job of measuring how you think."

These tests are one measure, on one day, and yes, we can learn from the results. But they are ONE measure, on one day. I wish we - teachers, colleges, scholarships programs, newspapers, parents, and students -  could be allowed to feel that way about them. 

Until them, I want  to continue to help kids build confidence, provide a space to grow and learn in different ways, and celebrate their hard-won successes, no matter where those successes presented themselves.

And, like trying to get off of Voxer, I don't really know how to gracefully end this post. 

Kohls, out. 

WHY and Things Falling into Place

 Good morning! That's when I am writing this anyway. If you are reading later, then I hope you are having a pleasant day, a splendid evening, or lovely night. You probably desire it. 

Yesterday, I read a Tweet that caught me a little off guard, not because it was argumentative or controversial, not because it was political or vulgar. It caught me off guard because its sentiment has been expressed and bounced around my circle for some time, but yesterday, it made me think, and I decided a reply on Twitter would not allow me to hash out my thoughts. I  always tell my students that if a piece of literature makes you think, then it has done is job, so I guess the Tweet did its job. 

The Tweet came from Simon Sinek and had popped up on my feed because it was liked and replied to by some of the educators I follow. I have no beef with Mr. Sinek. He encourages positive, optimistic leadership, and I like a lot of what he shares. The Tweet that caught my attention is incredibly positive as well, and the replies were full of different ways it can apply to those people's lives. So, why was it stuck in my head, bouncing around my mind trying to form a coherent thought?

We've spent ELA Team time and district PD time discussing our WHY. I have written about my WHY more than once. We encourage one another to remind ourselves of our WHY, especially when we are struggling or frustrated. We have taken the "Why I Teach" selfies. We even encourage our students to begin exploring their WHY. So, what besides a "Yeah, I get it" thought would stop my scrolling and make me hit the W at the bottom of the Tweet so it magically transported itself into my Wakelet? 

Well, as a person who deals daily with language, it bothered me. I think I get his point and understand what he is trying to convey philosophically. However, that is not what it said to me when I read it. I don't know if anyone is aware of this, but the last year has been somewhat difficult, not only in education, but life in general. However, the thought that was forming in my head is not restricted to this unique (hopefully) period in time. 2020-2021 has made it clear, as it has with so many other things, but the issues have been here long before the dumpster fire of a year began. What struck me in this little message on Twitter was that it is unfairly unrealistic, especially at a time when so many educators are struggling to get something, let alone everything, to consistently fall into place. 

Knowing your WHY is vital. It will be what drives you. It will focus your efforts.  It will give you energy. I am blessed as a teacher to have my WHY greet me on a daily basis (receiving a dab of hand sanitizer each day this year), and it is what keeps me going. However, to say knowing your WHY means "everything will fall into place" is kind of ridiculous. And it is a little bit dangerous. Let me explain. Each day, I am fortunate to work with amazing people. Award-winning teachers, championship-winning coaches, Kansas Teachers of the Year, Horizon Award winners, State and National Coaches of the Year, student-inspiring mentors, people who make a different each and every day in countless ways. I often say that I just ry to keep up with them. We work each day with extraordinary young people, we see our former students celebrate academic, professional, and personal successes, and that lifts us up. But guess what? I have witnessed every single one of these amazing people question themselves and what they are doing, often on a daily, and sometimes on an hourly, basis. These people KNOW THEIR WHY. They focus, refocus, and rededicate themselves each day. And yet, somehow, things do not simply fall into place. 

To say that they will simply fall into place, if you really know your WHY, is in short, unfair. When we say things like this, we set ourselves up for failure. When we shower fresh teachers with these nuggets of philosophical "truths," we are encouraging them to doubt themselves when things don't just fall into place despite their conviction to and passion for their WHY. It tells our more experienced teachers who are making attempts to grow and develop to do what is best for their students that they just need to WHY harder. It makes those same new and seasoned teachers and administrators question whether they should even be in the profession because let's face it, sometimes no matter what we do, things are not falling into place. 

I don't think the sentiment Mr. Sinek was trying to convey is the problem. As I said, I appreciate Mr. Sinek's positive approach and sentiment. The problem is the 280-character world we live in, where everything has to be a bite-sized platitude or sound-bite nugget of knowledge. It reminds me of the old saying "If you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life." Great sentiment, but completely false. You will work harder than you can imagine each day, but you will want to because you love what you do. This is similar. Knowing your WHY is vital. It is a key component to finding success. Each of us needs to have that WHY in clear focus. But it is not going to make everything magically fall into place. Knowing your WHY will drive you to pick up the pieces, to fish them from under that furniture and brush them off to see if they fit better in a different spot. Your WHY will cause you to stay with that piece that doesn't seem to have a place to fit, and push you to carve out a new opening, a little larger or in need of sanding perhaps, or maybe a completely in new shape, previously not part of the board, one that didn't seem obviously necessary before but is now. Your WHY will make you want to learn how to construct your own board from scratch because the old one isn't what will work best now, or lead you to find someone who can see the board form a different angle and can help you see it differently too. Your WHY won't make everything fall into place. Your WHY will make you love finding a way to help things fit together.

So, find your WHY. Bring it into clear focus. Find ways to consciously remind yourself of that WHY as often as possible. Some days, things will fall into place; on most days, they won't.  And it is on those days that that WHY is the most important. 

"Just" Another School Day

 Today, I am writing because I am up at 4 am after staying up late watching history, sad history, continue to unfold. I am not entirely sure this will be coherent. I am sure it may be more for me than for anyone else, Regardless, I write, and I write because yesterday I sat and watched a surreal scene unfold before me. As teachers, our conversations quickly turned to our students, how we will do what is best for them today, tomorrow, and as we move forward.

My first inclination was to try and process what was happening. I was struggling to do that. Still am, to a degree, which is part of why I am up. As teachers, so often, we attempt to process not only everything that is going on in front of us and how it will affect our families, our spouses, and our children, but also how it will affect our kids in our classrooms, the young people we care so much about, their well-being. their futures, our relationships with them, and our ability to help them grow and succeed. As we watched a mob force their way into the Capitol, teachers were already discussing "what do our classrooms look and sound like tomorrow?"

As the evening progressed, I saw many posts and messages that stated, in one form or another "tomorrow is not just another school day." I get the sentiment. I really do, and I grasp the idea. But still. 

Not just another school day. 

Many of my students will know immediately why that statement, written in that way, makes me tense up. You see, as we are seeing with immense clarity, words have meaning. Words have power. That word "just" is one that I have grown to despise. I have written about it, taught lessons on it, and tried to remove it from my own usage when possible. "Just". It is dismissive. It is insulting. It is subtle but it is powerful. 

You see, every day is another school day. No day is just another school day. Or at least it shouldn't be. 

"Well, ok, but what it means is that tomorrow is not a normal school; it has significance." 

Uh huh. Gotcha. That doesn't make it any better.

First of all, point me to the last "normal" school day any of us has had. Go ahead; point it out on the calendar. I'll wait. 

Actually, no, I won't. I have things to do. You see: today is another school day, and I, like so many other teachers who are now awake, still awake, or tossing and turning, will figure this out. Today (and tomorrow) is another school day (and for those who don't know, even days that are not school days are school days. If you know, you know). It is significant. It is important. So, I am going to try and figure out how to do today what I hope I do in some way every other day: create a space (unfortunately a virtual one today) of hope, where my kids feel safe and confident enough to process, to ask questions, to question me, to think critically, to learn, and to grow. 

Today is another important school day. 

My Top Gifts of Teacher 2020

A young lady in our Creative Writing class has started posting a blog, and since she wrote and posted one on Christmas Day, I thought it was a good time for me to follow suit and write a post myself. 

First, let me say how proud I am of her for putting her writing out there for others to read. Here is a link to her blog; the password is magnolio. She shared it on Twitter to a wider audience.  That takes courage. I have the pleasure and challenge of working with young people on a daily basis, and I get to see and read just how remarkable they are. I wish they would share more. Spoken word and written poetry, critical analysis, philosophical musings, short stories, musical compositions, and visual art pieces presenting depth of thoughts and heartfelt passion. I get to read, see, and hear from these creative souls often, and I am moved, inspired, shaken, and amazed. If you are not so fortunate, you really should feel a bit of jealousy toward me.

Now, since I am writing this during break, and the end of 2020 is drawing nigh (and perhaps because I just watched Rap Critic's  "Top 10 Worst Lyrics of 2020" and "Top 10 Worst Hit Songs of 2020" from Todd in the Shadows), I am thinking a Top 10 List of 2020 might be fitting. But Top 10 what? Because Kansas decided to shoehorn a couple near-60 degree days into mid-December, I was able to get out and walk on Christmas Day. I did the same on Saturday. That gave me chance to think, something that solo exercise does for me. The thought hit me that the most appropriate list might be the best gifts of 2020. Yes, 2020 has been a bit of a dumpster fire, a poo emoji IRL even, but it has had some major positives too, and I have been blessed with some "gifts" that brighten my little world. Now, these could be actual physical items, sometimes wrapped in colorful paper, but more times than not, they don't come in a box. They are gifts nonetheless. I could go personal on this one, such as more time with my wife as we both worked from home in the spring, or my kids' both being in the house together for a few more months as my son and daughter finished their college spring semesters online and both remain home this fall. Those are truly gifts to treasure. And let's be honest here, as I compile my list of top gifts in my teacher 2020, they are also personal. Most of the teachers out there will agree that it is difficult to separate the two. So, I have settled on the list topic: 

My Top Gifts of Teacher 2020 

Messages from Kids. A handwritten note, a goodbye voiced prior to logging off Google Meet, a question sent through text, Twitter or Snapchat, a masked encounter in the self-checkout at Dillons. Whatever delivery method, it doesn't matter. A message from a kid, past or present, is a gift. Often they remind me why I am in the classroom in the first place, and they recenter my focus. Sometimes, they lift my spirits just when I need it. At times, they let me know that what we do in class does actually carry over long after kids walk out the door. Sometimes, they are asking for a nudge or a little help. Often, they remind me that there are amazing people around us, and that is a gift we too often ignore. 

Conversations. This gift is related to the one above and the one to follow, but I still believe it deserves its own spot.  It is that important. In my previous blog post, I talked about having conversations, about being able to talk with each other. Conversations are so vital. I have needed to be intentional and purposeful in making time for conversations. That means turning away from the computer screen when a student gets to class early and starts to talk about concerns about a friend or frustrations at work. It means letting the rabbit trail in class discussion meander at times, even if it may seem to lead away from "the content".  And BTW, the rabbit trail usually isn't leading away from the content; it is leading to a different aspect of the content or seeing it in a different perspective, which is important too. ("The Content" is a whole other discussion for later.) Often, conversations give us a chance not only to think, but also to laugh, and that is so important. One day, after a class spent the last 10 minutes or so in conversation, I heard someone say, "Oh, I needed that." Yeah, we need that. Conversations also take place after school in our classrooms, in the hall between classes, as we walk to the parking lot or to another part of the building, and when we see each other out in the wild. They are stocking stuffers that come throughout the year. 

Our Hall. I work with a group of people that in many ways is a family. Yes, we hear that often, but I truly mean it. I get to spend each day of school around people who lift me up and push me to be better. They notice when I am struggling. They laugh with me. They make me feel a sense of pride. We legitimately like being around each other. Seldom does a day go by that we don't "talk" through Voxer or text, even on days when we see each other in person. We Zoom sometimes just because we feel better after spending time together. We nerd out about books and movies, celebrate successes, and vent when the tensions get high. That doesn't even scratch the surface of the "professional" impact we have on one another. I am better because of these people in so many ways. I am slowly accepting the fact that I am one of the "old" people on our team (NOT the oldest), and I am blessed not only with the more seasoned among us but also with incredible younger people. I honestly believe that sometimes people are placed in our lives at particular time for particular reasons. The people in my teacher family are a gift, each in their own way. 

Friday Nights and Tuesday Afternoons. I have one of the greatest jobs on the planet. Not only do I get to work with young people and amazing teachers throughout each day in my hallway, I get to move my classroom outside on fall afternoons and team-teach with another group of talented individuals who answer to "Coach". Not everyone gets to have two circles of people like I do, who make me better and are there for me when I need it. We spend a lot of time together. We laugh, we plan, we argue, we lean on one another, we lift each other up, and we teach. Those kids we coach show us their best and, sometimes, their worst. And we all grow through it. Every year, we see young men grow in ways that few people can really appreciate. There have been a long list of players I am immensely proud of through the years. They have overcome personal obstacles, pushed themselves, lifted up teammates, and found their own paths. This year, our kids faced different hurdles. Each week, we worked toward Friday night, always knowing that at any point during the week, that game could be cancelled. It happened early in the season when we received word shortly after noon on Friday that our game was cancelled due to a positive COVID test that morning on the opposing team. We were coming off a week one loss where we started 9 new players on defense, and we needed to get back on the field. Our kids handled it well. They came out and practiced on Friday afternoon. They got better, they laughed, and they spent time together. We ended up playing the rest of our schedule and made it to the final 8 in the playoffs. More importantly, we got to see kids grow up. In some cases, we saw walls come down. We saw kids show concern beyond themselves. We saw a young man face real personal loss with a positive attitude and a smile each day. Friday nights, everyone gets to see things happen (even if it is online); on Tuesdays (and every other day), we as coaches get to see much more. This is a gift that I get to enjoy as a coach.  

Our Admin. I have seen so much on Twitter about teachers clashing with administration right now. Some have called for no evaluations of teachers being done by administrators this year. I get it. Things are tense, and sometimes the views are different. The old joke when a teacher goes into admin is that they are going "to the dark side." What I am going to say may sound really odd to some of you and some will probably even think I am full of hooey for saying this, but I think my administration is a gift right now. "Is it best for kids?" has been our driving question, not just in 2020 but for a long time. That has shifted more to "Is it best for kids and can we do it safely?" this year.  Do I always agree fully with what the administration chooses to do? No. Do I feel my voice is at least heard? Honestly, yes. Do I think we are all headed in the same direction, sometimes with information that I don't have yet? Yep. I have seen Mr. Ellegood and Mr. Abbott, our principal and assistant principal, go beyond what is even close to implied in any job description to help our kids and our staff on a daily basis. I was evaluated last month. It was a positive experience. No dog and pony show, simply a class period like any other, if by any other you mean half the class in person, half on Google Meet, having a discussion. Mr. Ellegood sat among our socially distanced kids and even added to the discussion at one point. We talked about things, both good and in need of improvement, in a conversation afterward (post-evaluation conference sounds so unnecessarily ominous). I have had administrators not only from my building but from the district level, in my classroom often this semester. Like our principals, Mrs. Couchman and Mr. McClure are welcome in my room any time. That has been the case for quite a while, so it really shouldn't change now. I know many teachers feel the same way. Is every building across the country like this? No. Not even close. Maybe not everyone even in my building feels this way. But I do. That's a gift. 

Sunrises. Last spring, sunrises took on a special meaning for me. When we received the news that our buildings were being closed and school would be remote, the world we as teachers knew crashed.  For many of our kids, it imploded. After catching our collective breath and starting to figure things out, we got to work. I quickly realized that sitting in front of a computer all day was not going to be a pleasant. I moved around my classroom. Sitting on Zoom sucked. So, I started slipping out my door and up to the walking path each morning before the sun came up. I was usually the only one out, and I could get a little much-needed exercise before logging on to grade, plan, or return emails and messages prior to starting the day "with" kids. It became one of my favorite times of the day. I found that my schedule put me headed east as the sun came up most mornings. I started taking a picture of the sunrise. It became sometime I looked forward to and kind of forced me to recognize that the sun had in fact come up, and it was a new day. There is an added reason for seeing the sunrise as a gift. I have always gotten to school early, and I block my door open. Sometimes people pop in, maybe to ask a question or just to say "good morning!" I like that time. One student had made a habit the last couple of years of stopping in before school. Each visit would start with a response to my "What's up?" Sometimes we'd talk, sometimes homework was finished, and sometimes we were just both there. It became a comfort. When the physical classrooms closed, that comfort was taken away. So, I asked if I could still say "Good morning" on a regular basis, and we decided that was ok. Welcome even. So, I started sending the pictures I would take on my walks with a "Good morning!" We are back in physical school this fall, and I find myself still taking pictures of the sunrise as I drive to school. Often, I will still send those pics on and say "Good morning." In a time when uncertainty is the only certainty, knowing the sun has come seems important, and sharing that does too. 

Ok, I realize I have gotten a little long in this post. A long gift list is not a bad thing though, right? I'm not even close to finished, but I will cut my rambling explanations short. So, here is the rest of my list, so far, without explanation:

Faces,

Music,

The Snack Drawer,

Coffee Mugs,

Laughter and Tears.

Maybe I will do a Part 2 later, to finish out the year. Who knows. As I sit and write today, more things keep coming to mind. I really am blessed, personally and professionally and the ways the overlap.

And for that, I say "Thank you."

Can We Talk?

 This weekend, the one following Thanksgiving, has always been an interesting one. It is a long break “away from work” (which means it is a chance to try and get caught up on grading), it is the traditional date when State Championships for HS football in Kansas are played (so having time to relax is bittersweet), and it is time to start pulling out the Christmas decorations. This year, with our current situation, the weekend has been all of that, but it has also been filled with more anxiety than most years. 

I have struggled in the evenings this semester to grade for any extended period of time. So, I need to grade and give feedback. I need to sit down today and continue planning out the next three weeks of hybrid and flex learning, knowing that it will probably change in some way every few days. I really need to start that by reviewing my roster to remind myself how many and which students will not be returning in person during that time, either because they are quarantined, they or their parents are concerned about their safety, or they need to care for younger siblings who attend the grade school that just went fully to flex learning after a rash of positive tests among staff. I need to check in on people, and I need to try not to worry as much as I sometimes do. I need to avoid opening social media for any reason other than to check which Chiefs are going to miss today’s game.

So, here I am, not grading or planning, but writing on a blog that I have neglected and that has few readers. Because I was home and Kansas cooperated and gave us a couple of beautiful days, I got to get some fresh air and vitamin D while walking on the path just north of our neighborhood. The few people I met would step to their side of the path and raise a hand. I had a chance to think. And of course, one thing I thought about is school, and the kids I get to see every day, actually in person every other day now, unless group B is on Friday and I get to see those kids 2 days in a row. Yeah, that’s how it is. 

I started thinking about conversations we have been having in my different classes. I have been making a conscious effort to simply talk with my classes. Sometimes about the content, sometimes just talk. I realized a few weeks ago that this was missing in my classroom and it was having a negative effect. We had been reading a novel in my honors class, and so much of the study of that novel revolves around our in-class discussions. Those classes were the bright spot in my day. The kids talked, they thought, they listened. They amazed me and they made me think. Then, I started to question why those hours had such a different feel from the other hours. One of the students answered that pondering in the course of discussion one afternoon. She said that she felt like she was thinking so much more in that class because we were talking and, in her words, “slowing down to get into it.” She said she understood why teachers were doing it right now, but that it felt as if people were just rushing through things to cover content because we are on a hybrid schedule and are “falling behind”. But she didn’t feel like she was thinking, or, sadly, learning. She likened it to a passage in Fahrenheit 451 when Clarisse lamented that school had become so much water poured down so many funnels, spilling over. That hurt my heart. And it made me look at my other classes. I was guilty too, even in my classes that have always been based on discussion. I had to change that. So we started just talking. We spent at least 30 minutes in one class discussing the difference between “I love you” and “I have love for you”. The student who started the conversation led with “I have a question for you, Mr. Kohls, and it’s not just to get off topic. I really need to know this.” Later in the week, she told me that since that conversation, she couldn’t help noticing how people word things and how it changed the feeling or meaning. I gave an actual fist pump on that one. We also spend time in that class laughing through weekly updates of one student’s adventures in cooking as she prepares meals on days she is learning from home. I feel like in a few days, we have become a closer class, one where we can share more. We need those moments of “just talking”. They have been missing more than I had noticed, and I should have known it much sooner. 

So, we talk. In multiple classes, just talking has improved the classroom atmosphere, as I knew it would. It also let me know that our kids are truly frustrated, and not just with the uncertainty of the COVID situation and how it affects them. They need a chance to express that frustration. They really don’t seem to expect it to be solved right now, but they do feel a need to be heard. Don’t we all? And right now, they feel as if they are being lost in the swirl of everything going on. These ideas have come wrapped in different discussions. In one talk, we moved from whether a show on Netflix should be seen as worthwhile literature to how they truly feel about school and some of the ways we do things. Not “school sucks” or “I just want to be out of here” talk either. Our role in mental health. Relationships. Failures. It was a hard conversation, and at times it became difficult for me. They were mature and honest. They need to be heard. I needed to listen. We’ve talked about frustration, anger, and fear, but we have also talked about hope, kindness, and joy. Most of the conversations have begun in some way with our content, but they have “gotten off track” pretty quickly. This used to happen a lot in my classroom, but it had been lost to a degree. And to be honest, off track is where so much learning actually takes place. So, when we lost the conversations, we were also losing that learning. I am thankful that they reminded me. 

I am glad the conversations are coming back. We need to be off track a little more often. We need to talk, we need to listen, and that is where we need to wander. We’ll still get where we are going. And right now, who really knows where that is? We might as well talk as we make our way. It will be worth it.

 #LetUsPlay.

That is a popular and powerful hashtag on social media right now. Ohio State QB Justin Fields has been speaking out loudly about the Big 10’s decision not to play football this fall, and over the last month or so, Clemson QB Trevor Lawrence has been a leading voice in the same movement. They, and others, have been clear and rational in their expressions, and they have been effective. The hashtag and similar voices have recently been heard in my area from young people who have potentially lost their chance to play sports and take part in extracurricular activities as their districts attempt to deal with student and staff safety in the midst of an ongoing pandemic. The young voices have often been incredibly mature, passionate, and thoughtful. They are voices we can be proud of, and they have sometimes been much more effective and rational than those of much more seasoned individuals. 

For a long time, I have been an advocate for young people having a voice, and I believe those voices should be respected and listened to. This should not be limited to athletes. Today, I am not going to focus on the arguments or positions these young voices are expressing; there is something just as or even more important to discuss. The voice itself is important, and the fact that people are listening is significant. The voice is proving legitimate, and its value is undeniable. The young people should have a voice that is not just heard but is listened to. You may not agree with the idea the voices carry, you may not change your position, and you may argue against those ideas, but the voices themselves, just like the people raising them, have inherent value. We can agree on that, right?

Now, I ask a question: Have you been as willing and supportive of giving young people the opportunity to be heard and valued, or did that only start now, as sports seasons are threatened? When young men the same age as Justin Fields and Trevor Lawrence expressed their willingness to exercise their rights and use their platform to push for an investigation of racist activity on campus, when a star running back voiced a hesitation to play beneath a Confederate battle flag, or when one conference’s athletes asked for assurances that their health and safety concerns would be in the forefront of decision making, was your first thought “Shut up and play” or “They’re just kids. They don’t know how the world works.” I remember reading comments when Kansas State’s football team collectively announced a boycott of activities so their voices would be heard in regard to policies addressing racist groups on campus. Many expressed the “ridiculousness” of allowing 18-22 year olds to demand a voice and “hijack” the program. The same thing happened when Mississippi State running back Kylin Hill said he would not play for MSU if the state flag continued to display the confederate flag. The same people quickly shifted to “This young man gets it” when Lawrence exercised those same rights. Why is that? 

I read a Tweet last night from a college athlete, the son of a college coach for whom I have a great deal of respect. The young man posted “Everyone who is saying ‘let us play’ and ‘we want a season’ obviously don’t want to play that bad if they won’t make a sacrifice to stop going out and start social distancing to slow the spread down for them to be able to have a season.” He wants to play, and he wants others to have that chance. But he is also taking dead aim at the massive elephant in the room. Did his words make you feel a little defensive? Bristle a little? Then yes, he is talking to you. If you have done everything you can, you are in the same unfair boat as he is. And his voice is just as worthy as the others.

There’s the rub. If we are going to support young people having a voice, if we are going to teach them how to use that voice to present thoughtful and passionate positions on issues they feel strongly about and are knowledgeable in, we have to respect those voices, even when they express views we may not fully endorse. In essence, we are saying, “I am going to listen to you, I am going to consider your thoughts and feelings, and I want you to think for yourself.” Whether you believe it or not, that is what many teachers have been trying to do in our classrooms for a long time. 

So, adults rallying behind our young people and lifting up their voices at this moment: I applaud you. The young people deserve that support and respect. You are helping reinforce the lessons we have been teaching. Be prepared. Remember how strongly you supported these voices at this time when, down the road at some point, they are raised in a position counter to your thinking or in a way that makes you uncomfortable. It is going to happen at some point. We need it to happen. We REALLY do. Be prepared to listen, to take it in, to think, and, as part of the conversation, to express your ideas, not from a place of “because I said so” but from a place of “let’s get it right” not “I am right.” That’s something I know I have to continue to work on. 

And hold on to that hashtag. #LetUsPlay is meaningful. #LetThemSpeak and #LetUsListen are even more important.