After my first year of teaching, which was not glorious by any means, I struggled to find a permanent position. Here's how I ended episode 1 of my love story with teaching:
A phone call came in late August. Did I want to interview for a position in an EBD Day Treatment? Nope. I didn’t. But, I did anyway. And I got the job. It turned out to be one of the best things that I ever did.
I think the most important thing that I did during the three years I taught at the Day Treatment was that I showed up. Every day. I chose to come back and be part of my students' lives every day. It was hard, but I did it anyway.
I had no experience, other than my first year teaching a handful of challenging 3rd graders, with students with emotional or behavioral disorders. I had no experience with middle schoolers or high schoolers. I had had zero classes regarding special education, let alone special education in a setting 4 day treatment.
Scared and filled with trepidation, I started that job. I created a curriculum for kids in grades 5-12 that included physics and life science and language arts and social studies and even PE! The only things I didn't teach were math or health or art.
It was apparent on the first day of school that no one under the age of 18 wanted to be there. We had a point system and lots of rules and expectations. The students came from their separate school districts by van or car with a driver provided by their home district. They came from seven surrounding smaller school communities. And, they came with their hoods and their guards up and unwillingly did their pocket checks upon arrival.
Pocket checks? Yep, our students came and immediately turned their pockets inside out, patted themselves down, lifted up their sleeves and pant legs and then shuffled to my reading corner and waited for morning check-in. With those pocket checks, my assistant and I looked for weapons, cigarettes, drugs, or any other contraband. Did I ever find anything? Rarely. But we did see evidence of self-injurious behavior like cutting or piercings or drug use. Sometimes you could see that cuts had healed and that provided hope that what we were doing at the day treatment was working.
At morning check in, students would rate their mood based on a 1-10 scale. They could provide reasons or not, that was up to them. Teachers shared, too. Gaining trust and creating relationships was the most important part of what I did during my time there. Mondays were the hardest, especially after weekends away from foster homes and with biological families. Their homes and families of origin were often volatile and unpredictable, so students either withdrew or themselves became volatile and unpredictable. Sometimes when we had made great gains, students would come back after a weekend or school break at home and all gains would be lost. The boundaries were different and and maybe they were using drugs or alcohol again, or they had simply lacked care by a parent and regressed so that, yes, Mondays were rough.
We had no substitute teachers and very little prep time. Some days revolved around crisis management and not academic standards.
To say that I learned a lot is a complete understatement. One year, our staff went to Texas for a conference on reaching difficult kids. It was life changing. There were two impactful statements that I heard at that conference that I still think about almost every day of my teaching career.
1. "Every child, no matter what they do, deserves at least ONE significant adult that is irrationally crazy about them." For some kids, that adult was one of us on the teaching staff and not a parent or grandparent or foster parent or anyone that typically is that adult.
and
2. "An EBD kid is like a piece of scotch tape. That piece of tape has been stuck on the wall and pulled off and stuck on the wall and pulled off so many times that pretty soon, it doesn't stick anywhere." That is what an EBD kid feels like...they don't stick anywhere. Belonging is the basis of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. If a person does not feel like he/she belongs anywhere, nothing else can be accomplished. We worked hard to make sure that the day treatment was at least one place in the world that these kids felt like they belonged. Then, and only then, could academics enter the picture.
Was it hard to teach at the day treatment? Yes. It was difficult and tiring and draining and sometimes painful. But more than anything, it was valuable. Here are the top things I learned while teaching there.
1. Sometimes students will ask for love in the most unloving of ways.
I was kicked, scratched, and bitten. I was called awful names and was told "F - you" more times than I can remember. But forgiveness and reparations were valuable for both students and teachers. I learned that even if the "I'm sorry" is fake, it still makes both parties acknowledge the conflict and gives them the ability to move on.
2. Mental illness in children is very real.
I am not talking simply about things like ADD/ADHD. I witnessed lots of debilitating anxiety and depression. I witnessed the advent of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Reactive-Attachment disorder? Real and so hard to combat or heal. There was and still is, very little help for kids who are DESPERATE for help. They often self-medicate with drugs and alcohol in an attempt to feel okay.
3. Clear boundaries are important.
Children and adults need to know where they stand. Of course students tested us. Every. Single. Day. My regular ed students now do the same thing. There is comfort for students when they know the boundaries.
4. Teamwork is essential.
The job that I did every day could never have been done in isolation. The team that I worked with included an on site social worker, county social workers, a classroom assistant (my BEST and most VITAL teammate), a second classroom teacher, an art teacher, two administrative assistants, family therapists, individual mental health counselors, home school district special education staff and administrators, two on site special education administrators, job coaches, law enforcement, parole officers, parents, step-parents, foster parents, and grandparents. It was like a web of support that was needed to help these students overcome barriers that never should have been theirs to begin with.
Another aspect of teamwork came about when we decided to field a basketball team. My co-teacher and I decided after hours of noon ball and a little push from the students that we should become more organized. And so we started by asking if kids were interested in forming a team. And lo and behold, these kids who had never been part of a team in their lives, were ALL IN. We ordered jerseys, held a few practices, and convinced some local teams (a couple parochial schools and a few public schools) to add us to their schedules as scrimmages. And we played basketball. Was it perfect? Of course it wasn't, there were a few F-bombs thrown out and some near fights as a foul may have been perceived as intentional. We celebrated every basket, every non-call when we traveled, and every handshake at the end of games. Win or lose, this team and this game, produced a teamwork victory.
5. All kids have talents, we just need to find them.
One student I had barely spoke. There was no way for him to survive in the regular ed setting. It was suffocating for him and he would feel like he was drowning whenever he went back. So, we kept him. And we brought him an engine or a motor or something. And oh my, did he start to talk. I learned more that year about engines and motors than I care to knew. I can't remember any of it, except how he looked and acted when he was teaching the rest of us about them. Another example came when we took a field trip to "Mary's Place" in the cities - a homeless shelter with a food shelf, soup kitchen, and transitional housing. We worked stocking shelves, cooking and serving, and in the daycare center. One student LOVED the daycare. I had rarely seen her smile and she had said "F-you" to me more times than I could count. But in there? Loving, kind, and gentle. From then on, I could refer back to that day with her and this would help guide her path forward.
6. Parenting is hard, and so is being a kid of struggling parents.
When I taught there, I wasn't a parent. I had no idea what it was like to work full time and try to raise a family, let alone working more than one job and still needing financial assistance and emotional support in the process. We held a monthly family meeting that was optional for parents and their kids. Some came. Some didn't. But for those who did, the parents were able to hear wonderful things about their kids (which was a rarity for them) and the kids could come to school willingly and not be forced to learn. The could actually come to school and have fun!
Even though I was not a parent, I still held meetings with parents of students. One of the first things I always did (and still do) while meeting with parents was say, "Here's what I love about your kid....here's what your kid does well..." These parents rarely get to hear good things about their kids as students. It is a new experience for them and not one they are used to. Parents of special needs students often feel overwhelmed, responsible, and guilty for the behavior of their children. An IEP meeting for a parent, who themselves may not have been successful in the traditional school setting, can be completely overwhelming and anxiety producing. Simply saying, "I'm glad you're here. I really appreciate ______ 's sense of humor (or reading ability, or creativity, or perseverance, etc), opens up amazing opportunities for communication.
I witnessed a struggling parent and her son at an IEP meeting that has stayed with me all these years. Her son was bright, artistic, and talented. He was also had made some poor choices, suffered from anxiety and depression, and had used drugs and alcohol. He was 15. His mom was 30. He had a baby sister whom he adored. At his IEP meeting, I said, "Oh _______, you are a great big brother. When she starts talking and says your name you'll be so proud!"
He said, "Well, I'll probably be gone by then."
And his mom said, "We can only hope."
How do you heal that? When a parent says that in front of you, you know that much worse has been said or done when you are not around. This was one moment when I realized that I can't heal everything. I can only control my end, the school end, and try to give him the tools to deal with the home and community end of things.
7. Some kids can't survive in a regular school setting.
Do you know the feeling when the mall is just too much for you? When you are around a bunch of people and the noise is intolerable? When, if one more person asks you how you are, you feel like you might punch them? When every single day you have to walk into a place that takes everything that you're not good at and make those things the most important things? When you go to bed at night thinking tomorrow things will be better and you wake up and they're not? Well, the kids we saw had some of those same feelings. Over and over, kids would begin the transition back to their home school setting, and deliberately fail. We would have ZERO behavior issues with kids and the minute we started talking transition, behaviors would suddenly appear that we hadn't seen before. Or, when kids started back at their home schools, attendance would suddenly become an issue. Kids would skip or just suddenly stop attending the hours at their home school, but still come to the day treatment. Finally, we said, "Why can't kids graduate from our day treatment and their home school at the same time?" And so, with approval from the home school districts, we simply KEPT some students until they graduated! Win-Win.
8. Being a school in the middle of a cornfield has its advantages.
Sometimes kids don't want to be in school. And so they run. However, if you don't want to be in your school which happens to be in the middle of a corn field, there aren't very many options available to you. And we were, quite literally, surrounded by corn. We were at least 8 miles from the nearest town and out in the middle of nowhere. Students knew that if they decided to run, that we would have no choice but to call law enforcement. Once there were two students who decided they'd had enough for the day. So, they ran. And ran, and ran. For 8 miles. They ran, walked, probably hitched, on the gravel road to the nearest town. When they got there, they went to the school and found our custodian who was there to pick up our school lunches and got a ride BACK to school, arriving just in time for lunch. Apparently, school was not such a bad place to be after all, even if the next day had to be spent in ISS - In School Suspension.
9. Academics sometimes has to come second.
Students would often come to school with what we termed "carry in" problems. Even today teaching in regular education, I know that many of the kids I see each day have literal baggage. That baggage could be as simple as hunger, or a complicated as abuse or mental illness. Hunger could be relatively easy. We partnered with malt-o-meal and they provided us with free cereal for every day. Breakfast became sort of like a family meal. For kids who rarely had a family meal, this was an opportunity to practice manners and conversation, while breaking away the first barrier - the physical need of hunger. Even in my classroom today, I will have students come to me and say, "I didn't have breakfast." I open my desk drawer and say, "What can I get you?"
10. Humor helps you take it all in stride.
A couple of my favorite moments at the day treatment could have gone either way. Teaching a lesson in the 90s often involved a tool called "the overhead projector." If you don't know what that is, you didn't teach or learn in the 80s or 90s. After a lesson on who knows what, I asked my student to "flip off the overhead projector." He grinned gleefully and proceeded to literally flip off (using a certain hand gesture) the overhead projector. When this happened, I had two choices. Punish the humor. Or reward the effort. I chose to say, "Perfect. Now, TURN OFF the overhead projector." There was another instance, ironically or not, with the same student. I was giving a test on the skeletal system. The test question was, "What is a joint?"Giggle, giggle. He said, "I can't wait to answer THIS one!" Haha, I responded, the joint that has to do with BONES! I won't test you on the other one! I learned a bundle about using precise language when teaching my EBD students.
After 3 years at the day treatment, I got an interview at a public school in the small community where I had been coaching. I interviewed there and got the job teaching third grade and have been there ever since. Being back in the regular ed setting was still a challenge, but a relief at the same time. I did not realize how many of my students' problems I carried home with me from the day treatment and how much I worried about them when their lives weren't with me. I STILL worry about them, and I know they are adults. It's not all happy endings - some are in jail, some have died, some have children, and some lead functional lives. I hope that I helped in their lives, but I would be naive if I thought that I had been able to reach them all. I do know that they all reached me and I have them to thank for making me a better teacher than I was before I met them.
A few months ago, I ran into a woman at a business in Rochester. I had taught two of her children. I didn't recognize her name so I asked who they were and said, "Yes, I had them both for social studies." Then she said, "And you taught my husband, too!" What?! Really?! Yes, when you were at that special school! And I asked his name and she told me. "Wow!" I said, "That is so cool! I remember him as a very kind and gentle young man." She said, "Well, he is still a kind and gentle man." We had a bit more conversation, where she told me I would have to stay with this 'teaching gig' so that I could have her younger two, just like I'd taught their dad.
I told her that I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. This 'teaching gig' is a lifetime thing.
Kiddos 2014
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Saturday, December 24, 2016
Northrop News 2016
Dear Family and Friends,
Sometimes when I was home with the kids and the arsenic hours (4 pm – 7 pm) would hit, I would grit my teeth and say, “It’s almost bed time. Patience. You will get through this.” Those were challenging times. And tedious. And sometimes I still miss it. Not the arsenic hours, because those still happen, but the simplicity of the needs and wants and the to-do list. As the kids get older, it gets easier and harder at the same time. Back then, the days were sometimes long, but time was short. Even now with a teenager and two pre-teens, this rings true.
Gabe - 13
When he comes to breakfast each day, I swear he’s grown. One day everything was fine. The next day, he’s my height and says “good morning” in this deep voice. Holy Cow, literally overnight, my son is growing into a young man! G is in 7th grade and I see him pass me in the hallways at the middle school, where he looks at me out of the corner of his eye or sometimes asks me for food. He is a good friend to others and loves to read. Last winter he played basketball, coached by his dad, went to track and field camp, and played football this past fall. He is patient with his sometimes intense athletics minded parents. Gabe also takes piano lessons, is a percussionist in the band, is a talented artist, and earned a first place in the MN DNR Duck Stamp contest. Gabe got his first deer, a really cool buck, on our land this fall while hunting with Matt.
Ben - 11
Benjamin will always be an “I love you/I don’t love you” kind of kid. He has a deep ability to care for others, while still daily annoying his sister and challenging. He is creative in a messy, dragon, 3D sort of way. He has a way with pop up books, stop motion videos, and enjoys drawing mutants to add to his collection. Ben loves “playing guys” and setting up elaborate scenes for weeks at a time. He enjoyed playing Champion Basketball last winter, but says baseball is his favorite sport, although this summer we had to have the conversation about NOT waving to us from the field. He loves to read character guides and recently started reading the Harry Potter series. Ben takes piano lessons and started percussion this year. He is at the middle school this year, so I get to see him every day. He is NOT embarrassed to hug me in front of his friends. Yet.
Lyndee – almost 10
We understand more and more what it will be like with a pre-teen to teen girl in the house. We think there’s trouble to come. She is fierce and intense and a perfectionist. Lyndee was very upset to receive an S+ in PE last year, as she knows she “should have had and O!” She loves her daddy and her brothers and still always wants to be with me. Lyndee loves to read and play stuffed animals and write songs for her and Ben’s stuffed animal band called “Animal Jam.” Lyndee will be playing 4th grade traveling BB coached by Mom this January and February, and was again forced to do track and field camp this summer. She got 3rd place in the MN DNR Duck Stamp contest this spring.
Matt
In his third year teaching at Century High School, Matt has been challenged as he and his colleagues revamped the entire HS PE curriculum to ensure students are geared for more career and college. His favorite class is called “Individual Movement.” He has learned yoga, Pilates, and other ways to inspire his students. I am so proud of the work that he does and the great role model he is to the young adults with whom he interacts. As a Pine Island Track and Field coach for 20 years, Matt led a team of athletes last spring to 4th place in the State True Team Meet, and 2nd place in the MSHSL State Meet in June. One relay team and two individuals earned state championships and several school records were set. In addition to coaching, he loves the woods and hunting. He still liked his shot gun season this year, but was unable to bow hunt due to his torn bicep from track practice this past spring. He joked that he “gave his left arm” for his team.
Amy
Just like last year, my house is messy and sometimes we eat cereal for dinner. I remind myself when I am emptying the dishwasher (which apparently has a force field around it that only I can penetrate) or folding laundry that I am grateful that it is ME that can do this for my family. Like last year, love and not perfection drives what I do. I am often late (okay, almost always), and always busy. I choose it. Busy is not a distraction from my life, it is just simply the way we live our life. I am grateful for my kids and their conversations, imagination, and humor. I am grateful that my husband of almost 21 years is patient with me and supportive of the things I am passionate about. I am grateful that my job teaching 6th graders fulfills me, challenges me, and gives me purpose. I love going to work every day where I get to teach with my friends! I coached Cross Country this fall for the 9th year and enjoyed each minute. And, I assisted Matt with the track and field team and cried when the season was over. Our passions sometimes take over our lives and our hearts and I hope that our children see that passion and are inspired by it someday.
Family
In April, My mom, Lyndee, and I flew to New York for Heidi’s Inauguration as President of the College at Brockport. What a thrill to witness that accomplishment surrounded by my whole extended family including aunts and uncles from both sides! We hosted almost all of Matt’s family at our house at the end of July when Chris, Bree, and Kids, Matt’s parents, Grandma Lois, and Courtney, Scott, and their 6 little ones descended on Mount Northrop. The morning they left, my sister Jill, and her family came to visit! Laughter and tears abounded througout both visits. Our summer concluded when we adventured out to CA for and spent 10 glorious days with Seth, Kaela, Ainsley and Cadence. Our kids experienced San Francisco, Muir Woods, whale watching in Monterey, Yosemite, Sequoia National Park, Fresno, the Pacific Coast Highway, and the Redwood National Forest. And what did they like best? Hanging out at Seth and Kaela’s house with their cousins. Sigh…..
Pets
Here’s the rundown–Dash - Great Pyrenees/Golden doodle - 5 years old STILL with a wanderlust and a short attention span. He’s sweet and always hungry. Tucker – Golden Retriever - 4 years old with a devious streak. He loves to play ball, but will never give it up, so it’s pretty much one throw and done. Mia-Ben’s tortoise is alive and well. Wrigley – yellow lab – age unknown. He is still a lovely boy with a habit of barking at any noise outside and whining when we are in his spot on the couch. He searches at the end of the night to find the most comfortable bed. Maybe we should call him Goldilab instead. And, even though I said I would never get a cat, Toonces has wandered into our lives. May he continue to be the best garage mouser and mole catcher ever.
Peace to you. May your homes and lives be messy. May we worry less about being perfect and instead be real and present in our own lives.
Love,
Matt & Amy
Gabe, Ben, and Lyndee
Dash, Tucker, Wrigley, Mia, and Toonces
Saturday, December 10, 2016
Carrying On in the Path of an Ordinary Life - The Path to Teaching
I used to think that I needed to be extraordinary. When I was young, I thought I might be an oceanographer (even though I had never seen the ocean), or an archaeologist (even though I had never seen any bones), or a broadcast journalist (even though I was terrible on camera), or....bear with me....a cocktail waitress. I wanted to be many things, but mostly I did NOT want to be ordinary.
Throughout high school, I was the small town do it all kind of kid - sports, drama, music - even photo club (though I never took any pictures.)
I did NOT want to be ordinary. I went to college and became one in a sea of valedictorians, athletes, and actors. I still wanted to pursue broadcast journalism and theatre. I soon found myself to be.....very ordinary. I didn't fit in with the "theatre folk," as they called themselves. I loved my BB team, but wasn't quite in the upper echelon that I aspired to be. I enjoyed my classes, but couldn't find my niche.
All my life, I had desired to leave my small town life with my mail carrier dad and my educator mom and be something GREAT!
And so, I came home after my freshman year, taught swimming lessons and became somewhat confused. I liked teaching kids. I was good at it. The kids responded to me. I did NOT want to be a teacher. I did NOT want to be ORDINARY.
So, I returned to college. I continued in my Speech Communication Theatre Arts track, and I continued to feel out of place. Finally....I stopped trying to be rich, famous and extraordinary. I decided to be.....extraordinarily ordinary.
I met with my adviser, switched my major to elementary education with a coaching endorsement and carried on.
This is not to say that there has not been doubt and disappointment along the way. I enjoyed my practicums (except kindergarten) and was challenged by my student teaching and fell in love with coaching.
But, I truly thought I would teach and coach for a few years and then....do something extraordinary. I really have no idea what I thought I might do. Teach at the college level? Perhaps. But, really, I don't know what else I would do. When you earn a degree in business, the whole world of business is open to you. When you earn a degree in education, it can be somewhat....well...narrow.
What ended up happening is that I applied for and was accepted into a graduate fellowship program through Winona State University and Rochester Public Schools. I taught for one year, took grad classes at the same time and earned my MS degree and a year of experience.
My first year of teaching was HARD. Harder than I ever imagined it would be. Harder, I think, than some of my cohorts in the fellowship program. I don't think I was ill prepared, just incredibly idealistic and placed in a less than desirable situation. The school I was in had not planned on a fellow. So, I ended up with some really, really, really, challenging students.
After the first day of school, all of my cohorts were gushing about what an awesome experience it had been and how they just KNEW this was where they were supposed to be. I went home and called my mom and cried about how awful it was.
The year progressed and in October I was in a fairly severe car accident where I broke my pelvis and had an injury to my neck which required crutches and 6 weeks in a hard cervical collar. Not an ideal way to begin a teaching career...especially with a challenging class.
Still, I persevered. And, looking back, I dared to do things in that first year that I never attempted again. I did things and attempted thing because I didn't know any better. Or maybe because I did know better, but did it anyway. I finished my year, was granted an interview with Rochester, was not hired and carried on.
I applied all over the place...Nebraska, Iowa, Washington State, Texas, all over the metro area...literally, for every position I could find. I had one interview in Worthington, Minnesota. It was a great interview and I learned a lot. When I didn't get the job, I especially learned that Worthington was not where I needed to continue my career.
August arrived. My lease was almost up. Matt and I decided that I would continue to teach, but in a subbing positions and keep looking for a permanent position. On August 20th, a former teacher and coach of mine pulled some strings and got me an interview...in an EBD Day Treatment just up the road. Wow. Really? Could I do it? Well, even if I didn't think I could, I interviewed like it would be a cake walk.
August 21st I was hired. I signed my first teaching contract and carried on. For three years I taught at the day treatment in the middle of a corn field. I endured insults from students, physical pain from students, wonderful connections with students and staff, an incredible growth in knowledge and perspective, and experienced joy in unknown and unexpected situations. I took graduate classes to get my Special Education provisional license, got married, and started coaching in Pine Island, a nearby town.
Junior High Track and Field, Junior High Basketball...every day I would leave my teaching job and head south to connect with student athletes, albeit junior high boy student athletes. By this time, Matt had begun a full time teaching position in Rochester and also been hired to coach in Pine Island. In the spring of my second year of coaching, a teaching position opened up. The elementary principal's wife had worked closely with my mom and I had a second connection which secured me an interview.
Interviewing again, I carried on and was hired. That fall, I started teaching third grade and realized just how much the needs of my day treatment students had weighed on me. Those years in the day treatment continued to serve me well with the experiences of dealing with difficult students, students with lots of baggage, parents who need help and/or perspective, and knowing when and how to communicate the needs of special education or potential special education students to other teachers and to parents.
The path of my teaching career could be repeated with many, many educators I know. But, my path is mine alone. It is ordinary to many, crazy to some, but extraordinary? Hardly. I often think about going back to my supposed five year high school reunion. Some friends said, "Amy, you could have been anything, making tons of money, going places...and you're what?! A teacher?!"
Like being a teacher is ordinary? After one year in Rochester, three years in a day treatment, eight years in 3rd grade, one year in 2nd grade, and seven years in 6th grade, I think it is safe to say that teaching is anything but ordinary. In fact, I love my job more than most. And I think that that is extraordinary.
Throughout high school, I was the small town do it all kind of kid - sports, drama, music - even photo club (though I never took any pictures.)
I did NOT want to be ordinary. I went to college and became one in a sea of valedictorians, athletes, and actors. I still wanted to pursue broadcast journalism and theatre. I soon found myself to be.....very ordinary. I didn't fit in with the "theatre folk," as they called themselves. I loved my BB team, but wasn't quite in the upper echelon that I aspired to be. I enjoyed my classes, but couldn't find my niche.
All my life, I had desired to leave my small town life with my mail carrier dad and my educator mom and be something GREAT!
And so, I came home after my freshman year, taught swimming lessons and became somewhat confused. I liked teaching kids. I was good at it. The kids responded to me. I did NOT want to be a teacher. I did NOT want to be ORDINARY.
So, I returned to college. I continued in my Speech Communication Theatre Arts track, and I continued to feel out of place. Finally....I stopped trying to be rich, famous and extraordinary. I decided to be.....extraordinarily ordinary.
I met with my adviser, switched my major to elementary education with a coaching endorsement and carried on.
This is not to say that there has not been doubt and disappointment along the way. I enjoyed my practicums (except kindergarten) and was challenged by my student teaching and fell in love with coaching.
But, I truly thought I would teach and coach for a few years and then....do something extraordinary. I really have no idea what I thought I might do. Teach at the college level? Perhaps. But, really, I don't know what else I would do. When you earn a degree in business, the whole world of business is open to you. When you earn a degree in education, it can be somewhat....well...narrow.
What ended up happening is that I applied for and was accepted into a graduate fellowship program through Winona State University and Rochester Public Schools. I taught for one year, took grad classes at the same time and earned my MS degree and a year of experience.
My first year of teaching was HARD. Harder than I ever imagined it would be. Harder, I think, than some of my cohorts in the fellowship program. I don't think I was ill prepared, just incredibly idealistic and placed in a less than desirable situation. The school I was in had not planned on a fellow. So, I ended up with some really, really, really, challenging students.
After the first day of school, all of my cohorts were gushing about what an awesome experience it had been and how they just KNEW this was where they were supposed to be. I went home and called my mom and cried about how awful it was.
The year progressed and in October I was in a fairly severe car accident where I broke my pelvis and had an injury to my neck which required crutches and 6 weeks in a hard cervical collar. Not an ideal way to begin a teaching career...especially with a challenging class.
Still, I persevered. And, looking back, I dared to do things in that first year that I never attempted again. I did things and attempted thing because I didn't know any better. Or maybe because I did know better, but did it anyway. I finished my year, was granted an interview with Rochester, was not hired and carried on.
I applied all over the place...Nebraska, Iowa, Washington State, Texas, all over the metro area...literally, for every position I could find. I had one interview in Worthington, Minnesota. It was a great interview and I learned a lot. When I didn't get the job, I especially learned that Worthington was not where I needed to continue my career.
August arrived. My lease was almost up. Matt and I decided that I would continue to teach, but in a subbing positions and keep looking for a permanent position. On August 20th, a former teacher and coach of mine pulled some strings and got me an interview...in an EBD Day Treatment just up the road. Wow. Really? Could I do it? Well, even if I didn't think I could, I interviewed like it would be a cake walk.
August 21st I was hired. I signed my first teaching contract and carried on. For three years I taught at the day treatment in the middle of a corn field. I endured insults from students, physical pain from students, wonderful connections with students and staff, an incredible growth in knowledge and perspective, and experienced joy in unknown and unexpected situations. I took graduate classes to get my Special Education provisional license, got married, and started coaching in Pine Island, a nearby town.
Junior High Track and Field, Junior High Basketball...every day I would leave my teaching job and head south to connect with student athletes, albeit junior high boy student athletes. By this time, Matt had begun a full time teaching position in Rochester and also been hired to coach in Pine Island. In the spring of my second year of coaching, a teaching position opened up. The elementary principal's wife had worked closely with my mom and I had a second connection which secured me an interview.
Interviewing again, I carried on and was hired. That fall, I started teaching third grade and realized just how much the needs of my day treatment students had weighed on me. Those years in the day treatment continued to serve me well with the experiences of dealing with difficult students, students with lots of baggage, parents who need help and/or perspective, and knowing when and how to communicate the needs of special education or potential special education students to other teachers and to parents.
The path of my teaching career could be repeated with many, many educators I know. But, my path is mine alone. It is ordinary to many, crazy to some, but extraordinary? Hardly. I often think about going back to my supposed five year high school reunion. Some friends said, "Amy, you could have been anything, making tons of money, going places...and you're what?! A teacher?!"
Like being a teacher is ordinary? After one year in Rochester, three years in a day treatment, eight years in 3rd grade, one year in 2nd grade, and seven years in 6th grade, I think it is safe to say that teaching is anything but ordinary. In fact, I love my job more than most. And I think that that is extraordinary.
Monday, December 28, 2015
20 Years and Counting
I have been with my husband for over half my life. And tomorrow, we will have been married for 20 years. I met him when I was 20, a sophomore in college, and he was a freshman. We both played basketball and for most of the season, he was dating one of my teammates. I didn't consider him as dating material because of that, and also because I knew he was WAY out of my league. He looked like Vanilla Ice (before the dawn of reality tv when Vanilla Ice was still somewhat reputable), could rap, was majorly handsome, talented in basketball, and could dance like nobody's business.
I rode with his girlfriend to our end of season team gathering at our JV coach's house. I asked how her boyfriend was, and she said, "Matt? Oh we broke up." "Reeeeeeeaaaaally......that's too bad," I said, not really sorry at all. (In my head I was thinking possibilities.)
Long story short, we met up again at another end of year basketball party, we smooched, I made him spell my last name, convinced that he would never look me up in the college directory. The next day, I purposely spent all day out of my dorm room, just in case he didn't call. Or just in case he did. And call he did.
The rest is pretty much history. Our trajectory was fairly predictable. We had our ups and downs and before his senior year in college and during my first year of teaching, he proposed and I said yes. We were babies really, 20 and 22, and had more bumps in the road along the way. A car accident, a terrible first year of teaching, a year of being separated by physical distance as he finished college, and a postponed wedding. After the car accident in October of 1994, I could barely decide what to eat and what to wear, let alone plan a wedding.
In an act of complete faith, on the phone one night, Matt told me quietly to take my ring off and set it on the dresser. He told me to put it back on when I was ready. I sobbed, told him I loved him, and hung up.
I never took off my ring. We postponed our wedding from July 1995, to December 1995. I was flooded with relief and things started looking up.
My husband is an incredible man. This demonstration of his faith in me, in us, is just one of the many reasons I love him and admire him. Here are some more.
1. He thinks I am beautiful, even when I am decidedly un-beautiful. He has loved me through high waisted jeans, stirrup pants, over sized everything, and big hair.
2. He puts up with my family, even though we are very un-perfect, my siblings, my parents, my step-parents, and me. He appreciates the great things about us and quietly tolerates the crazy parts.
3. He is a great dad who loves all three of our kiddos fiercely and would take down anyone who tried to hurt them. He also demands a lot from them, and knows they will rise to the challenge. He understands that they will disappoint him, and he knows he will forgive them. My favorite all time line from him came from our first trip to Disney World on day 3. "Let's start the day with hugs and kisses, because we know it will end in spankings."
4. He is so smart, even though he doesn't think he is. It isn't every guy who can get through undergraduate school with an A- average and graduate school with a 4.0.
5. He is good with people, especially where I am not. We are both introverts, believe it or not. But, he is better in large group social situations. I tend to sit on the sidelines and observe gratefully while he takes over and shields me from awkward situations.
6. He is an excellent teacher, a teacher who believes in the value of physical education and its benefits the whole child. He has integrity and knows that his PE class is not an "easy A." He makes kids, high schoolers, work for their grades and is great at holding them accountable. He calls parents when kids aren't meeting his expectations and doesn't back down when the student tells a different story.
7. He is a phenomenal coach, one who truly allows athletes to believe in their gifts, even if their gift is hidden. He has pulled more talent out of kids than I can believe. We plan workouts together, and then he'll turn it around in head all day long, come to practice and change the plan. Annoying sometimes, yes, but it works! He is successful, but more than that, he has made the relationship with the athlete more important than anything else.
8. He thinks I am funny, and even if he doesn't, he pretends. I have a strange sense of humor (thanks Dad) and he has come to appreciate that in me over the years.
9. He knows that it's okay to argue, and has brought me also to that point. For a long time, I wouldn't argue, I would just acquiesce and seethe inside. He won't put up with my passive-aggressive junk, and draws me out so that we can get to the heart of the issue. He never swears at me, and he knows that divorce is a sacred word. We both know NEVER to throw that around in a casual way, and have never used it as a tool in our fights.
10. He makes a mean tuna casserole. Okay, so that one's a joke. I mean, he can make tuna casserole, but I beg him not to. I hate tuna casserole. He does push my food boundaries though. He enjoys attempting to hide mushrooms in a bite of stir fry, and makes me try seafood even though I have never liked it.
11. He's adventurous. If it were up to me, we'd probably only go to the mall and Target. But, with him, I have been to France, England, Aruba, Antigua, and Puerto Rico. I have been to 41 states, I think. Plus, he's forced me to be adventurous in two of the best purchases of our lives. One was our Chevy Tahoe, which we bought in 2002 and we still have. The second was our current, and forever, home. Even though it was a foreclosure, it was still out of my comfort zone. He pushed me through that zone and I thank him all the time for forcing me into this amazing house and 17 acres of woods.
12. Finally, and most of all, he loves me and my imperfections and he forgives me daily. We both understand that marriage isn't perfect, that it matters more what's IN the marriage, than what people on the outside think. We trust each other and believe in each other. We encourage each other to be the best versions of ourselves.
Every day, I am grateful that he chooses me to spend his life with. I choose him every day, too, and in the end, that's how it works. Happy Anniversary, Matty. I love you.
Saturday, December 26, 2015
Memories on the Tree
We would try to put the tree up around the time of my oldest sister's birthday, December 10th. We couldn't have a real tree because my middle sister was allergic to them. Inevitably, I began the season already feeling a bit deprived.
SIDENOTE - When I got married we were determined to get a real tree. And we did, for a few years. Until I got tired of the dropped needles and the dog drinking out of the tree water (or worse). When we started our family, we reverted back to the artificial tree, so as to avoid the baby eating the needles or worse, getting them stuck in his head.
A SECOND SIDENOTE - To my parents - say no to over sensitivity about this post, I know that my children will have occurrences like this to pass down to their kids. I often wonder how I've scarred their childhoods each day that I attempt to parent them appropriately.
There were other reasons my growing up Christmases weren't overflowing with joy, but here are some specific events that occurred each year while putting up the tree.
The lights never worked correctly.
Swearing happened, once even over a coke bottle that fell into a newly made pie. Oops.
The lights, once working, were never evenly distributed.
We could never remember whose turn it was to put Grandma's angel on the top of the tree and fighting ensued.
We could never remember who got to set up the manger scene and fighting ensued again.
And so, I have been determined to make our family's tree putting up experience much less stressful. Only, reality takes over.
The tree is always crooked.
If the lights don't work I throw them away without even checking to see if I could fix them.
Swearing occasionally happens, but I don't make pie, so I am safe there.
We argue a little bit about colored blinking lights vs. white solid lights. I usually win and our white lights shine on.
The kids insist they remember whose turn it is to put the star on the top of the tree. And fighting ensues.
And Baby Jesus disappears from one of three manger scenes because there is arguing over whose turn it is to place him in the manger.
I have always said that someday, I will have my very own Christmas tree. I want one that has a theme, like "Up North," or "Gold Things," or something equally creative. I look at our tree with a bit of a sigh and a bit of frustration. Nothing matches. Much to my chagrin, some years colored lights blink. And each year that we go home, our respective parents load us up with more ornaments from our childhoods.
The first years we put up Christmas decorations in our house, it looked like the Christmas Fairy had thrown up in every room. Literally. I mean, there were snowmen of all kinds, Christmas dishes, Christmas rugs, tinsel, fake green garland, lighted houses, placemats, table runners, signs, I could go on and on. Gradually, we've pared things down so that it's not quite as overwhelming and there is still room for us to move. I still have lighted houses and garland and table runners and snowmen. However, some of it remains in storage until I can load my kids down with it when they are adults. Now, the only thing that is overly decorated, is the tree.
This year, we just, literally, just put up our tree last weekend. December 14th. So, pretty much par for what we would do growing up. Only this year it was less about tradition and more about not making time until then. I am thinking that maybe we need to start a new tradition of after Thanksgiving like others do. At least if we set that as our target, we may get the tree up earlier in December.
Putting up our tree is always an experience. And that's the nice word for it. Here's how it went down this year....After 6th grade basketball practice, I went into the cave and started pushing tubs out for the boys to bring upstairs.
Ben was helpful, Gabe was flustered because I hadn't given exact instructions, and Matt was on his phone (darn fantasy football). I told Gabe to bring up the green tub with the red cover. Which one? The one right in front of you. Where do I put it? In the office. Where in the office? Just, in the office. What do I do after that? Come back down and get another tub. Matt came down and chastised Ben for putting a (minor) dent in the wall with a tub. I sighed, pushed out a few more tubs, and followed the boys upstairs. Matt noted to me all five dents Ben has put in the walls over the last four years. Ben shrugged, and we carried on.
We started sorting the color coded branches. Gabe put in a few and then had to go and get gloves to finish the job. Mr. Sensitive we call him. Ben started putting them in, too. Lyndee and Ben argued about who was putting them in correctly. Matt had to leave the room in order to not get frustrated. Matt returned. I laughed. Wrong thing to do. I shrugged. Matt left again.
The branches finished, I attacked the lights. Since Matt was outside, I chose white lights, non-blinking. The first strand I tried didn't work. I threw them away. Then the other strands went on. Matt returned and to help
me. No blinking lights? Nope. No colored ones? Nope, you snooze, you lose. I got half way through and realized that my lights ended in the back with no way to plug them in. Sigh. Matt left me to problem solve. I went to the laundry room, found a white (oh well) extension cord with the appropriate ends and plugs, and plugged them in. Yay! Lights!
Matt said, "You missed a few spots." I smiled, determined not to make a frustrated comment. I succeeded, gritted my teeth, and smiled again. "Mommy, what's wrong? You don't look so good." LQTM. (Laugh Quietly to Myself).
And then it was on to the ornaments. I like to be organized and go about things in a sequential manner. To me, that means putting up the ornaments from the top tray in the box first and then working on the lower tray. Kids don't necessarily think like that and pretty soon, there were ornaments everywhere. All. Over. Everywhere. I finally lost it. "CAN YOU GUYS JUST HOLD ON A SECOND? CAN WE DO THIS IN AN ORGANIZED WAY?!"
Silence. Matt said, "What do you want me to do?" Deep breathing ensued and I smiled, albeit not a natural smile. Back to the ornaments. And gradually, I relaxed. It doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be. My goal this year is to embrace the messy in my life and this was the first step.
I started putting on ornaments, randomly, on random places, from random places. And I realized, this isn't MY tree. It's our tree. It tells a story. Many stories really. It tells the story of me as a little girl, and Matt as a little boy. It tells the story of us as teachers and coaches. It tells the story of our kids - their first Christmases, the ornaments they've made in school, the ornament gifts from their cousins. I found the ornament my childhood best friend, Sarah, had engraved for me and hung it on the tree, a bit tearful. You see, she lost her husband this year and by putting this ornament on our tree, I remembered US and I prayed for HER and her boys.
I realized, that we were decorating our tree, not with ornaments, but with memories. And each time I placed something on the tree, I was remembering the person who gave it to me or the event it symbolized. Here's a rundown of some of my favorites from this year:
- the brass piece of mail engraved from Sarah
- the Christmas Nail buried deep inside the tree
- the lace heart from Matty for our 8th anniversary with the gift tag still attached
- the Christmas ball with hand prints from 3rd grade for each of the kids (Thank You, 3rd grade teachers!)
- Baby's First Christmas for each of the kids
- Gabe's ornament from daycare with his buddy, Derek
- the angels each year from my dad
- the homemade basketball ornament from my athlete turned colleague
- the hummingbirds from China from my sister
- the Thomas the Train for G from my other sister
- the White House Ornaments from the MD Northrops
- the Eskimos from Gma and Gpa N.
- the silver ball from Gma and Gpa Devitt, that held a gift of money one year for their poor, newly married grandchildren
- the rocking horse that my dad cut out and I painted in 1981
- the Minnesota Twins ornament of Matt's from 1987
- the "Best Big Brother" ornament from Matt's little sister, Courtney
Truly, the list could go on and on. I'll stop now. But, I think this gives the reader a good picture of our tree.
Perspective is everything, in Christmas, and life. I'm working on things that cause me frustration, like a messy and unorganized tree, and trying to change my perspective. Here is what I've come up with so far. Christmas is filled with expectation, both personal and public. Trying to live up to that expectation is what causes the frustration. Perfection is not possible, but an altered perception is very doable. This year, I'll do my Christmas as imperfectly as possible, preserving and appreciating the memories on my tree along the way.
Friday, December 25, 2015
Northrop News 2015
Dear Family and Friends,
Every year, I debate about whether or not to write a letter. And, every year, I guilt myself into writing it. Mostly, I think I end up putting my thoughts on paper so that our kids can have a written documentation that we actually did observe their childhoods. Matt and I say often, that we are “living the dream” and reflect on the tangible and intangibles that fill our lives. We are always busy, and we choose that. My parents worry about us, that we are “too busy,” and wish that we would slow down. I think that sometimes, they forget that I have always chosen busy. Busy brings me joy, purpose, and inevitable challenges. Here is what our “busy” consisted of in 2015.
Gabe - 12
It’s been one of those –wherehasthetimegonehowismylittleguygottensobigihopehelovesusforever - type of years. G is in 6th grade, so I get to see him every day, as one of my students! He is a good friend to others and loves to read. Last winter he played basketball, coached by his dad, and followed with baseball in the summer, and football this past fall. He enjoyed summer Bible camp with his best bud and his brother. Gabe takes piano lessons, is a percussionist in the band, is a talented artist, and last spring was chosen to be part of a 4-5-6 boys all state choir. He also loves watching sports with his dad and cracking jokes with his mom. Gabe bought his own bow this season and loves spending 1-1 time with Matt learning the finer points of hunting.
Ben - 10
Benjamin will always be his own person. He has a deep ability to care for others, while still daily annoying his sister. He is creative in a messy, dragon, 3D sort of way. He has a way with pop up books, stop motion videos, and enjoys drawing mutants to add to his collection. Ben loves imaginext and action figures and legos. He enjoyed playing Champion Basketball last winter and baseball this summer. He loves to read books about super heroes and magical creatures and most recently declared his love for Beverly Cleary and her chapter books. Ben started piano lessons last winter and can make a mean piece of toast.
Lyndee – almost 9
We are getting a glimpse of the challenge of a strong willed, perfectionist daughter. Lyndee does her homework without being asked. If I sign my name to her homework messy or upside down, she erases it and makes me start over. She loves her brothers and wishes she could marry Gabe. Lyndee loves to read, still cooks in her kitchen, and has numerous birthday parties for her babies. Lyndee was forced by her mean parents to play basketball this winter (there are some things you HAVE to do in this family honey, and one of them is play basketball). She was also forced to do track and field camp (run by her mother), but did not play baseball or softball this summer. She wants to play piano soon, and she has a beautiful singing voice.
Matt
In his second year teaching at Century High School, Matt has settled in and his enjoying the chance to influence teenagers in positive ways. I am so proud of the work that he does and the great role model he is to the young adults that he interacts with each day. He also is amazing at holding students accountable in and out of the classroom and communicates well with the parents of his students and his colleagues. As a Pine Island Track and Field coach for 19 years, Matt led an amazing team of athletes last spring to 3rd place in the State True Team Meet, and 3rd place in the MSHSL State Meet in June. Two of the relay teams earned state championships and several school records were set. In addition to coaching, he loves the woods and hunting. He got several deer during shot gun season this year, but chose to spend his fall teaching Gabe about bow hunting instead of shooting his own bow.
Amy
My house is messy. All. The. Time. It bothers me, but apparently not enough to really do anything about it. Laundry from 5 people paralyzes me and sometimes, I just buy more socks instead of pairing the ones that are already clean. I tell my students and my athletes that I am a lot of things, but perfect is not one of them. I am perfect in my imperfection. It’s a good thing my family loves me anyway. Love drives what I do. My family is first, although sometimes they fail to recognize that meals and clean underwear are one way I show my love for them. I adore the ages of my kiddos right now – their conversation, imagination, and humor makes me grateful. My job teaching 6th graders makes me smile, challenges me, and gives me purpose. Not many can say they are passionate about their jobs. Count me among those lucky few. I coached Cross Country this fall for the 8th year and loved each minute. And, I assisted Matt with the track and field team and loved most moments. ☺ When your husband is a demanding head coach, you sometimes have your differences.
Family
Matt and I trained for, and completed our first marathon. It was painful for sure, and by far the toughest physical/mental thing we have ever done. It was great to experience it all with Seth and Kaela and their girls. We can’t wait for our next adventure with them. We also adventured out west this summer, right after the state track and field meet, with our good friends Ben and Lisa and their girls, to Big Sky, Montana. We hiked and rested and enjoyed the amazing scenery and conversations with good friends. We spent some time at the lake and Matt enjoyed 6 vacations (wife of the year, I know). Fishing with Chris, WE Fest with Chris and Bree, Football in MD, Huskers/Vikes weekend, SEC weekend with Seth, and hunting weekend with friends. Me? Well, I did travel to Kentucky for my nephew’s graduation AND I went to Target alone a few times!
Pets
We have some sort of predisposition to having dogs who are each just a bit quirky. Dash – is 4 years old with a wanderlust and a short attention span. He’s sweet, huge, and is not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Tucker – our Craigslist purchase – is 3 years old also with a wanderlust and a devious streak. He fiercely defends his daily IAMS (dog food) kill and runs away whenever he gets the chance. Mia - Ben’s tortoise is alive and well despite a near smoldering from a light that fell into her dwelling. Russell – sadly Gabe’s gerbil went to the great running wheel in the sky after a short 16 months as a Northrop. It was a tragic funeral as gerbils are supposed to live a few months longer. And now, introducing Wrigley. Wrigley found us at the lake. He is a yellow lab of unknown origin and unknown age. He is a lovely boy with a habit of barking at any noise outside and whining when we are in his spot on the couch. And, even though Matt mentioned getting another iguana just tonight, we are “never, ever, ever, getting another reptile.”
Peace to you. May your homes and lives be messy, for it is in the messy that we find the grace and the life we were meant to live. Merry Christmas!
Love,
Matt and Amy
Gabe, Ben, and Lyndee
Dash, Tucker, Wrigley, & Mia
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
A Love Story with Teaching - Episode 1
When I started teaching, I thought I would teach for a few years and then….well, I didn’t know, but I sure wasn’t going to be one of those old teachers who stay in teaching because they don’t know what else to do.
I scoff at my younger self often. How silly I was to think that experienced teachers didn’t know what else to do, because now I am one of those old,experienced teachers. Only I’m not that old, unless you think 44 is old, and don’t lie, some of you do. It’s okay. Don’t feel bad for a minute. I can handle pretty much anything you throw at me now.
Because not only am I old, but I am tough. Much tougher than I used to be. I care much less about how people think about me or what they think about me. If I think something is a waste of time, I’ll tell you. If I think an idea is fantastic, I’ll tell you that, too. I mean, after all, what are they going to do, fire me?
Maybe, but probably not.
Because every day, I am still trying to be a good teacher.
When I first started, I thought I was going to massively change the world. “Why are you becoming a teacher?” people asked me. And I would say, “Because I love children.” Barf. That’s the answer of some poor girl who has no idea what she is getting into. That would be like someone asking a newly engaged person why they are getting married and them saying, because I love so and so. Well, I guess that’s what we do say, because we don’t know any better. And believe me, I do love so and so after 20 plus years together, even more than when we first got married.
It’s like that with teaching, too. I do love children. All of them, just not all of them on all of the days and just not all the time. I love them more than I ever thought I could. I love the smelly ones, the dirty ones, the cute ones, the ones who do their homework, the ones who don’t, the ones who have parents who make a hot breakfast at home for them and walk them to school, the ones who eat at school and set their own alarms and get themselves to school, the ones who love to learn and the ones who don’t, the ones for whom learning comes easy, and the ones who struggle for every piece of knowledge to stay put, the ones whose parents volunteer and the ones whose parents I never see all year face to face. I love the ones who are friends with my own children, and those that sometimes aren’t very nice to my own children. I love the children that everyone else loves. And I love the children who it seems that no one else loves. What do I do with all of that?
I carry it with me daily. Some days it lifts me up and other days it drags me down and I wonder if I am making any difference at all.
At a recent staff development, don’t groan inwardly. It was actually pretty awesome, and I can say that exactly one time of all the staff developments I have been to over the last 18 years. Our presenter seemed to be speaking my language. Mine! Yippee! Someone understands how I think about teaching! It wasn’t about reviewing data or closing the achievement gap or new mandates or interventions or test scores or new standards. It was about creating relationships with students that go beyond the classroom. And it was about telling our stories. Our real teaching stories and why we still are teaching when somedays, we wonder if we are making any difference at all. It’s really many stories within a story. So, I’ll just tell them one at a time. Here we go. Here’s the beginning of my love story with teaching.
My first year of teaching was hard, harder than I ever imagined it would be. I thought I was prepared. I had done well in my undergrad and my student teaching. The opportunity to teach when I graduated came in the form of a graduate fellowship. I and 17 other recent college graduates became employees of Winona State University and signed on for $11,000 over 15 months plus tuition. We took classes and taught in our own classrooms for those 15 months. Some of us were amazing. Some of us were overwhelmed. All of us were poor.
We came together as a group after our first day of teaching. Everyone was gushing about how wonderful it was and how they just KNEW it was the thing for them. All their dreams of teaching in their own classrooms were coming true. And me? Well, I went home and called my mom and my fiancé and cried. I felt like an imposter. I struggled with classroom management and felt like I was steam rolled all the time. I was excited, enthusiastic, and really unprepared for the realities of teaching.
I am surprised that I survived that year in a classroom of kids with complicated needs for which I wasn’t prepared. I am also surprised if those students took much out of our shared time. During that year, I referred a child for special education services. That same third grade student told me to (expletive) off and he didn’t give a (expletive) what I thought. I called another student over to talk with him about a repeated behavior infraction and he said, “What do you want, Chicken Head?” Funny now, but then? Not so much.
Numerous other not so great things happened that year. I forgot to give a little boy a message about walking home and heard the wrath of a parent. I was in a car accident and fractured my pelvis in two places. I wore a hard cervical collar for six weeks. I finished my master’s. I completed my capstone project in the 11th hour, saved my paper, and left the school at 11 pm the day before it was due. The next morning, I booted up my computer, put in my disk, and found that my disk was corrupt. My paper and my project were gone, completely. Thank goodness I kept my handwritten copies of everything and retyped it, footnotes and all, the next day.
There were wonderful things that happened that first year, too. I hosted a families and fairy tale festival after hours where the kids served punch and families came to celebrate their precious kiddos and listen to them as storytellers. I held conferences with three families that needed interpreters. A mom came in to make sticky rice and teach my students how to eat with chopsticks to go along with our thematic unit built around a book called Everyone Cooks Rice. We built Conestoga wagons out of shoe boxes and spools. We made gingerbread people.
At the end of that school year, each of us graduate fellows interviewed with the school district that we had been teaching in for the last year. I wasn’t one of the lucky ones who were offered positions. My assistant principal said it was because I had missed school during my car accident recovery and that the students suffered because of that. I interviewed for a position out in western Minnesota and didn’t get that one either. When I called to inquire about what I could do better, the committee chair said that I was the first choice, but they had had to pick the hometown girl instead. With my 4.0 and my master’s degree, I resigned myself to subbing for a year to try to “get my foot in the door.” Again.
A phone call came in late August. Did I want to interview for a position in an EBD Day Treatment? Nope. I didn’t. But, I did anyway. And I got the job. It turned out to be one of the best things that I ever did.
I scoff at my younger self often. How silly I was to think that experienced teachers didn’t know what else to do, because now I am one of those old,experienced teachers. Only I’m not that old, unless you think 44 is old, and don’t lie, some of you do. It’s okay. Don’t feel bad for a minute. I can handle pretty much anything you throw at me now.
Because not only am I old, but I am tough. Much tougher than I used to be. I care much less about how people think about me or what they think about me. If I think something is a waste of time, I’ll tell you. If I think an idea is fantastic, I’ll tell you that, too. I mean, after all, what are they going to do, fire me?
Maybe, but probably not.
Because every day, I am still trying to be a good teacher.
When I first started, I thought I was going to massively change the world. “Why are you becoming a teacher?” people asked me. And I would say, “Because I love children.” Barf. That’s the answer of some poor girl who has no idea what she is getting into. That would be like someone asking a newly engaged person why they are getting married and them saying, because I love so and so. Well, I guess that’s what we do say, because we don’t know any better. And believe me, I do love so and so after 20 plus years together, even more than when we first got married.
It’s like that with teaching, too. I do love children. All of them, just not all of them on all of the days and just not all the time. I love them more than I ever thought I could. I love the smelly ones, the dirty ones, the cute ones, the ones who do their homework, the ones who don’t, the ones who have parents who make a hot breakfast at home for them and walk them to school, the ones who eat at school and set their own alarms and get themselves to school, the ones who love to learn and the ones who don’t, the ones for whom learning comes easy, and the ones who struggle for every piece of knowledge to stay put, the ones whose parents volunteer and the ones whose parents I never see all year face to face. I love the ones who are friends with my own children, and those that sometimes aren’t very nice to my own children. I love the children that everyone else loves. And I love the children who it seems that no one else loves. What do I do with all of that?
I carry it with me daily. Some days it lifts me up and other days it drags me down and I wonder if I am making any difference at all.
At a recent staff development, don’t groan inwardly. It was actually pretty awesome, and I can say that exactly one time of all the staff developments I have been to over the last 18 years. Our presenter seemed to be speaking my language. Mine! Yippee! Someone understands how I think about teaching! It wasn’t about reviewing data or closing the achievement gap or new mandates or interventions or test scores or new standards. It was about creating relationships with students that go beyond the classroom. And it was about telling our stories. Our real teaching stories and why we still are teaching when somedays, we wonder if we are making any difference at all. It’s really many stories within a story. So, I’ll just tell them one at a time. Here we go. Here’s the beginning of my love story with teaching.
My first year of teaching was hard, harder than I ever imagined it would be. I thought I was prepared. I had done well in my undergrad and my student teaching. The opportunity to teach when I graduated came in the form of a graduate fellowship. I and 17 other recent college graduates became employees of Winona State University and signed on for $11,000 over 15 months plus tuition. We took classes and taught in our own classrooms for those 15 months. Some of us were amazing. Some of us were overwhelmed. All of us were poor.
We came together as a group after our first day of teaching. Everyone was gushing about how wonderful it was and how they just KNEW it was the thing for them. All their dreams of teaching in their own classrooms were coming true. And me? Well, I went home and called my mom and my fiancé and cried. I felt like an imposter. I struggled with classroom management and felt like I was steam rolled all the time. I was excited, enthusiastic, and really unprepared for the realities of teaching.
I am surprised that I survived that year in a classroom of kids with complicated needs for which I wasn’t prepared. I am also surprised if those students took much out of our shared time. During that year, I referred a child for special education services. That same third grade student told me to (expletive) off and he didn’t give a (expletive) what I thought. I called another student over to talk with him about a repeated behavior infraction and he said, “What do you want, Chicken Head?” Funny now, but then? Not so much.
Numerous other not so great things happened that year. I forgot to give a little boy a message about walking home and heard the wrath of a parent. I was in a car accident and fractured my pelvis in two places. I wore a hard cervical collar for six weeks. I finished my master’s. I completed my capstone project in the 11th hour, saved my paper, and left the school at 11 pm the day before it was due. The next morning, I booted up my computer, put in my disk, and found that my disk was corrupt. My paper and my project were gone, completely. Thank goodness I kept my handwritten copies of everything and retyped it, footnotes and all, the next day.
There were wonderful things that happened that first year, too. I hosted a families and fairy tale festival after hours where the kids served punch and families came to celebrate their precious kiddos and listen to them as storytellers. I held conferences with three families that needed interpreters. A mom came in to make sticky rice and teach my students how to eat with chopsticks to go along with our thematic unit built around a book called Everyone Cooks Rice. We built Conestoga wagons out of shoe boxes and spools. We made gingerbread people.
At the end of that school year, each of us graduate fellows interviewed with the school district that we had been teaching in for the last year. I wasn’t one of the lucky ones who were offered positions. My assistant principal said it was because I had missed school during my car accident recovery and that the students suffered because of that. I interviewed for a position out in western Minnesota and didn’t get that one either. When I called to inquire about what I could do better, the committee chair said that I was the first choice, but they had had to pick the hometown girl instead. With my 4.0 and my master’s degree, I resigned myself to subbing for a year to try to “get my foot in the door.” Again.
A phone call came in late August. Did I want to interview for a position in an EBD Day Treatment? Nope. I didn’t. But, I did anyway. And I got the job. It turned out to be one of the best things that I ever did.
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