Author: admin

#memorablemomentsineducation #15:
Being the new person sucks, especially in a department full of accomplished, smart, experienced teachers. Joining a group like that was intimidating as hell both times I’ve done it. Neither time I joined a new faculty was I a “newbie” teacher, but I certainly felt like one. And while it’s important for us to reach out to those brand new teachers and help them along, I think it can be even more important to welcome those who’ve come with some years under their belt, who’ve built a reputation elsewhere but made the leap to try something different.

One of my memorable moments my first year at Creek came when my colleague Matt stopped me in the hallway and asked how I was doing. For whatever reason (maybe something crappy had just happened or maybe he just looked sympathetic) I decided not to lie and say I was “fine” but instead unleashed how I was really feeling–overwhelmed, ill-prepared, unworthy, and somewhat miserable. In that moment, Matt had a choice to just keep on walking or to stop, listen, and commiserate. I’m thankful he chose the latter. He didn’t offer any advice or ways to fix my situation; he just heard me, and that’s all I needed.

This morning, Matt and I had another one of these “hallway moments.” We ran into each other on our way to separate meetings, in the very spot where he acknowledged my frustration all those years ago. This time we talked about whether we were the “rubes” of education for holding onto our positions as mere classroom teachers while colleagues moved on or up to bigger and better jobs as administrators and education consultants. Certainly we’re both capable of doing something else, of making more money, of having more prestige, but why would we want to do that because, as Matt says, “when things are good in the moment with students, there’s nothing better.” Amen to that, and to great colleagues who get you through the day.

#memorablemomentsineducation #14:
Our department coordinator is scrambling right now to find a qualified, long-term substitute for a colleague who’s going on maternity leave very soon. The stress of trying to find a person who’s willing to take on the planning, grading, and caring of a full-time teacher at substitute-teacher pay got me thinking about my own leaves.

I hate to be absent from school. In my first job we stressed the need to attend–that showing up was the root of success (and its inverse probably the cause of many of their past problems)–so much that I swore never to be absent from school. If I was encouraging my students to show up, then I had to show up too.

When I was pregnant with my oldest, I had racked up more than 100 sick days, and I had no intention of taking more than the bare minimum. Of course, my son had other plans and in the middle of students’ final exams, I figured out I had to leave for the hospital. Over the next 36 hours, I had emergency surgery, was told I’d be hospitalized for the next 18 weeks of my pregnancy, was released from the hospital, and finally ordered to bed rest. In the few days before Christmas, I remember lying in bed, making phone calls to various teachers I’d never met to find some wonderful soul who could take on my students when they came back in January. I hated the thought of not being there to teach poetry, to work on the sophomore research papers, to read The Grapes of Wrath! Looking back on it, I’m sure I was supposed to take all this as a sign I needed to slow down, to prepare for the fact our entire world was about to change.

I was on bed rest for almost 3 months! I was bored out of my mind. I conferenced with students about their papers over the phone and via email. I insisted on grading all their writing. Sometimes my students complained to me about their substitute (and, secretly, I appreciated knowing they missed me), and I tried even harder to make it okay I was gone.

I would like to believe that all my efforts and energy paid off for those kids. I’d like to convince myself that being there for my students really did matter, or that they did notice. But the reality is, they probably didn’t, nor should they. We make sacrifice after sacrifice for our students, and sometimes, it’s okay to give ourselves permission to ease up, not to try so damn hard. In the moment, it seems like life or death, but in the grand scheme, kids are resilient and they’re gonna be just fine, with or without you

#memorablemomentsineducation #13:
This is one of those moments I’d prefer to forget, but it’s an important one.

Several years ago, one of our instructional technology coaches was working in my classroom. (I can’t quite remember the lesson or how she was helping me, but I recall the projector, screen, and teaching in the dark were involved.) Sometime after the lesson, this colleague, who also happened to be a friend of mine, asked me, “Do you know you teach with your eyes closed?” I don’t know if she was asking out of genuine curiosity or if this was her way of providing me some feedback on my teaching, but I was definitely surprised by the question. As a matter of fact, I had no idea I ever did such a thing. I know that sometimes I close my eyes when I’m trying to concentrate on what I want to say, but I didn’t think it was something I did all the time. Even now, I’m not sure. But every time I get up and speak in front of students or adults, I’m self-conscious that I’ve got what my husband calls those “sleepy Pendleton eyes” that my brother and I share. Believe it or not, though, I hold onto this moment not because of the embarrassment but mostly because it takes some serious courage to say anything to a colleague about his/her teaching, and to do it in a non-threatening, semi-helpful way is downright impressive. Even though I hate it sometimes, I have to remember it’s good for me to have people watch what I do.

#memorablemomentsineducation #12:
I woke up this morning, checked my phone as usual to see if I’d received any fires via email last night, and halted for a moment because I’d gotten a message from a student with the subject line “Stand By Me.”

I’ve shown this classic film for the last few years in my senior English class, and like every film I worry and wonder right to the end whether students will get it, will like it, or will want to write a letter to the superintendent about my poor decision-making for showing it (that’s a moment to share on another day). With this particular movie, I’m concerned whether the homophobic epithets or the general raunchiness of four boys hanging out will finally lose its relevance. However, to my surprise and delight, my student found herself so inspired by the acting in a particular scene that she decided to write an unsolicited essay about it! 781 words, to be exact.

I don’t share this to brag on my amazing talents or to claim my Mr. Keating moment. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I had nothing to do with this young woman’s epiphany. Actually, I happened to show the right film at the right time, and the magic happened all on its own. Isn’t that how much of good teaching and learning occurs, though? And, it’s so great to be the beneficiary of these gifts every once in a while.

I do love this film, and there’s something transcendent about it and its impact on young people (or old people), even those who never had a “crew of boys” to hang with. At the end, the narrator Gordie writes, “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12. Jesus, does anyone?” I get to talk about that line with my students today when we finish the film. I’m excited to hear what all my students think of it, of the need to look back on those moments when we came into our own, of the truth that some moments can never be replicated but we do get to relive and remember them. This film always seems to get my students talking. And, now, I’m even more interested in hearing what my gem of a student will have to say about the end.

#memorablemomentsineducation #11:
On September 11, 2001, I was teaching at a school on a year-round schedule, which meant we were on break for most of the month. At 25, I still needed extra money (what you kids call a “side hustle” these days), so I would substitute teach on our off-track time. Early that morning, I’d taken a job to cover for a P.E. teacher at an elementary school in Castle Rock.

If I’d been at my usual work that morning, I would have never watched the morning news. This morning, however, marked a departure from the usual in so many ways. I watched the replay of the plane hitting the first tower on Good Morning America. I was horrified like everyone else, but it was still early enough that we didn’t realize this was more than just some freakish accident. When the second plane hit, I think I was still at home watching everything unfold on TV. Surprise turned into horror, and I knew I had to get in my car soon to get to work.

All the way to Castle Rock, I listened to news reports on the radio. Mostly, I remember radio personalities just trying to make sense of what was happening without causing too much panic. Commuters drove down the highway glued to their radios, looking across the lanes of traffic at each other as we sat stunned, alone in our cars, wondering what the hell was happening.

But when I got to this elementary school, I realized quickly that these small kids had no idea what had happened. They came to school like any other day, with their backpacks and smiles on, ready to play. This is the only time in my career I’ve been a P.E. teacher, and I learned more about classroom management in that 7 hours than in any class I ever took on the subject. Kindergartners cannot magically form a circle just because you say the word “circle” to them. If you happen to let one kid raise her hand and share that it’s going to be her mom’s birthday in ten days, you will inevitably have to let all the kids share their birth dates and those of their pets, siblings, and random cousins. Lessons I carry with me always.

I didn’t have a smartphone, I didn’t know any of the teachers at the school, and I couldn’t talk to the kids about all the thoughts and feelings running through my head while they played “capture the flag” or attempted to coordinate their bodies into a jumping jack. In between classes of students, I tried to turn on the radio in the teacher’s office and quickly eat up any tidbits of what was happening like a teacher on a 15-minute lunch break, but I didn’t learn much.

It would still be hours before I learned about the towers collapsing, the Pentagon, or United 93 crashing in a field in Pennsylvania. For the moment, I had no choice but to delight in the joy of little kids getting a brief respite from all the book learning and the math facting. If I were going to choose a way to spend that awful day, I could do much worse than to hang out with young children and pretend for a while longer that everything was going to be okay.

#memorablemomentsineducation #10:
Yesterday was a little dim and long, so here’s a light and short memory!
When I began teaching at CCHS, I’d never taught many freshmen before. I was used to teaching older students, so rooms full of 14-year-olds was something new to behold!

One day early in the school year, I had a student announce to everyone, “My gum just fell out of my mouth!” while he sat staring at a chewed-up wad in the palm of his hand.

Not ten minutes later, another young lady walked up to me, palm open, to share what had come from her mouth too! “Miss, I just lost a tooth! What should I do with it?” I stood for a bewildered moment, wondering how in the world I was staring at a bloody tooth, and then asked, “You still have baby teeth?!” With no response, I advised she put it under her pillow that night and see if the Tooth Fairy still comes to high schoolers. I still don’t know whether she got any money for that tooth, but her brother tells me she does remember the story!

Teachers know every grade level/age group has its own personality. This constitutes my understanding of freshmen.

#memorablemomentsineducation #9: I’m off to a department meeting, so I’m inclined to talk about moments of collegiality.

In my first teaching job, I worked with three other teachers and a principal who came to see us intermittently as he traveled between two schools. As a team of teachers we made all the important decisions from what curriculum to teach or which technology to purchase to whether a student had violated our community expectations and needed to be placed on a leave of absence for one quarter. We sat in hundreds of those “leave” meetings, but one moment jumps out at me.

I recall a special, charming, smart young man who’d been in our school for a while; I believe he was pretty close to graduation, which was the penultimate goal for all our students at this alternative high school. He was called into a meeting because he had violated either a behavior or attendance contract. I had spent a lot of time working with this student, so I was invested in the outcome for his sake. After much wrangling and a few tears, we decided to place him on leave. A leave meant he’d need to retake his classes AND he would graduate a quarter later than planned. He was devastated (and if you don’t know, hurt always looks like anger in a kid) to say the least. He left the room in a fit of rage, flinging an almost-full Coke can at the door on his way out. This marks one of those moments when I was truly scared, not just for myself or my colleagues but for my student.

I remember that moment not just because of the smashed can but also because we knew he knew he’d made a mistake. We also knew he cared enough about his mistake to make some changes. Fortunately, he also knew we cared about him and his education enough to ensure he followed through on the promises he made to himself, his classmates, and his teachers. He did return to school the next quarter, he did finish out his high school career, he even apologized for the can, and I suspect he’s out there in the world doing good things to show for the opportunities he had.

#memorablemomentsineducation #8:
Some may already know parts of this moment, but I’ll share again since this moment in my education led me to taking up harmonica lessons again this fall. Our high school calculus teacher, Ari Bavel, used to play the harmonica on bus rides to debate tournaments. We all admired the convenience and cool sound of the harmonica, so much so that Mr. Bavel gave each of us a harmonica at graduation.
Now, here’s what’s most interesting about that moment–he taught us calculus during the day, but he also recognized that teaching and learning went beyond formulas and functions. He sponsored the school Calculus Club, but I’m pretty sure every one of our meetings centered around watching movies starring celebrities who’d recently died (John Candy, Vincent Price to name two) and eating a fancy cake that had been decorated by Mr. Bavel himself. Every year, the highlight of club membership was creating a new shirt that employed some sort of silly math pun, something like “what’s the difference between an asymptote and a hole in the function?” (Please don’t ask me to explain the pun; I barely understood it at 17.)
Those harmonicas, our Calculus Club shenanigans, were never something to be assessed on a standardized test. There’s no way to measure the impact of that moment on any of us, but I can tell you that it mattered. Not because I’ve become some blues giant (that is my secret dream), but because it fueled an interest beyond that expedient necessary to get from point A to point B. Too many of our students are led to believe school is a means to an end–a better college, a better job, a better life (whatever “better” means)–rather than seeing school as a way to open doors, to create new experiences, to explore what might be out there. We talk a lot about “pathways to college and career,” but what does that even mean? How about a pathway towards something even more fascinating? Our superintendent referred to it recently as preparing students for a “pathway to purpose.” I like that phrase–it means I can be so many different things all at once, like an English-teaching, multitasking, blues-playing, blog-writing, children-raising, 40-something woman who still hasn’t decided what she wants to be when she grows up!

#memorablemomentsineducation #7:
I’m feeling some pressure to keep up these posts, but I have faith new moments will come to mind! Thanks to everyone who’s been reading so far…please don’t feel obligated to pay attention to me all the time 😉
Hanging on the wall of my office is a list of “English Class-Isms 08-09” that Tessa put together for me at the end of the year. She may not remember creating them, but she and Amelia would apparently write down ridiculous things I said all year and then presented them to me at the end (kinda like our Chap Ronisms or Ron-Sequiturs). Some, taken out of context, might seem like I’m a pretty terrible teacher and an even more terrible person, but these two jumped out at me:

6. Richie: “The light is shining in my eyes!”
Mrs. Holladay: “So close your eyes.”

19. After watching Alli McGuire leave early on her crutches:
Richie: “You should let me leave early too!”
Mrs. Holladay: “Get some crutches, buddy.”

I think this is proof that I CAN be funny sometimes, contrary to belief and most friends’ experiences. I remember Richie vividly…funny kid for whom I wished and believed great things would happen! I wonder where he is now….

#memorablemomentsineducation 6:
This moment is brought to you after writing with my students today. When I was in the 8th grade, I was called to the nurses’ office out of the blue. Apparently, I was there for a hearing test because my PE teacher believed that I must have an issue since I talk so damn loud! But, surprising to them, I could (still can) hear perfectly well! Years later, in my first observation as a student teacher, my professor told me I appeared to be “deafening [my] students” because one girl sat with her hands covering her ears. Yes, I know I’m loud, but as my friend, former colleague, and fellow loudmouth Molly would say, “I have a disability. If I were missing a leg, would you continuously point that out to me too?” No, we wouldn’t. Just saying, perhaps we could see my ability to project my voice as an asset, not a detriment.