Lessons from a Teacher

#memorablemomentsineducation #25:
Not gonna lie…I’m starting to feel the pressure of producing something worthy and pithy for these things, and if I cover every day this school year with a moment, I’ve got 156 to go! So this moment is brought to you by my current preoccupation–watching the most recent episode of This Is Us on my DVR.

Last year, I met a senior girl who had no shame about discussing her obsession with this TV show. After I was willing to admit I, too, watched this show, accepting and even inviting the fact I would cry during every episode, we developed a bit of a bond. Every Wednesday in class, we ran through the ins and outs of the episode, what happened to the characters, and predictions for where the story arc was headed. It helps that the class is focused on Narrative Art in Lit and Film, so we had tons of fodder for our conversations as this drama loves to play with narrative structure! Part way through the year, another show debuted that piqued our interests, which meant we we had twice as much to discuss!

This fall, my student went off to college, and our shows were on air again. The best part? She emailed me, Mrs. Holladay, just to share what she noticed about the season premieres. That’s what stories, whether visual or written, do for us–they bring us closer together, they give us a means by which to connect, and they enable us to share our loves and interests. That’s one example of what makes my job pretty great!

#memorablemomentsineducation #24: I’ve been kicked out of class more than one time. In 5th grade, I was removed from class for flipping off my teacher.

I can’t remember who started it, but Jeremy Ryals and I were amused by the act of rubbing our middle fingers between our eyebrows for quite some time—like 20 minutes time—until eventually our poor student teacher could no longer act like it was accidental. I was sent to the teacher’s office in our pod for the remainder of the afternoon. When my mom came to run our Girl Scout troop meeting, she got to hear all about what I had done, but she waited to unload her wrath until we got in the car. I can still describe every detail of the dash in a Buick Skylark circa 1985 because that is where I stared while my mother screamed at me about my embarrassing and ridiculous actions.

To this day, I can’t tell you why I did it. I actually liked our student teacher. I don’t think I could say I did it to impress Jeremy either. It’s just one of those moments when my ill-formed frontal lobe hadn’t yet stopped me from starting something and continuing it until an adult stepped in to say “no.” As a teacher, I have watched students behave in similar, yet perplexing, ways where no one can pinpoint the cause or logic behind any of it. I guess I’m just happy to know that Miss O’Connor stuck with teaching and nothing we did that day prevented her from believing in a future career.

Because we all have those days, those days where you think it’d be better to become a bank teller, as my officemate puts it, or own a flower shop, as my colleague explains it. We all have our backup plans, if for no other reason than to get us through the days when students are just idiots….without really meaning to be, myself included.

#memorablemomentsineducation #23:
In sixth grade, I won the school spelling bee, but not until I had lost it.

The elementary spelling bee was a momentous event every year. probably because we got out of class for an hour or so. We all piled into the gym and cheered on the kids from our own class like following your favorite QB in your fantasy league–when they win, you win! As the oldest in the school, sixth graders got to finally sit on the steps at the back of the gym and lean back to really enjoy the spectacle of kids spelling. I’d like to believe these occasions were like the National Spelling Bee now broadcast on ESPN every year, but we were pretty simple spellers back in the 80s.

Megan Challis and I were locked in a final round of back-and-forth spelling. For every word she spelled correctly, I matched her wits with my own. Megan was my nemesis when it came to spelling–I’m pretty sure anyone who attended Blackbob (yep, still called that) Elementary would tell you she was the smartest kid in our grade…by far. And, while Megan was good at everything, I had just one party trick: remembering the order of letters in random words. As every good volley between Federer and Nadal eventually comes to an end, someone had to win this thing. I can’t remember what happened, but I do know I lost. Megan was crowned the champion again, and I stood in front of the entire school as first loser. Everyone filed out of the gym, sad they had to return to class. My mom appeared to console me and congratulate me.

Then, somewhere in the midst of finalizing the results, a teacher who’d been paying close attention alerted the principal to the fact she believed an error had been made–Megan had not won. (I can’t tell you what exactly happened, but the tricky word “unconscious” is mixed in my memories of it all.) After some discussion, Megan and I were back at it, spelling words, trying to figure out which result would be a fluke. In front my mom, Mr. Roberts, a teacher, and Megan, I eventually ended up winning. Our principal promised to announce the new results over the P.A. (though that never happened), and I went back to my classroom with my head held high.

Weeks later, Mr. Roberts and I went to lunch at the Mustache Cup on our way to the district spelling bee, where I was summarily trounced in the first round. I think having lunch with the principal was the best part of winning, though I must not have realized it at the time.

Looking back I wonder how beneficial this kind of academic competition really is. My son, who is leagues beyond me in the brains department, recently told me he had no interest in competing on a math team because he can’t stand answering questions fast in front of other people. He’s already figured out this may not be a transferable skill, so why risk the embarrassment? Good question. I’m sure I wouldn’t be sharing the story if I hadn’t won in the end. So next time you’re sitting in awe of the 12-year-old who can spell some Latin-based word for a metabolic disease that exists only in some small corner of the world, ask yourself what are we learning here?

#memorablemomentsineducation #22:
If you asked any teacher to describe their favorite professional development day, they’d probably stare at you blankly, unable to come up with an example. In theory, PD should be necessary and effective, but in practice, not so much. Yesterday, I had one of those unicorn-like moments in education where PD helped me to get better at what I do.

For the last year and a half, a group of teachers at my school have participated in “Learning Labs” where we research and discuss the craft of teaching, watch another colleague teach while students learn, and reflect on what it all means for ourselves and our students. What I love most about these days is the chance to step back from the day-to-day grind of teaching and think about what is happening in my classroom and what I wish we could be doing–it’s that distance which provides the perspective we all could use from time to time.

In this era of collaborative teaching and learning, I see a constant push and pull between the cherished autonomy of working in my classroom with my students and the isolated feeling of never having anyone see what we do. When PD can find the balance between the two, that’s when I feel like we’re getting somewhere for the sake of kids.

(P.S. I know this post is super late and super un-sexy, which probably explains why it took me so long to write it. My mind has been reeling, and I can’t seem to pinpoint what I really want to say. But I promise to finish out the week strong with something better!)

(P.P.S. This is the second time I’ve attempted to write this because my wonky internet wouldn’t allow me to post the original one I wrote!)

#memorablemomentsineducation #21:
I skipped school just one time in my life. I was a junior in high school, my friends (Laura and Amanda) and I had gotten up extra early to serve breakfast at a local elementary school as part of our National Honor Society hours, and we decided in an instant that we wanted to be rebellious that day. I couldn’t tell you whose idea it was, but all three of us knew we could hang at Amanda’s house because both her parents worked. We’d call ourselves in “sick” to the main office, and then we’d spend the day doing what lame honors students do–we’d eat pie at Tippin’s and wander the stacks at Border’s. We thought we were so clever by having each other call in after 15-minute intervals, convinced no one would catch on. And the day went off without a hiccup! I was so arrogant to believe I’d gotten away with successfully skipping school that I stopped by in the afternoon to drop off a copy of my oratory with my coach Ms. Smith.

For a good twelve hours, we were home free, and I’m sure I wondered why we hadn’t ever done this before! That is until a note showed up in Mr. Albee’s first period pre-calc class, sending me to the office. When I walked in to see Laura and Amanda already waiting, I knew we’d been caught. But the most humiliating part wasn’t getting caught–it was the fact my assistant principal Mr. Taylor, who’d known me and my family for my entire life, started trolling me after asking how I spent my day off. He said, “You went to a bookstore?! Really, you didn’t even get drunk like all the other kids do?” No, sadly, I’d wasted my skip day driving around Johnson County while listening to R.E.M and U2, paging through books I’d never have time to read, and eating a delicious slice of Dixie pie a la mode. God, we were lame…and ahead of our time by about 25 years since I’d give anything to ditch work today and do the same!

Our official consequence was one day of Saturday School, and it looked nothing like The Breakfast Club. But my real punishment was listening to my favorite biology teacher Mr. Barnes (a man who deserves a whole host of memorable moments) give me grief for the next decade of my life about my interest in “moldy books” and teaching English. And to top it all off, we figured out it was our most amazing English teacher Mrs. Cohagan, the woman who regularly reminded us there’s more to life than our GPAs, had been the one to turn us in! The good news is, she was right–it’s okay to forget the rules every once in a while because the only person who cares what you do in high school is you.

#memorablemomentsineducation #20: A friend had an icky run-in with a student today, a moment where she was genuinely scared. It got me thinking about my own scary interactions with students (because if you teach long enough, you’ll have some).

I was two or three months pregnant with my daughter, but no one at work knew. My nerves were fried, and I didn’t have much in the reserves to withstand the frustration that comes with some students. This particular young man got into an argument with me because I wouldn’t let him leave my homeroom to access another teacher without a pass (which stems from some admittedly ridiculous policy, but that’s a topic for another day). He was not happy that I stood my ground so he decided to step inside it, using his considerable height and weight to intimidate me. I can’t remember what he said, but I know how I felt. I’m sure he didn’t consciously “throw his weight around,” but he knew on some level that his masculinity could overpower me and I would have to submit. I don’t know if I relented or if he just decided to leave, but I have never seen that kid since.

After class, I ended up in our assistant principal Karl’s office where I tried to relay what happened without coming off as an hysterical, oversensitive woman. There was no tangible violation of the rules that I could point to, but I’m sure every woman I know has experienced a moment like this where a man uses his physical proximity to overwhelm her. Much to my relief, Karl listened and agreed this child had crossed the line. He offered to remove him from my class, and I burst into tears, shaking out of fear and gratitude. My reaction, seemingly out of character, surprised Karl the most. Usually, I have my sh*t together, but not this time. I think the most disturbing part of the encounter hadn’t been what this kid did but who he was—one of my high school students—and I gave in, let him be removed from my class, and never cared a bit for whether he would ever learn how wrong his actions had been.

Luckily that kind of thing doesn’t happen everyday, but it does happen. I’ve been fortunate I had administrators who take these incidents seriously and work to protect both the teacher and the student. I know there is much behind that student’s reaction to me, which could explain why he treated me that way and all of which I’ll never understand. Really, what can you do except hope and pray it doesn’t happen again?

#memorablemomentsineducation #19:
Before I decided to study English, I was going to be a math teacher, geometry to be specific. I wanted to be a math teacher because of one woman, Mrs. Wilhite, who taught me algebra and geometry. I idolized her to the point where I write my 7s (still!) with a line through the middle because that’s how she did it. My previous math teacher sat in front of an overhead projector, unrolling problem after problem while she explained in a monotone voice how to solve for x. But in Mrs. Wilhite’s room, she danced from one side of the chalkboard to the other, almost singing, as she showed us the quadratic formula and the Pythagorean Theorem. I remember her room as being a space filled with warmth, love, and laughter. We were taught by a woman who was so very human as she asked us if something was “gelling” or admitted mid-sentence that she’d forgotten what she was talking about. Math was not precision as much as it was inspiration.

Years later, I got to know Mrs. Wilhite outside the classroom as I became friends with her son (Brian Wilhite). I happened to be hanging out at their house one night, and she came down the stairs, apparently from reading some work of fiction. At the time, I was shocked to see the math teacher was a reader too, a rather voracious one at that, and I realized we don’t have to be just one thing. It then made sense why she had a “Vocab Word of the Week” on the bulletin board in her classroom, which coincidentally never changed from the word “enigma” all year long. It also explains why when I teach students to organize their writing, I explain it in terms of writing a geometric proof. Really, I didn’t want to be a math teacher as much as I wanted to be Mrs. Wilhite when I grew up. I’ve come close. Excuse me while I sashay off to class…

#memorablemomentsineducation #18:
I’m a day late, but I have a recent moment to share. Our daughter and I have taken up music lessons this year (hers on the ukulele and mine on the harmonica), and I’m realizing I missed out on a whole part of my education by never really pursuing music until now. Music teachers are this rare breed of people who genuinely love every minute of what they do. My daughter’s teacher shows up for every lesson with a huge smile and real excitement about what they’re going to accomplish today. I think it probably has something to do with the fact music students can personify their learning almost immediately. The shift from not being able to play that note or riff to mastery happens quick enough and seems tangible enough to make teaching and learning such a reward in the moment.

My harmonica teacher is in his 20s, and he’s already a blues master. We spent our last class watching him overcome with giddiness as he found harp legends on YouTube and talked passionately about what he’d learned from them. He showed off his own skills by imitating what he’d heard. Then he asked us to improvise as he backed us on the guitar. He implored us to take some risks, just try something even if it doesn’t work, and we did because he was so damned excited about it. How liberating to have a teacher who’ll let you fly, even when it sounds like crap. That’s the gift of music teachers, even for those of us who work to be aficionados more than pros.

We spend so much energy justifying teaching the arts by tying it to reading or math. Can’t we do it just ‘cause?

#memorablemomentsineducation #17:
My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Miller, died of cancer when we were in 2nd grade. I remember her classroom, her dressing up as a witch on Halloween with green oatmeal all over her face, and her kind voice reading us stories as we sat in the circle. I especially remember our principal coming onto the intercom to announce her passing and to ask for a moment of silence in honor of our wonderful teacher. While I understood a little of death after my grandfather died when I was five, I hadn’t spent everyday for nine months in his warm presence. So Mrs. Miller’s death was the first one I saw as a real absence, a loss, for all of us. Not sure why, but that’s the moment I remember today, and I think she’d be pleased as punch to know she had a lifelong impact on her little kindies.

#memorablemomentsineducation #16:
Jimi Hendrix died 49 years ago today, which got me thinking about how I came to love him and his music. I know much of it comes from my brother Todd, but another memory materialized that speaks to my interest as well.

My 9th grade English teacher, Mr. Mays, happened to be a DJ on the side, so he had quite the setup in our classroom with speakers, turntable, receiver, and tape deck. Many days, I recall sitting in his room, working and reading, while we listened to some of his favorite music. He introduced us to Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, The Police, U2, CCR, basically his favorites. We lapped it up without even realizing the impression his musical tastes would leave on our own.

With that music in the backdrop, we also read The Odyssey, and then created an interdisciplinary project called The Odyssey of My Self and My Nation. We had to write a narrative attached to each of the 13-14 years of our life and then research something important that happened in history in the corresponding year. I spent countless hours in my mom’s sewing room, typing on an old Apple 2E computer while creating and decorating my personal epic. I still have this creation in a box somewhere, and I think I was quite proud of that work!

I’m not sure if it was the music of a bygone era, the fact I was watching the U.S. bomb Baghdad on TV at night, or my narcissistic need to write something all about my life and the world revolving around me (sound familiar?), but I remember that moment in my education. My views on the world and the soundtrack to match were born in that class.