Tackling the tough topics

I spent the week contemplating discussing the 10 year anniversary of 9/11 with my students. I wasn't sure just what I wanted my kids to take home with them, knowing that several had never been exposed to the topic, and that many had tiny bits of knowledge of the event. Yet, as I told the kids this afternoon, I talk to them about everything, and I wouldn't feel comfortable if we didn't discuss this very important piece of America's history. My students have so much to say. They are so honest, so open, and so curious to know what happened, how it has impacted us, and what will come to be as they grow up. After a long discussion, I shared with them the Judith Viorst poem, "If I Were In Charge Of The World." Several questions followed as I asked them to write their own poems with the same title, keeping in mind the conversation we'd just had. Tomorrow we'll share poems, and I will be ever so amazed at their creativity and thoughtfulness, and ever more confident that if we turned our world over to 10 year olds, we'd be in a far better place.


During our discussion today, I shared my own 9/11 experience with my students. I woke that morning, as I do every morning, to NPR. The radio popped on with the words "A plane has just flown into the World Trade Center." I thought I was hearing things at first, and thought it might be a joke of some sort, however horrible. Obviously, this was no joke. As I prepared for work, I thought frantically of friends and family in NY. My sister was traveling through the city on business, and it took a while to get in touch with her. I also realized I was going to face confusion, fear and millions of questions from my students.


I arrived early, and turned on the television in my classroom. As students arrived, I turned it off. The images were so graphic. I knew most of my kids would have seen these already, and indeed, as students entered the classroom, many were crying and telling me they'd seen people jumping out of buildings. As a teacher, one plans carefully, and follows a particular course of study. Then along comes something so astounding, so horrifying, and your plans are for naught. Additionally, you have to think on your feet - addressing what comes up with not even a second's warning. 


Melvyn was one of my third graders. He'd just turned eight. He was, and still is, kind, considerate, and brilliant. His father had brought him to school that morning, and sat in the classroom with us as I brought all the kids to the rug in a close circle. With fifth graders, and sometimes "ultra-cool" fourth graders, getting them all to sit together on a rug, and to sit closely, is a challenge. On this day, they could not get close enough. The kids had so many questions, asking me to "explain things in kid language." One of my students asked why anyone would fly a plane into a building because he'd know he would die, too. Before I could open my mouth, Melvyn asked if he could explain. His father and I exchanged glances, and I told him to go ahead. I paraphrase here ... it's been a long time and I don't recall his exact words, but I'm awfully close. 


"The pilots were willing to sacrifice themselves because what they believe in and their hatred of America is more important than their own life." (At this point, a student asked what sacrifice meant). "To sacrifice is to give up something really, really important for something or someone else that's even more important. These guys are probably controlled by someone who tells them what to do, and they didn't care that their life would be taken, too." He said quite a bit more, explaining the events that had occurred that morning with all the presence and capacity of any adult. His father and I sat and listened to him in awe. He was invaluable as a source of support for his peers that day, and for many days to follow. (As the eldest sibling of then four, now six, he'd had much opportunity to demonstrate leadership qualities)!


For the rest of the day, my students drew pictures, talked in large and small groups, cried and hugged, and sat closely together. They asked question after question ... of Melvyn and of me. 


Ten years later, 9/11 and Melvyn are entwined in my memory. I can't think of one without the other. And on this, the eve of what would have been my mother's 72nd birthday, there is much sadness. I thank Melvyn for being a model of grace on that fateful day as he and all of us experienced grief, pain, and confusion. I thank him even more for those same lessons that that guide me, personally. This is for you, Melvyn. I know you won't mind my telling your story. 

If I were in charge of the world I'd cancel oatmeal, Monday mornings, Allergy shots, and also Sara Steinberg. If I were in charge of the world There'd be brighter nights lights, Healthier hamsters, and Basketball baskets forty eight inches lower. If I were in charge of the world You wouldn't have lonely. You wouldn't have clean. You wouldn't have bedtimes. Or "Don't punch your sister." You wouldn't even have sisters. If I were in charge of the world A chocolate sundae with whipped cream and nuts would be a vegetable All 007 movies would be G, And a person who sometimes forgot to brush, And sometimes forgot to flush, Would still be allowed to be In charge of the world.

Tie your shoe and pick up your sweater!

Most teachers like to post some sort of class motto or set of behavioral expectations. Each year, even though the majority of my class is with me for a second or third year, I ask them to create guidelines by which we'll live. I edit only spelling and grammar, and, unless it's completely unrealistic, I veto no one's idea. (One year, a student suggested I bring breakfast for everyone every Friday, and that it must include homemade cinnamon roles. I vetoed that one).

I expect the usual ... set the example, treat others with respect, keep our space clean, etc. My favorites on this year's list are "tell someone if their shoe is untied" and "pick up sweaters so nobody falls." To me, developing a young person's care for others is as important as teaching someone to read. What good is reading if you don't care if someone trips?

Yesterday, as we were cleaning up after a fantastic experience creating Cubist self-portraits in the style of Picasso, L, an almost always happy, enthusiastic, spirited student, picked his classmate's sweater up off the ground. He handed the sweater to A, and commented, "Here you go. You should tie your sweater around your waist or put it in the closet. If you leave it on the chair, it usually falls, and gets dirty. I know because last year mine fell all the time. This year we have a reminder on our circle map. See? (He pointed it out to her). That's going to help both of us. But I'm more experienced, so I'll help you remember, and you can look at the circle map. Okay?" She nodded her agreement, thanked him, and went on cleaning up. Sigh. Great end to an exhausting, but wonderful, first week of the 2011-2012 school year.

Beautiful Moment

Today, as we were in the middle of writing workshop, one of my kids came to tell me that D was crying. D is a 5th grader, mildly autistic, who just exited the program offering extra academic support. He's gentle and kind, and rarely emotional. He had his head buried in his arms, and was sobbing. I asked his best friend, J, if he knew what was going on. J suggested D was frustrated with the writing, and felt it was too hard. I put my arm around D's shoulders and hugged him gently, asking if he was frustrated, if something hurt, if there was something going on that was making him sad. He shook his head, but continued to sob. I was concerned ... this was not usual at all.


It was just before the kids had to go down for lunch. I told D I'd walk the kids down and bring his lunch back upstairs to him. He nodded, continuing to cry. J helped me pick out good choices for his D's lunch. I returned to the classroom, and D was no longer crying. I put his lunch down, and asked him if he could tell me why he'd been so upset. Before I tell you the rest of the story, remember that D is autistic - albeit mildly. However, autistic kids tend to communicate differently - often unemotionally, and often lacking ability to express feelings as other children might. 


D looked at me, and in the sweetest, most honest manner possible, said, "I really don't know, Ms. Stern. I was writing down the story ideas, and I just got a memory of something. It made me so sad and I started crying, but I don't even know what it was. I just felt it."


I had to swallow hard. I told him I had experienced the very same thing many, many times. I told him that his reaction simply demonstrated what a caring, feeling, loving boy he was, and that it was so okay. He was a little surprised I'd had a similar experience. We talked a little more. I told him he could always share his thoughts with me. To that, he responded, "I know I can tell you anything, Ms. Stern." From a child with autism, this was huge. I shared with my dear friend and colleague, Jamie, what had transpired. She reminded me that this is what teaching is all about. How right she is. The warmth I feel right now will stay with me through all the frustrating moments I'll face this year.


D and I finished our conversation with an orange. He told me he'd never eaten an orange, as he'd never thought he'd like it. I suggested he try a wedge, showed him how to eat it, and he decided it was delicious. I must say, that school orange was one of the juiciest, sweetest oranges I've ever had. Or, maybe it was the company and the experience that made that orange one incredible, tasty bite. 

The kids are back!

How many of us get hugs and kisses in the workplace? Today, I was greeted with "I missed you so much." "I'm so glad to be back - I was pretty bored this summer." (We'll see how long that lasts)! "Ms. Stern, can I have one more hug?" Talk about amazing drugs! 


The hardest thing about teaching a multiage class is adapting to "family" that have moved on. The kids, especially my fifth grade girls, miss the older kids a lot. However, they quickly take on elder sisterhood with the new third graders. 


One of those "elders" placed a wonderful note on my desk today. It read, "I am so happy to be back. I am excited about learning new things and showing all I can do. I love you, Ms. Stern." 


No words ... just Yippee! 

Ready for day one

As I was going through my desk, tossing and organizing, my dear friend and colleague in the room next door, Lisa, came in to show me a torn piece of art done over 15 years ago ... a foot from an above life-sized torn paper figure she simply can't thrown away. It's attached to a story she'll never forget. All of us have something we keep that takes us immediately back to the moment of occurrence. 


Lisa left, and I kept on tossing and cleaning, and I came upon my own memory - a piece of paper on which I'd written a statement from one of my students several years ago. We were studying metaphor and simile, and B said, "If metaphors were real, the Grateful Dead would be a bunch of skeletons." I laughed hysterically and uttered my amazement at his brilliant thought. 


B has gone on to middle school, but finding the scrap of paper on which I'd written made me excited again for new funnies, new brilliance and new experiences. 


Until Monday - happy weekend, all.

Getting the room ready

Every year I switch it up. New table arrangements. New way of sharing supplies. New schedule. I know I speak for so many teachers when I say we spend so much time and so much energy building a shell for the community we hope to establish. This year, #21, is no exception. I laid out gift bags of supplies after carefully considering where each student should sit. The beauty of a multiage class is that I know nearly all the kids, and can figure out where they'll be most successful. The frustration is that my knowledge causes me to spend several minutes on each child, and before I know it, an hour passes and I'm still thinking I should switch kids around. I'll probably go to my old standby - let the kids put themselves together with some basic expectations. 


Two days of meetings and professional development begin tomorrow, with the kids coming Monday. I'm excited to see them. 

Day one - anticipation

Spending a few days prior to the new year setting up the classroom. Trying out a new configuration, getting rid of some stuff, reorganizing ... all in the job. I am not alone. The parking lot is filled with cars from 7am to 4pm, and everyone is coming in with bags of new supplies. I work with people who care, who are excited to be where we are, who take pride in presenting a wonderful environment and helping children become anything they wish.