Our school corporation has Parent-Teacher Conferences twice a year, once in October and again in March. One of the first pronouncements I made upon learning that Kinley would be in my class was that I refused to hold a parent conference for her. Conferences, while incredibly beneficial, are draining. So if Josh wanted to know details about Kinley's performance in the classroom, he could ask me at home. (Actually, I'm adamant that Kinley show him her graded papers and homework herself, without my prodding. After all, none of the other students have me at home constantly nagging them to keep their parents informed.)
I held firm in October in spite of Josh's playful chastising. "I'm going to call that principal and tell her that my child's teacher flatly refused to meet with me," he joked.
I replied, "You absolutely should. The nerve of that wretched teacher to deny a father his right to discuss his child's progress! It's a disgrace to the profession."
But he never made that call, and I got away with having to schedule one fewer conference.
When March rolled around, I didn't even think about it this time. Scheduling a slot for Josh to meet with me was simply not on my radar. Not going to happen. No way. Why even discuss it?
But I was outsmarted. Josh came to pick Kinley up after school on Thursday the week of conferences since hanging around school for four extra hours while I met with other students' parents wasn't her idea of a good time. He waltzed in and cavalierly asked, "What time is my conference, Mrs. Boyd?"
The next day, my colleague Andrea told me that I should have responded, "I would love to meet with you, Mr. Boyd, but I see you haven't arranged for childcare for your four year old. You'll have to make other arrangements since we can't have your son running willy-nilly around the classroom while I try to discuss your daughter's strengths and weaknesses."
Too bad my wits weren't at their quickest that day. Instead I just snapped, "You want a conference? Fine. Your slot is now. Sit down, Mr. Boyd."
He proceeded to back track, noting my annoyed tone and no doubt anticipating that I would hold this against him for who knows how long. "I was just kidding!" he said. "You don't have to!"
"No way. Sit down. I'm sick and tired of your giving me a hard time about this over and over, and you won't hush until I do it. So sit down."
He sat, and I spewed forth edu-babble about online assessments, Accelerated Reader scores, individual reading strategy goals, and projected ISTEP+ scores for the fifteen minutes allotted to other normal parents. The whole time, Kinley sat wide-eyed while Knox drew on the white board.
At the end of my spiel, I said, "Well, Mr. Boyd, do you have any questions?" Undaunted, he leaned over into the personal space of his child's 4th grade teacher, and laid on a big, fat, sloppy kiss. "I've been wanting to do that all year!" he said, incredibly pleased with himself.
Kinley, no longer wide-eyed but now, instead, snarling, just said, "Gross. That was TOTALLY inappropriate."
She's probably right, but her teacher kinda liked it.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Bad, the Ugly, and the Uglier
Well, it happened. The day that I had just about decided was never going to arrive swept in and took me by complete surprise. Which day?
The day that I considered calling it quits and putting Kinley back into a regular 4th grade classroom.
And the precipitating event means that Kinley is in the biggest trouble of her life.
I've been avoiding blogging about this whole thing for several weeks (note the absence of any posts in February) because it's been so difficult personally and professionally. But then I find myself avoiding blogging about other things that have happened since then, just because I feel like I need to tell this story first. So here it is. The bad, the ugly, and the uglier.
I got an email from the parent of a little girl in my class on a recent Friday morning. The parent was understandably upset about something that had happened in my class the day before while a substitute teacher was in my room. Unfortunately, Kinley was at the center of the whole thing.
It seems that Kinley and the little girl were having trouble getting along. I knew that this had been a bit of a problem for a couple of weeks since Kinley had come to me in class one day to tell me that the little girl was "whispering about her at the lunch table." Knowing that girls can be mean but also knowing that I have daughter who tends to be, um, a bit dramatic, I told her that she needed to go straight to the little girl's desk and ask what she should do to help things get better. She reluctantly went, and I didn't think another thing about it.
Until that fateful Friday.
I read the email in horror as the parent detailed what had happened. Kinley had been standing in line with the little girl and some other children. A little boy (we'll call him Franklin) began pestering the little girl by trying to step on her feet.
Now this may come as a shock to you if you haven't been in an elementary classroom in several years, but I'll let you in on a secret. Kids pick at each other for no apparent reason. Franklin is not a bad child. He's not even an annoying child. He was just bored. And he had the misfortune of being bored and getting into the middle of something that grew to be a much bigger deal.
As Franklin was pestering the little girl, my daughter, my firstborn, my favorite student, flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone, said - in a tone that could not be mistaken as just boredom or pestering - "Get her, Franklin! Kick her in the shins!"
And that's just bad. Here's the ugly.
The little girl then said, "Franklin, you'd better stop or you're going to get into trouble." And MY CHILD says - cue ominous music here - "No you won't. My mom's the teacher, and I'll tell her not to get you in trouble."
Yeah. Just reread that one a couple of times. I told you it was ugly.
I was stunned at the email I was reading. But at the same time, I feared that it was true. I immediately forwarded the message to my principal with, "Read and come see me ASAP!" in the subject line. I was out of my league, and I wanted to be absolutely transparent in this whole process. As you all know by now, my biggest fear is that other parents of children in my class will feel their children are treated unfairly because of Kinley.
While waiting for Mrs. Fitzgerald, my principal, to appear at my door, I decided to do a little investigating. I called poor Franklin into the hallway. The pallor that his face took on when I asked him to give me details about the day before was all I needed. Imagine how much courage it took for this little boy to tell his teacher that her daughter had indeed done exactly what she had been accused of doing! He tried to make it sound better than it actually was until I recounted the events from the email. He reluctantly admitted that Kinley had said exactly those words. He was terrified. I gave him a hug, told him he had nothing to be afraid of, and sent him back into the room.
I was near tears when Mrs, Fitzgerald showed up moments later to tell me how I should handle the situation. She was just certain that Kinley was innocent and that the little girl had exaggerated. I told her about what Franklin had said and begged her to handle the whole thing. Bless her heart, she agreed.
Kinley was called to the principal's office for disciplinary action for the first time in her life while I regained control of my sobs in the hallway outside my classroom.
Kinley came back several minutes later with red, blotchy eyes that matched mine and an obvious sniffle. Mrs. Fitzgerald called me out into the hallway again to tell me that she had fined Kinley and had read her the riot act. She also told her to apologize to the little girl. I thanked her and also apologized for my child's actions. I also asked her to email the little girl's parents to let them know that Kinley had been punished. (I know. I'm a coward. I own it.)
In my opinion, Kinley had gotten off relatively easily at school. So at home, Josh and I chose to levy some serious and hopefully meaningful punishments. We reminded Kinley that as a Christian she is to be a reflection of Christ. We told her that she had not been a positive reflection and that we wanted her to understand how God felt about our words to others. To help her learn and remember, she was going to lose TV and electronics for a minimum of two weeks during which time she was to learn five Bible verses related to harsh words (Colossians 4:6, Psalms 19:14, Ephesians 4:29, James 1:19-20, and Colossians 3:12-13). She also had to write a letter to be mailed to the little girl apologizing for her actions. Finally, she would be required to pray for her relationship with the little girl each night during our family devotionals until things got better.
And, of course, we told her that if she EVER did or said something that used her relationship to me as a weapon or bargaining chip again, she would be moved back into a regular classroom with no discussion.
The next week at school was tense, but I felt we were reaching a new normal. Kinley and the little girl were a bit strained, but I assumed that was normal and that our fervent prayers for their relationship would aid in the healing process. At home, Kinley had begun to draw pictures for the little girl and to talk about how she was trying to include her in conversations and recess activities. Josh and I were actually pleasantly surprised by the sincerity Kinley showed when reaching out to make ammends. But the uglier part was yet to come.
The following Monday, seven school days after the incident, I got the news that the little girl was leaving my class. Her parents decided that placement my High Ability classroom (which is optional in our school system) was not working for their daughter, and they pulled her out without saying goodbye. She didn't even clean out her desk. She just didn't come back.
Kinley, of course, asked if it was her fault. To be fair, the parents had been unhappy with a few of my classroom policies and the incident with Kinley had been the last nail in the coffin. But Kinley was really worried. I did my best to reassure her without shying away from the serious nature of what she had done.
But I haven't stopped worrying about it. And it's not getting any prettier.
The day that I considered calling it quits and putting Kinley back into a regular 4th grade classroom.
And the precipitating event means that Kinley is in the biggest trouble of her life.
I've been avoiding blogging about this whole thing for several weeks (note the absence of any posts in February) because it's been so difficult personally and professionally. But then I find myself avoiding blogging about other things that have happened since then, just because I feel like I need to tell this story first. So here it is. The bad, the ugly, and the uglier.
I got an email from the parent of a little girl in my class on a recent Friday morning. The parent was understandably upset about something that had happened in my class the day before while a substitute teacher was in my room. Unfortunately, Kinley was at the center of the whole thing.
It seems that Kinley and the little girl were having trouble getting along. I knew that this had been a bit of a problem for a couple of weeks since Kinley had come to me in class one day to tell me that the little girl was "whispering about her at the lunch table." Knowing that girls can be mean but also knowing that I have daughter who tends to be, um, a bit dramatic, I told her that she needed to go straight to the little girl's desk and ask what she should do to help things get better. She reluctantly went, and I didn't think another thing about it.
Until that fateful Friday.
I read the email in horror as the parent detailed what had happened. Kinley had been standing in line with the little girl and some other children. A little boy (we'll call him Franklin) began pestering the little girl by trying to step on her feet.
Now this may come as a shock to you if you haven't been in an elementary classroom in several years, but I'll let you in on a secret. Kids pick at each other for no apparent reason. Franklin is not a bad child. He's not even an annoying child. He was just bored. And he had the misfortune of being bored and getting into the middle of something that grew to be a much bigger deal.
As Franklin was pestering the little girl, my daughter, my firstborn, my favorite student, flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone, said - in a tone that could not be mistaken as just boredom or pestering - "Get her, Franklin! Kick her in the shins!"
And that's just bad. Here's the ugly.
The little girl then said, "Franklin, you'd better stop or you're going to get into trouble." And MY CHILD says - cue ominous music here - "No you won't. My mom's the teacher, and I'll tell her not to get you in trouble."
Yeah. Just reread that one a couple of times. I told you it was ugly.
I was stunned at the email I was reading. But at the same time, I feared that it was true. I immediately forwarded the message to my principal with, "Read and come see me ASAP!" in the subject line. I was out of my league, and I wanted to be absolutely transparent in this whole process. As you all know by now, my biggest fear is that other parents of children in my class will feel their children are treated unfairly because of Kinley.
While waiting for Mrs. Fitzgerald, my principal, to appear at my door, I decided to do a little investigating. I called poor Franklin into the hallway. The pallor that his face took on when I asked him to give me details about the day before was all I needed. Imagine how much courage it took for this little boy to tell his teacher that her daughter had indeed done exactly what she had been accused of doing! He tried to make it sound better than it actually was until I recounted the events from the email. He reluctantly admitted that Kinley had said exactly those words. He was terrified. I gave him a hug, told him he had nothing to be afraid of, and sent him back into the room.
I was near tears when Mrs, Fitzgerald showed up moments later to tell me how I should handle the situation. She was just certain that Kinley was innocent and that the little girl had exaggerated. I told her about what Franklin had said and begged her to handle the whole thing. Bless her heart, she agreed.
Kinley was called to the principal's office for disciplinary action for the first time in her life while I regained control of my sobs in the hallway outside my classroom.
Kinley came back several minutes later with red, blotchy eyes that matched mine and an obvious sniffle. Mrs. Fitzgerald called me out into the hallway again to tell me that she had fined Kinley and had read her the riot act. She also told her to apologize to the little girl. I thanked her and also apologized for my child's actions. I also asked her to email the little girl's parents to let them know that Kinley had been punished. (I know. I'm a coward. I own it.)
In my opinion, Kinley had gotten off relatively easily at school. So at home, Josh and I chose to levy some serious and hopefully meaningful punishments. We reminded Kinley that as a Christian she is to be a reflection of Christ. We told her that she had not been a positive reflection and that we wanted her to understand how God felt about our words to others. To help her learn and remember, she was going to lose TV and electronics for a minimum of two weeks during which time she was to learn five Bible verses related to harsh words (Colossians 4:6, Psalms 19:14, Ephesians 4:29, James 1:19-20, and Colossians 3:12-13). She also had to write a letter to be mailed to the little girl apologizing for her actions. Finally, she would be required to pray for her relationship with the little girl each night during our family devotionals until things got better.
And, of course, we told her that if she EVER did or said something that used her relationship to me as a weapon or bargaining chip again, she would be moved back into a regular classroom with no discussion.
The next week at school was tense, but I felt we were reaching a new normal. Kinley and the little girl were a bit strained, but I assumed that was normal and that our fervent prayers for their relationship would aid in the healing process. At home, Kinley had begun to draw pictures for the little girl and to talk about how she was trying to include her in conversations and recess activities. Josh and I were actually pleasantly surprised by the sincerity Kinley showed when reaching out to make ammends. But the uglier part was yet to come.
The following Monday, seven school days after the incident, I got the news that the little girl was leaving my class. Her parents decided that placement my High Ability classroom (which is optional in our school system) was not working for their daughter, and they pulled her out without saying goodbye. She didn't even clean out her desk. She just didn't come back.
Kinley, of course, asked if it was her fault. To be fair, the parents had been unhappy with a few of my classroom policies and the incident with Kinley had been the last nail in the coffin. But Kinley was really worried. I did my best to reassure her without shying away from the serious nature of what she had done.
But I haven't stopped worrying about it. And it's not getting any prettier.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
A Misstep in our Mother-Daughter Dance
It's been a whole semester since Kinley and I started this little dance that has us spending each and every school day together. And, generally, our dance has been surprisingly graceful. Most of the time we waltz through our day hardly even realizing that our situation is unusual. As was evident in my last post, though, we have experienced the occasional stumble. Here's another example.
I should have known better. I should have listened to the little voice in the back of my head whispering, "Don't do it!" I should have just put her to bed.
But I didn't. I let her stay up until 9:30 to watch Dancing with the Stars. And then I paid for it the next day in class.
Kinley and I have a deal that she can sleep in my bed whenever her daddy is out of town. Since Josh was in San Francisco that night, I had a 9-year-old snuggle partner for the evening. When she turned on the TV at 8:15, I didn't give it a thought since she never watches network TV in the evenings. It didn't occur to me that she'd actually find something we'd both want to see. It's not like we'd been watching the entire season of DWTS. Heck, we'd never even seen a single episode in its entirety!
So when she stopped surfing on channel 6 and we both got sucked in, I wasn't that worried. But then we REALLY got sucked in, and she convinced me to let her stay up to see the end of the episode. I mean, who can resist sparkly dresses and Jennifer Grey's new nose, right?
And so there I was the next day. Stuck in a classroom with 22 kids staring uncomfortably at my daughter who was weeping hysterically at the injustice of life as a student in her mother's classroom. She'd had to pay a 20 Boyd Buck fine for forgetting to put her completed homework papers in the basket and another 10 Boyd Buck fine for forgetting to put her name on both papers.
And that $30 was apparently more than she could handle on only 9 1/2 hours of sleep. The poor Homework Checkers who'd had to collect her fines were huddling in a corner, apparently afraid that I might blame them for making my daughter fall to pieces before 9:30AM.
Thanks a lot, Jennifer Grey.
I should have known better. I should have listened to the little voice in the back of my head whispering, "Don't do it!" I should have just put her to bed.
But I didn't. I let her stay up until 9:30 to watch Dancing with the Stars. And then I paid for it the next day in class.
Kinley and I have a deal that she can sleep in my bed whenever her daddy is out of town. Since Josh was in San Francisco that night, I had a 9-year-old snuggle partner for the evening. When she turned on the TV at 8:15, I didn't give it a thought since she never watches network TV in the evenings. It didn't occur to me that she'd actually find something we'd both want to see. It's not like we'd been watching the entire season of DWTS. Heck, we'd never even seen a single episode in its entirety!
So when she stopped surfing on channel 6 and we both got sucked in, I wasn't that worried. But then we REALLY got sucked in, and she convinced me to let her stay up to see the end of the episode. I mean, who can resist sparkly dresses and Jennifer Grey's new nose, right?
And so there I was the next day. Stuck in a classroom with 22 kids staring uncomfortably at my daughter who was weeping hysterically at the injustice of life as a student in her mother's classroom. She'd had to pay a 20 Boyd Buck fine for forgetting to put her completed homework papers in the basket and another 10 Boyd Buck fine for forgetting to put her name on both papers.
And that $30 was apparently more than she could handle on only 9 1/2 hours of sleep. The poor Homework Checkers who'd had to collect her fines were huddling in a corner, apparently afraid that I might blame them for making my daughter fall to pieces before 9:30AM.
Thanks a lot, Jennifer Grey.
Monday, January 10, 2011
A Surprising Mean Streak
My classroom runs well. This is due, almost entirely, to my mini-economy system which ensures that each child in my class has some degree of responsibility for management-type tasks that need to be done daily. Changing bulletin boards, checking homework, running errands, stacking chairs, erasing blackboards, vacuuming up messes, watering plants, passing out supplies. Each child earns a salary of Boyd Bucks which can be spent in a classroom store or at our end-of-the-year auction. The kids learn responsibility, and I have time to focus on more important things like teaching my students how to add and subtract fractions with unlike denominators. Or checking Facebook.
Just kidding.
Mostly.
Anyway, one of the jobs in my class is the Remote Controller. This person gets to keep the TV/DVD/VCR remote in his or her desk and is responsible for turning the TV on and off each day for morning announcements. Announcements usually start at about 9:05 each day, and this semester my Remote Controller has a bit of a tardiness issue. In case the Remote Controller is late or absent, it is the job of the Substitute to get the remote from the Remote Controller's desk and turn on the TV. And, as you know from reading my second post of the year, Kinley is the Substitute.
When Kinley was in kindergarten, there was a little girl on the playground who – how do I say this tactfully? – drove Kinley nuts. Kinley complained about being antagonized by this child all that year.
So when Kinley found out that The Antagonizer was going to be in her class this year, she wasn't very excited. And, The Antagonizer is also our Remote Controller. (From this point forward, we shall refer to this child as RC. That's for Remote Controller in case you're confused.)
Recently, Kinley has had to turn on the TV several times because RC has been late. But then, because RC usually comes in before announcements are over, a sort of power play ensued because Kinley wanted to finish the job she'd started. One day, I even had to speak to RC because she had jerked the remote from Kinley's hand when she came in and saw Kinley doing her job.
So imagine my surprise when the other day I tell Kinley to turn on the TV (since RC is late again) and I witness my daughter turn equally nasty. During announcements RC arrives at the doorway, tardy once more. She politely stays put during the "Mayflower Mill Pledge", and I see Kinley turn and look at her. At this point announcements end. I expect Kinley to put down the remote and walk back to her desk, allowing RC to finish the job and turn off the TV. But no. She looks directly at RC, turns of the TV, and then turns and smiles a VERY deliberate, nasty smile at RC before sashaying back across the room to her desk.
I was stunned! I had just witnessed my daughter antagonizing The Antagonizer!
So I marched right over to her desk, squatted down beside her and said, "I can't believe what you just did! Pay a 10 Boyd Buck fine RIGHT NOW! That was just MEAN. Nothing but MEAN." And I stalked away.
Of course she started sobbing, but that was fine with me. Give some people a little responsibility and they act like dictators. And the last thing I need is a Substitute with a mean streak and ambitions of being Class President. Et tu, Kinley?
I may not be able to "knock" the meanness out of other people's kids, but I certainly can my own. Or at least I can bankrupt her.
I may not be able to "knock" the meanness out of other people's kids, but I certainly can my own. Or at least I can bankrupt her.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
THE Movie
It happened. We had to show THE movie. THE movie that all TSC elementary schools are required to show to 4th graders. THE movie about it.
No. Not that it. The other it. The one that only happens to girls.
"Just Around the Corner." That's the name of THE movie. It's all about how your body is going to start changing and things that girls need to know about are going to start happening. I've seen it every year for 10 years. But never with my own daughter in the room staring slack-jawed.
It's not like she doesn't know any of the information. (We don't even close bathroom doors at our house.) It's just that she's never had to hear it from a talking head surrounded by 50 of her closest girlfriends. And her mother. And her mother's colleagues.
Bless her heart.
Every year around this time we teachers segregate the boys and girls into two different classrooms and show THE movies. They both have the same title, but there's a different one for boys and girls. Older siblings who've already been through 4th grade have warned younger ones, so word gets around the classroom that, as one older brother told his younger sister, "You're gonna need a barf bag, Maddie, 'cause that movie's GROSS."
Kinley was dreading it, but she watched from her desk without giggling (since I'd threatened the girls in my class within an inch of their lives). Then afterwards, the school nurse passed out slips of paper to every girl. "If you all write down something, even if it's just your name," she explained, "no one will know who has really written a question and you won't have to be embarrassed to ask something that you really want to know about."
I saw Kinley start to write furiously. And it was all I could do not to peek at her slip when I walked around the room picking them up from the girls, but I somehow managed to restrain myself. The nurse answered the questions with kindness and patience, and then the girls were sent back to their classrooms.
That afternoon, as we were driving home, I gingerly broached the subject.
Me: What did you think of the movie today?
Kinley: The nurse didn't answer all of the questions.
Me: I know. Some of them were similar to others that had already been asked and she told you that some of them were more appropriate to be asked in private. Did she answer yours?
Kinley: Yeah.
Me (trying to sound nonchalant): Oh. What did you ask?
Kinley: Are you gonna post it on your blog?
Shoot. Busted.
Shoot. Busted.
Me: Well, do you have any other questions?
Kinley: No, not really. The nurse said we could talk to our parents about this. Does Daddy really know about all this stuff?
Me: Yes, he does.
Kinley: Really? How?
Me: Well, he probably had to watch movies about it, too. And, he's been married to me for a long time. So if you have any questions, you can always ask him, too.
Kinley: Oh.
Who knew that after watching THE movie, the realization that her daddy is in the loop about female pubescence would be the most significant revelation of the day? Well, at least she got through it without a barf bag.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Kinley Gains Perspective
Each morning in Room 17 at Mayflower Mill Elementary, I sit with my class in a circle for Morning Meeting. I've been doing this with my classes for 10 years, and it really helps to build a sense of community within the classroom. The idea was first presented to me by my mother-in-law who was teaching 5th grade at the time, and she had read about it in a book titled The Responsive Classroom.
I have four main goals with Morning Meeting:
1) to help the students get to know everyone, not just their best friends,
2) to help the students learn to take care of each other so that they all feel good about being in the class,
3) to allow the students to share experiences and ideas together, and
4) to have fun together.
Each day we begin by going around the circle and greeting each other. I've spent weeks teaching the children the proper way to shake hands (no limp fish, grasp the palm instead of the fingers, shake from your elbow not your shoulder, be firm but gentle, etc.), the importance of eye contact, and what to do if you forget a name. These are all life skills that extend far beyond the confines of Room 17 (and, by the way, they're skills that not even all the adults I encounter have mastered).
After greeting, we then have time for five children per day to share something that's on their minds. Often they share details about their weekends or the latest adventures of their pets. But sometimes they share about the death of a grandparent or their concern about an upcoming event in their lives. I've spent weeks teaching them the proper ways to respond, both to fun comments and to serious ones.
So when Kinley signed up to share recently, I wasn't surprised. I was curious about what she was planning to share (surely she wouldn't reveal some embarrassing family tidbit!), but I decided to wait and see rather than call her up to my desk for a preview.
Since she hadn't been the first child to sign up to share, she had to listen to two other classmates share before it was her turn. One child shared about how he had spent his weekend and another shared about winning a soccer game. When Kinley's turn came, she had decided to tell her classmates that our family will be spending the summer of 2011 in London where Josh will be teaching in a Purdue-sponsored study-abroad program.
All eyes turned to me. This was interesting to me since my students are usually very good about remembering to give eye contact to the speaker. But, admittedly, the speaker isn't usually the child of the teacher. Rather than giving their full attention to Kinley or even raising their hands to ask her a question, they all wanted to see what I had to say on the subject. I smiled and then asked, "Are there any questions for Kinley?" After all, the rest of the students don't have their parents present at Morning Meeting to steal their moments in the spotlight.
Immediately, several hands popped up. One student asked, "Will you get to see the Eiffel Tower?" Kinley stared at the child for a beat, and then said with only slight snarkiness, "Well, the Eiffel Tower is in Paris, not London. And besides, I've already seen it."
Another student asked, "How long are you going to be there?" Yet another asked, "Is your whole family going?" After the maximum three questions per speaker had been asked and answered, I called on the next child who had signed up to share.
This child said excitedly, "I'm going to Michigan this weekend!" The children politely asked three questions and listened intently to the answers. Morning Meeting ended, and we went about the rest of our learning day.
On the drive home that afternoon, Kinley appeared thoughtful. After a few silent moments, she said, "You know what, Mom? For some people, going to Michigan for the weekend is a really big deal."
I had no idea that she'd been processing this all day, and so it took me a moment to respond. I thought about how Kinley had gotten her first passport before she was a year old and had been to Hawaii, Thailand, Japan, Korea, Australia, New Zealand, New Caledonia, and Malaysia before she was five. She had lived in Italy instead of attending the second semester of kindergarten, had seen five continents, and had visited every Disney park in the world except for one (Tokyo Disneyland).
But these trips, which to any other child would seem spectacular, were, to her, commonplace. Routine. Normal. Suddenly, after one Morning Meeting, it was starting to become clear to her just how unusual her experiences were. She wasn't feeling superior. She wasn't looking down her nose at her classmate. It was just that it was finally dawning on her that she was different.
I adjusted my rearview mirror so that I could see her in the back seat. I said, "Yes, honey. You're right. Isn't that interesting? You get to go on short weekend trips to Chicago and Nashville and other U.S. destinations all the time, but for some people, that's huge."
She looked pensive. I could tell she was still processing. I thought about asking her more questions but decided to let her think it through herself. I readjusted the mirror and continued our drive. She didn't say anything else, and I let it drop.
No doubt this wouldn't be the last time in her life that she would notice a difference between her own life experiences and those of her peers. Nor, I'm sure, will it be the last time that my daughter opens her mouth in my classroom and I have no idea what's going to come out.
I have four main goals with Morning Meeting:
1) to help the students get to know everyone, not just their best friends,
2) to help the students learn to take care of each other so that they all feel good about being in the class,
3) to allow the students to share experiences and ideas together, and
4) to have fun together.
Each day we begin by going around the circle and greeting each other. I've spent weeks teaching the children the proper way to shake hands (no limp fish, grasp the palm instead of the fingers, shake from your elbow not your shoulder, be firm but gentle, etc.), the importance of eye contact, and what to do if you forget a name. These are all life skills that extend far beyond the confines of Room 17 (and, by the way, they're skills that not even all the adults I encounter have mastered).
After greeting, we then have time for five children per day to share something that's on their minds. Often they share details about their weekends or the latest adventures of their pets. But sometimes they share about the death of a grandparent or their concern about an upcoming event in their lives. I've spent weeks teaching them the proper ways to respond, both to fun comments and to serious ones.
So when Kinley signed up to share recently, I wasn't surprised. I was curious about what she was planning to share (surely she wouldn't reveal some embarrassing family tidbit!), but I decided to wait and see rather than call her up to my desk for a preview.
Since she hadn't been the first child to sign up to share, she had to listen to two other classmates share before it was her turn. One child shared about how he had spent his weekend and another shared about winning a soccer game. When Kinley's turn came, she had decided to tell her classmates that our family will be spending the summer of 2011 in London where Josh will be teaching in a Purdue-sponsored study-abroad program.
All eyes turned to me. This was interesting to me since my students are usually very good about remembering to give eye contact to the speaker. But, admittedly, the speaker isn't usually the child of the teacher. Rather than giving their full attention to Kinley or even raising their hands to ask her a question, they all wanted to see what I had to say on the subject. I smiled and then asked, "Are there any questions for Kinley?" After all, the rest of the students don't have their parents present at Morning Meeting to steal their moments in the spotlight.
Immediately, several hands popped up. One student asked, "Will you get to see the Eiffel Tower?" Kinley stared at the child for a beat, and then said with only slight snarkiness, "Well, the Eiffel Tower is in Paris, not London. And besides, I've already seen it."
Another student asked, "How long are you going to be there?" Yet another asked, "Is your whole family going?" After the maximum three questions per speaker had been asked and answered, I called on the next child who had signed up to share.
This child said excitedly, "I'm going to Michigan this weekend!" The children politely asked three questions and listened intently to the answers. Morning Meeting ended, and we went about the rest of our learning day.
On the drive home that afternoon, Kinley appeared thoughtful. After a few silent moments, she said, "You know what, Mom? For some people, going to Michigan for the weekend is a really big deal."
I had no idea that she'd been processing this all day, and so it took me a moment to respond. I thought about how Kinley had gotten her first passport before she was a year old and had been to Hawaii, Thailand, Japan, Korea, Australia, New Zealand, New Caledonia, and Malaysia before she was five. She had lived in Italy instead of attending the second semester of kindergarten, had seen five continents, and had visited every Disney park in the world except for one (Tokyo Disneyland).
But these trips, which to any other child would seem spectacular, were, to her, commonplace. Routine. Normal. Suddenly, after one Morning Meeting, it was starting to become clear to her just how unusual her experiences were. She wasn't feeling superior. She wasn't looking down her nose at her classmate. It was just that it was finally dawning on her that she was different.
I adjusted my rearview mirror so that I could see her in the back seat. I said, "Yes, honey. You're right. Isn't that interesting? You get to go on short weekend trips to Chicago and Nashville and other U.S. destinations all the time, but for some people, that's huge."
She looked pensive. I could tell she was still processing. I thought about asking her more questions but decided to let her think it through herself. I readjusted the mirror and continued our drive. She didn't say anything else, and I let it drop.
No doubt this wouldn't be the last time in her life that she would notice a difference between her own life experiences and those of her peers. Nor, I'm sure, will it be the last time that my daughter opens her mouth in my classroom and I have no idea what's going to come out.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Challenger and Challenges
Our class recently took a field trip to the Brownsburg Challenger Center in Brownsburg, Indiana. This amazing facility leads school and civic groups in simulated space missions to develop teamwork and communication skills. Before we go, the students learn about NASA missions (my step-father even comes in and talks about his years working for NASA on all of the Apollo missions), about the moon, and about the tragedy after which the center is named. They learn about the jobs that will be avalaible to them on the mission and about the skills those jobs require. Each child gets to work half of the day in the "Spacecraft" and half of the day in "Mission Control." It's one of the top two learning experiences outside the classroom that my students have during their two years in my class, and I've been taking students there since my first year as the teacher of the Gifted and Talented class.
But I'd never done it as a parent of one of the participants before.
A few years ago when I took my class of 4th and 5th graders, one of my students was working alone in the clean room of the spacecraft. This glass-enclosed room inside the spacecraft is where the students on the REMOTE team construct and "launch" a lunar probe. Since the probe is sensitive, the REMOTE officers must wear protective gear and work in isolation from the rest of the class. That particular year I had a very small class, and so one student was working on the probe in the clean room by herself. She had a counterpart in Mission Control, and they were to communicate via headsets. The problem began when the student in the clean room didn't notice the first direction on the flip chart: "Put on your headset." The poor girl wandered around inside the clean room aimlessly for 10 minutes wondering what to do next, eventually bursting into tears before Commander Krebs of the Challenger Center staff stepped in and reminded her to read her flip chart directions carefully.
Now, it was bad enough that the child was frustrated and that the other REM officer in Mission Control was trying fruitlessly to communicate with his Spacecraft counterpart over the headset. But to make matters even worse, the parent of the child in the Spacecraft was standing outside the glass doors crying, too! The poor mom was having a terrible time watching her frustrated, teary daughter, knowing that she couldn't intervene and come to her rescue. I remember thinking, "Great day in the morning. It's just a simulation! Your kid is going to have to learn to be independent sometime! Quit stepping in every time she has to think for herself!"
And now, several years later, here I was in a similar position. Only this time, I'm the teacher as well as the parent.
Kinley was on the MEDICAL team and began her day in Mission Control. I usually float back and forth during the day between the two rooms, observing my students and interacting with the parents who are watching from the back of the rooms. But I had promised Kinley that I would hang out in the room where she was working. When Commander Santner of the Challenger Center gave the instructions to, "Pick up your manuals and begin," Kinley sat there looking clueless. She was looking around the room, checking out what everyone else was doing, and chewing her fingers (a habit she gets from her father).
I stared in disbelief. "You've GOT to be kidding me," I thought. "What is she DOING? Why isn't she getting started? Doesn't she realize that the MEDICAL team in the Spacecraft is waiting to receive instructions from her? Didn't she hear the instructions from the Mission Commander? Is she just going to sit there making me look bad all day???"
Half and hour before, when our class first arrived, Commander Santner had taken all of my 10 parent chaperones on a tour of the facility. She had told them very specifically NOT to intervene during the mission, even if they saw the children struggling. Learning to make decisions and take action while under stress is a valuable lesson, and at some point during the day, the kids would probably not know what to do. But Commander Santner assured the parents that with communication and teamwork, the kids would be able to meet their goals and "Return to the Moon".
I knew this, so I knew I couldn't say anything to push Kinley in the right direction. So I did the natural, logical thing and started sending mental vibes across the room. "Pick up the manual. Pick up the manual. PICK UP THE STINKING MANUAL!!!"
Nothing. Just more daydreaming and finger chewing.
So then I tried the "Teacher Proximity/Parent Evil Eye" combo. Maybe if I stood near her and glared, she'd figure out that she needed to be taking this more seriously.
Instead, she smiled at me and waved wildly.
Finally, Commander Santner noticed that the MEDICAL team wasn't yet illuminated on the mission status board, indicating that no action had yet been taken by the MED officer in Mission Control. As she walked toward Kinley to help her get with the program, I decided I should probably spend the rest of the morning in the Spacecraft, far removed from my daughter's cluelessness.
In the end, Kinley finally instructed the MED team in the Spacecraft to begin scanning each officer's "radiation exposure badges" and then to begin "visual response tests." She finished her shift in Mission Control and then got to work a shift in the Spacecraft (while I retreated to Mission Control).
Our "Return to the Moon" ended in success.
But the next time I take my class, I'll have much more sympathy for the teary mom outside the clean room.
Comander Santner intervenes after my "Vibe-Sending"
and "Teacher Proximity/Parent Evil Eye" attempts fail.
Kinley and her classmates enter the Spacecraft through
the airlock.
Commander Krebs helps Kinley figure out what she's
supposed to be doing in the Spacecraft (and later gives
me the you've-got-to-let-her-figure-it-out-on-her-own
speech.) I LOVE this woman!
Kinley checks the COM officer's radiation exposure
in the Spacecraft.
The class debriefs after a successful "Return to the Moon."
But I'd never done it as a parent of one of the participants before.
A few years ago when I took my class of 4th and 5th graders, one of my students was working alone in the clean room of the spacecraft. This glass-enclosed room inside the spacecraft is where the students on the REMOTE team construct and "launch" a lunar probe. Since the probe is sensitive, the REMOTE officers must wear protective gear and work in isolation from the rest of the class. That particular year I had a very small class, and so one student was working on the probe in the clean room by herself. She had a counterpart in Mission Control, and they were to communicate via headsets. The problem began when the student in the clean room didn't notice the first direction on the flip chart: "Put on your headset." The poor girl wandered around inside the clean room aimlessly for 10 minutes wondering what to do next, eventually bursting into tears before Commander Krebs of the Challenger Center staff stepped in and reminded her to read her flip chart directions carefully.
Now, it was bad enough that the child was frustrated and that the other REM officer in Mission Control was trying fruitlessly to communicate with his Spacecraft counterpart over the headset. But to make matters even worse, the parent of the child in the Spacecraft was standing outside the glass doors crying, too! The poor mom was having a terrible time watching her frustrated, teary daughter, knowing that she couldn't intervene and come to her rescue. I remember thinking, "Great day in the morning. It's just a simulation! Your kid is going to have to learn to be independent sometime! Quit stepping in every time she has to think for herself!"
And now, several years later, here I was in a similar position. Only this time, I'm the teacher as well as the parent.
Kinley was on the MEDICAL team and began her day in Mission Control. I usually float back and forth during the day between the two rooms, observing my students and interacting with the parents who are watching from the back of the rooms. But I had promised Kinley that I would hang out in the room where she was working. When Commander Santner of the Challenger Center gave the instructions to, "Pick up your manuals and begin," Kinley sat there looking clueless. She was looking around the room, checking out what everyone else was doing, and chewing her fingers (a habit she gets from her father).
I stared in disbelief. "You've GOT to be kidding me," I thought. "What is she DOING? Why isn't she getting started? Doesn't she realize that the MEDICAL team in the Spacecraft is waiting to receive instructions from her? Didn't she hear the instructions from the Mission Commander? Is she just going to sit there making me look bad all day???"
Half and hour before, when our class first arrived, Commander Santner had taken all of my 10 parent chaperones on a tour of the facility. She had told them very specifically NOT to intervene during the mission, even if they saw the children struggling. Learning to make decisions and take action while under stress is a valuable lesson, and at some point during the day, the kids would probably not know what to do. But Commander Santner assured the parents that with communication and teamwork, the kids would be able to meet their goals and "Return to the Moon".
I knew this, so I knew I couldn't say anything to push Kinley in the right direction. So I did the natural, logical thing and started sending mental vibes across the room. "Pick up the manual. Pick up the manual. PICK UP THE STINKING MANUAL!!!"
Nothing. Just more daydreaming and finger chewing.
So then I tried the "Teacher Proximity/Parent Evil Eye" combo. Maybe if I stood near her and glared, she'd figure out that she needed to be taking this more seriously.
Instead, she smiled at me and waved wildly.
Finally, Commander Santner noticed that the MEDICAL team wasn't yet illuminated on the mission status board, indicating that no action had yet been taken by the MED officer in Mission Control. As she walked toward Kinley to help her get with the program, I decided I should probably spend the rest of the morning in the Spacecraft, far removed from my daughter's cluelessness.
In the end, Kinley finally instructed the MED team in the Spacecraft to begin scanning each officer's "radiation exposure badges" and then to begin "visual response tests." She finished her shift in Mission Control and then got to work a shift in the Spacecraft (while I retreated to Mission Control).
Our "Return to the Moon" ended in success.
But the next time I take my class, I'll have much more sympathy for the teary mom outside the clean room.
and "Teacher Proximity/Parent Evil Eye" attempts fail.
the airlock.
supposed to be doing in the Spacecraft (and later gives
me the you've-got-to-let-her-figure-it-out-on-her-own
speech.) I LOVE this woman!
in the Spacecraft.
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