What I Learned…

Another school year has come to an end, and I think I have learned something very, very important. Although I definitely have views on education and the education system as a whole here in America, I want to focus on one particular aspect. It seems to me, from a very personal viewpoint, that we are trying to “protect” our children from all the evils and harsh realities that we believe are all around us. We can’t. Most simply stated, as parents, as educators, as those who care deeply about the youth in our nation, we can not protect them from all the evils, ills, and dangers that inhabit every corner of the world in which we all live currently.

This is sobering, to say the least. What we can do though is teach our children the skills and abilities to handle ALL that life will throw at them, because LIFE will get to each of us, no matter how protected. I work with some youngsters that have been brutalized by life at a very young age, and the most important thing I have learned is if you can somehow create CONFIDENCE… confidence in themselves AND confidence in you and those that care for them, each one of these kids is capable of AMAZING things!

I CAN NOT protect these kids. Life gets to them in some pretty harsh ways. But I CAN help them soar, even if their wings and bodies and minds and spirits have been bruised and battered. No matter one’s past, I “teach” confidence. Confidence to soar, to rise above, to move past what once was and move toward the life they deserve.

This school year… what did I learn? These kids need me and I need them. One of the most beautiful lessons ever!

Procrastination and Perfectionism (Sorry, Mr. Weinmann)

First off, I know this might make a few people angry and a few might stop reading this post altogether, but “perfectionism” is not something someone suffers, it is just an excuse. Nothing more. Anybody who claims to be a “perfectionist” should also claim to be terrified to make mistakes, to loathe looking stupid and maybe not so keen on new experiences. A person who feels anxious and afraid most of the time and a person who does not really have a lot of faith in themselves. It is a wall we willingly build to try and hide our own fears and insecurities and lack of faith in our own abilities, but it is also a wall we build to try and contain those same fears and insecurities and lack of faith from contaminating the aspects of our lives that we do think we control and handle pretty well. (At least the parts of life we believe we can fake.)

This is personal knowledge. Hard-fought and hard-won personal knowledge. I am a perfectionist, and for most of my life I have believed it is a badge of honor to struggle mightily toward perfection. Even when ALL evidence points conclusively to the contrary.

It is my goal that every post I write has some sort of lesson or small bit of knowledge, at least I hope. But this post is more of an apology. I am sorry, Mr. Weinmann. Very, very sorry.

In 7th grade Social Studies, we were assigned our very first research paper. Mr. Weinmann was my teacher and he was awesome! I loved the way he taught and I looked forward to his classes. But a research paper? In 7th grade? Dang, that definitely took away some of the joy. We were given the rubric for the reasearch paper at the beginning of the semester and we had the whole semester to finish the final copy. We were to check in throughout the semester to make sure we were on track, but in the end, our final copy was our responsibility! It was also a HUGE percentage of our grade!

I did not do the research paper. I received an “A” in Mr. Weinmann’s Social Studies class.

I did not know how to do a research paper. Even if I tried, it would not be that good. If I could not get an “A” on something, what was the use of trying? What if Mr. Weinmann read my research paper and realized that I was not as smart as I pretended to be? What if it was not “perfect”? What if I tried and failed?

These are only some of the thoughts that caused me to procrastinate. But they were enough. More than enough in this case and so many others in my life. And the crazy thing about procrastination is that eventually it DOES give you an excuse. It did for me back then, and if I let it, it will for me now. Eventually, there was too much work!

In my 7th grade mind, and even today is some ways, I could not REALLY fail if I did not try. Because I was such a good student in every other way, I somehow convinced Mr. Weinmann that I did hand in a research paper and that he somehow had lost it.

Mr. Weinmann suffered because I was too scared to try. I was too scared to even begin. I have suffered every day since. I am sorry, Mr. Weinmann. I am very, very sorry.

 

An equation for change…

Yesterday, I was speaking with a young student of color at the school where I work and I was wondering why he didn’t feel very motivated to do much of the work in school. In speaking with this young man, I began to realize that he felt he was part of a system  that had very little to offer him, whether he tried or not. After all, he is a young black man in America; and to be honest, it is difficult to look around this country right now and see much hope for any, whatever tone your skin might radiate. I also realized that if it was not possible to get this young man motivated to succeed in his education, his doubts about his future are likely to become a reality.

This got me thinking. How is it possible to motivate young students in primary level education to care about their own education? This is all I could come up with…

If you want to change the system in which you play a part, you need power. If you want to have power in this world, you are going to need money (at least enough to support yourself) and influence. The amount of money and influence any person has in this world is usually directly correlated to the knowledge they possess. The best type of knowledge is wisdom; and wisdom allows us, as human beings, to wield power, money and influence in the ways possible that best benefit ourselves and humankind to the greatest extent. Wisdom, however, is wholly dependent on education. Education from school. Education from family. Education from friends and the education from the society in which we live.

Education is power. Power is change. Education is the key to any change in society.

I don’t know if I will be able to convince my young friend that education is important, but I will never stop trying, because he, and all my students, are important to me. Lastly, whatever wisdom I might possess in my lifetime, I want to use to create the change I most desire. Hope, for all.

Why?

I was asked today why I do this job? If you really want to know, this is my answer. I care. I care about your family, your friends, your future, your present. I care about your success. I care about your failures. I care about your tears and fears and all those jeers from friends and foes that shape who you are now and contribute greatly to whom you have the ability to become in the future. Most simply stated, I care about you.

I also think education is the answer. I come to this school and walk these halls, many days wishing to be anywhere else (just like you!) and worry and plan and search and think and hope for something, anything, that might inspire the desire. The desire to be something better than you are today. The desire to be an active member in a world community, focused on solutions. The desire and willingness to make this a better world, not only for yourself, but for all.

However, I do not come to this school to teach anything. With your iPads and smartphones and unlimited access to information about which I often know nothing, I am more often the student than I wish to admit. You are smart. Too smart, actually. Even though you have all the answers, I know you don’t always use them wisely. I see this on a daily basis… in the classroom, in the hallways, in the lunchroom, in groups of your friends and in groups of your (perceived) enemies. If I can not offer knowledge, I can only hope to offer guidance.

This is why I do the job I do. I do not walk these halls to pursue fame, fortune and glory. I am not here because I want to climb the corporate ladder. I am here because I care. Sometimes I think I might care too much. I care about you. I care about this world. And I care about what happens to you in this world.

Paraprofessional Praise!

There are people in the Minneapolis and surrounding school districts that deserve many more thank-yous than they will ever receive and deserve much more credit than will ever be allowed (and probably more money than most will ever take home), and yet, they do their job brilliantly. I am not even a REAL paraprofessional. I am just a substitute, but in touring all the different schools in which I have been lucky enough to work for a day or two, I have met some extraordinary people.This post is simply a thank you to all the people, who might not always be recognized, but who work so hard and with such dedication to make schools better.

Tomorrow, it will feel like -21 degrees outside. Part of my job as a substitute will be to stand outside in the morning and welcome the students to school, and to ensure a bit of safety. -21 degrees is no joke! That is cold!  But that is the job description. It won’t be the teachers standing outside welcoming the students, it will be the paraprofessionals. I only have to do it for one day. The REAL paraprofessionals must do it EVERYDAY of the school year, no matter the conditions. I admire these people and thank them for what they do. I am proud to be one of them, even if it is only one day at a time.

Thank you paraprofessionals, for all that you do.

Middle School Heartbreak

Junior high school is brutal. I was probably considered one of the “cool kids” in junior high, and there are things I probably never experienced. Today was payback. My heart was shattered to a million pieces, and all I could do was sit and watch.

Honors Language Arts. A brilliant student. Unique. Likes to discuss philosophy. Has Buddhist leanings. An assignment is given. Get into groups of two or three for “partner novel writing”. Nobody wants to be her partner. Tears. Red eyes. Tissues. Defiance. Shaking hands and red, puffy eyes overrule the “I’m good” answer. Students watch. Teacher glides around the room.

I sit in my chair, thinking. Judging those callous students. Yelling privately at the teacher, “HELP HER!”. I sit in the back of the room, just like junior high. Unable to console. Not even knowing where to begin to pick up the shattered pieces of two broken hearts.

The Best Day Ever!

I see the twins every morning I work at the high school. The only way I can tell them apart is by looking at their shoes, one green, one red. I thought that was the only difference. They are twins after all. I was wrong.

One twin looks in directions where others do not look, and I am jealous of what he “sees”. I ask a question and there is no feedback that the question was heard. I wait… because my directions for the day state that patience is needed. Maybe seconds, maybe minutes later, the answer is spoken. Unique staring angles and inward “seeing” continue, but the answer is correct.

The other twin is in English and needs to speak for a minute on the situation in Ferguson, MO. Directions are being given by the teacher and I have no idea if they are registering. When it is his time to speak, I am dumb-founded by how eloquent, coherent, and advanced his presentation is. I sit in awe as the four other students in his group give him positive feedback. He prefers not to return their gaze, but he is clearly engaged. I can not say why, but I feel a huge sense of pride in watching this young man speak.

Fifth hour and it is time for music therapy for the kids with high needs. I am ashamed to admit it, but I always feel nervous to walk into this room. Some of the needs and procedures and things these kids need make me uncomfortable. This is my problem, and yet, they always welcome me with smiling eyes and open hearts. Everyone is in a semi-circle, and I sit down between Celia and Jenny. I am in a chair and they are in wheelchairs. I will eventually rise, but they will always remain. As I sit down, I have a momentary thought of how unfair the world can be.

As I sit down, Celia turns her head to me and reaches out her small, misshapen hand and touches my left arm. She smiles. She continues to touch my arm, my shoulder, my face with fingers that will never completely straighten… and she smiles. She looks directly into my eyes and she smiles. I will never overcome obstacles like this girl overcomes on a daily basis, and yet some days I find it hard to smile.

And to my right, there is Jenny. And she is happy. Her face is radiant and soft. Today is a good day.

I have never been one to sing. I don’t even really like to hear myself talk. But today is different. We are singing Christmas songs about sleigh bells and Frosty and cheer. There is a mood and I am caught up. I start to sing, softly at first and then more loudly, without much care. What is happening? This is not right…

The moment I begin to sing, Jenny turns her head towards mine and there is a smile, a smile I could never capture in words, upon her face. She is watching my lips and laughing out loud. She is sitting upright in her chair and her arms are moving to accentuate her happiness. Maybe I am wrong, and Jenny is laughing at how badly I sing. I really don’t care. My singing makes Jenny smile. And I never want to stop. I never want that smile to fade. I never want other aspects of life to take away this joy. I never want to lose this feeling, this freedom, this happiness.

The bell rings. Class is over. The day ends. Thank you for this day.

Jenny, the Beautiful…

Her eyes will never focus directly upon my own and her spine will never straighten enough to allow her to move without her wheelchair. I do not always understand the limited words she speaks out loud and I will never understand all the thoughts that flow through her mind at any given moment. I only understand that she is beautiful, a kind of beautiful I can only hope to achieve.

Her spine that has grown, in ways that mine has not, will never fully support the diminutive weight of her lithe figure. Our mental capacities will probably never equal. She may never be able to play the tambourine or run across a field. She will never be able to do many of the things that other children certainly desire. But, she can smile. And she can laugh. And she knows what it means to be happy.

When I sit next to Jenny or I see her in the hall and she looks at me as only she can, a smile upon her face, with no other origin than pure happiness, only then do I know why I am alive. I am alive because she is alive. I am alive to be a friend, a teacher, a helper, a student… and she is alive to do the same.

Thank you, Jenny.