Among the Trees: October 5

As I wait for hip surgery, my ability to walk in the woods is somewhat limited.  That’s disappointing, of course, though I am doing my best to consider it a temporary setback.  Once I’ve got a new hip, I’ll be back to my frequent walks in the woods.  Until then, I still find ways to admire trees.  One of those ways is daily recess duty. 

My middle school students have outdoor recess after lunch; the principal and I supervise.  We’re out on the school’s turf field, surrounded by trees and sunshine and some of these afternoons have been downright glorious.  The trees are mostly still green; Fall colors have just begun.  So I know that there will be some lovely Fall color-filled days ahead of me.  

That’s happy!

Real Life Conversations at School: Middle School Wisdom edition

The backstory: As we wind down the school year, my 8th grade class had an in-class work day for their final project.  Long ago, I learned that workdays are more functional with a soundtrack of music and so I loaded up a playlist.  The first song that came on was my most favorite song of all time, “More Than This” by Roxy Music. I put the class on warning. 

Me:  This is my favorite song of all time.  If you hate it, keep that opinion to your self. 

Student K: Do you remember when you first heard it?  

Me:  I do.  I was in college in my frosh dorm and someone played the album.  I’d heard the song once before but hadn’t heard it since on the radio….my hometown did not have a radio station that played that kind of music and so I wasn’t sure who sang the song.  When I heard it the second time, I wrote down the name of the band and the album and I bought a copy.  I’ve loved it ever since.

Student K: It’s your soulmate song.  That’s such a nice feeling, isn’t it? 

Me: What a wonderful phrase.  I will think of it forever.  Well said, K. 

Internet, don’t believe that Middle Schoolers are moody and difficult.  They are amazing, delightful, and brilliant.

July 4

I love my country with a depth that has fostered a career spent teaching about its history and politics.  I am a patriot who named her only child after the man whose words we celebrate on this 4th of July day.  

But I am no “Love my country right or wrong” patriot.  I am an “I love my country enough to right the wrongs” patriot.  This year, a year determined to teach us some very important lessons, it seems appropriate to pause and think again abut the patriot I am.

I’ve taught it so much that I know the preamble to the Declaration of Independence by heart.  I read it several times a year; I think about it often.  I teach the Declaration in terms of that preamble and I never fail to be stirred by the claim that all men are created equal and endowed with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  I think of the power of such a claim when it was made in 1776 and as we try to live by it now.  I teach my students that every right Americans subsequently demanded to have recognized, be it the right to be free from slavery, to vote, to marry whomever we please, was recognized in those words and was there all along.  

That’s not all that I teach because I know how often we fell short of that stirring claim; I know how often we still fall short of it.  I teach my students about both of those truths.  I teach Frederick Douglass’s words about the 4th of July.  I teach them about the racism baked into our founding and built into our firmament.

Then I remind them that we must be patriots who seek a better nation for all of us.  I remind them that all we need do is return to the words of the Declaration and let that truth guide our way.  

Juneteenth

I vividly remember the history class where I first learned about Juneteenth.  I was an undergraduate at UCLA - so it was the late ‘80s - and there was a passing reference to June 19 Black community celebrations in Texas in a collection of essays about the end of slavery.  I read them for a post-Civil War/Reconstruction American history class and the reference caught my attention.

I recall thinking that I had never heard of it before; that the professor in the history class never mentioned it himself.  At the time, I was a Californian through and through and that Southern history seemed distant from the world in which I lived.

Within a few years, I had moved to Nashville and Southern and Civil War history was everywhere I looked.  The more I explored the locations of historical events; the more I read the history of the Civil War and Reconstruction, the more Juneteenth stood out in my mind, as both an idea and a celebration.  It stood out as a cultural reflection of the history I was thinking about and sought to understand and it also stood out for its absence in the world of mainstream American culture.

In the last few years, Juneteenth has attracted more attention.  This year, in the explosion of real and, it seems, enduring interest in taking on the challenges of repairing the years of systemic inequality that is modern America, Juneteenth is at the center of our current dialogue.  If we want to make real the pledge that Black lives matter, and I certainly do, it’s long overdue that we think about our national history in terms of what’s been neglected, marginalized, or just plain left out.

For my Civics and Citizenship 8th grade class, summer reading will include a reflection on Juneteenth (this one, by Annette Garden Reed, which is both personal and historically rich), and some more readings around the idea of what history gets monuments, what gets ignored, and what that difference tells us about our national identity.

At minimum, my 8th graders will know and understand Juneteenth well before the age when I first knew of it.  At maximum, well, when you know that truth of your nations’s history, then you know the challenges that lie before you.  You learn what kind of citizen you would like to become.  That’s why 8th graders need to know our history.  And knowing about Juneteenth seems like a very good place to start.

Everything is the Same

I am a planner.  I have lists on paper, lists that live in my head, symbols of the passage of time are present in so much of my daily life.  

I keep a stack of bookmarks and I choose a new one with each book I start, carefully placing the one just used at the bottom of the stack, ready to use in the future, aware as I do it that the 10 books down the line may be read over two or three months  When I open a bag of coffee beans, I think of the future, aware that when the bag has emptied, six weeks will have passed.

I organize so much of the minutiae of my daily life in this way.  I watch a houseplant as new growth sparks and know that when the new leaf is full, the next season will be closer at hand.  I organize the cloth napkins on which I set out my morning coffee service each week and know that when the floral ones have been used, the bandana prints will follow, and then the green floral prints, and then…..my mind quietly recites the events to which I can look forward: JT will be home from college, T’s birthday will be celebrated, my tomatoes will bloom….

I do this so often, so much of the time, that it feels as if the planning and anticipation are just another part of my daily life.

I thought of this habit this morning when, for the first time in weeks, I put on some mascara, sandals instead of my now customary work-from-home flip flops, a skirt fancier than what I’ve worn for the last few months, and got ready for the last day of school.  But I didn’t walk out the front door and drive 8 miles to school in the early morning.  Instead, I went downstairs to sit at my desk for a Zoom teleconference with the 7th grade.  Together, if from our separate homes, we watched a recorded version of our closing ceremony and said goodbye to the school year.

Today is the last day of school and, in a normal world, I would have been anticipating this day for weeks; weeks marked by bookmarks shifting and different morning coffee set ups, by an app on my phone that marks each day that ticks by until a much-anticipated event will occur.

Instead, the weeks have all jumbled together as we lived in the world of the pandemic.  Daily existence seemed both more important and smaller as we navigated the condensed world of everything happening at home.  The amount of work required to teach remotely meant that weekends were also given over to work, hours and hours spent writing clear instructions for students to read and carefully follow so that they would know where to be: in Zoom, at our class webpage, on a shared Google doc, in a discussion forum…..but all of it from the same place, looking at the same screen.

So it seemed fitting that today would be the same as so many of the school days have been since we began to learn remotely.  That time has passed is clear.  The curve of disease has flattened,  my pandemic anxiety has become a familiar companion, the days have more sunshine and warmth, everyone has longer hair, we’ve learned new things.  But there is a sameness to it all that is the unsettling reminder of all that we’ve been through together even as we’ve been in our separate homes.

History in My Backyard

This morning, all of my Middle School  students head out for field trips.  Grade 6 heads north to the Farm School in Massachusetts, a tradition that creates memories (and stories!) that last a lifetime.  Grade 8 heads south to Harper’s Ferry, Antietam, and Gettysburg; to see Civil War sites they’ve been studying in History class.  7th grade and I are headed out for each of the next three days to see local history sites related to the American Revolution.

The last two days of school have been consumed by the excited energy these adventures entail.  In a way, the last two days have been harder than the trips that start today.  Not that the field trips won’t exhaust the adults - they will - but the energy of doing is easier to manage than the energy of prospective fun.

T and I have spent hours checking out the sites that the students and I will now visit in the next few days.  Some of them are gems that my students drive by on their way to school.  Others are a few miles away, treasures of Revolutionary War history.  I’m excited to share this history, which seems exotic to me, a kid who grew up in California, far away from George Washington and the Patriots.  That history is in our backyard now and it’s time for some adventures!

Thoughts Alongside a Random School Bus

Most days, I leave for school by 7:15 and the drive is busy with my fellow commuters, many of them familiar to me after years of this morning journey.  Yesterday, I found myself driving to work later then usual thanks to a professional day in lieu of classes.  My usual commuter buddies were long gone but the school bus crowd was present.  Traffic is slower when school busses are around and so it was that at each light, I found myself alongside a bus headed to a local middle school.

Alongside each window were students headed to their school day.  I saw kids sleeping against the window.  I saw kids in conversation with one another.  In another window sat a kid resting his notebook against the seat I’m front of him, completing some homework.  In a few windows sat boys and girls peering outside the bus.  

I spend my days in the company of middle schoolers and I’m well-aware of the ways in which they occupy their time.  More than most people, I know the hopes and dreams they nurture, sometimes out loud and sometimes secretly.  I know the ways that they can be good and kind.  I know the ways in which they can be unruly and mean.  As that little microcosm of my world turned into the school, I imagined the students within collecting their things (and leaving a few behind….they are middle schoolers after all).  I thought of them exiting the bus to face the school day.  Some of them excited; some of the them sad; most of them somewhere in between.  All of them likely to feel a whole bunch more emotions over the course of their day.

I drove on but I thought of them all day, sending them good thoughts and the hope that their days would have more joy than despair; that they would have the courage to persevere when the path is rough.  I want that for all the children I see; those in my classes and those on busses that pass me by.  For all the children in our world, if I’m being honest.  It seems like such a small wish to make, the least we can give them.  I know that it’s not.

Representation Matters

This week, with the death of Cokie Roberts, as I teach a diverse group of 7th graders about colonial society, I am reminded again how very much representation matters.  Roberts, a long-standing political reporter and commentator, was an enduring part of my world.  I listened to her on NPR and watched her on ABC news.  She always brought attention to women, especially women leaders, and gave me an abiding sense that women could matter in the political world.  

If that belief was ever tentative (and I don’t think it was), these days it’s foremost in my mind.  I raised a son who learned to value and enjoy women’s sports and I am proud that at the age of 19 he considers himself a feminist and an advocate for women.  I teach in diverse classes with 12 and 13 year old girls and boys; the girls coming of age in a society that regulates their bodies and is prone to underestimating their brains.  These years are formative and in my class I emphasize the empowerment of women.  I do this for the benefit of all of the students and I search for the examples of representation that show the truth of my words.

But for all of these efforts, it’s examples and representation that matters.  When we open our textbook and look at the picture of delegates to the Continental Congress as they contemplate declaring their independence, we mark who is missing.  We read Abbigail Adams’ letters to her husband, present at that meeting and prepared to ignore his wife’s request that he and his peers remember the ladies.  We don't forget the ladies.

I remind them all that someone must go first for the rest of us to follow.  I show them the Americans who made room for others and I emphasize the power of that small change.  And over and over again I remind them that representation matters.  Cokie Robert's passing is a loss for all of us.  I will always remember her with gratitude for the way she always showed me the enormous power of representation.

Close of the First Week

The first week of school is always a whirlwind of busy halls and energetic students; exciting competing with anxiety to determine who will rule the day.  At my school, the faculty are nearly as excited and that makes for happy and hopeful hallways.  A new school year always feels fresh and full of promise and in this way, I always welcome its arrival.  I am ready for something new.

Right on schedule, Mother Nature brought signs of Fall change.  On Monday, I sat on the back deck and when I looked up at the sky, I saw that old man tree has already begun to change his leaf colors.

Seasonal change is always pretty in my corner of New Jersey and this year is no exception.  Changing colors will help me to embrace the transition to school (and the need to wear shoes!).  Classes started on Tuesday; last night was Back to School Night, and today is Friday.  Sweet, blissful Friday.  That the weekend will be followed by more school is good news.  We’re back and that’s happy!

Middle School Closing

Today is our final day of school.  It will feature dressed-up, scrubbed clean Middle Schoolers participating in our closing ceremony.  It’s a sweet day, because some very deserving children will be honored.  As the 8th graders cross the stage, we’ll see the work of the four years come to fruition.  But it’s also bittersweet, because kids growing up is always little bittersweet.  

Some of these children I have known for all of their lives.  One of the girls being honored today has gone from a quiet wide-eyed toddler who clung near her mother to a lovely, accomplished, confident young woman with a kind heart that radiates in her beautiful smile.  She’s headed to our 9th grade, so I will still see her.  But it is still hard to pass her on to another’s care.  And she’s just one of the 59 eighth graders we send on today.  I will miss them all.

Part of my job today is to read the name of all the students we send onward today.  The smart parents will organize a betting pool, wondering when I will crack and cry as I read those names.  It’s a safe bet that in this room of parents and family, I will cry.  The kids have seen it before, so they’ll be unfazed.  I’m long past apologizing for being the sort of woman whose emotions show on her face.

When the ceremony is complete, we’ll smile and give out hugs.  My eighth graders will go on their way well-prepared and well-loved.  My sixth and seventh graders will go home to grow tall over the summer.  And we’ll all have some time to replenish our energy for the next year.  

So it’s a happy day ahead and when it's over, summer vacation begins. That's extra happy!

12 Months of Miss Read: December

The backstory: At the start of 2016, I pulled out my very favorite Miss Read book, Village Centenary.  The novel is structured in months and each chapter explores a month in the year of a village school that is celebrating its 100^th anniversary.  This year, my own school is celebrating its 250^th anniversary and as we think of our past and look to our future, I thought that Miss Read would make a lovely companion for me.  For each month of 2016, I plan to read Miss Read’s reflection on the month.

Miss Read is a pseudonym for Dora Jessie Saint, an English author who wrote between 1955 and 1996.  Her novels were tales of every day life in small English towns.  Village Centenary is set in Fair Acre, an imaginary Cotswold community.  As is the case in nearly all of the Fair Acre novels, the novel is written in the first person and it is through our narrator, school teacher Miss Read, that the story unfolds.

Miss Read in December

Miss Read ends her school’s 100th year with a celebration at the Fair Acre schoolhouse, one that features re-enactments from the school journal, a daily report that the head of school writes.  The re-enactments are a collection of charming, amusing, and poignant periods in Fair Acre School’s history, meant to include the community and celebrate both the history and changes the school has experienced over the years.  Miss Read’s celebration closed with the school annual December tradition, a holiday tea.

At my school, we’ve had various celebrations of our school’s 250 years, including publication of a book detailing the school’s last 50 years of history, an update to an earlier historical edition.  This part of the celebration appeals to me the most, of course, because history is a big part of my world.  Each year, I teach my students about the Great Awakening and I tell them the story of the founding of our school as a direct outcome of that historical time.  Whether they are 7th graders or 11th graders, the students enjoy learning about their school’s origins; they feel proud to be part of something so enduring.  

The older I get, the more I value the ways in which a sense of our shared history is empowering.  In 7th grade, I teach the first half of American history and my students and I explore the notion of who we are as a nation by exploring how that identity first came to be.  For most adolescents, the 7th grade year is all about change, some of it thrilling and some of it anxiety-producing.  I hope that in my class the students can see what has endured; that a sense of history will serve as an anchor as they navigate the waves of change.

Middle School Thoughts: Time Management

For the first two years that I worked in the Middle School, we were grades 5 through 8.  The 5th graders were held in a sort of protective custody which gave them an opportunity to observe the freedom that older children enjoyed, while still functioning in a cocoon.  The next year, as 6th graders, they were mostly ready for the responsibility of lockers and coming to class with the right materials, having learned the ropes through observation.  The system functioned fairly well, though even with limited freedom, 5th graders are prone to poor decision-making, the sort that always seemed surprising in kids not yet in the throes of adolescence.

Last year, 5th grade returned to the Lower School and we became a more traditional three-grade Middle School.  6th graders joined athletic teams to make them 6th, 7th, and 8th and our music classes also featured all three grades.  Last year’s 6th graders had been in the Middle School for a year and the transition was fairly seamless.  This year, with 6th graders who are new to us, has been an interesting reminder about the developmental changes of tweens.

The good news is that 6th graders are eager to embrace the independence that we offer.  That eager excitement helps to blunt their anxiety.  We have a gentle transition at the start of the year, where we remind them of expectations and also offer ready assistance.  As we move into the third week of school, most of the 6th students have eased into the expectations, though there are moments when they hope to retreat to childhood.  There is still plenty of support, but now it comes with a more direct reminder of our expectations.

This week, my 6th grade group had 10 minutes to sum up answers to questions about the failure of the Roman Empire.  We’ve been working with this material since school began and they were ready to answer two questions in 10 minutes.  Most of the students got after it but a few answered the first question and then stalled.  My reminder to get to it was met with sweet smiles and more stalling; one student told me, “I’m thinking.”  I smiled and said, “think faster” but I could tell he wasn’t persuaded.  A few minutes later, class ended and I collected the answers.  The two boys with half-empty pages panicked a bit, each telling me that they would take it home to finish.  When I said no and took the papers, they were stunned.

I smiled and said we’ll keep practicing to use our time wisely.  But both boys left the room rather sobered.  The next day, I handed back the answers with comments but no grades —— this was a practice reminder about using our time wisely.   The guilty boys were relieved.  I expect a lesson has been learned.  And I have been reminded about the need for a careful transition into the world of more independent learning.