“I’m too tired to work Mr. Seegars.”
“What?”
“I’m too tired. I’m not doing any work.”
“Umm, that’s not really an option. You are here to work, and I know you can do it.”
“You cannot tell me what my body can do.”
“Do you need to go to the nurse?”
“No. I just don’t want to work.”
“That is not going to work. You have 20 seconds to start writing before I start dialing.”
In my math study skills class, I had a student decide that he was having a bad day (at 9am, mind you), and that he did not feel like doing any work. That did not go over quite so well with me. After a number of measures that ended with him being removed from class for a few minutes and then brought in at the end of class so that he could hear me call his mother, he still refused to control his temper while I discussed with his mom possible days for him to stay after school for detention.
In the same class, I danced toward a student as her cell phone went off. The dance peaked at a smooth outstretching of my hand in order to collect the phone. At the same time, I was teaching students how to identify polynomials, and while trying to relate the term “poly” to polygons in order to help them understand the definition of polynomial, I heard a voice in my head saying, “What in the world are you talking about?” Yeah. I definitely could have planned that better. Luckily, I realized the students were not getting what I was saying, and I explained it in a different, more understandable manner. However, crucial time had already been lost.
As I went to go talk to a student on my caseload in order to gain some information, I walked into a classroom. When I stepped into the classroom, another student remarked with disgust, “I hate that man. He sent me to the office.” This was the guy who told me to shut up weeks earlier when I was standing in for another teacher. The teacher in the current classroom told him it was inappropriate for him to say that, and I just smiled and said, “Have a great day!”
Now, in my last period class, social skills, things got interesting. For the warm up, I asked students to explain their favorite extracurricular activity and why they liked it. After prodding some students to participate, one girl finally said she liked football the most. “Why? I asked. She smiled and stated, “Cuz the sexy boys are hitting each other.” Needless to say, I was slightly taken aback. “Ummm, we don’t need to say it like that, do we?” Her response: “I also like seeing those ugly boys get knocked around.”
“Okay, thank you very much. We are going to move on to the next person now.”
Then, the students were working on another exercise in which they had to list one social skill that they thought that they could improve upon as well as one positive thing about a partner. I asked them to share these with each other. Then, I asked them to say out-loud their positive statement about their partner. The funniest moment was when a girl said that her partner was handsome. At the time, he was combing his hair, so I told him that his looks, apparently, were not what he needed to work on. “Therefore, you can put the comb away, please. Thank you!”
He and I had a few moments that period. He decided he wanted to argue with people, so I had to move him into the “my partner” space. Basically, he had to sit right next to me. He had some words to express how he felt about that, and I just asked him to write them down so that I could read them later; whatever it was, I did not want him disrupting the class. He declined to write his comments down, citing that I might use them in court against him.
I still like the kid a lot. He has so much potential, and can really be involved sometimes. We are just going to have to figure out how to control that anger and the outbursts. It’s definitely doable.
After work, I had an observation review with my program director since she observed me today. It was very helpful, and, as always, I left feeling rejuvenated. I have a much better understanding of what I need to work on in order to lead my students to success.
Hope renewed is strength uncovered. I will get better.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Full Week Reflection
It has been a while since my last post. This past week was exhausting. It was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting. So, not only did I feel like I did not have the time to write, but I also had difficulty being able to sit down and articulate my frustration.
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
The special education audit taking place took its toll on me this week. At multiple times, I was completely overwhelmed. It was not because the paperwork was too difficult; rather, I felt like it was more than I had bargained for. I heard that the paperwork for special education was a lot, but I could not have imagined how much it would be—especially because I have to go back and correct other people’s errors. On top of that, I still am not even completely sure how to fill out all the forms, and I still do not have my own account to complete things online; therefore, I have to use coworkers’ accounts. The catch: an account can only be logged onto one computer at a time. So when I want to use somebody else’s account, they cannot be using it at that time.
Furthermore, the exorbitant amount of paperwork takes me away from my students. The decreased time with my students has affected me the most. I know that they are not doing as well as they can without me in the classroom. Moreover, I know that I am not getting better as a teacher, since I spend so much time out of the classroom. I see other first year TFAers growing and improving at lesson planning, but I do not see the same growth in myself. So, yes, I am emotionally exhausted.
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
By the middle of the week, it was clear that the pressure of the audit was building, and there were tons of things out of my control taking place. I could not control how paperwork was handled before me. I could not control what the district wanted from me. I could not control when parents signed documents or returned phone calls. I could not control the fact that I could not get certain work done online because I still have not been completely trained in the program.
Stop, Lumumba. Just stop. Locus of control. What can I do? What is in my locus of control?
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
See, whenever I have difficulties, I usually stop to think of the TFA guiding principles: relentless pursuit of results, sense of possibility, disciplined thought, respect and humility, and integrity. I think about all of these each day, and every once in a while, one of them moves to the center of my thinking. This week disciplined thought did. With disciplined thought, I thought of my locus of control and began to crowd out all of my other negative thoughts.
All of that other stuff was true. It was frustrating. I was angry. I was annoyed. I mean, I am human. But I thought about what was in my locus of control. I thought about the fact that the audit is here, and it is taking place for a reason. I am here to serve these students, and they deserve to have special education teachers doing their paperwork properly. Okay, people have not been completely doing their jobs in the past. Well, it is my problem now. It is my job now. Fair? No, not at all. Is the achievement gap fair? No, not at all. Are some of the situations my students deal with at home fair? No, not at all.
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
The paperwork is not about me, it is about the students. I can do it now. I can get over this hump now. Soon, I will be back fully in the classroom. Then, I will keep struggling probably. But I will get better. I went to parts of my self contained classes this week, and I can already see some changes.
One student with whom I have had some trouble led the affirmation in my social skills class this Friday. He read it passionately. Afterward, he said excitedly, “Look at me read!” Yes, he can read. Not as well as he should. But he is going to get better. I am going to help him get better.
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
Reflection is essential. There is no way I could maintain a sense of possibility or positivity if I did not reflect on not only my actions, but also my mindset. My attitude is vital to my job performance. I cannot go through the day-to-day adventure of teaching and emerge happy without meditating on both what went wrong and what went right.
In my certification class this week, we talked about how we usually focus on negative things. This was the same class in which I spilled hot coffee all over myself, but will not dwell on that. In this class, we talked about the importance of looking at the positive things.
Even writing this post has been therapeutic. I feel better now. I am riding in the car on the way back from Nashville with Matt (my roommate). When I began the post, Matt asked me what was going to be the take home point of this post. I told him that I would vent my frustration with the audit process but then say that seeing the kids makes it all worth it. Matt, knowing very well how exhausted I was this past week, then asked me, “Was it really worth it?” “No,” I said, “But it made it bearable.” Matt answered, “Good, do not hyperbolize.”
Well, I am at the end of this post, and I can say that it is more than bearable, it is more than worth it. It is necessary. I am extraordinarily lucky to be able to work with these students. And even if I am not as much in the classroom as I hope to be right now – even if I am not as good of a teacher that I could be at this moment – these children are my motivation for getting out of bed each morning. If I have to complete a ton of paperwork right now so that they get the services they need, then I will concentrate on my locus of control and get it done.
Last week is over, and a new week begins.
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
The special education audit taking place took its toll on me this week. At multiple times, I was completely overwhelmed. It was not because the paperwork was too difficult; rather, I felt like it was more than I had bargained for. I heard that the paperwork for special education was a lot, but I could not have imagined how much it would be—especially because I have to go back and correct other people’s errors. On top of that, I still am not even completely sure how to fill out all the forms, and I still do not have my own account to complete things online; therefore, I have to use coworkers’ accounts. The catch: an account can only be logged onto one computer at a time. So when I want to use somebody else’s account, they cannot be using it at that time.
Furthermore, the exorbitant amount of paperwork takes me away from my students. The decreased time with my students has affected me the most. I know that they are not doing as well as they can without me in the classroom. Moreover, I know that I am not getting better as a teacher, since I spend so much time out of the classroom. I see other first year TFAers growing and improving at lesson planning, but I do not see the same growth in myself. So, yes, I am emotionally exhausted.
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
By the middle of the week, it was clear that the pressure of the audit was building, and there were tons of things out of my control taking place. I could not control how paperwork was handled before me. I could not control what the district wanted from me. I could not control when parents signed documents or returned phone calls. I could not control the fact that I could not get certain work done online because I still have not been completely trained in the program.
Stop, Lumumba. Just stop. Locus of control. What can I do? What is in my locus of control?
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
See, whenever I have difficulties, I usually stop to think of the TFA guiding principles: relentless pursuit of results, sense of possibility, disciplined thought, respect and humility, and integrity. I think about all of these each day, and every once in a while, one of them moves to the center of my thinking. This week disciplined thought did. With disciplined thought, I thought of my locus of control and began to crowd out all of my other negative thoughts.
All of that other stuff was true. It was frustrating. I was angry. I was annoyed. I mean, I am human. But I thought about what was in my locus of control. I thought about the fact that the audit is here, and it is taking place for a reason. I am here to serve these students, and they deserve to have special education teachers doing their paperwork properly. Okay, people have not been completely doing their jobs in the past. Well, it is my problem now. It is my job now. Fair? No, not at all. Is the achievement gap fair? No, not at all. Are some of the situations my students deal with at home fair? No, not at all.
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
The paperwork is not about me, it is about the students. I can do it now. I can get over this hump now. Soon, I will be back fully in the classroom. Then, I will keep struggling probably. But I will get better. I went to parts of my self contained classes this week, and I can already see some changes.
One student with whom I have had some trouble led the affirmation in my social skills class this Friday. He read it passionately. Afterward, he said excitedly, “Look at me read!” Yes, he can read. Not as well as he should. But he is going to get better. I am going to help him get better.
It is good I waited until the end of the week to post.
Reflection is essential. There is no way I could maintain a sense of possibility or positivity if I did not reflect on not only my actions, but also my mindset. My attitude is vital to my job performance. I cannot go through the day-to-day adventure of teaching and emerge happy without meditating on both what went wrong and what went right.
In my certification class this week, we talked about how we usually focus on negative things. This was the same class in which I spilled hot coffee all over myself, but will not dwell on that. In this class, we talked about the importance of looking at the positive things.
Even writing this post has been therapeutic. I feel better now. I am riding in the car on the way back from Nashville with Matt (my roommate). When I began the post, Matt asked me what was going to be the take home point of this post. I told him that I would vent my frustration with the audit process but then say that seeing the kids makes it all worth it. Matt, knowing very well how exhausted I was this past week, then asked me, “Was it really worth it?” “No,” I said, “But it made it bearable.” Matt answered, “Good, do not hyperbolize.”
Well, I am at the end of this post, and I can say that it is more than bearable, it is more than worth it. It is necessary. I am extraordinarily lucky to be able to work with these students. And even if I am not as much in the classroom as I hope to be right now – even if I am not as good of a teacher that I could be at this moment – these children are my motivation for getting out of bed each morning. If I have to complete a ton of paperwork right now so that they get the services they need, then I will concentrate on my locus of control and get it done.
Last week is over, and a new week begins.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Compassionate Anger?
I have been crazy tired this week, so I have not had time to talk about everything that happened; however, there are a few events I will highlight before I discuss my reflections on today’s events and the week as a whole.
• On Wednesday, the power in my school went out for about 45 minutes. The power outage began while the students were in the hallway going from their 3rd period to their 4th period classes. Needless to say, it was quite the mess. I felt like a real adult as I sifted through the hallway barking orders at students, telling them to slow down, stop running, and get to class.
• I have implemented a new strategy in my classroom consequences. Between being isolated and having a phone call home, students now have to write a one-page essay for me. I give them the topic. I explained to them that it is not punishment. Instead, their inappropriate behavior would be turned into a learning experience. So far, three people have essays. Their topics are Nat Turner, Sojourner Truth, and Benjamin Banneker. They do not know this yet, but I plan on discussing their essays with them afterward. Hopefully, learning about their history will help them to see beyond their own circumstances and have a different outlook on their own behavior.
• We had our first mock trial meeting! It seemed like the students were interested, and I am really excited about moving forward.
So, let’s talk about today. First, I was giving a test to some students. In the middle of a test, a student blurted out, “f*ck this.” Wow. So, I said, “excuse me, you need to come here.” Then other students—the ones around him who had laughed after it happened—said that he was asleep and that it was somebody else. Now, I was about 90% sure that he had done it; however, the students around him were trying to cover for him. So I asked, “well, who said that?” Then one student, trying to be brave, I guess, said that he had done it.
Let’s pause for a second. This class was one of my inclusion classes, and the general education teacher was not there today; therefore, there was another teacher—a sub—in the room at the same time.
Back to the story. So, I asked him again, knowing that I had an adult witness, if he had done it. He said yes. I took him outside, and asked him yet again. “Yes.” “Okay, let’s go,” I told him. So, we went down to the “infraction room,” and immediately he got nervous. Why? Because within two minutes of us being there, another kid was getting handcuffed in front of him. Yep.
Now, I knew he was not going to get handcuffed, but I was pretty sure that he was going to get suspended. When it was his turn to talk to the administrator, I described what happened. Then, he decided he wanted to say that he did not do it. I reminded him that he told me he did it, and I had an adult witness to back me up. “You told me you did it, so you are going to take the blame for it,” I coldly asserted. “Tell me who did it, and you can go back upstairs.” After the administrator actually started completing the form, he finally stated, “It was who you originally said it was.” I went back to the classroom, got the other student, brought him down, explained the situation, and he got suspended.
The student who originally was going to take the blame told him, “I can’t do this man; I’m already on probation.”
I appeared resolute at the moment, but in my mind and my gut I was terribly torn. I felt bad for him. I could tell he did not want to get into more trouble. The kids called him a snitch when he came back in the room. On the other hand, though, small behaviors like that (blurting out and cursing in class) with no consequence, lead to the type of behavior that got that other kid in handcuffs. I had to be firm.
I go back and forward—sometimes feeling angry at the actions of the students, and other times feeling sympathy for many of the trials they must endure. But I guess I can be hard on them and still care. Tough love, right? I am not always so sure. Sometimes, I get really angry. I just cannot believe some of the things students say to teachers, let alone each other.
When it comes down to it, I cannot choose between anger and compassion—both have a place. These students, like many other poor kids of color in urban communities, live in a reality plagued with ills both internal and external. They are afflicted by ills stemming from unforgivable elements of our own culture (the Black community) as well as entrenched disparities caused by persisting structural inequalities from the broader society.
I guess I get so angry because it is personal. I could have easily been in their shoes.
• On Wednesday, the power in my school went out for about 45 minutes. The power outage began while the students were in the hallway going from their 3rd period to their 4th period classes. Needless to say, it was quite the mess. I felt like a real adult as I sifted through the hallway barking orders at students, telling them to slow down, stop running, and get to class.
• I have implemented a new strategy in my classroom consequences. Between being isolated and having a phone call home, students now have to write a one-page essay for me. I give them the topic. I explained to them that it is not punishment. Instead, their inappropriate behavior would be turned into a learning experience. So far, three people have essays. Their topics are Nat Turner, Sojourner Truth, and Benjamin Banneker. They do not know this yet, but I plan on discussing their essays with them afterward. Hopefully, learning about their history will help them to see beyond their own circumstances and have a different outlook on their own behavior.
• We had our first mock trial meeting! It seemed like the students were interested, and I am really excited about moving forward.
So, let’s talk about today. First, I was giving a test to some students. In the middle of a test, a student blurted out, “f*ck this.” Wow. So, I said, “excuse me, you need to come here.” Then other students—the ones around him who had laughed after it happened—said that he was asleep and that it was somebody else. Now, I was about 90% sure that he had done it; however, the students around him were trying to cover for him. So I asked, “well, who said that?” Then one student, trying to be brave, I guess, said that he had done it.
Let’s pause for a second. This class was one of my inclusion classes, and the general education teacher was not there today; therefore, there was another teacher—a sub—in the room at the same time.
Back to the story. So, I asked him again, knowing that I had an adult witness, if he had done it. He said yes. I took him outside, and asked him yet again. “Yes.” “Okay, let’s go,” I told him. So, we went down to the “infraction room,” and immediately he got nervous. Why? Because within two minutes of us being there, another kid was getting handcuffed in front of him. Yep.
Now, I knew he was not going to get handcuffed, but I was pretty sure that he was going to get suspended. When it was his turn to talk to the administrator, I described what happened. Then, he decided he wanted to say that he did not do it. I reminded him that he told me he did it, and I had an adult witness to back me up. “You told me you did it, so you are going to take the blame for it,” I coldly asserted. “Tell me who did it, and you can go back upstairs.” After the administrator actually started completing the form, he finally stated, “It was who you originally said it was.” I went back to the classroom, got the other student, brought him down, explained the situation, and he got suspended.
The student who originally was going to take the blame told him, “I can’t do this man; I’m already on probation.”
I appeared resolute at the moment, but in my mind and my gut I was terribly torn. I felt bad for him. I could tell he did not want to get into more trouble. The kids called him a snitch when he came back in the room. On the other hand, though, small behaviors like that (blurting out and cursing in class) with no consequence, lead to the type of behavior that got that other kid in handcuffs. I had to be firm.
I go back and forward—sometimes feeling angry at the actions of the students, and other times feeling sympathy for many of the trials they must endure. But I guess I can be hard on them and still care. Tough love, right? I am not always so sure. Sometimes, I get really angry. I just cannot believe some of the things students say to teachers, let alone each other.
When it comes down to it, I cannot choose between anger and compassion—both have a place. These students, like many other poor kids of color in urban communities, live in a reality plagued with ills both internal and external. They are afflicted by ills stemming from unforgivable elements of our own culture (the Black community) as well as entrenched disparities caused by persisting structural inequalities from the broader society.
I guess I get so angry because it is personal. I could have easily been in their shoes.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Good question
I woke up this morning at 2:30am with the lights on, realizing that I fell asleep with my computer and papers next to me. Confused and half asleep, I reset my alarm so that I could wake up earlier and get some more work done. Then, I put my things away, shuffled out of my clothes, turned out the lights, and fell into bed. Two and a half hours later, I pressed the snooze button—and then continued to do so for an hour. My body told me it was not accepting anything earlier than 6am.
Luckily, I bought a new coffeemaker this weekend! So, I stumbled out of bed, got my stuff together, and made a French vanilla roast. I decided to wear a suit so that I would feel good about the day—superficial, I know, but so helpful! If anybody watches “How I met your mother”, you know that “suiting up” can be a powerful mental tool!
A kid asked this question today: “Why do I have to listen to you if you are only 5 years older than me?” Good question.
We talked about position authority versus earned authority today in my social skills class. Position authority is when a person has “certain powers as defined by the source of the title” or the position he or she holds. Earned authority is “power granted by other members of the group” (“From School to Work” Littrell, Lorenz, and Smith, 2000, pg 183-84—I know this citation is bootleg, but, hey, I’ve been out of college for a while ☺).
Ironically, this lesson was planned before this student said the aforementioned comment earlier in the day. Fortunately, for the both of us, he had calmed down by that point and actually wanted to participate in class. We had a very productive, candid discussion about dealing with authority.
Originally, I was not happy that students found out how old I am. As evidenced by the student’s remark, I thought it would undercut my authority. However, as I taught the class about different types of leadership and authority, I learned a valuable lesson myself: I had to earn my authority.
See, I already have position authority: I am the teacher. I am in charge. I give out the grades. Yet, the process of gaining earned authority is much more demanding. I have to earn the respect and develop relationships with the students. They have to know that I am there to help them—not just control them. They have to know that I am consistent. That I am firm, that I care. That I am compassionate, that I am not a pushover.
This earned authority, my textbook tells me, is much more powerful than position authority. It is the basis for a partnership—the impetus toward collaboration, for trust and understanding. Because of my age, I believe I will have to work harder to move from position authority to earned authority. Then, and only then, will I truly be able to truly inspire my students and start to motivate them to reach their highest potential.
Luckily, I bought a new coffeemaker this weekend! So, I stumbled out of bed, got my stuff together, and made a French vanilla roast. I decided to wear a suit so that I would feel good about the day—superficial, I know, but so helpful! If anybody watches “How I met your mother”, you know that “suiting up” can be a powerful mental tool!
A kid asked this question today: “Why do I have to listen to you if you are only 5 years older than me?” Good question.
We talked about position authority versus earned authority today in my social skills class. Position authority is when a person has “certain powers as defined by the source of the title” or the position he or she holds. Earned authority is “power granted by other members of the group” (“From School to Work” Littrell, Lorenz, and Smith, 2000, pg 183-84—I know this citation is bootleg, but, hey, I’ve been out of college for a while ☺).
Ironically, this lesson was planned before this student said the aforementioned comment earlier in the day. Fortunately, for the both of us, he had calmed down by that point and actually wanted to participate in class. We had a very productive, candid discussion about dealing with authority.
Originally, I was not happy that students found out how old I am. As evidenced by the student’s remark, I thought it would undercut my authority. However, as I taught the class about different types of leadership and authority, I learned a valuable lesson myself: I had to earn my authority.
See, I already have position authority: I am the teacher. I am in charge. I give out the grades. Yet, the process of gaining earned authority is much more demanding. I have to earn the respect and develop relationships with the students. They have to know that I am there to help them—not just control them. They have to know that I am consistent. That I am firm, that I care. That I am compassionate, that I am not a pushover.
This earned authority, my textbook tells me, is much more powerful than position authority. It is the basis for a partnership—the impetus toward collaboration, for trust and understanding. Because of my age, I believe I will have to work harder to move from position authority to earned authority. Then, and only then, will I truly be able to truly inspire my students and start to motivate them to reach their highest potential.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
One day, my children...
So many crazy things happened this past week. The most hilarious was probably on Friday when a student told me that he was going to try to get me fired. Okay, maybe that is not hilarious, but it is interesting.
On Friday, I also had a student use the phrase, “That’s so gay,” when trying to articulate why something was undesirable. I decided to stop the class, and explain why it was inappropriate to use that phrase and why it is offensive. He decided he wanted to use the phrase again later, so then I made him write sentences. He did not want to cooperate, so I had to call his parents. Then he wrote his sentences. We are still going to have another conversation about it—I expect my classroom to be a safe and respectful space for everyone.
Today (Saturday), we had a professional development—called “power”—for TFA. While we were going over stuff, I could not help but think about all the things that I can do better.
I need better assessments, better lesson plans, and more parent contact. I need to be more organized, I need to have more discipline, and I need to use my time more efficiently. Put simply, I need to be better—a lot better.
The hardest part is not ignorance of my ability to do better; rather, it is most difficult knowing that I am not doing the best that I can. At some point between knowing what I should be doing and feeling tired and confused, I fall into survival mode—trying to keep my head above water each day—and do not give my students what they fully deserve.
I know I can do better. I know that I should do better. I am just not always sure how to do that—how to muster the energy and sift through all the things going on in a given day. I know it will not all happen in one day. I will have to focus on a few things, while knowing that I am still not good at others. This will be hard. I am used to wanting everything to be fixed when it is wrong, but I have to prioritize. Otherwise, I will just continue to feel overwhelmed.
I know that it is supposed to be tough, challenging, and difficult, but it is so hard to see past my ineffectiveness right now. Judging by how well my students did on their assessments, I can objectively say that my students are not – or, have not been – learning. But with data, there is with knowledge. And with knowledge, power. And with power, the ability to change course—to change direction. To teach, to learn. To learn to teach. To teach and produce learning. These are possibilities, which, in and of themselves, stretch my lips outward and upward into a hopeful smile.
One day, my children…
On Friday, I also had a student use the phrase, “That’s so gay,” when trying to articulate why something was undesirable. I decided to stop the class, and explain why it was inappropriate to use that phrase and why it is offensive. He decided he wanted to use the phrase again later, so then I made him write sentences. He did not want to cooperate, so I had to call his parents. Then he wrote his sentences. We are still going to have another conversation about it—I expect my classroom to be a safe and respectful space for everyone.
Today (Saturday), we had a professional development—called “power”—for TFA. While we were going over stuff, I could not help but think about all the things that I can do better.
I need better assessments, better lesson plans, and more parent contact. I need to be more organized, I need to have more discipline, and I need to use my time more efficiently. Put simply, I need to be better—a lot better.
The hardest part is not ignorance of my ability to do better; rather, it is most difficult knowing that I am not doing the best that I can. At some point between knowing what I should be doing and feeling tired and confused, I fall into survival mode—trying to keep my head above water each day—and do not give my students what they fully deserve.
I know I can do better. I know that I should do better. I am just not always sure how to do that—how to muster the energy and sift through all the things going on in a given day. I know it will not all happen in one day. I will have to focus on a few things, while knowing that I am still not good at others. This will be hard. I am used to wanting everything to be fixed when it is wrong, but I have to prioritize. Otherwise, I will just continue to feel overwhelmed.
I know that it is supposed to be tough, challenging, and difficult, but it is so hard to see past my ineffectiveness right now. Judging by how well my students did on their assessments, I can objectively say that my students are not – or, have not been – learning. But with data, there is with knowledge. And with knowledge, power. And with power, the ability to change course—to change direction. To teach, to learn. To learn to teach. To teach and produce learning. These are possibilities, which, in and of themselves, stretch my lips outward and upward into a hopeful smile.
One day, my children…
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