The Boy Under the Table

-->"The majority of us lead quiet, unheralded lives as we pass through this world. There will most likely be no ticker-tape parades for us, no monuments created in our honor. But that does not lessen our possible impact, for there are scores of people waiting for someone just like us to come along; people who will appreciate our compassion, our unique talents. Someone who will live a happier life merely because we took the time to share what we had to give. Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have a potential to turn a life around."

 ~ Leo Buscaglia

Educators have amazing opportunities to touch the lives of children. Countless times each day connections are made and relationships are built just because two people come together in ways that often require us to see things through one another's eyes.

I remember a time that could have been a disaster had I not stopped to see things from a child's perspective. It was the beginning of the school year. It's an exciting time for teachers and children. But all the changes can be daunting for our students. Most of them are excited to come back to school but dealing with a new classroom, new teacher, the new routines and new friends can put them on shaky ground.

One day, I was called down to a kindergarten class because a child was not cooperating and being fairly disagreeable. His emotions were out of control and he was highly frustrated and impulsive. My goal was to calm him down and figure out just what led to his state of mind. I knew that finding out what may have led to this situation was so much more important than jumping in and trying to change and control the behavior.
 

The boy’s class was on its way outdoors to observe a tree for science class. I asked him if he would stay inside to calm down a little and talk with me. He parked himself under a table, arms crossed, and seemed to prepare for a battle.

 It was clear that he had no intention of talking with me or changing the way he felt. There were long moments of silence. He was still too frustrated to be logical or cooperative, but I waited and slowly he began to talk with me. He shared his frustrations and I listened. I wanted to understand what was causing him to act out. I made it apparent that I was very interested in what he had to say.

In a few minutes, he got the idea that I wasn't there to make his day more miserable, but that I was genuinely trying to understand him. We spent the next 15 minutes talking. He stayed under the table as I sat on the floor nearby trying to make eye contact.

 In just a few minutes, I found out what was making him so unhappy and learned about what he liked. But more importantly, we connected.

The class returned from observing a tree outside and went out for a few minutes of recess. I watched him and two other boys play soccer. When the children came inside, they spread out around the classroom with books for a few moments of independent reading. He chose a book about bugs and I sat with him. We looked through it together, and I invited him to come to my office to read with me sometime.

  He seemed calmer and I prepared to leave.

In those last few minutes together, I think he nearly reached for my hand. In our time together, I learned some things about him and he learned some things about me. We could build on the friendship we began that day. 

Throughout the school year, I had more opportunities to spend time with this child. He has some challenges, but he was a most fascinating child. In small ways, I hoped I helped him find his place in our school.

Children will react to change in many ways. Some days are just not easy for them. Their lives are as complicated as our own lives are. Taking the time to make a connection is powerful. Our conversations with students can make all the difference in the world.  There just might be a student out there today who is waiting for someone like us to come along.

I am participating in the 
March Slice of Life Challenge.
Each day we post our thoughts.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Day 19 - The Boy Under the Table  

My Mother's Hands

I have tried to write about my mother's hands for a couple of years. I keep finding it difficult.
Here is one more attempt. It's rough and needs revision but I tried, once again, to capture what her hands meant to me.

My Mother's Hands.
In a faint memory, I can feel her touch.
I know she held my little hand tight
When we walked to town on a shopping adventure
My sister and brother walking alongside
And my little sister in the stoller.

My Mother's Hands.
In the garden soil
Dirt under her finger nails
Digging and planting
Flowers and vegetables
Growing rainbows of colors.

My Mother's Hands.
Mixed the dough in the old bowl
Rolled it and kneaded it on the floured board
She would place it in the oven and as it baked
The smell of warm, fresh bread
Would fill our house.

My Mother's Hands.
The brightly colored yarn
Trailing through her fingers
Her hands working the yarn
As she crocheted
Potholders for friends
And afghans for every new baby.

My Mother's Hands
Threading the cloth 
Into the whirring sewing machine
Pins along the seams and
Her carefully sewn hems.
Crafting clothes for us to wear
And outfits for our dolls.

My Mother's Hands.
Careful brush strokes of color
Painting clay and wood.
Ceramic treasures and
Tole-painted wood
That now belong to me.

My Mother's Hands.
Holding one of her books
So intently focused on the pages
She read while other things
Were left unattended.
Her fingers carefully turning the page
Buried in words that told the stories she enjoyed.

My Mother's Hands.
Shaking as she rests
A slight tremble at first
But more prominent
As the disease shook her body
And left her frustrated.

My Mother's Hands.
So much of her life in those
Soft, warm and soothing hands.
Fragile thin skin
Painted with veins.
Knuckles that pained her in the night.

My Mother's Hands.
Resting on the blankets
As I held them during my long visits
To be with her at the hospital
She slept soundly and still
Or woke to tell a tale from
A life so full of love.
 
My Mother's Hands.
They brought me such love and
Then one day they were gone.
Missing her soft, warm touch
Her life and dreams wrapped up
In those strong but gentle hands.

I am participating in the 
March Slice of Life Challenge.
Each day we post our thoughts.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Day 18 - My Mother's Hands  

What I Know About Myself as a Reader

Last year my friend, Franki Sibberson, wrote a post for the Scholastic On Our Minds blog about knowing yourself as a reader. (http://oomscholasticblog.com/post/franki-sibberson-knowing-yourself-reader)

Franki started her own list of 100 things she knew about herself as a reader and encouraged her students to do the same. I thought I would give it a try for today's Slice. So here's my first 25 things I know about myself as a reader. I hope to keep adding to the list. You should give it a try. I am still learning about myself as a reader.

1. I have never been able to quit a book - even if I am miserable reading it.
2. I am a fairly slow reader. I can't skip whole paragraphs even if they are tedious. I am just not a skimmer.
3. I am recently learned that I like reading stories in verse.
4. I rarely read a nonfiction book - but I do read a lot of nonfiction articles especially online.
5. I am fascinated by new words I find when I read and look them up in the dictionary.
6. I read the jacket flap and back cover to set myself up for reading and go back to them when I am confused.
7. I am not fond of reading e-books. I would much rather have the book in my hand.
8. I keep track of what I read on Good Reads.
9. I rely on the recommendations from friends.
10. I go back and read a page when I get lost and can't figure out what's going on in the story.
11. I want to read more poetry but have trouble choosing what to read.
12. I skip over technical words I don't know. Not a good idea!
13. I like books with short chapters.
14. I enjoy talking with other people about books.
15. I belong to a Brunch and Books group that meets once a month to talk about books.
16. I used to read the last few pages of the book before I would commit to reading it. I don't do that anymore!
17. I love going to the library and book store.
18. I don't like writing about the books I read - I like talking about them better.
19. I take notes to keep track of characters.
20. I always check the Best Seller Book List posted in the local newspaper.
21. I like to check out the staff recommendations at book stores.
22. I need to get better about checking books from the library instead of buying them. Much better!
23. I like to go back and reread my journals and notebooks.
24. I have favorite authors.
25. I read some books more than once (Love in the Time of Cholera, Crossing to Safety, Gone With the Wind).

I am participating in the 
March Slice of Life Challenge.
Each day we post our thoughts.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Day 17 - What I Know About Myself as a Reader 

Sunday Drives

When I was little, all the stores were closed on Sundays. My mom was a stay-at-home mom and didn't have her driver's license. Life was simpler then in so many ways. On Sundays we would all go for a ride in the car. It didn't cost much - just a bit of gasoline. My Mom would say, "Just to get out of the house."

My Dad and Mom, my two sisters, my brother and I would pile in the car. I remember hearing the arguments about who would sit in the middle. The seats by the windows were the best, of course. But I struggled with motion sickness when I was little. I remember my mom saying that we couldn't ride around the block without me getting sick. My misfortune gave me the seat in the front of the car with my Mom and Dad. Yes, it was the middle seat, but it was in the front where I could easily see the horizon and avoid motion sickness. I secretly celebrated that special seat in front with my Mom and Dad.

The Sunday rides were pretty uneventful but we usually headed out for the country. I think my mom enjoyed the open skies and the winding roads as though they were taking her away from her day-to-day routine. Sometimes, we would stop at a roadside farmer's stand and buy some fresh vegetables. I recall once we drove by some people flying radio-controlled airplanes and we stayed awhile to watch with wonder in our eyes. We gazed into the sky, our hands above our eyes to block the sun, and we would marvel at the planes dipping an diving.

Those were simpler days. No shopping on Sunday. No regular routines. Just a quiet drive out in the country waiting to see what we might discover along the way. As we all grew older there were fewer Sunday drives. We all got busy with our lives. Sometimes Mom and Dad still went for rides. It might have been those quiet Sunday drives that kept them in love and ready for any wonders they would find.

What I would give for a Sunday drive with my family. Mom, Dad and me in the front seat. My two sisters and brother in the back. Spending precious time together and discovering the wonders of a Sunday drive.

I am participating in the 
March Slice of Life Challenge.
Each day we post our thoughts.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Day 16 - Sunday Drives  

Gladiolas and Memories

 

Yesterday, my husband had a list of errands - buy some mulch for the garden, run to the grocery store for a few things, and stop at the craft store to pick up some supplies for his latest project. Sometimes when he goes on these marathon adventures, he brings me back little surprises - a bunch of fresh flowers, my favorite oatmeal raisin cookies. (He's a good man!) Yesterday, he came home with bags of gladiola bulbs. He had carefully chosen bulbs in my favorite colors. The bulbs immediately brought back vivid memories of my grandmother.

She was a gardener. Every year she would plant gladiolas - hundreds of them! We live in a climate that requires that the bulbs be dug up every fall, stored for the winter, and planted again in late spring. I remember being so eager to help her. For some reason, I am not exactly sure why, my grandma would soak the bulbs in concentrated Lysol before planting them. I imagine it was to keep bugs away but I regret never asking her why. She would dig the holes and I would pull each bulb out of the bucket of Lysol and place it in the ground. She would cover it with dirt and we would move onto the next one. These are such happy memories for me -  spending time with my grandmother in the warm days of late spring digging in the dirt and burying promises of tall, beautiful flowers. I can not begin to describe how that smell of Lysol transports me to the garden and my memories of planting gladiolas with my grandmother.

Sometimes special words or phrases take us back to another time long ago. Often, pictures can help us relive a special moment in our lives. But the smell of Lysol will always bring me back to the little me crouching next to my grandma planting those beautiful gladiolas.

I am anxious to get my gladiola bulbs in the ground. I need to wait a few weeks to be sure the weather will stay warm enough. As I place each bulb in the ground, I will think of those special moments with my grandmother. I will watch and wait patiently until late summer, when they will bring me the beautiful spikes of colors and memories. Wonderful memories.
 
I am participating in the 
March Slice of Life Challenge.
Each day we post our thoughts.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Day 15 - Gladiolas and Memories       

Collective Wisdom - Collective Energy

I have always felt it was critical to consider what we believe about learning and teaching. It's important to take some time to think about our beliefs, even write them down. Then, every decision we make rests on what we believe is right. Our beliefs clearly define who we are as teachers and learners. Most importantly, they guide our interactions with the children.

There was a time when I would have measured the success of a teacher by how closely his/her teaching practices, instructional routines and classroom environment were most like my own. But I have learned some things along the way.

First, I learned that there are many ways to teach effectively, wisely and well.

Second, there are many ways to set up a classroom for authentic learning and thoughtful conversations.

Third, how we teach and what we teach aren't nearly as important as our relationships with the children in our classrooms and our schools.

Fourth, our relationships with colleagues should never be defined by the differences in our styles but by the similarities in our beliefs about children and the experiences we share.

No longer does anyone stand alone in education. Our work is too complex and demanding to be doing it alone. No one has all the answers. I believe strongly in collective wisdom and a collective energy that gets things done. 

I am participating in the 
March Slice of Life Challenge.
Each day we post our thoughts.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Day 14 - Collective Wisdom - Collective Energy       

Sunday Rain

This morning
I heard the pounding rain
Long before I opened my sleepy eyes.
A steady beat waking me from my rest.
I was unwilling to start the day
But it's tapping at my window
Brought me
From deep inside my dreams
To start the day.

The rain sings to me.
A rhythm of sadness.
That drops from the grey skies
and urges me to be brave
and push the sadness away.

A rhythm of promise
Especially in these early days of spring.
Dreams of buds shooting toward the sky
And the warm sun and blue skies
That come after the rain.

There were rainy days I loved
Early on when I first began to write.
Sitting in the chair by the window
My pencil poised to tap away gently at the page.
In time, the words would come faster
And pour themselves onto the page.
A rain of words telling their tale.

The rain and the rhythm and the words.

          I am participating in the  
          March Slice of Life Challenge. 
          Each day we post our thoughts. 
          Thank you, Two Writing Teachers! 

          Day 13 - Sunday Rain