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

Courage

Teaching is Courage

When I first became a principal, I received an inspiring gift from a teacher. It was a Cowardly Lion Doll. Yes, a doll of the famous lion in the Wizard of Oz. Along with it came a note that said, "So you have the courage to make all the right decisions."

And so I began my life as a principal with the hope that I would always have the courage to do what's right.

I am thinking that so many educators approach each day with courage.  

Courage to wake up in the early morning hours
     flooded with thoughts of the day 
     and struggling to figure out what they can do 
     for those students who need them the most.

Courage to learn more about their student's lives outside of school 
     even though what they find out often breaks their heart.

Courage to have the hardest conversations 
     with children, parents and our colleagues.

Courage to see the world 
     through the eyes of their students.

Courage to walk into school with a smile 
     even though they know their day will be difficult.

Courage to push their students 
     to new understandings.

Courage to know 
     when one of their students needs a hug 
     more than any instruction they could offer.

Teaching is Courage 

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

          Day 12 - Courage

Help That One Child Standing Right in Front of You

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

          Day 11 - Help That One Child   
          Standing Right in Front of You

Years ago when I was a principal, a young teacher came to me overwhelmed.
He was obviously shaken. He was an exceptional teacher who needed some support.
He was feeling helpless and unable to meet the needs of all the children in his care.
My first thought was that it was something we all face as young teachers.
But then, as I considered his situation, I realized that we often feel incapable of doing it all.

Our conversation went something like this.

"How can I help all these kids?
 What am I doing wrong?
 There's not enough time to do it all.
 How am I going to help ALL these kids?"

I sensed his frustration and understood his state of mind. 
As a teacher, there were days upon days, I felt like there wasn't enough of me to spread around.
Some days I went home completely spent. Empty.
I knew exactly how he felt. 
What I admired was that he wasn't giving up.
His heart drove his practice. 
He was there to help children and that's exactly what he was going to do.
But like all of us, he was feeling like he couldn't really reach any of them.

I calmed him down as best I could.
Praised him for all that he was doing.
Let him know how much I admired his love for children.

And I told him,
"Focus on that child right in front of you.
For a moment just stop.
Think about that child and what he needs.
Help that one child who is standing right in front of you.
He will teach you, You just need to
pause and listen, 
observe and encourage, 
scaffold and release.
What you learn from him will help when you work with others.
And one child at a time, you will help them all."

He walked away ready for the challenge and I hoped I had done some good.
I hoped I had reassured him that what he was feeling something we all felt sometimes.
I hope I left him with some advice that would calm his fears and frustration.
Later that day he thanked me. He said that our conversation had helped.

It was several years later, when he reminded me of our conversation and how much it meant to him.

He was able to continue helping all his children 
by helping the one child standing right in front of him.

It's the Small Differences

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

          Day 10 - It's the Small Differences


We must not, in trying to think about how we can make a big
difference, ignore the small daily differences we can make which,
over time, add up to big differences that we often cannot foresee.
 
--Marian Wright Edelman


Dear Children,

I am here. 
And I will be here each day
Encouraging, teaching, observing.

I hope to make a big difference in your life.
How can I help you?
What do you need?

Each day we spend together
I see you taking tiny steps
Toward who you can become.

It's the smile I see
When you realize 
That you have learned something new.

It's the times I recognize
That you need a pat on the back
And someone standing near you for support.

It's the bounce in your step as you leave the room 
For recess with your friends.
A new-found confidence in your step.

It's the excitement I see
When you enter the classroom
Each day more eager to learn.

Those small steps are adding up
To the big differences 
In your life as a learner.

I am here
To watch you grow
One small difference at a time.

Dad's Ham Radio

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

          Day 9 - Dad's Ham Radio



My Dad had a ham radio while we were growing up. I was fascinated by all the dials, the needles floating across gauges, and that microphone he used to talk with people from around the world.

In addition to talking on the radio, my Dad also used Morse Code. Morse Code still captivates me. All those dots and dashes that turn into a message of words. I remember my Dad practicing Morse Code. I can recall the tapping sounds from the oscillator that magically turned those tapping sounds into words that were sent over the radio waves. 

Each ham operator was licensed by the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) and  had a "handle" that identified him - a unique combination of letters and numbers. My Dad's "handle" was K8ZYZ. He had post cards with his "handle" printed on them. When ham radio operators connected with another ham radio operator they would send each other postcards. My Dad had a wall where he hung so many post cards from all over the world. 

We were careful not to interrupt Dad when he was on his radio, but once in awhile he would let us sit with him and we would be in awe. I remember once when Dad let me sit with him at his radio and try to dial in and talk to someone in another country. The sounds coming from the radio were scratchy and difficult to understand. But I heard a faint message from someone in Russia and my Dad and I had a brief conversation with them while the words faded in and out from somewhere very far away. Talking to someone in another country was by far a unique experience. It was magical.

You have to try to imagine how little communication was possible in the mid to late 50s. We still had telephone party lines. (You shared a phone line with someone you didn't even know. When you used the phone you had to listen first to make sure no one was talking on the line before you dialed your number.) Our family still owned a black and white television. There were no personal computers or cell phones. Ham radio was a gateway to the world. 


Times have changed. I did some research as I was writing this post. Now, there is an iPhone app that lets you practice Morse Code. There are ham radio Pinterest boards. You can talk to astronauts aboard the Space Station who are licensed ham radio operators. You can connect a Global Positioning Receiver (GPS) to a radio (via a specialized interface) and have it automatically transmit your location. Now you can type a text into a computer that connects the computer with a radio that can send and receive text messages.

My memories are a stark difference to our communications today. Today, our students use so many platforms to connect with others. Our world has become smaller in many ways.  

The connectedness that was so fascinating to me as a child has expanded to unlimited opportunities for children today. 

How do we connect our children today? 
What experiences can we provide for them in school? 
The opportunities our endless.

The world has changed.

Committed vs Compelled

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

     Day 8 - Committed vs. Compelled


I used to think that "committed" was a pretty strong word. I thought committment brought focus and strength to the task. Throughout my life I have been committed to many things. One year, I was committed to participating in the Slice of Life Challenge but that didn't go so well. A post or two was all I could muster.

Over the years, I have been committed to doing many things...

     becoming a better cook (yes, I have collected a treasure of recipes on Pinterest),
     raising flowers and plants (I actually have become quite good at it),
     being craftier (I am good at making homemade Christmas ornaments and baby afghans),
     and exercising (I am embarrassed to admit how many exercise videos are saved to my computer).

So, I got pretty good at collecting things around my commitments. I have been thinking that I can be committed to being a better cook, but if I don't make my way into the kitchen and try some new recipes, I am simple committed to the "idea" of being a good cook.

I have collected a zillion workout videos on my computer (yes, I have), but if I don't get off the couch and actually try them out, I am not getting healthier or thinner. I am simply committed to the "idea" of exercising and getting healthier. (I am getting much better at this as I work out at the gym and do some workouts on my own at home.)

As a teacher, I was a bit different. Yes, I collected articles and read professional books. I collected things around my commitment to teach well. I participated in professional development and attended workshops on improving instruction.

But being committed wasn't enough. I think I was compelled to do more. I tried new strategies in the classroom. I improved the design of my classroom and our classroom library. I tried to improve my conferring skills. I worked hard at developing relationships with my students. I reflected on my teaching and was determined to make it better. I did some "self-propelled" professional development by connecting with other educators and observing others teach.

What was the difference? Being compelled denoted an action. It wasn't enough to just collect the things around my commitments. I had to act. I am very committed to my beliefs about learning and teaching, but unless I act I am merely committed and not really compelled to improve. I truly believe that being committed to a vision of successful learning is critical. But so is being compelled to do something about it. I am compelled to think, reflect, take action, change something.

And what does that mean for our work with children? 
Are we committed or compelled?

A Garden of Memories - Slice of Life - Day 7

My mom loved gardening and flowers. I will always remember her in the beautiful blossoms and vibrant colors of a flower garden.

In her later years, when gardening became too difficult, her small back porch became her garden. It was a small ... just big enough for a couple of chairs. That was her world of cool breezes in the summer heat and the joy of flowers blooming on her porch. When I stopped by to see her, I would often find her on the back porch rocking in her chair, reading a book, or just admiring the beautiful flowers

Her porch was surrounded by a wooden railing that she topped with narrow flower boxes. There she would put her green thumb to work. Every year we would head out to the nursery to buy flowers for her porch garden. We would walk the aisles with our cart and she would choose her flowers to plant ... begonias, impatience, lantanas.

She would also get baskets of flowers and hang them from the roof of her porch ... bleeding hearts, vines, geraniums.

As the years went by, it got harder for her to fill the pots with soil and plant her flowers. We were there to help her. She would direct us, like the expert gardener she was. We would mix the soil, fill the pots, and carefully place each new plant in its place.  

As her mobility wavered, she had a ramp built off the back porch. She expanded her garden and lined the outside of the ramp with standing pots with more beautiful flowers.

I cannot remember my mom without flowers.

The summer she passed away, she spent most of her time in the hospital. She had just finished her porch garden before her first stay in the hospital. When I came to see her, I would tell her how beautiful they were. Because I live out of town, that summer I stayed at my mom's house so I could easily make trips to the hospital to see her each day and, of course, care for her garden. When I went to see her, she would say how much she missed her flowers. Sometimes I would snip a few blossoms and bring them in a small vase to her hospital room. 

One day, I decided that I needed to take pictures of her flowers so she could see them for herself. I snapped away with my camera trying to capture the beauty she so missed. I couldn't wait to get the pictures printed. I placed the pictures in clear acrylic frames and brought them to her hospital room. She smiled like I had never seen her smile and she sighed over how much she missed them. But when anyone walked in her room, she would proudly show them her precious flowers.

She didn't make it through that summer. It was heartbreaking that she never made it back home to sit on her porch and enjoy her flowers. When we closed her casket, we slipped those pictures in with her so she could admire them in heaven. Not sure if there are flowers in heaven, but if there are she is planting them and making the place beautiful.

I planted 80 bulbs last fall. Crocuses, daffodils, and tulips. I am waiting patiently for them to break through the mulch and announce spring. And with each blossom, I will remember mom.