10

The number "10" is significant for many reasons.  For today, however, it signifies the number of weeks left in this school year.

Yes, 10.

Count the full weeks from now until mid-June and subtract Spring Break and there you have it. 10.

To say I have mixed feelings about this number would be an understatement.  For starters, I can't even imagine what a wreck I will be when saying goodbye to my kids.  Call me a sap, but after spending 10 months with 10-year-olds you kind of grow accustomed to their company, therefore making the 10 weeks seem even more daunting.  Especially in the small classroom setting we have, you can almost liken us unto a family.  (Cue the visual of me, the mother duck, walking down the hallway with my 8 ducklings following.  Can you see it? Yea... I'm not even the one who came up with that one.)  

In all seriousness, these kids really have become my life and, in a way, I think I have also become a huge part of theirs.  I suppose the next 10 weeks will consist of a release of ties and, hopefully, a capturing of the essence of what I hope I have instilled in them: the desire, and willingness, to do whatever it takes to learn.  Meanwhile I can look back on the little triumphs along the way and hope that in some way, shape, or form that these small successes can at least amount to stepping stones that lead wherever each child wants to go.  I suppose that is every teacher's dream, but for some reason the 10-week mark has magnified this hope in me.

And even so, I can't help but think of how free I will feel in 10 weeks.  Free from grading.  Free from lesson plans.  Free from the day-to-day dealings.  Free to go to the beach. Free to spend time with the family and friends that I've put on the back burner for a year.  Free to sleep in (more like free to just sleep).  Free to go explore Europe for a whole month.  Free to spend my time however I want.   Free to just be.

Today a colleague of mine told me that one of her kids asked how much time was left in the school year, only to follow it with a solemn "I don't want the school year to end."  I'm sure this is due to a mixture of things. First, that the teacher is making a difference in her classroom to the point where her students do not want to leave.  Second, that the student may be lacking what you or I had to look forward to in the summer time: a safe, fun environment in which one can play and relax.  Lastly, that the student is experiencing the very human dilemma of whether the end of one thing and the start of another is good or bad.

Just as this dilemma will never truly be solved, neither will change ever go away.  The end of one thing and the start of another is a constant in life.  I will sit in the middle of this one-step-from-freedom and another-step-from-separation spectrum for the next 10 weeks.  I will watch my statements of  "I don't want the school year to end" and "I can't wait to be free" take each others' places over and over again.  I will observe and deal with behaviors that reflect both sides of the 10-weeks-left spectrum, and I will most likely reflect the spectrum with my own actions at times.  Then it will be time to gear up for next year.  

And if I'm feeling this way this time next year, perhaps it will mean that I am doing something right.

T for Temple U!

I'm on a Temple kick today after a day of volunteering at an admitted students event so I'll just update with this little gem of a story concerning one of my 8 pupils and my Alma Mater.

At an IEP meeting the other day the child study team, my supervisors, the parents of the student, and I were discussing the pupil's future aspirations.  One of the child study team members relayed this short conversation she had with my student that made me feel both proud and honored at the same time.  It went something like this:

CST Member: Do you want to go to college?

Student: [Nonchalantly] Yes. I'm going to Temple.

CST Member: Oh! Why Temple?

Student: [Looking at the CST member as if she was crazy for even asking the question; as if to say "Duh!"] It's where my teacher went.

Hey, whatever works!

Camden

I have to be honest.  I don't really know how to put this blog post or what I really want to say. 

All I know is that this week (like certain other times throughout this school year) has been a real reality check when it comes to my awareness of the environment in which I teach.

One of the first things that drew me to Teach For America, and one of its biggest foundational ideals, is the belief that every child, regardless of his or her surrounding circumstances, is capable of learning and deserves to have the type of education that will lead to higher levels of learning.  As if you don't believe this enough to simply apply, TFA does a great job at making sure that you believe in the potential of your efforts.  Sure, some bumps in the road may suggest otherwise, but deep down there are many teachers out there who truly believe that any and every child can succeed.

That being said, I have certainly shaped my educational philosophy around this notion.  This past September I was given a handful of students that needed to get from point A to point B.  Now, depending on who you talk to, those point As and point Bs could be vastly different.  For instance, one side of the spectrum may say that your kids don't necessarily have to get to point B, they just have to make progress toward it.  The other side might say that your kids need to be way beyond point B if they want any chance of succeeding in life.

So here I am stuck on this continuum, if you will, trying to make sense of all of this.  Meanwhile, my day to day routine has me encountering stories that most people only hear on the news.  Stories of tragic things beyond belief that your kids are dealing with directly.  Holding high expectations suddenly becomes as much of a necessity as it does an impossibility.  And yet, even still, so many teachers continue to work countless hours and try every last thing in order to try to help each and every child learn.  After all, nobody joins the teaching field hoping to let the ones that just can't seem to break free of their surroundings fall through the cracks.  

Sometimes I wonder if "I am a teacher" and "I am a teacher in Camden" mean the same thing.  All I know is I'm not going to let any reality of today effect the potential that tomorrow's reality holds.  A lot easier said than done, I know... But everyone (with the exception of Yoda, perhaps) seems to be a fan of trying.

The Weekends

More like the weekneverends.

I suppose it's my fault but I just can't seem to crack the code. Week after week I watch teachers crank out their lesson plans and happily place them in the dauntingly huge binders that sit in the office.  So what's wrong with me?

Trying to figure out a system for completing 20 lesson plans per week has been one of the biggest challenges of my year.  I find myself perpetually stuck in the middle of the spectrum that has "let's just get it over with and give the gist of the lesson" on one side and "I need to write out every single thing I'll say" on the other.  On top of that, I find myself constantly questioning most of the 5 W's and even the H (What I am teaching, When I am teaching it, Why I am teaching it, and How I am teaching it) even though I have maps and standards and other teachers to follow.  I suppose it's a confidence thing, and I'm hoping it goes away as time goes on.

That being said, I can't say that I entirely hate planning.  Sometimes coming up with new and exciting ways to teach my kids is fun for me, but I often feel like the fact that it is done in my free time and the excessive amount of time it takes overshadows the entertaining aspect.  I don't think it'll ever be all fun... but I do think there is an issue with referring to Sundays as my "Hell days." Until the day that Sunday sees no lesson plan templates, I'm afraid the title will stay.

Speaking of which...

Rainbows and Butterflies

I wish I could say that I had a reality check today that stamped the message "It's not always rainbows and butterflies" across my forehead.  However, the reality is that every day has had its fair share of ups and downs that has not left room for naivety (although my colleagues may tell you otherwise).  This whole year has been a learning experience, with each day contributing in some way, shape, or form.  Because there will always be tomorrow, I think I have (at least subconsciously) learned to accept what happens today as an indicator of what needs to be worked on tomorrow.

That being said, today I was reminded of one cause of teacher lows: students' misbehavior.  Now, I have to put a little disclaimer on this: generally, my kids' behavior on a bad day sounds a lot like what I hear some other teachers describe as good days.  But let me tell you. I really can't stand having my kids the last period of the day.  In fact, while discussing this with a friend this afternoon, she said something along the lines of, "Maybe we should just film you reacting like this to post to your blog."  The kids weren't awful, but the lack of focus and excess of inadvertent sidetrack attempts just got to me more than usual today (Yes, inadvertent.  I don't have any Nick Allens in my class.)  In all actuality, I probably can't blame my disdain for the last period of the day entirely on them.  By the end of the day, I am simply exhausted.  Social Studies begins around 2:30, which brings me to the 8-hour mark of being at school.  

Even still, I have decided that the last period of the day just should not exist! Getting the kids to read (or even listen to and focus on a lesson) is next to impossible.  Sometimes I'll look out into a sea of zoned out faces, acknowledge the zoning, and still have to practically jump up and down to break the zoning.  So, for today's "indicator of what needs to be worked on tomorrow" I propose a cancellation of 8th period until further notice.

Or perhaps "Operation Make Social Studies More Bearable" will commence. 

In a sense...

Being a teacher can provide more learnable moments than teachable moments.

Take keeping up with preteen pop culture, for instance. Imagine where adults would be if they didn't have kids' conversations to overhear.  Thank God I have my kids' conversations to keep me up to date with the latest on Justin Bieber, "twerking" (don't look it up), and any new Disney Channel music videos like this one. 

A few months ago, I felt so honored to come to know a slang word via my children.  It was the day I began a  new organizational system in my classroom where the students were required to keep a more organized binder.  One of my kids referred to another kid's binder as ippy.  I immediately questioned the term, from which I received the 10-year-old definition of "something that looks cool."  Not quite done feeding my curiosity, I later came to view the entry at Urban Dictionary per the suggestion of a friend and found this definition:

       1. ippy: 

          Slang from Camden, NJ which means to look fly or well-dressed.

          He had on a fresh fitted, white tee, Roc-A-Wear jeans, and air forces lookin'
          ippy as hell.

Not only had I learned a new slang word, but it was also a new slang word from CAMDEN! Needless to say, I drop the word ippy in class from time to time (of course, with the disclaimer that if I see it in a paper it will amount to a zero).

What is even better than finding out about pop culture and even local slang is seeing the world through the eyes of your students.  Innocence has always been something I have appreciated, both in myself growing up and in the world around me.  What always amazes me is the innocence a child can have.  No matter what they've seen, no matter where they live, no matter how old they want to seem or be, children have an innocence about them that is contagious.  

I'll never forget one September afternoon when I happened to be the only teacher, for whatever reason, who took the kids outside for recess.  I remember sitting at a picnic table watching all seven (at the time) of my kids playing a cooperative, friendly game of tag.  I remember tearing up thinking about how adorable and innocent it was.  I didn't know then, but later came to find that the year would be full of cooperative moments such as that moment at recess.  As the year went on, I witnessed the classroom "troublemaker" graciously accepting help from the classroom "help seeker."  I see my students jump up at any opportunity to help someone out.  I watch kids look past their current situations and directly into their futures.  I entertain kids simply by having a car and a first name that they can identify as mine.  I have kids who hang on to every word anybody says to them, because to them, YOU are the hero. YOU are the celebrity. YOU are the one who can bring the world to them, and them to the world.

And, in a sense, I think that a little bit of innocence is needed for each and every one of these things.  Couldn't we all use some of that?

The Back Story: An Age-Old Tale

Just over 6 months ago, I began teaching fifth grade in Camden, New Jersey through a national program known as Teach For America, whose mission is to provide excellent education in poverty-stricken areas of the country.  Knowing that this would be the adventure of a lifetime, I had every intention of documenting my every trial and triumph via some sort of journal.  My efforts started out decently and in a black spiral notebook that reminded me all too well of my college days.  However, as teaching goes, particularly in one's first year, trials begin to outweigh triumphs (at least in emotional density) and therefore my journal quickly became an outlet for my venting.  Then the time it took to write such quandaries made my writing become more stressful than helpful.  Needless to say, I stopped.

However, I have since realized why I had so much difficulty (and how much I still need to savor this year and beyond).  In my writing, I had lost track of my reason for deciding to write (and teach) in the first place: the kids.  With a more relaxed (please note the word "more") demeanor and a refocused spirit, I would once again like to give this writing thing a try.  Only this time, I will try to make my writing less me-focused and more them-focused. "Them" being the ones that I spend the most time with out of anyone.  "Them" being the ones who drive me crazy.  "Them" being the ones who make me laugh.  "Them" being the ones who make me cry.  "Them" being the ones I care about more than anything.  "Them" being the kids.  I hope that these little anecdotes about my kids bring as much joy to your life as they have mine. 

Now for the first of many:

I am 23 years old, which is a mystery to my kids.  I talk about college all the time (I have a classroom full of future Temple Owls) but they don't know that I just graduated this past May.  One of my favorite things I've come to know more this year has been the fact that kids have literally no perception of age whatsoever.  Here is a paraphrase of a conversation overheard this past Friday:

Student 1: Ms. Bonanno is 23. 

Student 2: No she's only 20!

Student 3: No, you guys. I know that she's in her 30s.

Me: Actually, guys, I'm 40.

Student 4: I knew it!

Other ages that I've had guessed or had kids convinced that I was: 19, 25, 30, 46, etc.  Will I disclose my age to them at the end of the school year?  We'll see.