We sat outside yesterday and wrote poetry down by the pond at the back of her complex. She was perfectly at home with a pencil and a piece of paper and once she got going, she found some beautiful imagery of her own making. This is what I miss most about teaching. It's the wonder of the moment. It's the pleasure that lights up in a child's eyes when she realize that what she's doing is noteworthy. It's the personal satisfaction that a child can take from a simple response to her work. Great praise isn't necessary, but responding honestly is.
And, while I'm relieved to not have to travel for 18 miles down the freeway each workday morning at 6:45, I find I miss these moments and, each day of a teacher's life is filled with moments like the ones Carrie found yesterday. I don't know quite how I got involved in her life and in this rather wonderful homework club that meets at an apartment complex that seems to be filled with teenagers, but I'm glad I found my way into it. Being open and having a connection probably helped. But I go twice a week for about an hour and a half and a half where we sit in what would be an apartment bedroom with two other adults and children. There are other rooms filled just like ours and it amazes me how we can tune everyone and everything out. Our connection is growing.
How did I get lucky enough to be paired with Carrie? She is like so many of the gifted children I taught over the course of my career at a unique school for children like her. She is focused, serious but her eyes light up as she makes discoveries. This is what's missing from my life right now.
I've been traveling hither and yon since June - to Morocco, to Grand Rapids to San Francisco and soon to South Africa. The full sense of retirement is still to come but now that the house is, well sort of, clean and organized - now that the dog requires a daily walk of about 3 miles - now that there is a certain structure to each day, I find I'm missing something important.
It is so difficult to go from full-time work to no work. How I wish there were an interim step in here, but for me, there wasn't and I couldn't have kept up the required pace without some personal repercussions. So, I think about teaching a lot. I think about the state of it here in this country. I think about my granddaughters and the education they're getting. I think about how one would go about helping adults reframe what they know about teaching. So, a blog, well, it's my beginning. Whether or not anyone reads it is okay with me. I'm just going to put out my thoughts and should someone happen to stumble on it, well, good.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Figuring It Out
I still can't figure out this blogging. I have now begun three and this is the only one I can consistently find. None-the-less, I am determined to get my words out there. Don't ask why because that's not really answerable right now.
I guess, though, in some ways it began when I decided to retire. This was an easy decision in so many ways because the school I had loved had become unrecognizable. We had been play-based and developmentally thoughtful. Curriculum was built around the children and delivered by specialists. As teachers, we had so many freedoms and, we loved it.
But, things change. Times change and boards change. The school began to change - not suddenly, but slowly. It was hard to continue fighting for the things that, in retrospect, were what made us different. We had done the hiring, but now the head took this over. Committees became meaningless since the heads of the three schools made their own decisions, pretending (it felt like) that our voices counted. They didn't. Programs and mandates found their way into our classrooms - not ones we had decided on, but ones that were determined for us. "You will have every child fill out this survey on bullying." Yes, there were a few bullies, but most of the children had little understanding of this concept. And, in the past, bullying behaviors were dealt with on an individual basis. So, rather than respecting the work we did to create community, we were told what was wrong and how we would fix things. Incidentally, we weren't wrong, there was nothing the matter, it's all a matter of someone's perception. And, we were no longer in charge.
And now, whistles are being used. This, at a school where the children used to made so many decisions and life wended its way through each and every day. There are still a few of the "old" thinkers around, but they are finding life more and more isolating. The dynamic of conversation, the depth of thinking and the continuous dialogues about who we were, where we were going and what would best meet the needs of our children are relics from the past. I can't quite figure it all out now. But, I intend to try.
I guess, though, in some ways it began when I decided to retire. This was an easy decision in so many ways because the school I had loved had become unrecognizable. We had been play-based and developmentally thoughtful. Curriculum was built around the children and delivered by specialists. As teachers, we had so many freedoms and, we loved it.
But, things change. Times change and boards change. The school began to change - not suddenly, but slowly. It was hard to continue fighting for the things that, in retrospect, were what made us different. We had done the hiring, but now the head took this over. Committees became meaningless since the heads of the three schools made their own decisions, pretending (it felt like) that our voices counted. They didn't. Programs and mandates found their way into our classrooms - not ones we had decided on, but ones that were determined for us. "You will have every child fill out this survey on bullying." Yes, there were a few bullies, but most of the children had little understanding of this concept. And, in the past, bullying behaviors were dealt with on an individual basis. So, rather than respecting the work we did to create community, we were told what was wrong and how we would fix things. Incidentally, we weren't wrong, there was nothing the matter, it's all a matter of someone's perception. And, we were no longer in charge.
And now, whistles are being used. This, at a school where the children used to made so many decisions and life wended its way through each and every day. There are still a few of the "old" thinkers around, but they are finding life more and more isolating. The dynamic of conversation, the depth of thinking and the continuous dialogues about who we were, where we were going and what would best meet the needs of our children are relics from the past. I can't quite figure it all out now. But, I intend to try.
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