Random Racing Ruminations: Week 7, The unexpected around the curve

Before I left work today I went for a four-mile run around the lake. The trail is a moderately challenging one, with multiple inclines and declines. And many twists and turns.

This run had me dwelling on the unexpected around the curve.

The Mallard Duck sitting brightly, standing out from the brown background.

The kite soaring high above the trees, appearing detached from a person on the ground holding the line.

The rustling in the underbrush, making me jump, unable to see what animal caused it.

The other runners, appearing to be moving much faster than me.

But this blog post and my running thoughts were most focused on the unexpected parts of my day. There is much about my work that I can't plan or predict. Obviously I prepare each day and week for what I will prioritize and accomplish. Often, though, my work is dictated by the next person to walk into my office, call my phone, or send me an e-mail. I walk in each day predicting my plan A, B, and C. I learned this early on when I was a high school teacher. Good teachers have a plan for each period they will teach. Great teachers have at least one back up plan just in case something doesn't pan out as anticipated (and that is a regularity with teenagers). Excellent teachers not only have their backup plan, but they are also able to anticipate and read others, being finely attuned to what is happening, and harness the momentum of others incorporating it into the overall good of the plan. Or maybe they just abandon all plans and wing it.

Every corner approaching on the horizon today was a test, pulling me away from my plan. I did my best to hold my composure, anticipate what was ahead, and be as productive in the process. I may have failed miserably, losing my composure.

A solid run around the lake today was exactly what I needed. The blisters on my feet, bigger than ever, are indicative of unpredictable challenges, seemingly metaphors for what I really want to say.

WEEK 7

Thursday
(4 miles)

Temperature 53

Mile 1 = 8:14

Mile 2 = 8:12

Mile 3 = 8:29

Mile 4 = 8:16

The real "data" behind teaching is often the stories which go untold

I left work this Friday, my mind obsessing over the day. Teaching tends to do that to me. It's something I just can't escape: the good and bad moments with adolescents certainly weigh on my emotions and thoughts long after the students leave after the last bell of the day. Eventually, after many years and countless students, those thoughts and feelings tend to dissipate, floating away into some mis-mashed meld of things recalled inaccurately or forgotten completely. However, there are the pristine, crystal moments, those that are so intensely memorable they become permanently ironed in my memory.

I must write this teaching moment from today. I have to share it on this blog, regardless if ten people read it, or 50, or hundreds, or even thousands (I doubt that will happen because my readership base is just not that high yet). But if just one non-teacher reads this, I think that will be progress. I feel more and more compelled to share my teaching stories.

Here's why: We teachers are not good at sharing our stories.

Of course we tell about our work to those whom are closest to us--our spouses, family members, close friends, and other teachers. They all get to hear glimpses of our daily positive and negative moments. But we clearly don't do a good enough job telling people outside of that immediate circle, the people whose notions of teaching and learning are strictly limited to only their own experience and perceptions of being a student in school. This is a problem because the immensity of our work as teachers goes misunderstood. Or it is misrepresented. Or it is diluted. Or simplified. Or judged. The narrative most politicians, the media, and some of the public at large espouse is highly negative towards teachers, public schools, and an entire system they simply don't understand. That statement is not meant to be a slam on anyone. You just can't understand the complexity of teaching unless you live it.

For all you readers out there who are teachers or have been teachers, you get what I'm saying. And I know this story will resonate with you because we all have stories similar to this one--the one I will remember from today, forever.

First, the background.

Amelia (I have given her a pseudonym) is in my reading intervention class so that she can build reading skills to meet certain standardized test requirements. She is very bright. But she has not yet passed this particular standardized exam. Amelia wears an ankle bracelet, has a tracker, and a probation officer. She is fiercely social, her face screams intensity almost always, and she is loud. Very loud. I like all of that about her. She is a force to be reckoned with and, most days, I look forward to seeing her.

Amelia is failing my class. She was failing three weeks ago. Her out-of-school life often interferes with her in-school life. So, three weeks ago, a situation with Amelia escalated in my classroom. I was trying to get her to do the work I was asking her and other students in class to do. She was being defiant. The situation unraveled quickly to the point where Amelia was screaming obscenities at me, storming out into the hallway. I stepped out of the classroom with her, where things got worse. I asked her to go to the main office, at which point she threw a book--the one she was supposed to be reading--at me as her final insolent act and she continued to scream profanity walking down the hallway.

Amelia, her principal, and myself met the following day to discuss the situation that transpired. For the sake of brevity, I will only share this one moment of that conversation.

"I feel like you're always picking on me," Amelia told me with piercing eyes.

"I understand why you feel that way," I responded. "I am kind of picking on you."

Amelia looked at me, kind of stunned at what I had just said.

I continued, "Amelia, you are probably the smartest and most capable person in my reading class, but you are not passing. It is my job to help you pass my class. That is what I get paid to do. I am going to continue to ask you not to do things when they interfere with your learning in class. So yes, I'm going to 'pick' on you because you have potential. And I care about you passing."

Flash-forward to yesterday. Amelia and her friend asked about my ethnicity. This topic of conversation seems very important to Amelia, as she is curious to know about her fellow classmates. I was surprised when she inquired about me because I'm clearly very white. During our conversation, I began to tell her that my ancestors are Czech, explaining that my heritage on both my mom and dad's side of the family can be traced back to Czechoslovakia. She was confused. She had questions about where I was "from". She wondered if my wife was white too, or Czech, or Mexican. It was an innocent, yet intriguing, interaction.

Then, today, I was in my classroom during my off period, grading papers. This time, it was my turn to be stunned. Someone was standing outside my classroom door.

"Mr. P?" It was Amelia.

"Hey, what's up?" I said.

"Um," she hesitated, "Do you know what it means to vent?"

I kind of laughed. I think she totally underestimates my vocabulary as an English and Reading teacher. Whatever.

"Sure," I said, "Venting means that you need to tell someone something. You need to complain. Something is bothering you and you want someone to just listen. You need to get something off of your chest."

"I need to vent," Amelia told me.

"OK. Come on in," I said.

I probably should have asked where she was supposed to be, inquiring what class she was skipping to come and talk to me. But I decided that wasn't important information in this moment, nor was it an appropriate question to ask Amelia immediately, since she needed to vent. She seemed serious, acting in a way she had never revealed to me before. Her same intensity was there, but it was different now. I saved my question for later.

Amelia began talking. "I just want to give up," she started.

After that phrase, I was compelled to close the cover of my laptop as a way to signal to her that she had my attention. I listened, asking leading questions to get her to tell me more. Amelia shared that she has "been in the system" since she was 11 years old because there was some physical abuse in the home. As she grew older, crime and other scenarios have kept her in the system. She sees a therapist every Monday. Her mom recently told her that she doesn't care about her anymore, doesn't want to have anything to do with her, and wants her to live somewhere else. Then, recently, some conflict unfolded between Amelia's boyfriend of a year-and-a-half. The boyfriend is Amelia's one supporter, the person she really trusts. Well, he dumped Amelia, and then some other complications transpired on Facebook. Amelia said she was working hard to get her grades up and pass her classes because there are only three weeks left of school before summer. However, today, during her first period, she was taking a test and she just couldn't concentrate. She said she kept reading the same question over and over again but couldn't understand it. Her problems just kept taking over her thoughts. She told me she didn't even want to come to school today.

Throughout our conversation, I reassured her. I told her that her experience on her test this morning was completely natural and that most people going through what she was going through would also have a hard time concentrating on school. I processed with her how she could talk to her first period teacher to see if she could have a second attempt on that test. I asked about her therapist. I told her I would get in touch with her school counselor. I asked if there were other adults she could trust. I reminded her that, while she feels alone and abandoned right now, she is not alone. I thanked her for coming to talk to me.

And, most importantly, I pleaded with Amelia to not give up, telling her life is rough.

I said, "We can't let the bad stuff get in the way of what is good. We have to keep fighting. Don't let this bad stuff right now take over and cause you to fail classes when there are only three weeks left of school. Because if that happens, you have to deal with more bad stuff."

Amelia nodded through teary eyes.

"Thanks, Mister," she said. She calls me "mister" more than she calls me Mr. P.

And then I asked what class she was supposed to be in and if that teacher knew she was coming to talk to me instead of going to class.

Students like Amelia may not pass a test in their first period class because life prevents them from being their best. Equally so, if they are required to take a high-stakes standardized test on a particular day when life gets in the way of learning, they will fail. And then the results of that failing standardized test is used as "data" to label Amelia as a "failure". Additionally, that same data on Amelia is used to label her school as a failure, or "needing improvement". And her teacher is labeled a failure too. And, then, public schools are failing.

The real "data" behind every score on a particular test on a particular day are the minutes, days, weeks, and months of interaction between Amelia and her teachers. Because one day Amelia is launching profanities and throwing a book at me, and then, many days later, she needs me to be her advocate. Amelia is absolutely, unequivocally NOT a failure.

Teachers, we must tell more of our stories that inform the data on public schools.

Teacher Appreciation Week

This week is Teacher Appreciation Week. Do what you want with that. Enough said.

Yesterday was not a good teaching day for me. For those teachers out there, you know how terrible the bad days can feel. And I can honestly say, I haven't felt entirely appreciated going back into the classroom. You go into teaching knowing that teenagers generally are not going to appreciate you. Oftentimes they view teachers as obstacles, people to subvert, push up against, argue with, disrespect, and I could continue with the list of those not-so-fun descriptive words. As the adult (and teacher), you go to work every day accepting teenagers for who they are, and do the best you can. But the bad days can weigh on your being like no other.

Thankfully, that was all yesterday.

Today, I felt appreciated. The teenagers were still their normal selves in all their glory. The revealing moments that capped my day today transpired during after school club with Mr. Pernicek. It's not really a club. Rather it is when students show up for extra help in the basement of the school where my classroom is located. More than a handful of students voluntarily stayed over an hour to do academic work. They genuinely wanted to improve and do well. There were several impromptu lessons:

• How to take a run-on paragraph and change it to a solid paragraph of sentences.
• How to come up with vivid, descriptive words using thesaurus.com.
• Where to put commas in a compound complex sentence.
• How to connect opinions about a book to life in a short essay.
• How to write and punctuate dialogue.
• How effort, time-management, and focus in school makes life less-stressful.

Most of the teenagers said thank you on their way out of the room this afternoon, their grades rising, and their sense of pride and self-worth intensified.

On an unrelated note, TEDxYouth@Lincoln is coming together nicely. Check out this update.

Rules, mistakes, and considerate corrections

As a person who loves the written word and appreciates all the structural "rules" about language and how it functions, I often make "mistakes" both in writing and in speaking. Everyone does this from time to time and it is often off-putting when corrected by another person. Some of my errors have been more embarrassing than others. I'll share just two that stand out in my mind as striking when they happened.

The first one was actually made on this blog. Honestly, I'm sure anyone reading my blog would be able to find several incorrect usages, punctuations, or confusing strings of phrases or sentences. I don't profess to be perfect. However, one post particularly made me shrivel in mortification. I am still relatively new to the blogging world, and I am excited about building a readership base steadily and slowly. I like to look at the stats to see how many page views and followers there are out there. One of my earliest posts titled "Lunch with a clarinetist and a beatboxer who improv together at TEDxLincoln" was particularly popular. As days went by, I was elated at the increasingly high-number of page views next to the title of that entry. Glancing at the title one day, I saw it. My heart dropped. I meant improv and I spelled improve. In the title! Upon further investigation, I realized I spelled improve several times throughout the post too! What would people think of me? Why didn't anyone bring it to my attention? I even shared the mistake all over Twitter and Facebook! I quickly, in shame, made my edits.

There is an actual term for making a mistake in a title. It is called Muphry's law:

If a mistake is as plain as the nose on your face, everyone can see it but you. Your readers will always notice errors in a title, in headings, in the first paragraph of anything, and in the top lines of a new page. These are the very places where authors, editors and proofreaders are most likely to make mistakes.

I'm great at ensuring that my unintentional mistakes (and what mistake is intentional?) are in prime locations for all to discover. I proof and edit a blog post multiple times before posting it, yet Michelle will point out errors in seconds that I have glossed over time and time again.

Another embarrassing experience of mine goes back many years ago when I was in college doing a practicum with a very smart class of 7th graders. Every week there were several spelling lessons in which it was my job to lead. As an English Education major, spelling has never been one of my strongest strengths. I can manage on my own but I wouldn't proudly say I'm an expert. Regardless of all this, I can hold my own and was pretty confident in my skills. One day I was up in front of these terrific kids grouping words, writing and talking at the same time like most teachers do. And I kept spelling a couple of words incorrectly. The first time the kids were considerate in their corrections. The second time it became a bit of fodder for the group. But soon I realized I had to make sure I was thinking and writing instead of talking and writing otherwise the mistakes would continue. I tried to turn the situation into a "nobody is perfect" lesson that, to this day, I'm almost certain didn't stick.

Luckily, my cooperating teacher sitting in the back of the classroom observing was intelligent, gracious, and had a sense of humor. She understood that mistakes are alright, part of the learning process, and, that being vulnerable and honest with your students creates a classroom culture of trust, collaboration, and synergy. A teacher of another persuasion may have viewed my missteps as a lack of intelligence, knowledge, preparation, or inability to be an effective English teacher. Luckily, I was working with the former and not the latter.

The last day of the semester, when my cooperating teacher handed me my teaching evaluation, she gave me a gift. It was a cup, with several spelling errors crossed out. Many students over the years have commented on this cup when they see it at my desk or in the classroom, providing me with my favorite opportunity to share the story of my first experience in a classroom as a teacher. It's a great story that all students love, making me--Mr. Pernicek--someone who can be real and fallible, a person just like them, imperfect on a journey of literacy development. That cup holds much symbolism and meaning today, constantly reminding me what kind of teacher I should be.

I read a post on a blog this morning that resonated with me (and that gift of a cup many years ago). It is what spurred this post. Chandra addresses the act of correcting another person's language mistakes all the while examining the interestingly complex world of linguistics and literacy privilege. It's worth taking the time to read. Literacy Privilege: How I Learned to Check Mine Instead of Making Fun of People's Grammar on the Internet.

Because of my field of study, oftentimes when someone points out my language (or literature) mistake they will follow it up with a comment referencing me being an English teacher (ie "But you're an English teacher!"). This has always caused me to cringe, because the premise behind that type of comment is that an English teacher should never make an English-related mistake. That is like saying people in every profession should be expected to be perfect: a mathematician will always compute a formula perfectly, a physician always makes the correct diagnosis the first time, a scientist is always accurate in enacting impeccable experiments, and an actress always remembers her line in order to give a flawless performance on the first take. We all know none of that is true. Flawlessness is basically nonexistent.

Just try again

"Just try again."

These words of wisdom were offered up by Vivi, the two year old daughter of Russ and Anna, one day while I was in the backyard at their house. Among moments of great conversation and imagination, she wanted to play a game of catch with me. She had a big toy ball that she would throw to me; I would catch it and then lightly toss it back to her outstretched hands. Periodically Vivi would catch the ball. Other times it would bounce off of her little hands and she would go running after it saying, "Just keep trying" over and over again.

Whether Vivi learned this mantra from her parents or intuitively came up with it on her own while we were playing is irrelevant. What I loved about this moment with her was her unfailing determination to perfect the skill of catching the ball. Vivi was unwilling to let failure, or the fear of failure, to dissuade her.

Can we, as adults, honestly say that we operate in life with the same unabashed inhibitions? Or are we so afraid of potential results that we fear trying something that may not turn out well?

I'm dwelling on Vivi's two-year-old wise wisdom because I read an article about failure and our loss of creativity in the Lincoln Journal Star: Losing our creativity: Fear of failure makes us hold back from big ideas : The (402)/411.

Essentially, the article brought back my thinking from a course I took while working on my Master's degree. In the course we discussed aesthetic experiences, ideas regarding artistry and creative thinking, and the relation of those ideas to teaching and learning. Children are inherently creative but that decreases as one becomes older. Studies have shown that divergent thinking in children is high and then diminishes with age. One explanation for why this is relates to the way schools are structured. School treats people/children all the same. They must learn the same thing, at the same time, in the same mode/method. Then students demonstrate their knowledge at a predetermined time (whether a student is ready or not is irrelevant) and are graded according to their correct or incorrect "answers". Worse yet, students are given massive amounts of standardized tests and then compared upon the results. There is little room for questioning, creativity, or disparate ways of considering the world. Part of this is socialization among peers but it also is a function of teacher, curriculum, and student. This is oftentimes called the "factory model" of education. Students enter a class in school based on similar age and are expected to exit with certain knowledge for the correlated grade level. Never mind that some students are well below or above that level, or may need more time to master that level, or might require a different method to learn that level. All are the same. School is standardized. And a mistake in school can equal a bad grade or even failure.

Success doesn't always mean avoiding mistakes. Success can be accomplished in various ways. Oftentimes success can come through trial and error, exploration, and failure. Sometimes people become "good" at something after years of honing a skill, practicing, receiving feedback, and (yes) failing. Additionally, are we limiting ourselves when we restrict creativity and divergent thinking?

Some of these ideas are explained nicely in a 12-minute video on YouTube which is very thought-provoking. The speaker in the video makes an argument for changing the paradigm of public education. If you have time, consider watching it.

People Watching from my Lunch Window at Work

My favorite thing to do during work is spend time looking out a window. I know, strange. Let me explain.

I've noticed that florescent lighting has a negative effect on me. It's not like I immediately react to it by feeling extremely ill. But I do feel overanxious, or stressed, or hyperactive. When I was a teacher, my classroom was lit entirely by florescent lighting, aside from one small window in the corner. I enjoyed nothing more than turning out the lights in the room before or after school to grade papers by the window with a lamp on for extra softer light. It calmed me. I felt more productive. Because I noticed such a change in myself, I choose one year to turn off a row of florescent lights and bring in extra lamps for lighting for my students. I have no conclusive evidence they were more engaged or that their learning was enhanced. In fact, most days there was no detectable difference between florescent lighting and dim lamps. Someone should study that though.

I have read before (and I wish that I could remember where so I could cite the original piece) that natural outdoor lighting is good for people. I hope I'm not making this up, but I think it stated that those who work with a window in their office, or who make a point to look outside the window are happier and more productive (or something to that effect). Again, I'm not going to go any further without being able to back any of this up. To add some credibility to what I'm saying, here is a website I like that speaks to the importance of natural light for people: Beat the Wintertime Blues with Natural Light.

The point is, although I'm currently not teaching, I still work in a place with florescent lighting. I hate it. Additionally, my office is in the corner with no windows, which I equally despise. So when I have a particularly hectic day, I eat my lunch in a room at work with windows. I turn off the lights, sit at a table that faces the window and eat my lunch. I have a spectacular view of the busy street and intersection, along with the parking lot of the retail store where I work.

Gazing out the window not only rejuvenates me, it also provides an opportunity for great people watching. I must admit, people watching is one of my most favorite pass-times. It allows me to quietly let go and observe the ordinary moments of others' days: near collisions about to happen before either driver notices a potential for danger, a rushed mother balancing her recently purchased items and her three children, the elderly person who struggles to put one foot before the other, the casual person making a short pit-stop in work-out clothing, or the inquisitive child who takes off running across the parking lot with no sense of fear or imminent danger.

Today I had a late 4:00 lunch, a time when a shift-change takes place at our store. One after another, people, alike in their dress-code, make the trek in from employee parking at the far end of the lot. As I watched each person head toward the building, I realized I hired almost all of them. I had some part in their work, their life that day, their employment. I shaped their training, which in turn, influences how well they do their job. I stopped eating and smiled to myself. I was a little proud in that moment, excited for what each person's shift might bring that day. I sent positive thoughts their way, hoping that they would actually reach them.

Soon my lunch was no longer in front of me. I wanted to stay at the window, yet somehow managed the motivation to gather up the empty reusable containers and finish the rest of my day.