Category Archives: Life in the Classroom

Distance Success

For the vast majority of my students, distance learning has not been working.

Not just my classes, but the concept in general. Many report that their lives outside of school are often unstructured, unfettered, tumultuous, so the routine and predictability (and accountability) of school was what kept their footing. They miss being greeted by the principal and our awesome secretaries every single morning. They miss our one-hallway community where literally everyone knows your name. They even miss my bad dad-jokes. (I added that last one, because I’m just assuming…)

They share with me that it isn’t the content, or the tasks, or the obscure grading expectations, or the fact that they might spend hours staring at a chromebook. It is the loss of the structure of school, both literal and figurative.

While some are adrift, a handful are experiencing an academic transformation. The numbers are small, but there is something about this distance learning thing that is working for them. Let’s take one student, who I’ll call B*. Prior to March 13th, attendance was spotty. When present, B was physically present only. Despite constant attempts to connect, few of us on staff were able to claim we actually had a sustained conversation with them. In the weeks prior to the shutdown, I received two assignments from B. They weren’t defiant, and to be honest their skills (in my classes, at least) did not appear to be deficient in any significant way. B was, and is, an enigma we are continuing to work to unravel.

Transition to distance learning and this same student had nearly the highest rate of engagement of all my students. This is a student listed as homeless, with a history of bouncing from school to school, and with a outside-of-school life that instantly led to worry every time they missed school. When I asked B why distance learning seemed to work, I parsed out three trends in their (short) reply:

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Then and Now

THEN

Almost everything I need to teach math or ELA or science or social studies or health is in my classroom. Student books. Math tests. ELA papers.

NOW

I sent some of the books home with the kids on that ill-fated Friday the 13th: math, science, and Roald Dahl’s autobiography Boy. Per instructions, I sent home papers for six weeks’ worth of work.

The work I sent home immediately became “optional” once we learned that we could not require or grade any work sent home. Then, a couple of weeks later, we learned we could start instruction again.

The additional books and papers I want to use with my students for the rest of the year are in my classroom. There is no way to get them to my students now.

I have to check for coronavirus-era copyright access for materials for my students. For some of the materials, I have to scan (once I get permission) stacks of pages and email them to families. (At least I have the stuff at home!) I have to search the web for open-source materials.

THEN

I think of teaching as a performance art. I make eye contact with my kids as I teach. I respond to their body language, their facial expressions.

I walk around the room, monitoring multiple small groups. I manage behaviors quietly, usually with humor.

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This Is Heavy: The WATAC Conference and Finding Meaning

Last weekend I attended the 4th Annual Washington Teacher Advisory Council’s Spring Conference.  The planners re-organized their conference into an online format. Amazingly, they were able to accommodate the largest number of attendees in their history thus far. That is one positive when it comes to the distance learning format. We can fit more folks into the “room.”

Don’t get me wrong; I would have much preferred seeing all my friends and colleagues from around the state in person. I look forward to it every year. However, seeing them all virtually and hearing how they are dealing with our unprecedented issues these last months of the school year was invaluable.

If you are unfamiliar with WATAC, it is an organization formed initially to organize award-winning teachers in our state to make our expertise available to stakeholders with influence on education policy. Since its inception, it has expanded to include leaders from all aspects of education – administration, certificated, and classified. Anyone with an interest in teacher leadership is welcome at the conference. And, for me, the conference has been a great way to get a shot of teacher energy as the final stretch of the school year hits, and I really, really need that boost.

This year…I really needed a boost.

Don’t we all? The truth is I am actually grieving. I wobble back and forth between shock, depression, and a sort of manic activity level of problem solving. I’m a mess! In fact, the concept of the five stages of grief won’t get out of my head. Although, losing a loved one is unspeakably worse, losing my classroom feels like a huge loss.  After all, I love my job. I love the most annoying of my seventh graders and the snarkiest of my seniors. I am deeply attached to my classroom, my kids, and my teacher lifestyle. So, yes, I am grieving the loss.

The five stages are trademarked, actually. You can go to David Kessler’s website, if you are interested in what he says about grief and grieving. After wondering if I was actually experiencing grief, I looked over the process: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Yep. I’m doing all of that.

The conference theme was “Back to the Future, and keynote speaker Amy Campbell, our current Washington State Teacher of the Year, quoted the famous meme that comes from the movie Back to the Future, the one where Marty McFly says, “This is heavy.”

This IS heavy, Marty. You thought it was tough that your mom had a crush on you. But this, THIS is heavy.

Education is changing. This is not merely a moment of pause. We can’t go back to normal. In this crisis we have pulled back a curtain and revealed serious problems with equity in education. Yes, we knew they were there, but it is easy to just go about our business making little shifts that don’t rock the boat too much.

It won’t work that way this time. Serious change is needed, and now is exactly the time to work on it.

As Amy told us- speaking directly to my teacher soul – we are experiencing loss. We are in a crisis that impacts our safety, our economy, and our mental health. “Hindsight really is 2020,” and we need to find our “place on the continuum and start moving forward.”

Most importantly, she said, “Old normal should not be the final destination.” And I feel that. I really do.

As a member of the teacher panel later in the conference, I was asked what was working, what was hard, and what I want to take into the future of education. I don’t remember what I said exactly, and I hope it made some sense at the time. But, I can summarize right now.

What’s working? YouTube, Padlet, Zoom, and all the technology no one thought we could use on such a large scale.

What’s hard? Missing the kids and noticing that some fell off the radar when the crisis hit. Many of my kids live in crisis all the time. Not knowing where they are right now is indescribably tough..

What to take forward? Poor kids, rural kids, isolated kids—they deserve whatever the other kids get. I don’t want to see how the one-to-one schools gracefully flipped their systems to accommodate distance learning. I want to see how internet access becomes a universal right for all families. I want legitimate supports for English language learners and students with IEPs and 504 plans. I want to see every teacher receiving the training to support distance learning. I want my tiny district to have more than the grit, goodwill, and volunteer spirit that is filling the gaps in the system. I want equity for all- educators, families, students, all of us.

That’s what I would take to the future.

So, thank you Amy and all the other wonderful WATAC planners and facilitators. You acknowledged what we are going through and you set us on an impassioned path to the future. You did not pretend it was easy, but you did assure us that we are not alone on this journey. There are a lot of amazing educators who are fighting the fight alongside us. So thank you.

In closing, my grief research led me to David Kessler’s final stage of grief from his latest book. He calls it “finding meaning.” It is the way that we can begin to move forward. We find meaning in the loss. I am starting to feel like I am on that path. With the “loss” of my familiar job as an educator, I am focusing on how to reinvent it to make it equitable, relevant, engaging, and, well, comforting, for the students of my future classroom, online or elsewhere. I am beginning to plan going back to the future.

WATAC Facebook Page

Amy’s Keynote on OSPI’s YouTube Channel

A Day in the Life of Distance Teaching

Disclaimer: What follows is not a complaint. It is documentation. I know many have it worse: I recognize that I am beyond lucky to still be employed and receiving a paycheck. But this site is about “where practice meets policy.” What follows is where my practice is given current policy.


At 6:00am, my phone buzzes that the scheduled post on my first-period Google Classroom has gone live. When I check, I also see a few emails from students, time-stamped at 2, 3, or 4am. If it’s a good day, I’ve been up since 5:30, maybe had a cup of coffee, and I’m heading out the door for a run or into the garage for a workout when that notification comes in. The “good” days have not been particularly frequent.

Until March of this year, I never allowed work email notifications on my phone. I had to have a line drawn somewhere, and I have spent the last six years of my career building boundaries brick by brick: work and life needed separation. Those boundaries dissolved when I realized that I needed to be “on” and accessible to my students and my colleagues in some way similar to how we could step across the hall for a quick question or walk to the back of the room for a check-in. I turned on email notifications on my phone after logging in one mid-day and seeing a string of messages from students who had questions that had hung in the ether unanswered.

In my mind, I sensed momentum lost and opportunity missed.

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The Virtual Classroom in the Age of Coronavirus

Thursday, March 12, we had a staff meeting after school where we learned that eventually schools might be closed for a period of time.

Friday, March 13, at 12:30, I learned school would close the following Monday. We were told to gather work to send home that would support student learning for the next six weeks.

I flew around, getting math, ELA, and science organized so students could take them home by the end of the day. Before they left, I hugged them all (one last time before social distancing made us stop that!) and said I planned to start teaching them for “at least one hour a day” starting the next Monday.

I spoke too soon.

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Hands-in Learning

Like many of the rest of you, I went from being a classroom teacher to also being continuous-education facilitator (perhaps a new state term?) of my own children in the blink of an eye. While I am still juggling the steep learning curve of being a virtual teacher for my brick-and-mortar students, I have had my own steep learning curve at home. 

This morning, we sat at the kitchen table and went through our “classroom norms” to start the day:

Breakfast eaten-check. Hair brushed-check. Teeth brushed-check. Pajamas changed into real clothes for the day-check. I double-checked…no pajama bottoms? Wow! We already had some of my “real” middle-school classroom norms beat! 

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No Right Answer

It is a classic “damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

My own three children are in three different buildings in the same school district (one elementary school, one middle school, one high school; all in a different district from where I work). Technically, their teachers have been directed by district admin not to send homework yet.

My elementary schooler’s teacher has done so anyway, with the clear communication that it is optional. She has sent suggested math pages from the workbook, along with video guides. She has also video recorded herself reading aloud to kids. My son is in a Spanish-immersion program, so he is also charged with continuing his online practice program. I’m okay with all of this.

My middle school son was asked by his science teacher to finish up a project about natural disasters that they started before the shutdown. His math teacher has sent e-packets of worksheets. There hasn’t been a clear statement of “optionality” for these. We haven’t heard from his other teachers. I’m okay with all of this.

My high schooler? Radio silence from teachers. I’m okay this, too.

Seattle Public Schools Superintendent Denise Juneau has stated that the largest school district in Washington will not transition to online learning in the immediate future. Meanwhile, the Los Angeles (LAUSD) school system is investing $100 million in making sure kids without online access are provided tech and internet during the shutdown. From one side, Superintendent Juneau is being praised for her pragmatic view of the access divide among Seattle students. The other side is quick to drag her publicly. (I’m not hiding my bias well, am I?)

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An Empty Classroom and a Full Heart

Hey, teachers. How are you? Tough week, huh?

Me? I’m okay, just a bit lonelier than usual. I am alone in my classroom, alone with empty desks, blank whiteboards, and quiet halls. It is eerie and unsettling. It puts everything in perspective for me. I’m trying to consider it a gift, insomuch as I can in these difficult times.

As you know, all schools in our state are closed, but our local administrators have some leeway in the management of the closures. The situation is fluid, and changes daily, but this is what I am currently experiencing. The school buildings are closed to the public until at least April 27. We are delivering food and grade-level learning packets via bus routes. Families who prefer can call ahead and pick up meals and supplies at our school offices during abbreviated hours. Classified staff are still busy, at least part time, doing odd jobs, disinfecting the facilities, copying the packets, preparing the breakfasts and lunches, delivering the food and supplies, and providing childcare to local first responders and healthcare workers. 

As for the teachers, we are expected to work seven-hour days and log our activities daily. This week we are preparing the learning packets, creating activities that can help our students progress without our day-to-day contact. We are asked to stay in touch with families and make weekly calls to the students in our advisories. We can clean and organize our classrooms. We can sign up for online classes. We can read books or watch online professional development videos. We can work at home if we so choose.

I see other teachers in my social media feeds creating cool online resources for their students, but we are encouraged to plan for the many students in our district who won’t have internet access. We are rural, a bit remote, and we have a large population that is often displaced or even homeless. It’s complicated. Continue reading

The Power of the 5 Minute Break

It is very hard to teach or create an equitable culture of learning when a teacher is faced with students that have various behavior and emotional needs.  Although I have been in education for over a decade I am only a second-year teacher. The many roles I held allowed me to witness many different management styles towards these student needs.  Because of this my students have had opportunities not to just grow educationally, but emotionally and behaviorally.  

It is now common to have a classroom with not just one but many students who disrupt the learning environment.  At times it feels unfair that many students can’t just learn because the teacher needs to focus on recorrecting behavior.  The environment for learning has become compromised and all students are losing.

All teachers begin the year by addressing tier 1 intervention practices.  This would include discussing classroom expectations, routines, and appropriate behaviors.  However, in order to reach students, educators must consistently reflect on these practices in order to maintain realistic expectations that are equitable for all students.  

Tiered interventions should be flexible and ever-changing as the student begins to self-regulate.  An educator’s key objective is to understand the student’s unique needs as the base of tiered interventions. A tier 1 intervention that has worked in my classroom is the 5-minute brain break.  

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Equity in Education: A Systems View

There is ample evidence that current public education institutions, as designed, are producing predictable inequitable outcomes.

Some people (including some educators) will pivot and blame families, society, or the students themselves, but the reality is that the charge of the public school is in a certain sense to disregard the external. We are to welcome each child, see them for who they are, and craft a path toward educational attainment (presently measured by assessment scores and diploma achievement). We don’t get a “pass,” and nor should we, if the child’s external life throws down obstacles to this forward movement.

There are several entry points to the examination of equity in education: some look at teacher behavior (does the adult express implicit bias toward specific children in offering opportunity, praise, or punishment), some look at curriculum (does the subject matter represent multiple perspectives and reveal diverse experiences), and some look at systems (do policies result in disparate treatment or disparate outcome, predictable by demographic).

All are necessary angles for examining whether we are serving all kids equitably. However, as a classroom teacher myself, and as someone who cares intensely about eliminating the inequities perpetuated by the system I am complicit in, I am noticing a serious problem. It is the same problem that consistently gets in the way of every single effort to move and improve what school systems do.

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