Letting Go and Leaning In

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Education, Education Policy, Elementary, Life in the Classroom, Social Issues

Covid-19. Quarantine. Social Distancing. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

At the beginning of May, I went into my building for the first time since the initial announcement of the 6-week school closures. I walked through the eerily quiet hallways looking at all of the artwork and school announcement posters still hanging. Everyday items clinging to life, waiting for the halls to once again flood with children to justify their purpose.

I meandered up the stairs and finally arrived at my classroom. Our painted hearts from Valentine’s Day sitting frozen in time on our display wall. I opened my door and was hit with hot, stuffy air and silence. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Water bottles sitting on desks waiting for their owners. My daily schedule still set on March 12th, patiently waiting for the 13th to take its place.

Crayon boxes open on desks, books messily shoved into book boxes, and pencils everywhere. Centimeter cubes sitting in the random spots where kids had left them after a busy day of math workshop. Pillows askew in the classroom library and papers shoved into desks. The stuff of everyday learning filling every inch of my classroom but no longer having any purpose because time has stopped in Room 205. 

What began as weeks has now turned into just over two months of distance learning. As I attempt to continue teaching and give my students feedback, I can’t help but think: Do I even really know this child anymore? It’s been over a summer break’s worth of time since I have seen them in person. Are they still obsessed with Pokemon? Do they still like to eat jelly sandwiches for lunch? Is this feedback going to resonate with this version of them? The faces I now see in front of me feel like a virtual simulation of the students I used to have. I feel incredibly guilty for thinking this way but what we had together in our classroom feels like a lifetime ago.

The feelings of personal inadequacy are strong too. I find myself constantly thinking about all of the things I could do better. As an educator, that feeling is a constant companion, but in this world of online learning, it feels especially overbearing. It’s no longer a companion, but rather an uncontrollable force. Even with each passing team meeting, staff meeting, or online collaboration I somehow feel more alone. 

We have to keep moving forward, but with the 20-21 school year still hanging in the balance, it’s hard to know what to hold on to. It’s hard to know how to manage expectations or what to plan for the next school year. The thought of possibly having to continue fully online for a new school year breaks my heart. We’ve all been cheated. We’ve all lost precious time in our classrooms to grow and learn and give. 

Teachers work their tails off to get to March. The spring is everyone’s big payoff for the school year. We spend Fall and Winter building community, routines, and foundations so that when Spring rolls around our students can soar. More than ever, the classroom feels like a true family as we come to the realization that this school year is coming to an end and we will no longer be together every day. Teachers and students alike begin to savor and soak up every moment they can. 

Not all hope is lost though.

As I comb through my student’s current work, I am often reminded of Rita Pierson’s wonderfully inspiring TED Talk. Within the first minute, Rita quotes James Comer and it is the heart of her message: “No significant learning can occur without a significant relationship.” I think of this quote often because, despite everything, my students are still growing. With each passing week, I see more legible handwriting, longer fiction stories, deeper comprehension in reading. Math concepts I must have taught about 50 different ways in-person without success are starting to click at home. 

Whether it’s a teacher or a parent, kids learn from the people they love.

While I don’t get my big spring payoff there can still be a happy ending. We can take this experience and use it to better leverage family involvement in the future. Maybe we can finally redefine what a learning community looks like. Maybe when they say “it takes a village to raise a child”, we can start creating a better village and lean into the communities that are often ignored beyond our classrooms. I’ve learned that distance can’t stop love or strong relationships or the ways in which we have positively impacted another human being. Kids will always need champions in their corner, even if that corner is miles away. 

ESSB 5395: Concerning Comprehensive Sexual Education Part II

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In my previous post I discussed the reactions of EL parents about ESSB 5395, the new sexual education law. I interviewed EL parents and my school’s social worker, Janice, to dive deeper into the issues relating to this controversial law. The question remains: how can schools and EL parents reach a common understanding regarding ESSB 5395 with cultural and linguistic barriers in place?

Even though the EL parents I interviewed opposed ESSB 5395 and their children’s participation in sexual education, many felt torn about the law in some ways. They agree with Jancie about sexual health being extremely important in preventing sexual abuse. As one parent said, “Some children suffer horrific sexual assaults and steps need to be taken in order to protect them.” 

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Distance Success

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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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ESSB 5395: Concerning Comprehensive Sexual Education Part I

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ESSB 5395 first came to my attention this fall. Generally, the Slavic community tends to be apolitical, which stems from generations living in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. There you knew the winner of an election before stepping into a voting booth, which bred distrust in the integrity of government processes. My grandmother, a U.S. citizen for over two decades, never cast a vote. Suddenly, people, who debated the trustworthiness of voting over dinner, protested in Olympia. 

Why?

ESSB 5395.

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Then and Now

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Current Affairs, Elementary, Life in the Classroom, Parent Involvment

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

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Current Affairs, Education, Education Policy, Life in the Classroom, Middle School, Professional Development, Uncategorized

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

My Hopes for a “New Normal”

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One silver lining: Sometimes it takes the unimaginable to jar loose our imaginations.

When we finally get back to face-to-face education with kids, I have a few changes I hope I’ll see. Some of these are based on my own personal experiences with distance learning, some are broader. I hope to see…

  • Continued curricular flexibility and resources to individualize for kids based on their needs, interests, and situations.
  • The devaluing [elimination…?] of grades and task completion as a means of measurement in favor of teaching and learning rooted in skills and standards.
  • The dismissal of “the way we’ve always done it” as a argument with any merit whatsoever.
  • The recognition that different environments (in-person, virtual, etc.) have strengths and limitations, that these vary from student to student, and that each student can have access to their own “just right” mix.
  • Realization, without question, that quality teaching demands quality preparation, which demands time… and that we revise the teacher work-day to include actual, meaningful, and significant time for preparation, collaboration, and design.

How about you? In what ways do you hope school looks different upon our eventual return?

Differentiation for Parents

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Differentiation

I remember the days when class was still held in a building, and my biggest concern was figuring out how to differentiate my math lesson to meet the needs of my students.  However, in our new reality of distance learning, I am learning to differentiate for parents.  In order to equitably reach all students educationally, I needed to understand each student’s situation in accessing the material I was creating for distance learning.  

My first obstacle was communication.  How do I communicate with students who are not responding to emails?  I realized very quickly that my only option was to establish a firm communicative relationship with the student’s lead parent/guardian. Like all teachers, I log into my student information system, Power School for my school, and find contact information. I figured the quickest way to reach out to parents would be by phone number.  

Originally, I called the parents/guardians of my students.  I was able to reach a few but found myself leaving a lot of messages.  I still had at least 30% of students whom I couldn’t reach.  Next, I emailed every parent that I couldn’t reach by phone.  I received a few more with this method but still fell short of reaching everyone.

My third option was using an app like Remind to email parents.  I know some educators use other apps like Class Dojo or Class Policy.  Essentially, these offer similar features where you send the parent a code that instructs them on how to download the app and communicate with you via that platform.  Luckily, I had already set this form of communication before the quarantine.  

This form of differentiation helped me contact a few more. These parents were very happy that I had reached out in this manner.  They were very apologetic and expressed that they don’t often check their email.  Others felt bad for not answering my *67-caller ID blocked phone number.  

However, I was still missing quite a few parent contacts.  I equate it to classroom attendance.  If I haven’t seen nine students out of 30 from my second-period class, for several days, I would do anything possible to get a hold of parents/guardians. During a conversation with a colleague, they had heard of other teachers finding success using TalkingPoints.  Initially, I was skeptical.  I figured this was another app, and I was already using Remind.

But how would I reach these last few?  Reluctantly, I began to research this form of communication.  I discovered that this platform has a web-based version.  TalkingPoints allows a teacher to send a message in the form of a text that will appear in the preferred spoken language of the parent/guardian from the web.  Finally, I had reached the majority of my students.  

I keep relentlessly trying to find a way to reach the last 2%, but sadly they are the ones who have no contact number or email on record that is currently useful.  My next thought is reaching out via the United States Postal Service.  Fingers crossed!

In finding the preferred manner of reaching parents/guardians I was able to determine strengths and limitations for each of my students. Through this communication, I identified obstacles and collaboratively created an educational plan of action for each student as well as the best method to communicate on a weekly basis with parents/guardians and students.  

The silver lining during this unprecedented time in education is learning many ways to communicate with families and the importance of being flexible with more than just a phone number or email.  I’m starting to get excited for the 2020-2021 school year when I get to offer parents/guardians their preferred option of communication.

A Day in the Life of Distance Teaching

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Current Affairs, Life in the Classroom

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

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Current Affairs, Elementary, Life in the Classroom, Parent Involvment, Social Issues

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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