Measles and Vaccinations

Posted by Jan Kragen on March 10, 2019
Current Affairs, Science

My mother caught the measles when she was in the second grade. Her overwhelming memory of the ordeal is one of boredom. She had to stay inside the whole time (which could have been up to three weeks). Even worse, in her day, she had to stay in a darkened room, so she couldn’t even read to entertain herself. Of course, there was no television yet.

She didn’t get that sick. She didn’t have any long-term effects.

No big deal.

I have another relative who caught the measles. Robert Dudley Gregory fought with the Union Army during the Civil War. At one point his whole company came down with the measles.

Before I go any further, I want you to consider that the average age of a Union soldier was 26 years old. These were young men in the prime of life who caught a “childhood disease.”

Many of them died. Those who survived were damaged for the rest of their lives.

The minute my mom was diagnosed, a quarantine poster was slapped on the front door of their house. When her dad came home from work, he wasn’t allowed inside his own home. That’s how seriously they took quarantines in 1938.

Back in the 1930s people had a more intimate understanding of measles. They knew from experience how contagious it was, how swiftly it spread, and how deadly it could be. They were not prepared to take any chances.

Once the measles vaccine became available in the 1963, it was considered a godsend. Measles went from being as “inevitable as death and taxes” to a 95% immunity rate after the second dose. Cases plummeted. By 2000—in less than 40 years!—it was eradicated in the United States.

Unfortunately, it hasn’t been eradicated in the rest of the world. Measles can be contagious for days before any symptoms appear, so visitors from other countries can bring the disease and spread it here, affecting students, families, classrooms, and school districts.

How is that possible if everyone here is vaccinated? As you’ve seen on the news, not everyone in America is vaccinated. As fewer people vaccinate their children, more catch the disease. So now Washington State is moving toward vaccinating more of its students.

My students sometimes ask about that. They ask, in particular, about measles and autism.

I tell them there was a one individual doctor (see The Panic Virus by Seth Mnookin). He noticed that signs of autism started to appear in some young children after measles shots. After studying a handful of children, he published a paper making the claim that the shots might be causing autism. It raised alarms, as any such allegation should.

Then other doctors around the world tried to replicate his experiments.

(We talk in science about how the ability to replicate experiments is crucial in order to confirm the results of those experiments.)

None of the other doctors or scientists could replicate his experiments. In fact, study after study showed no link between measles and autism.

Then I ask my class, “What should the doctor do, as a good scientist?” They think he should figure out where he made his mistake.

I tell them that’s not what he did. Instead, he went on the internet to tell the whole world that he was right and every other doctor and scientist was wrong.

Now the kids have two lessons they can draw on. They know about replicability in experimentation. They also know that anyone can post anything on the internet. Having a site doesn’t mean the information on it is authoritative. (After all, I teach them how to make sites of their own. They know they are not authoritative! We always ask, “Who sponsors the site? Who vouches for the information posted there?”)

They agree that the American Medical Association and the Center for Disease Control are more authoritative than a single doctor, especially when his studies contradict everyone else’s.

What is interesting to me is how much tension goes out of the room after discussing the issue in those terms. Science. The internet. They feel like they know how those things work. It puts the question in a context they can understand.

Abraham Lincoln Again

Posted by Jan Kragen on February 18, 2019
Current Affairs, Elementary, Social Issues

Last week I did a series of lessons on “argumentation in reading.” I told my student that I analyzed their STAR reading test data and found their lowest subcategory was in this particular area. However, I confessed to them, I wasn’t sure what the phrase meant. I mean, I teach them argumentation in writing, along with informal logic and fallacies of reasoning, but what was argumentation in reading?

I told them the story of how I investigated my question all the way up to the national STAR testing organization. They replied with their definition and sample test questions.

I shared the results of my research with my class, “You know how I teach you how to use good, logical, well-reasoned arguments in your writing? And how I teach you to use evidence to back up your reasoning? This STAR business is different. When they say ‘argumentation in reading,’ they are talking about bad argumentation. Not using evidence. Appealing strictly to emotion. Manipulating audiences.”

For the next couple of days, I defined terms and showed examples from print advertising and from commercials. Several times I mentioned that they could find examples of this kind of bad argumentation in other places—political speeches, letters to the editor, editorials on the opinion pages. As I wrapped up the final presentation, I quipped that I was just showing them the more entertaining examples of argumentation in reading instead of also pulling in political speeches and the rest.

One of my boys said, “Maybe that’s a good thing, to avoid sharing anything political.”

Maybe I can get away with something from 164 years ago.

The American Party was prominent in United States politics from the late 1840s through the 1850s. More commonly known as the Know-Nothing Party, its members formed a secretive group, answering questions about their beliefs with the phrase, “I know nothing,” which is where they got their more popular name. Most members were white middle class or working class men who strongly opposed immigrants, especially Catholics. Earlier waves of immigration to American had been strongly English-speaking and Protestant, but by the early 1800s people began to arrive from Germany and Ireland, upending cultural expectations and stirring up resentment and fear.

How did Lincoln react to the Know-Nothings? In a letter written to Joshua Speed in 1855 he said,

I am not a Know-Nothing. That is certain. How could I be? How can any one who abhors the oppression of negroes, be in favor of degrading classes of white people? Our progress in degeneracy appears to me to be pretty rapid. As a nation, we begin by declaring that “all men are created equal.” We now practically read it “all men are created equal, except negroes.” When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read “all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and catholics.” When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty—to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocracy.

In the middle of the Civil War, at the national convention that nominated Lincoln for reelection, the committee members noted his justice and protection to all men employed in the Union armies “without regard to distinction of color” as well as his liberal and just encouragement of foreign immigration to “this nation, the asylum of the oppressed of all nations.”

Lincoln believed in our national motto, E Pluribus Unum—Out of Many, One.

What do you think? For Presidents’ Day, do you suppose I can get away with talking about how Lincoln supported immigrants from all nations?

What My Mom Taught Me About Teaching

Posted by Jeremy Voigt on January 30, 2019
Education, Life in the Classroom, Social Issues

On January 14th 2019 my mother died. I sat with her for nearly eighteen hours, and was there when her breathing slowed and stopped.

My mother taught in Seattle public schools for a decade before becoming a stay at home mom. Some of my earliest memories are of her classroom and the daycare adjacent to her classroom. There was a door with a window between us. A green cot I lay on, but never slept on for nap time. A paper mache T-Rex. It seemed huge. The drawer she said her purse was stolen from. A woman I was not related to, but we called Aunt. Dusty light in a 60’s style classroom.

As a stay at home mom, my mom thrived. She was the type that made things happen: lunches, events, or after school programs. Our county didn’t have a rec sports league so she co-founded one. She taught me to read. Put books in my hands. Drove me everywhere. Music lessons. Friends. Ballparks. Yelled louder than any parent in any baseball stands anywhere. Ever. A growl of a cheer.

She had a huge social network. And she was kind to everyone. My town was small enough, at the time, most people knew her, and therefore most people knew me in any given situation. I hated that fact as a kid. I’m a classic introvert preferring to be left alone often, and she a classic extrovert—thriving on the social network. But mom taught me to be kind, or at least civil, to everyone I met, no matter what. And to respect kindness as the highest form of human interaction.

My mother also was an alcoholic. She would not like me saying this. She would say I’m not preserving her dignity. And from her perspective, she’s right. But in my early life my mom taught me to be kind, she taught me to be honest, and she taught me to pay attention to language. And in her later life she taught me to practice these things under strenuous circumstances. I’ve learned over the years that accurately naming something is a kindness. I would argue acknowledging my mom’s disease, and loving her are one act. I would argue putting the truth on the table under bright light takes away its power. Alcoholism gets between people, naming it (without judgement) puts it to the side.

She struggled with that, and it is ok, because it is hard. She could not untangle the connotation of judgement from the word alcoholic. Perhaps that is a perspective from her personality or from her generation, either way it does not matter anymore. We disagreed on this until the day of her death. But what I’ve found over the last few weeks is that the people who love her most, knew and in their own ways acknowledged her disease and loved her all at once. Life is supposed to be hard. If it were easy there would be nothing to do and we’d have no sense of value. And the lesson of naming something, no matter how difficult, proved just as powerful as my mom’s early lessons about kindness.

The day after my mom died, I went to work. I started my AP Language class with a colleague’s student teacher observing, something planned weeks ago. I tried to teach. I started talking about sentences, periodic and cumulative sentences. I thought I mixed them up. Fumbled through definitions. I couldn’t focus. I started sweating. I have never felt so lost in front of students. Even in my first years of teaching. So, I stopped.

I told my students that we knew each other too well after four months, and I could not continue without explaining why I was a mess. I told them my mom died. A subtle shock wave moved through the room. They went quiet. I’ve been teaching for fifteen years and I really believe the single most important thing a teacher can do is be authentic. I told them I was ok, and would be gone the rest of the week. We were quiet as a group for a few beats. That morning I held back because it did not seem appropriate to burden my students with my grief. But standing before them, I just could not fake it at that level. They saw right through the façade, because I’d worked hard to be vulnerable and real and together all year and when I wasn’t everything was wrong. Naming the reality put everything into the fluorescent classroom light. I stopped sweating. We could move on. They said they were sorry with murmurs, with their eyes, and with their awkward teenage silences. It was amazing.

Let’s NOT Have Guns In Schools

Posted by Jan Kragen on January 17, 2019
Current Affairs, Social Issues

10:54 am. February 28, 2001.

We had just dismissed to recess. I had students still in the classroom, some on the outside stairs leading down to the playground, some already out on the playground, some in the hall going to the library, and some in the bathroom.

The Nisqually earthquake struck. A 6.8 quake.

At first it sounded like a giant garbage truck rolling into the parking lot, but it just kept coming. The room began to shake. Startled eyes turned to me.

“It’s an earthquake,” I said. “Duck and cover.” I stood in the doorway so I could watch the students in the classroom and the ones in the hall. Everyone did what they were trained to do.

After the ground stopped shaking, we evacuated the building and gathered on the big field.

Later, once the school was inspected and we could go back inside, everyone shared where they were and what they were doing when the earthquake hit.

No matter where they were in the school, each child had followed the directions for how to stay safe during an earthquake.

I counted that day as a success, not just that the children knew what to do and did it, but that they could each debrief so easily, they could each share their story freely. As I had told them earlier in the year—once you are safe—you should pay attention during an earthquake and observe it because they are interesting.

At the end of the day, one of my students commented to another teacher about how interesting the earthquake was.

(“Good for you!” I thought.)

That teacher was horrified. She told him earthquakes were dangerous. They were not interesting.

Clearly adults react emotionally in different ways to high stress situations.

A 6.8 earthquake is impressive but not murderous. Try to imagine just how ramped up emotions are during a school shooting.

The first issue is, that extraordinary level of emotional response impacts the effectiveness of the police, not just the school staff. In the Parkland shooting Sgt. Brian Miller, who arrived first on the scene, was excoriated in the public and in the press for not entering the building immediately. But the official Broward Sheriff’s Office active shooter policy at the time specifically said deputies may go in and confront a shooter. It wasn’t a requirement.

More importantly, his was not the only failure that day. Colleagues described Captain Jordan as “disengaged and ineffective.”

In fact, in spite of their training—as police officers—the deputies were ill-prepared to react to a school shooting.

Several sheriff’s deputies said they remembered little if anything of their active shooter training.

Even police, with all their training, seldom face an active shooter. It’s hard enough to respond according to training when a shooting erupts right in front of an officer. It’s even more difficult—and more emotionally debilitating—to respond to an unseen shooter or shooters roaming within a school. What if you miss? What if you accidentally hit a student? What if you kill a child? Those questions can paralyze even a trained police officer.

Then comes the second issue. What happens when you take police, who are trained to deal with shooters, and add another shooter in the mix?

November 11, 2018, Roberson, who hoped someday to become a police officer, was working as a security guard at a bar in the suburbs of Chicago. He detained a shooter, pinning him to the ground, with his legal gun drawn. The police chief called him a “brave man doing his best to end an active shooter situation.”

But that night the police shot and killed Jemel Roberson.

Why did he get shot?

It seems like in the confusion of multiple people yelling “He’s security! He’s security!” Roberson may not have heard the police yelling, “Drop your weapon!”

So he died.

Roberson was both an armed security guard and a good guy with a gun. He risked his life to apprehend a shooter. And police killed him anyway.

Thanksgiving night Emantic Bradford Jr. went shopping in an Alabama mall with a cousin and two friends. He had a permit to carry a weapon. According to his family, Bradford was trying to help people during a shooting. He had his gun in his hand when a police officer saw him and shot him.

Here’s the problem. HB 1038 would allow school districts to authorize permanent employees to possess firearms on school grounds under certain conditions.

If trained police officers have a difficult time handling school shooting situations in general, and if they don’t always respond well to “helpful” adults in crisis situations who are also armed, why on earth would we put additional guns into schools? In the hands of everyday school staff?

Imagine that you are that armed teacher. Maybe you have hours of target shooting. Maybe you hunt. Maybe you are very comfortable with your weapon.

Have you had training in simulations where you have to identify friend or foe with split second timing? (Even high-quality military combat training will not fully prepare a soldier or sailor for war—only real live combat experience can do that.)

Have you ever had a gun pointed at you? Has your life been in danger?

If the police came in and yelled to you, could you be sure you would react fast enough not to be shot yourself?

(Especially if you are a person of color, as both Roberson and Bradford were.)

Even more to the point, have you actually served in combat in areas where children are present? Or have you served in the police in violence-ridden communities with children?

According to military personnel I’ve talked to, having the daily experience of having to deal with the direct threat of violence—in the context of children—is the best preparation for handling school shooter situations effectively.

Here’s a possible solution beyond arming random school personnel.

It may be that every school in the country needs a combat veteran as a school safety officer. At the very least, as individual schools decide to hire safety officers, they should specify combat or similar experience as a requirement. Even further, interview questions should demand details about how candidates handled high stakes circumstances with children as part of the situation.

Never a Better Time to be a Teacher

Posted by Gretchen Cruden on January 13, 2019
Uncategorized

Trauma is a beast with multiple personalities. It can slink in the classroom, with downcast eyes and arms crossed; hoping to be unseen. It can also fling itself through the door, announcing its energy in bubbly, overly helpful behaviors that cross the border frequently into bossy and inflexible, resulting in a lonely child bewildered by her lack of friends. Trauma can be tired, unfocused, quick to be red-faced angry, fidgety and/or slack-bodied. All within a single day! Trauma is exhausting and confusing, not only for children, but for teachers too. That is why I am thrilled that our state is taking a proactive approach to helping BOTH teachers and students to address many of the behaviors that students of trauma present with in our classrooms.

There are very few certainties when talking trauma. But one defining feature is that research has shown untreated childhood trauma has very clear consequences for adult outcomes and these outcomes not good. The Adverse Childhood Experience (ACE) study strongly links traumatizing events from childhood with negative adult outcomes, including: higher rates of dropping out of high school; incarceration; alcoholism; obesity; and heart disease, to name a few. For children, traumatizing events translate into more disciplinary action, emotional strife, and decreased learning.

Yet, there is hope. Research also shows the effects of trauma can be mitigated. The most powerful factor supporting this resiliency is a healthy relationship with one adult who cares. This adult does not have to be the parent. Actually, it is often not a parent, for reasons inherent in the trauma itself. In fact, one of the most common individuals to impact students of trauma in a positive way are…teachers!

This is why it is so exciting our state has taken to heart the impact social-emotional learning has on student learning. This direct correlation seems so obvious, but is so underappreciated in the field of education! We are quite literally putting our money where our heart is and allocating resources to help schools better address these needs. In 2013, Washington State passed the Strengthening Student Educational Act. This act aligns Learning Assistance Program (LAP) students with services to address emotional learning. More excitingly, it engages educators in promising practices designed to increase their skills in addressing the emotional and behavioral needs of students and increase student learning. Remember, a caring adult in the life of a child can quite literally affect the life outcome of that child. Imagine the impact a caring AND informed adult could have! I do not know of a greater, more noble and important reason to be in the field of education.

Want to know more about the ACE study? About the impact of trauma on learning? Curious how one school has worked hard to become trauma-informed to overcome these impacts? Check out Paper Tigers. This is a game-changing documentary filmed in Washington’s own Lincoln Alternative High School in the rural community of Walla Walla. This film examines the process an entire school undertook to become trauma-informed and how they went the extra mile to help students move past their own trauma in a cognitive manner.

It is movements like these in the field of education that make me realize there has never been a better time to be a teacher.

Playground Victory

Posted by Jan Kragen on January 10, 2019
Elementary, Games, Life in the Classroom

A few years ago I dragged my husband to a playground in Illinois near my grandparents’ house. I was eager to show him my favorite piece of playground equipment, a unique contraption that spun around like a merry-go-round. It had bench seats you could sit or stand on. There were bars connecting the seating arrangement at the bottom to the armature at the top, and there were swivels at the top and bottom of each connecting bar. On those hot summer days we could run around and get the system rotating, then we could rock it to make it swing back and forth, all at the same time. It was glorious!

After some exploring, I finally brought my husband to the right spot. All we found was a worn circle in the grass.

Horrified, I set off to find someone in charge. I finally found someone who could answer my question. I described the piece of equipment and said, “I don’t know what you’d call it.”

The man said, “Our lawyers called it a liability.”

I’ve been through multiple playground renovations at public schools. Every time we ripped out equipment pieces that were deemed unsafe. In their place we installed increasingly bland structures.

I remember earlier deletions from the playground and how the principal at the time explained there had been a broken arm. That’s all it took to make items disappear—to make them unavailable for everyone.

I should tell you another story. When I was a toddler, my grandmother shopped for a couple of ottomans for me to climb on. Before she made the purchase, she asked the salesman if they would be safe for a two-year-old.

He said, “Lady, I don’t know from safe. One nephew of mine was walking on a two-by-four on the driveway, fell off, and broke his arm. Another nephew rode his tricycle down the stairs to the concrete floor of the basement and walked away without a scratch. I can’t say what’s safe!”

(I have to admit, I grew up in the era of “let them get hurt—that’ll teach them not to do it again.” I didn’t see a bicycle helmet until I was in college!)

Over the years I’ve watched increasingly safe equipment make recess more boring and less of an outlet for our high-energy kids, giving them little room to run, few things to climb, and nothing to lift. The motto for the Olympics is “Higher, Faster, Stronger.” It seems like the motto for playgrounds became “Stay lower, Go slower, Take your turn.”

Here was my lament—We keep making things safer and safer so our children never got hurt, so they never experience pain. They end up with no existential association of risk with physical danger. Then they grow up and go out for extreme sports! By protecting our children in a layer of bubble wrap until they turn 18, ironically, we make them less prepared to make considered choices as adults.

Meanwhile, as our playgrounds became less and less appealing to children, the number of office referrals for poor behavior during recess steadily rose. At one point the solution that was proposed in multiple states was nothing short of draconian—no recesses at all.

Over the years some backlash arose against the sea of bland. The Adventure Playground movement, which began in Europe after WWII, spread to Washington neighborhoods. Mercer Island has their own Adventure Playground where “in eight years … they’ve only had a few nails in shoes and one broken arm.”

U.S. playground design … [has] long prioritized safety over adventure.

Once our school started imagining what a new playground might look like, I got involved immediately.

At the very least, I argued, an elementary school needs a track around the perimeter of the playground so kids can run laps or compete in foot races. (My grandfather was born in 1904. That’s all the boys did for recess at his school. They ran foot races. Every day. Every recess. He did really well in track at college!)

Faster!

I wanted things kids could push or pull or lift. Can you imagine having really heavy disks kids could push over the tarmac to play tic-tac-toe or checkers? Or giant Lincoln Logs made of 4x4s? Or why can’t the really little kids build with big, loose parts such as Imagination Playground blocks?

Stronger!

And I added that there had to be stuff for kids to climb on. I know, if kids are even a foot off the ground, they can fall and get hurt, but climbing is a physical need for a lot of children. We must find a way to accommodate that need. I’d rather having them climbing on things during recess than during class time!

Higher!

At a class meeting my students added their input. They wanted a dome with rope nets for climbing. They wanted a spinning toy. They wanted a Gaga Ball Pit.

They wanted swings.

“Hold on,” I said. “Swings got removed out years ago because of liability issues. So did all the merry-go-rounds. I’m all for brainstorming, but we do have to be realistic.” (Sigh.)

Nevertheless, I carefully wrote down each idea and conveyed the list to our playground committee. The poster wish list hung in our principal’s office for the rest of the year as we worked on grants and fundraising.

I have to admit, my expectations were low. I’m delighted to say I was wrong!

We got the track.

The spinning toy.

The dome with rope nets.

The Gaga Ball Pit.

We even got the swings!

(I never thought I’d see swings at a public school ever again!)

The whole school is thrilled with the change in office referral stats. There have been almost none since the new playground was installed.

If your district says it’s not possible to have this type of equipment at your school, you want to go to work on changing some people’s minds.

One of my over-arching goals in school is to have fun. It’s absolutely fabulous to see kids having a whole lot more fun out at recess.

The Wheels on the Bus

Posted by Shari Conditt on January 5, 2019
Education, Professional Development

I’ve spent sixteen years teaching for my current district and until recently I couldn’t have told you what road or geographic landmark determines whether a student attends my school or the neighboring district’s high school. I did know that our district is large geographically. We have a “remote but necessary” elementary school in our district that serves 40 students who live upriver.

We use a variety of terms to describe geographic areas in our school community. Upriver is a pretty common term used to describe the area due east of our community that parallels the Lewis River. I first heard this term when I started teaching in the district. When we received our first yearly snow, I was told that the kids who live upriver needed to go home. I didn’t really understand but later, during the summer, I went hiking and discovered that upriver includes a significant elevation gain that approaches the Gifford Pinchot National Forest and Mt. St. Helens. The bottoms is another area I’ve often heard students reference. I really had no sense of where that was nor did I ever find myself in a position to go explore the area. I’d ask and folks would point in a direction but it never made much sense to me. There was talk amongst staff that students would go hang out by the bottoms. I also knew that some of my students lived over there (wherever it was). I came to learn that this area is close to the Columbia River. There are a few parks down there and a road that runs along it that seems a bit too narrow for driving high speeds. It’s also host to some local farms and farm families.

Over the past few years I’ve been really thinking about what it means to “know my students.” Like many, I do interest inventories at the beginning of the year to diagnose learning styles. I learn about likes and dislikes, habits, playlists, and have my students write me a letter so I can get a sense of their voice. Last year, I decided that I wasn’t okay with the fact that I could go a class period without talking to each student, so I positioned myself in front of my classroom door every class period before students walked in so that I could at least greet them coming into class. I find these interactions encouraging as they’ve led to other, deeper conversations about issues going on at home, struggles students are having with peers, or challenges students are facing in my class. But at the end of last year, I still found myself wanting to learn more about the community my students live in.

Because of my work as a part time instructional coach I assist in the planning for site based professional development experiences. I asked our principal if he would be willing to carve out time before the school year to take our staff on a “field trip” to see our community. I wanted to know where the bottoms are and what conditions were like for our students. I wanted to see the boundary lines so I could better understand our students and our district. My principal figured out the “how” and the route, and when we came back for our August trainings, our staff loaded into a school bus one morning to take a tour. The bus took us to places that aren’t on the main roads or that I pass as I drive to work each day. We went past the subsidized housing units, the trailer parks, and piled up decommissioned railroad cars that families live in near the bottoms. We drove past the camp ground that lacks running water that is home to some of our students. The bus driver took us up roads that quickly climb elevation to some of the most beautiful homes in our community with expansive and breathtaking views of valleys and rivers (Note: How do our bus drivers turn the bus around up there?). While the tour was guided by my principal, staff who grew up in town added information to help round out the experience. On that day we saw poverty and wealth and my eyes were opened to the stark contrast between what home looks like for so many of my students.

That trip was nearly four months ago and it still resonates with me. I find myself thinking about where my students live and what their lives must be like in those apartments, houses, trailers, and tents. I’m really seeing my students. I find myself patient with the student who couldn’t finish her work last night. I know now that she doesn’t have reliable electricity.

New Year’s Resolutions for a Busy Teacher

Posted by Lynne Olmos on December 31, 2018
Education, Life in the Classroom, Professional Development, Teacher Leadership, Uncategorized

This blog is brought to you by boxes of Christmas decorations, a beleaguered faux Canadian Pine, and the heavenly aroma of black-eyed peas and pork.

New Year’s Resolution #1: Stick to Worthwhile Tasks and Activities

The new year is upon us, happening too fast, as usual. Just as we get used to the schedule of a Winter Break, we are trying to get a mountain of tasks done before school starts up in a few short days. Where does the time go?

That’s really the gist of it, isn’t it? Where does time go? As teachers, we are always scrambling to fit all the learning we can between two bells. We have to cram all the planning, copying, and bathroom breaks into those all too few precious moments, and most of us take the work home, too. We are always squeezing too much into too little time. The struggle is to make all of our time, our students and our own personal time, worthwhile.

I resolve to ensure that my students do not suffer through meaningless busy work.

And, because I am important, too, I will give myself meaningful and worthwhile tasks, too. I will let go of the “busy work” that wastes time, and I will focus on what makes my life more complete. I want to always be able to say, “it’s worth my time.”

New Year’s Resolution #2: Take Time to Celebrate

As I pack away my Christmas décor, removing the sparkle and glow from our home, carefully tucking away old ornaments and our faux Canadian pine, I am feeling sentimental. It all goes by so fast. Not just the holiday, but the year…everything.

In the gloom of winter, we create an artificial shine to remind us of the celebration of all that we love. It’s nice, but it’s fleeting. In light of this, I resolve to make sure that those who are precious to me know that they are. I want to openly value my family and friends, and my students, too.

I resolve to tell my students what is wonderful about each and every one of them.

Likewise, I want to joyfully express my love of learning, of literature, of history and of theater. I want to share what is precious to me with those who I value and hold dear. We should never lose the sparkle and glow that we so intentionally celebrate this time of year. We need to spread it out thouogh the year with enthusiasm.

New Year’s Resolution #3: Expect Great Things in the Future

As I write this, my home is filled with the savory aroma of black-eyed peas, collard greens, and pork. It’s a tradition in our family, and in many places around the country, to eat black-eyed peas on New Year’s. It’s for luck and prosperity in the new year. Wikipedia confirms it: “The peas, since they swell when cooked, symbolize prosperity; the greens symbolize money; the pork, because pigs root forward when foraging, represents positive motion.” It’s a lovely smell, and it brings back a lot of memories. But this year, I am really looking forward to so much more. I have a lot I want to accomplish, so bring on those black-eyed peas!

This year, I will be going on an international field experience with Fulbright’s Teachers for Global Classrooms. Last week I found out that my assignment is in Morocco during March. That is big news and such a trip can only be life changing. I am overwhelmed and excited, to be sure.

However, this year could be amazing for so many other reasons, and I don’t want to lose sight of any of it. I have a grandson to enjoy, a young horse to ride, an amazing family. And, not to be forgotten, I have some incredible students in my life right now. I want to plan for the best possible outcomes for us all.

Luck would be nice, but I am setting my expectations very high.

I resolve to expect great things, from myself and my students.

So, let’s break it down. Here is Mrs. Olmos’s advice for a great 2019, for herself, mainly. However, I think these goals/resolutions could work for any teacher.

Stick to what is most worthwhile.
Celebrate all the good stuff.
Have outrageous expectations.

And have a Happy New Year!

A Proposal to Support Student Mental Health and Safety

Posted by Lynne Olmos on December 19, 2018
Current Affairs, Education, Education Policy, Life in the Classroom, Social Issues

Have you checked out Governor Inslee’s Proposed 2019-2020 Budget and Policy Highlights? There is a lot to sort through, but, of course, I went straight to the K-12 education highlights. Like my students, I can digest the relevant text more readily. I’ll browse the rest…eventually. But, when it comes to education, they have my attention.

There are some interesting, but not especially surprising, bits. Along with restoring local levy authority, the governor proposes to spend more money on programs to support special education, science education, para-educator training, dual language programs, and recruiting teachers from diverse populations. Everything I read echoed needs in my own school, so I can understand why it’s all there. I hope that these proposed programs reach so far as to benefit my own students in the near future.

However, another area of the budget caught my eye. The proposed budget includes $7.5 million for programs to support student mental health and safety, which is a relatively small amount compared to the rest of the budget. Clearly, recent news events have raised our collective awareness of the need for safer schools and mental health services for our students. Therefore, it’s not surprising that it’s in the budget proposal.

The document suggests supports for districts to offer a “coordinated approach to prevention, early identification and intervention for student behavioral health and safety needs.” It specifies safe schools plans, recognition and response to emotional and behavioral distress, and funding for expansion of access to behavioral health services. All of this sounds reasonable, but it seems like we are focusing on the symptoms and not the causes of the crisis. If it is truly about prevention, what will we be doing differently in schools to prevent distress?

Don’t get me wrong; we need all of the supports mentioned in the proposal. We need more counselors in our buildings. We need plans for school safety that are actionable. We need all educational personnel to be trained to recognize and respond to symptoms of emotional distress. But, does anyone take time to wonder how we could prevent getting to the point where we are responding to distress?

Teachers see students struggle every day. Of course, there is the normal struggle that involves a math problem or a difficult text. However, kids are suffering from more serious struggles. These emotional and behavioral struggles are less tangible, but just as real, and far more frightening. They could be issues brought on by poverty, homelessness, self-esteem, gender identity, sexual orientation, bullying, isolation, or mental illness. To complicate things, our world has become a contentious place to live, and kids are hearing such fearful rhetoric around them on a daily basis. How can they feel supported and safe in the face of emotional crises?

Teens in particular suffer from increased rates of depression and suicidal ideation. Social media often exacerbates their problems, as some students cannot escape the social pressures of their peers so long as they have their phone to check 24/7. Here’s a recent USA Today article that takes on this topic.

We teachers know the problem is monumental, so we spend a lot of time thinking about what schools can do. What can we do? Well, for one, we should do our best to make our schools and our classrooms, safe and supportive places for our students.

Every student needs to be truly seen, heard, and valued. They need the opportunity to show their individual talents and pursue their own interests. This is how we can fully support the mental and emotional health of our students.

Specifically, we need to shift our focus from purely academic achievement to creativity and collaborative learning. I have no issue with traditional standards and assessments. They’ve been the bread and butter of my career, to be honest. But, I know from experience that my students come alive when we are working on creative projects. They talk to each other, truly talk to one another. They empathize, they support, they give of themselves. These simple acts are what make us human. They put us in touch with one another and with the work that we produce.

I see it in my teaching practice. My drama students create close bonds of respect and support, cheering one another on for each and every performance. My Art Club students talk about their problems over Wednesday afternoons of watercolors and pen and ink, comforting and encouraging one another, letting the troubles of the week slip away. Even my least artsy kids choose video or dioramas or other creative projects when given a chance. Art heals, encourages, supports, and edifies.

Simply put, if students only go through the motions of education, listening to lectures, taking traditional tests, and conforming to the standards, they are not expressing what is hidden inside of them. That hidden part of them needs nurturing and needs to grow in a safe and supported environment.

If we want to spend money on emotional and behavioral health of our students, I propose this: Spend it all on arts education. Get every child into visual and performing arts programs. Have them create from their souls. Have them work in groups to create together. Have them feel the support of their peers and the admiration of their teachers. The arts support the emotional and mental health of our students directly. I have seen it in action. It works.

Not convinced by my anecdotal evidence? Try these resources:

The Healing Power of Art from Harvard’s Women’s Health Watch

How Making Art Helps Teens Better Understand Their Mental Health from Mindshift

Anxiety.org’s articles on using improvisational theater to relieve anxiety