Seven Days

162 hours. 

9720 minutes.

That’s the maximum amount of time I have with a student if they start and end elementary school at GW. 

It’s less than seven full days of life. 

Yet for some students, 

Those minutes, hours, and days really mean a lot. 

 

After after the K1 program last Friday night, 

One of my fifth grade boys came up and hugged me. 

Quite dramatically, he said, 

“Oh those last two songs got me.

I’m growing up. 

I’ve been singing that song for six years and this is my last.

That got me emotional!”

Then I realized that his eyes were red and puffy. 

His mom told me that he cried real tears during “One Small Voice” and the school song. 

 

Somewhere along the way from kindergarten to fifth grade, 

During those maximum 9720 minutes of music education, 

Music burrowed into his being 

And took root. 

He allowed it to form him and shape him and now he has the tools of music appreciation that he will carry with him for the rest of his life. 

 

At the beginning of the year, I was asked to write my educational manifesto. 

I wrote: 

I want to help create kind, respectful, culturally aware human beings with control over their bodies and voices and with a love of music and learning. 

 

I have 45 minutes per week, 

For up to 36 weeks per year, 

For up to six years, 

For a maximum of 162 hours of elementary music, 

To do my job and live into my manifesto. 

 

That’s not a lot of time.

 

Yet every once in awhile, 

Learning transcends time and students get it. 

 

And I am always so humbled and grateful when they do. 

 

Amen. 

Little Love Monsters

My years at Johnsonville were the most difficult years of my teaching career, yet with great difficulty comes great reward. The school was broken. I offered steadiness and hope and safety and encouragement, and the students and staff graciously took what I offered and returned it as best they could. Somehow, I was always flooded with gifts at holidays and during teacher appreciation week and I knew that the kids and staff loved me because I loved them.

 

Today’s Throwback Thursday note takes us back to those days at J’ville. A lot has changed in education in ten years. But one thing remains the same: The need for steady, consistent relationships with people who care. 

 

5.6.16

 

I think I’ve accidentally created some little monsters.

 

Picture me standing in the front hallway of the school, right in front of a set of double doors that are placed at the intersection of a T.

 

Picture a 36 inch stool in front of me, my computer sitting on top of the stool, me working on morning announcements while monitoring the comings and goings around me.

 

I open the door for bus drivers, stop wayward parents from going too far into the building, speak firmly to kids loitering in the bathroom, say good morning to both students and staff over and over again, and give quite a few hugs.

 

It’s in the saying good morning that I’ve accidentally created little monsters.

 

I have one little monster who hugs me every morning and stays right beside me until I kiss him on his forehead.

 

I have another little monster who slowly walks toward me every morning and pretends not to be waiting for me to say, “Good morning, handsome,” but is really waiting for me to say, “Good morning, handsome,” at which point a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile appears on his face and he proudly walks to class.

 

I have one little monster who expects to see me in place each morning, lest her morning start in anxious tears.

 

I have at least five little monsters who stop for a hug every morning and many more who stop at least a couple of times a week.

 

I have a handful of 5th grade boy monsters who like to walk past and speak to me about random 5th grade boy things like shoes and hair cuts. Last week, when the question of the week was to write about someone you admire, one of those boys wrote that he admired me for teaching him music and for always making his mornings better. What got me was that he added the little detail of me making his morning better. Until that moment, I’d not considered my 5th grade boy conversations overly important. But evidently, they are.

 

Friends, I have accidentally created a bunch of little monsters:

 

Little love monsters.

 

It’s one of the greatest privileges I can think for a person to have.

 

To all of you, especially teachers, who daily create and influence little love monsters, too: Thank you.

 

Thank you for giving love and receiving love and teaching others to love in such a way that differences are accepted and quirks embraced and personalities nurtured exactly as they are.  

 

Amen.

90 Minutes

 

Once upon a time, 

There was a woman named 90 Minutes. 

90 Minutes got her name by spending 90 minutes of a 405-minute class talking. 

She dominated conversation

With stories, interruptions, and certainties that contradicted even the professor. 

When others spoke,

She didn’t receive their words. 

And so they wrote. 

And thought. 

And breathed. 

And prayed. 

And remembered a wise sage’s words:

She can be your teacher. 

Pay attention to what you can learn. 

 

And so they learned, 

With 90 minutes as their guide. 

 

They learned to remember that there are people who are truly opposite from them. Some people really care about scholarly things like history and word origin and statistics and data. When you don’t, you still need to give a scholarly nod to those who do. 

 

They learned to remember that some people process out loud and/or struggle with boundaries and/or self-awareness.

 

They learned to remember that some people have deep wounds that come out in wonky ways.

 

They learned to recognize that stress levels increase in their bodies when they hear crinkling snack wrappers and crunching during the middle of class. 

 

They learned to recognize but not judge their pride. 

 

They learned to identify their judgmental limits.

 

And they learned that, in general, they really are gracious people who give others the benefit of the doubt. And when they can’t, they at least have the intention of grace. And that intention can go a long way. 

 

Yes, they learned. 

And 90 minutes was their guide. 

 

She taught them everything they were not expecting to learn. 

 

And more. 

 

The end. 

Show Up

 

I wrote Heidi the Librarian on Saturday and asked what she was doing.

She sent me a bunch of pictures and said, “My M.”

M is one of our students.

I said, “What is M doing?”

She sent another picture of M in a fancy dress.

I said, “I know it’s a pageant. For what?”

She said, “I’m not sure what the title would be.”

I laughed and said, “You’re at an unknown pageant?”

She said, “Yes. It’s just M’s pageant that she might not win.

She had steep competition in her division.”

I laughed again.

Heidi said, “It lasted two hours then there was a 30-minute intermission.

I saw M and hugged her and left.”

A few minutes later,

Heidi wrote me back with the name of the pageant.

“Enchanted Sweetheart Christmas,” she said.

“I asked 😊.”

 

In review:

Heidi spent two hours of her Thanksgiving break

Watching an unknown pageant

Because a student asked her to go,

And she did.

 

Friends:

There is a lot we cannot do in this world.

There is a lot we cannot afford to give.

But just as surely as the sun rises and sets each day,

We can show up for one another when someone asks,

Or show up for one another when need cannot be muttered.

In times of celebration,

In times of grief,

In times of goodness,

In times of sadness,

In times when words flow freely,

In times when words get stuck in throats,

In times when waiting is easy,

In times when waiting is hard.

We can show up.

And sit.

And endure a two-hour pageant

For a 10 second hug that was

Probably the highlight the entire day.

 

In this Advent Season,

May we be a people who show up,

Sometimes not even knowing what we’re getting into,

Simply because we can and

Because we love and

Because the Christ-child showed up for us.

 

Amen.

Freshwater in Parched

 

Each year around Thanksgiving, 

I give my students the opportunity to make a word cloud of things that they appreciate about their teachers.

It’s always interesting how some classes are so very descriptive 

While other classes barely have anything to say. 

It’s also interesting that the kindergarten students 

Cannot distinguish between things about their teacher and things about their day. 

Feeling safe and loved by having structure and routine, 

Going to lunch, encore, and recess,

All of the things that teachers must do,

Equate to appreciation for the younger kids. 

 

In addition to the normal

Helps us learn, nice, and pretty that I often hear, 

A couple of highlights of this year’s word cloud making were when 

One student said that he appreciated his teacher simply because she was alive. 

He appreciated her for being a person and all that that means. 

Another student said that he appreciated his teacher for always being there.

And another student said that he appreciated his teacher for giving so much to teaching.

I thought those students were pretty perceptive.

 

On the flipside, I was taken back when I came to a student who said, 

“I don’t have anything to say because she’s always rude to me.”

Another student in that same class echoed the sentiment by saying,

“She doesn’t like me. She hates me actually.”

And a third student said the same thing. 

What made these statements worse is that the other kids in the class agreed.

Not that the teacher hated everyone, but that she didn’t like those three students and treated them poorly. 

 

I found that sad.

While, as a teacher, I know that there are certain students that we struggle with,

I also know that most of us don’t truly hate our students. 

They are kids. 

They are products of their parents and a very broken societal system. 

We don’t hate the kids. 

We hate the circumstances that make them act out. 

We hate that our hands are tied in discipline. 

We hate that we work so hard for so little respect. 

We hate that we give so much and get so little in return. 

Teachers carry a lot. 

And so sometimes, 

I fear, 

Kids misread our body language, tone of voice, and actions. 

At least that’s what I hope. 

 

I’m happy to report that each of those students did find something good to say about their teacher

Upon further reflection.

And I’m also happy to say that that teacher was just as happy reading her word art as everyone else.

It was neat, seeing teachers immediately read what their students said about them.

It was as if they were parched in a dry land, 

Needing freshwater to drink.

 

May we, as individuals, offer that freshwater freely,

And may we, as teachers,

Know our worth and value. 

May knowing our worth and value help us rise above 

All that we hate, 

And may our students know that they are loved for just being alive. 

Amen. 

School Gift--Bats

I’m not exactly sure where they came from,

But Barb the Great gave me in a tin full of purple bats.  

I can’t imagine the original intent of said purple bats,

But I decided they’d be perfect for a little school-gift,

Especially around this time of year.

 

Yesterday morning, I set out to write the bat’s message.

But, boy did I struggle!

 

Educators don’t really want to read anything placed in their boxes.

Reading takes time.

And time is a hot commodity.

So, school-gifts must be short, lest they immediately go in the trash.

School-gifts must also be straightforward, uplifting, and/or challenging

Because teachers often don’t have the brain space to think of anything

Other than what they’re teaching.

 

And so…

I started writing.

It went dark quickly because bats are traumatic for me.

While it’s important to know about trauma—

Especially in children—

A school-gift isn’t the time to learn.

 

And so…

I edited.

I know that bats are good for the environment and that they’re actually kind of cute.

While it’s important for us to realize that bats are endangered and that they are needed—

Especially to combat mosquitoes—

A school-gift isn’t the time to ponder the merits of bats.

 

And so…

I edited.

I’ve worked on overcoming my fear of bats in therapy.

While it’s important to know the benefits of therapy and of

Doing the hard work of overcoming fear for yourself—

Especially for those in the helping professions—

A school-gift isn’t the time to consider therapy.

 

And so…

I edited.

I’ve let go of some of my bat fear,

But I think part of it will probably always remain.

While it’s important to recognize that fears don’t always go away—

Especially fears that are tied to trauma—

A school-gift isn’t the time to embrace that reality.

 

And so…

I edited.

And finally, I came up with this:

 

A bat flew at my head once. It was inside my house. It scared me. A lot.

Rationally, I know that bats are good. Irrationally, because of that moment, I have a deep fear of bats.

Fear is a powerful thing. It can both motivate and debilitate us. It can both push us to try new things and stop us in our tracks. We all have fears. We all have things both tangible and intangible that scare us.

But do not fret, friends. Fear is not the final word. The opposite of fear is hope, courage, determination, resilience, and strength. The opposite of fear is love. And love is the final word.

Hold to that truth today and in the days to come…especially as you face your fears.

 

May this latest school-gift be also a blessing to you.

And may you truly hold to one reality that is the final word:

Love,

For God IS love.

Even if God created bats.