How freedom led to misdirection which led to overall dogmatism

I love to buy clothes for my nieces and nephew. I especially love to buy fancy clothes for fancy occasions. So does their Grandma Maurine. So we have a compromise: I get Christmas, she gets Easter. This year I decided to take Maddie with me in the process and actually let her pick it out.

  So, being the cool aunt that I am, Maddie and I drove to Kohl's and made our way to the jr.'s (eek she's in the jr's) department and I let her pick away. I was fine with the idea of her choosing whatever dress she wanted. I was so excited to show Maddie how to shop Auntie Brenda style (I'm pretty good at shopping for clothes and I was eager to take my new disciple under my wing). So there are rows and rows of green and red dresses, some with bows, some with velveteen, some with both. What does my precious little baby girl choose? A purple strappy number that looks like something a high school girl might wear to a formal dance...in the spring time...in the eighties. I cringed slightly and remember that she is eight and that when I was eight I fell for the glitter and shimmer that was the eighties (it actually was the eighties when I was going through it...), but this had no Christmas spirit! I tried to play cool aunt and put the dress on my arm, waiting for the next selection.

    So now Santa Baby shows up. A velveteen green dress with faux white fur on the cuffs and hem. It's actually pretty cute and mostly conservative, but it's also just not...well...not prissy. And frankly, I was and am a prissy kind of Christmas dress kind of a girl. I love a classic style that is frilly and girly. But I added it to the pile and continued on the shopping journey.

  I had no idea that my little dear one was such a non-traditionalist. I never asked her what she wanted to wear before and I realized that this little one doesn't want to dress like a little one any more. And then I saw the little beauty before me. A white and red dress with little bits of silver thread throughout. It was so beautifully A-lined and tea length with a high waist wrapped in a satin bow. It came with a red velveteen bolero jacket with a single button. It was as classic little girl Christmas as you could get in a dress, but still looking modern.

  "What do you think of this one?" I asked wistfully, half expecting Maddie to clap her hands in glee or sigh in joy at the thought of owning such a dress.

"Ehh," she tossed out as she thumbed through red versions of her santa baby dress.

"Let's just try it and see," I said, hoping that I could somehow convince her that this was the best choice.

When we got to the dressing room, she tried on the purple one and she was in love with it. It was actually cute, but still felt too old for my little niece. "Mom would make me wear something under it..."she sighed.

"Yeah, definitely, and if it was cold outside your arms would be uncovered..." I thought I'd try to suade her away from this choice. "Let's take a picture and then make our decision." I always take pictures of clothes when I'm not sure what I think. We took a picture and moved on.

Green Santa Baby was cute and looked actually like a kind of  nod to a 1950's skating costume. It was too tight, but the little one still wanted it. "If we can find it in a bigger size, maybe."

Then she put on the one I really loved and I sighed, "Oh, man!" I was in love with this dress.

Maddie misunderstood and said, "Yeah, I like the green one better too."

"Really? What do you like about this one?" She started listing off some things and I added, "And it's a perfect spinny skirt. Spin, let me see," she did and I ohhed an ahhed.

"The green one swirls too," she said defensively.

"Well, if you had to pick your top two, what would they be?"

"The green and the purple."

"Really? Not this one? I love this one. The purple is pretty, but it's for summer..."

We tried on one more dress (brown and blue, which she liked better than my choice) and I decided to make one final move to getting what I wanted and not caring at all that my sweet niece was not getting what she wanted. "If we can find either the green dress or the brown one in a bigger size, then we will get it. Otherwise we'll get the red one. Does that sound ok?"

"Sure."

We didn't find the size and when she asked to try on another dress that was red with bedazzled jewels all throughout it, I decided that I no longer cared what my niece felt was the best choice and I was just going to have things the way I wanted them.

"No," I said, "we have to go."

And go we did with my little dress that I would have wanted when I was a little girl (and would totally buy the grown-up size, if they made it). My sweet little niece was grateful for her dress and tried it on again at home, spinning dutifully when asked to. She liked the dress and has pictures of the ones she loved and didn't get.

So I realized something - I guess I'm not ready to extend shopping freedom to my niece, but will I ever be?

It Was All Going So Poorly and Then the Blood Poured Out

This year my sixth period is my most difficult class. They are a sweet group of very immature kids. They have only finished one complete lesson before the bell rang. That means they have stayed late after school every day since September, but one. They just can't seem to stop talking and stay focused. They are like a cauldron of boiling energy just waiting to spill out over the edge. They are by no means bad kids, they are kind and loving and love me, but they have no idea how to be good students. I direct them in this daily, but it doesn't seem to stick.

Today started and I knew that it would be one of those days were I was directing and redirecting a thousand times and I would potentially lose my voice and my patience. I began class with an activity and after explaining for 5-7 minutes in detail, half the class still didn't know what to do. I went to those groups and explained it again and after another 10 minutes or so, was ready to begin the discussion that would explain the purpose of the activity. After another 3 minutes or so we finally started to get to some meaty information (now about 5 minutes behind the other classes I had taught). Kids were generally settling down and focusing and understanding.

One boy was not participating with his partner and after several reminders was slowly frustrating his capable partner, Bob. The class started to get loud and I knew we were at a breaking point. If I didn't get them to quiet down immediately, there was no hope in finishing the lesson. As I was quieting them down, Bob asked to go to the restroom (a common request when real work is at hand). I told him no and passed out the papers for their notes. Suddenly blood spewed (and I mean spewed) from Bob's nose. He stood up (bleeding all over his desk and shirt) and tried to go to the supply closet. I told him he could totally go to the bathroom. I grabbed some napkins to hand him as he was going outside and specifically said, "Don't touch anything on his desk!" I stepped outside to give him the napkins and apologized for not letting him go to the bathroom earlier.

In the 3 seconds it took for me to do this, Bob's partner was touching the bloody paper on the desk! I screamed for him to stop. All I could think of was all the communicable diseases that this kids could potentially get by handling someone's blood. I said sternly, "Are you trained in how to properly handle blood? That is so dangerous!!" I think he was trying to be helpful and was using Bob's note paper to wipe up the desk.

I then did the only thing I could do - I tried to rescue my failing lesson. I kept to my script as I donned gloves and napkins, and Clorox wipes and cleaned and disposed of the blood. Bless their hearts, but the kids were not listening to a word I had to say about cups and pints. "You look like a doctor!" "Don't doctors get paid a lot?" "Doctors get paid more than teachers." "You did a good job cleaning that up, you should be a doctor."

I did the best I could. Bob returned with blood all over his shirt and then proceeded to take all of his notes. I think we can only be expected to handle so much and there was not much more anyone could do. I guess in this class, when it bleeds, it pours.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I love holidays and traditions and food and lists. Also, I think Thanksgiving sometimes gets the short end of the stick as far as holidays go. So I decided to give Thanksgiving a bit of a shout out by making my top ten for this year's Thanksgiving.

10. The food was awesome! Yes, I know, food is not the center of the celebration (or shouldn't be) but it kind of is. Why did the pilgrims celebrate the first Thanksgiving? Because they had food when they thought they were going to starve to death. Because they survived a year (with the help of the native Americans) when they thought they would not. At my house, there is no fear of starvation. I do mean to brag when I say that my mom is the best cook ever. She makes the best everything. This year there was a great fear that the burden would fall on other shoulders, but thankfully, Mom came through and the food was wonderful.

9. My mom was healthy...ish. On Thanksgiving eve, I showed up to do some day before prep with Mom only to find that she was suffering from an allergic reaction to something. Dad comforted her all night as she really suffered (it was pretty horrible). Dann and I set the table and started cooking with plans to take over the big stuff in the morning. Yet, the next day Mom was up and at 'em. She was the least stressed I've ever seen her and we still had wonderful food. Plus, she was not miserable.

8. Other people really helped a lot. Because of Mom not feeling well, everyone else pitched in and helped big time. Many hands make light work (or at least lighter). It made for a really wonderful time with my brothers, sister-in-law, and dad all helping me and Mom make everything. I don't even know who cleaned up (I took a nap), but it was really nice to have so many people helping.

7. I learned a new game. My brother, Dann, brought a new game called Dominion. I was pretty sure I would be forced to play and then just bear with it, but it was awesome. I think we will have another round at Christmas time. I lost every game but one and I still love it. Don't ask me to explain it, because it's too hard to explain and it sounds even dorkier than it really is.

6. The Post family came over. Our Thanksgiving included several members of the Post clan and they were a welcome addition. They are family and they also bring really good food :) It was a great time.

5. The night ended with me snuggling with Michael first and then Maddie and Natalie. Maddie and I finally fell asleep on the couch together. It was a pretty great ending.

4. Cooking with my mom. I love cooking with my mom. She's so good at it and I feel so empowered when I work with her. Even though there were lots of helpers, there was a time in the morning where it was just us. She and I made up a stuffing recipe and it was just fabulous (my favorite stuffing yet). I just love spending time with her in her kitchen...have you seen her kitchen? Who wouldn't have a great time in it?

3. Not shopping on black Friday. For the past few years Uncle Dave and I have gone shopping on black Friday. We have a great time, because he's so awesome, but I also spend money on things I don't need, feel sleepy and hungry and unshowered and generally blah by the end of the day. I decided not to go this year and actually sleep in and shower today. Erin took my place (and she is now the reigning 'best granddaughter') and I am a little sad I missed out on some fun, but I think it was the right choice.

2. Michael said the best thing. Dann was taking apart the presentation turkey (the one that is beautiful and sits on the table that we use for leftovers) and taking out what mom had put in it: apples, onions, rosemary, thyme. As he took out each item, he said it out loud. Then Michael said, "Is that what the turkey ate?"

1. Singing with CC. Every year, after the meal, aunt Nancy and I sing Christmas songs and pick out what we're going to sing for the Christmas Eve service. We then convince Mom to sing too and it's so pretty. We sing harmonies that make us shiver. I love singing with my family!

So I had a really wonderful Thanksgiving. I thought I'd end with a question and answer session I had with Maddie and Michael.
Me: Who are we thankful to on Thanksgiving?
Michael: God.
Me: And what are we thankful for?
Maddie: Everything God provides.

That about sums it up.

A Perspective on Pity

I have a wonderfully shy student this year. I like shy students because I think shy people are cool and I like to befriend them and let them know that I think they are cool. Still waters run deep, as they say. So my wonderfully shy student has a very demanding father who wrote on her first test (on which she scored a B grade), "You can do better" and he wrote on her second test (on which she scored an A) "Next time don't miss any." This drew my pity for her. I thought that she must have a difficult time living with a father so hard to please.

She asked to stay after school for some help on some homework problems which was fine by me. We worked for about thirty minutes. At the end of it she said, "I wish I could stay with you." My heart thumped a little as I thought of this poor girl wanting to find solace away from unkindness. She continued, "We could do math problems together." I said, "Like a math slumber party? We'd eat popcorn, watch movies, and do math problems? We should have all the girls come to our math party." I smiled at her thinking of how sweet it was that my student admired me and wanted to have me as a friend.

She continued, "I sometimes see you leaving work and you look sad. I think you must be lonely."

What? Beyond the kind of stalker aspect of this (she's not creepy, she just stays late after school) I was thinking that I am almost always smiling, but I guess as I leave all I can think of is how tired I am. "I'm not sad, I'm just tired," I responded.

"So you go home to your parents?"

"No, I live very close to my parents, so I see them a lot."

"You go home to your brothers?"

"No, I live in my own house. And I get to live with my best friend from Jr. High!"

"Oh, so you don't live with your family."

I then could see the pity in her face. I guess she wanted to take pity on the lonely school marm who stays too late and leaves looking a little sad and a little lonely. I sure don't feel sad or lonely, maybe she doesn't feel shy or like her father is hard on her. I guess it's all in your perspective.

That's Why

God has impeccable timing. Today was a day where I felt like I can impact the lives of the kids who care, but not the ones who don't. I've been feeling that way for a while and God keeps showing me little glimmers of hope. "Don't give up," they whisper as I trudge through daily ups and downs of teaching.

I often teach both the highest and lowest math classes we offer. It creates a balance in my day and also in everyone's schedules. It's easy to feel like a great teacher when you teach kids who already understand math, feel good about their skills, and generally like school. I can take the cream of the crop and keep them there. That is a gift, but it is a daily rewarding one that is hardly ever discouraging. It is easy to feel like a lousy teacher when you teach students who have difficulty with the most basic of math skills and who are afraid of failure (or are comfortable with it) who think school is a lesser form of prison where if you serve your time, you can check out soon.

I have some of the same students from last year's lowest course in this year's regular level course (I teach that too). They are now mixed in with students of all sorts of skill levels and I can see some of my kids just trying to keep quiet and stay in the shadows. They hope to graciously accept the F and slide on through the cracks. I can't let that happen. I try all sorts of methods to prevent it and I feel like none of them are successful. If the student is ready to fail and not brave enough to put in another effort another year, there is little I can do to change that.

Last week I was teaching about simplifying expressions. One of my former (and also current) students was again doing nothing as all the other students practiced a problem together. I knelt by his desk and whispered, "You have to do one problem correctly to show me you know how to do this before you leave today or you owe me your break so you can learn it." He asked me how to do the first problem and we did it together. We continued this way for all four problems. By the fourth, he was doing the whole problem on his own. I watched silently as he did each step perfectly and explained it verbally to me as he went along. I was so proud of him, tears started to brim. He looked up nervously, "Did I do it right?" I nodded and whispered, "Look at my eyes. I'm so proud of you, I'm going to cry. It's perfect! I'm so proud of you." He smiled wide and proud. This is a student who received less than a 10% last year for his final grade and he now knows how to simplify expressions!!

The next day he was diligently taking notes, asking questions, and participating with his classmates. I wrote him a "proud of you" post-it and stuck it to his shirt as he was leaving class. I heard from another adult on campus that he keeps it in the front of his notebook - a bright pink post-it saying that he worked hard and his teacher noticed. Who knows if this is the turning point for him, but if I am able to help him see that if he tries, he may not always fail, then maybe I can see that too.

I got a visit today from a student who was big trouble four years ago when I had him. He pulled pranks, lied, damaged my property, lied about that, stole, lied about that. He was a very scary kid because he was smart and charming and used his powers for evil. Well, he visited today to tell me that he is taking the right level of math (that means he passed his math classes), he's liking school, he's learning auto mechanics, and is going to go to trade school when he graduates. He's looking forward to being old enough to vote, but he wants to take Civics first so that he can be a more informed voter and understand the process better. Here was a mature, respectful, wonderful young man who knew the importance of his education. He biked in from Fountain Valley to tell me that he was doing really well and to see how I was. How am I doing? I'm doing great, thanks, just great.

So God is reminding me that I do my job not for the results of this moment, but for the future. I may never see how I impact them and I may feel like I fail every day with some kids. But my success is not measured by some number from a test or even some grades in a class. I teach lessons that go deeper than any test can assess and I need to be reminded that this is why I do it.

My Genetic Inheritance

I look just like my mother. I don't exactly have her coloring, but I have her face. Sometimes in photos of her at my age I can't even tell the difference between us. "I don't remember wearing that shirt," and then I realize that I never have worn it. My mother majored in math and teaches it, so do I. She explains things the same way I do, down to each individual question she asks her students. We cook the same (except she's better at it), we think similarly, we even have the same precise lists we make whenever we're planning things that we both call "our brain". It seems I've inherited almost everything from my mom.

But there are three distinct things I've inherited from my father: my hair, my athleticism, and the crazy. My father and I both are pretty mellow people. We like to mingle with friends and strangers. We tell stories and laugh and can take a lot of abuse and let it roll off our backs. But some triggers are deadly. There are some things that happen that make us just snap and suddenly we are acting impulsively and intuitively and plain old crazy. The trigger is usually some supposed injustice or someone endangering themselves or others.

Yesterday, after school, I was walking from the office to my classroom. I had several things in my hands and had left my phone and keys in my room. The school was locked down at this point and several students were waiting outside of the gate for a ride. About seven of my girls were huddled at the corner giggling and pointing at the high school boys strutting across the street. The boys made flirtatious comments and generally pea cocked for the girls. There were so many boys that they could not all fit side by side on the sidewalk so several started walking in the street. I yelled out to them to get out of the street. No response. My girls echoed my demand and the boys, proving their manliness, started to walk out farther into the street. I screamed again that if they did not get on the sidewalk, I was going to call the cops. All ten were now walking in the street taking up an entire lane and causing the cars to swerve around them. Something inside me snapped.

I put down all the things in my hands, walked toward the fence, climbed over it (with only a momentary hesitant voice inside my head saying, "This could be really stupid...") and started to jog toward the crowd. When I reached them, they seemed very confused. I recognized none of them as previous students, but I herded them to the sidewalk anyway saying something like, "You will not die in front of my school. Stay on the sidewalk!" and I'm sure they noticed the crazy in my eyes. "Sorry, we didn't hear you!" "Really, we're really sorry," "Yeah, we'll be more careful!" Saying anything to just make the crazy lady stop.

I instantly realized how dumb this was. I had to walk the block back to my school's crosswalk (I couldn't very well jaywalk after that.) I didn't have my phone or keys and I had no idea how I was going to get back in. After I used the cross walk and tried to greet observing students normally (the whole time feeling totally embarrassed) I noticed that the office door was open. I went in and confessed my stupidity to those inside and hoped that my new principal has a sense of humor.

Later that night, I realized that I'm not quite as young as I used to be and I was a little sore from my hoisting over. I called my dad and said, "Thanks for the genetic make-up!" "Why, did you hit someone?" he asked. Thanks for the crazy, Dad.

There are Stupid Questions (no matter what your teacher says)

All nice and good teachers try to reassure their students that all questions are welcome and that they should not feel embarrassed if they need help with something. I agree that students often hide what they don't know for fear of looking stupid. I approach it honestly. I tell my students that smart kids ask questions when they don't understand - truth. Other teachers say "there are no stupid questions" - fallacy. To help all of you understand stupid questions teachers receive, I've broken them down into categories and provided some examples.

Were you listening at all?

This is one of the most common types. It involves a student asking a question that repeats, practically verbatim, what the teacher just said. Example from my class this week:

Ms. Dempsey: This is a quiz. You may use your notes and your homework as a reference. That means get out your notes and use them on this quiz.

Roberta: May we use notes on this quiz?

Didn't you just hear your classmate?

This is when a second student asks the same question that the student before just asked. My favorite is when this is combined with the first kind and they not only didn't hear me the first time, but also his/her classmate. Example that occurred directly after Roberta's question:

Bob: Wait, can we use notes on the quiz?

Do you think I'm lying to you?

This form of stupid question usually results from a student who is paranoid or has a math phobia. They ask the same question twenty times because they just can't believe that your answer is true.

Ms. D: You do not need to write down the original problem for word problems, but you do for every other kind. Here's how you can remember: Don't write any words, just numbers and variables. I'll say it again: if it has words, don't write it.

Vanessa: Do we need to write the words for numbers 1-3?

Ms. D: Nope

Vanessa: What about the instructions?

Ms. D: Remember, if it has words don't write it.

Vanessa: I don't get it. Do I have to write the words for numbers 1-3?

Ms. D: No, just answer it.

Vanessa: Wait...

Ms. D: Repeat after me: I do not need to write the words

Vanessa: What?

Ms. D: I'm serious, say it.

Vanessa: I don't need to write the words.

Are you messing with me or do you really not understand what I'm saying?

I give instructions all day long and I feel like I'm pretty clear most of the time, but sometimes I'm not sure. The best is when I'm directing a kid to a location in the room. They refuse to count and many of my directions involve counting: it's the third drawer down, the second cabinet, the fourth tray...

Bob: Where should my quiz go?

Ms. D: In the period three box.

Bob: Which one's that?

Ms. D: The third box down.

Bob: What?

Ms. D: See the stack of six trays? Count from the top, when you get to three that's the third box.

Bob: What?

Ms. D: Put your hand on the top tray. Say the number one.

Bob: One

Ms. D: Good, keep counting.

Bob: What? This one?

Ms. D: No, that's the second one, find the third.

Bob: This one?

Ms. D: That's the fourth. Find the third!

Ummm...why don't you take a sec to think about that one?

Kids ask me questions where the answer feels so obvious that they are answering it themselves as they ask it. I sometimes think they're messing with me, but the look of stupid confusion covers their faces and I know they really don't know what they're asking.

Ms. D: I'm returning your homework that you turned in on Wednesday. It is graded so you may keep it in your notebook.

Joe: Is this my homework?

Ms. D: Yes.

Joe: Should I turn it in?Ms. D: No, I'm returning it to you.

Joe: Where should I put it?

Ms. D: In your notebook.

Joe: Where in my notebook?

Ms. D: Seriously, which of your five sections do you think your homework should go in?

Joe: The homework section?

Ms. D: Bingo!

Now imagine a classroom of such questions six times over five days a week and that is the life of a teacher. It doesn't seem to matter how old or well educated the students are, you will always find a stupid question in your classroom. So the next time a teacher says, "There are no stupid questions," know that the teacher is lying and even she doesn't believe the truth in that statement.