Homeschooling During COVID-19: What Really Matters?

"We can't log in!"

"How do we complete the assignments online?"

"Is there an alternative to online learning?"

These are a few of the messages I've received from parents since the lockdown began in Michigan. With so many states mandating shelter-in-place, parents all over the country and the world are resorting to impromptu homeschooling measures, desperate to keep some semblance of a routine as means of maintaining sanity. Many of these parents are calling, texting, and emailing saying that they are frustrated trying to get their child to focus, to put in 100% effort, to complete online assignments and lessons. But in the time of a global pandemic, I can't help but wonder if we are focusing on the wrong things.

Make no mistake, keeping a routine during this time is one of the best things we can do-- both as parents and as people-- to keep our sanity intact. However, we need to remember that school and homeschool are not the same. In school, we have a limited amount of time in which we need to accomplish numerous things and so the schedule is necessary. However, at home-- and especially during this lockdown-- there is an indefinite amount of time to do the things you'd like to do. Not everything needs to be a Pinterest-perfect schedule with cutesy little crafts and color-coded systems. It doesn't have to account for every single minute of the day. It's okay to have a few hours of down time in the middle of the day, because the amount of energy and focus your child can dedicate to a task is only so much. A recent article from Good Morning, America explains a simple rule: multiply your child's age by 2-5 minutes and that is how long they can realistically focus. For example, if your child is 8, they can only focus for 16-40 minutes at a time before they need a break. So if they're getting antsy after half an hour, it's not you-- it's literally all they're capable of at that moment.

Parents are not teachers, and may not have the knowledge, resources, or time to provide the same type of learning that occurs in a school setting. Many of my students' parents work full-time jobs, sometimes more than one, and may not even be home or be able to give the amount of attention required to keep their child on track. They may struggle to explain difficult concepts without simply repeating themselves, which then increases frustration. Not to mention that some families may be sharing one computer or may not have internet at all. My point is to give yourself a break. Whether as parents or teachers or just as humans, nobody is perfect.

You can bet that every teacher out there is coming up with some kind of plan to help your child catch up whenever we do return to school. Remember this is a crisis, not a typical break. Your job is to keep them happy, healthy, and feeling safe until the world returns to "normal."  So take this time to teach them the things we can't or don't have time for. Teach them to sew. Bake something with them. Teach them to get along with others. Show them how to change a tire or do taxes. Teach them how to research credible sources on the internet. Watch the news together (if they are old enough). Heck, maybe even teach them where babies come from. Learn how they learn, and then share that with their teachers. Read with them. Do some crafting. Play a board game as a family. Let them be a little bit bored and then watch their creativity blossom. Be with them. 

We are in the midst of a historical event. Kids will not remember how many lessons they did on MobyMax or which math problems were the hardest. They will, however, remember how they felt during this time. How much fun they had with you. How they felt protected and loved. You won't get this time again, so make positive memories that they will remember forever. 

Education in a Pandemic

As if we haven't heard enough about the coronavirus...it's plastered all over every news channel, social media platform, newspapers (if you still read them), and it's what all casual conversation has moved to. This thing has spread more than we expected and has had unprecedented impacts on every industry. My hat is off for the people who continue to go to work despite risk of exposure: healthcare workers, basic state and local government service employees, etc. I know teachers are exposed to those adorable little germ factories on a regular basis, but to be exposing yourself knowingly and willingly during a pandemic is another ballgame.

The CDC recently announced that school closures of 8 weeks or more would be more effective in controlling the spread of the virus. With that in mind, some states have already announced cancellation of state testing, knowing there is no way we can adequately prepare our students to be successful after (a minimum of) three weeks off. With state testing and ACT/SAT season coming up, the importance of continuing student learning is clear. However, this is an extenuating circumstance. In Michigan, Governor Whitmer announced all schools must close for a minimum of 3 weeks. That is a long time to be out of school in the middle of the year. Our two-week winter break wreaks enough havoc on routines and procedures, so I wince at the thought of having to come back from 3 or more weeks and reteach all of those things. Keeping in mind that we may or may not return to school after three weeks, teachers everywhere are working to make packets and provide online learning resources. Many K-12 schools and universities are scrambling to train teachers on these opportunities and disseminate information on these to families and students.

To create an online classroom for students in districts where there is one-to-one technology is easy. But for many districts, this option doesn't exist. I've worked primarily in districts and schools that are low-income and Title I-eligible, and I have witnessed the lack of access to basic resources, let alone internet and computers. It is no secret that many of our students depend on school to provide at least two meals per day, among other things. Parents who cannot afford to stay home during these closures and cannot work from home are left without many childcare options. Older students may be babysitting their younger siblings. If the family has internet and a device, it is likely being shared among three or more people. The presumption that our students have access to these things comes from a place of tremendous privilege, and it is on that presumption that many districts are opting for online learning during these closures.

As I prepare to go into work tomorrow to be trained on Google Classroom, I wonder if my efforts and time are going to waste. The percentage of parents that will be home to enforce online learning even if they have the necessary resources is low. Older students who are becoming child care-takers don't have the time or energy to take advantage of these opportunities. Not to mention that the priority for many families is keeping food on the table during this time, not logging in to complete assignments online. So what is the best option? Should we be required to print off packets of work? If we did, how would we get these to our students?  What if they can't come to the school to pick up the work during operational hours because the parents are at work? All of these questions come up during this unparalleled time.

If anything, this national emergency has exposed the many holes in our education, healthcare, and labor laws. The fix will not happen overnight. The upcoming election will be crucial in determining a president for whom a solution is a priority. But for now, educators everywhere will be doing what we can. Whether it is creating packets, creating optional online learning opportunities, providing meals, or allowing our students to just focus on getting through these next three weeks, it is clear that teachers are thinking of our students during this time. We wonder whether they will be fed properly, whether they will have an adult at home, whether they have books to read. The worries of a teacher for her students never ends.

The COVID-19 pandemic is going to continue to present more and more challenges as the virus continues to spread. Challenges in the world of online education, among others, will hold us all accountable for creating higher standards of living and learning for our communities. Hopefully, all of this troubleshooting will serve as preparation for future disasters. For now, we are doing the best we can with what we have.

Filling Your Cup

As a child of immigrants, my parents weren't exactly thrilled at the idea of my becoming a teacher. They knew I would struggle, showed me statistics about how much teachers make, and tried to convince me to pursue something more lucrative. They supported me, but I'm sure they would've preferred I become a doctor or a lawyer or pursue a career in business. But I insisted I was passionate about teaching children and that I wanted to make a difference. Thus began my journey into the world of education that I have reflected on often ever since.

My first job was as a STEM instructor for an education company. My classroom was portable (a cart) and I taught K-8 over the course of one school year. I had to plan lessons and buy supplies and do it all a-z to deliver quality content that would later boost science and math scores for the small charter school in Southfield, Michigan. However, science was not my teaching major and I didn't see a future in that position. So I resigned and went on to find a job at another charter school in Ann Arbor. They paid 30k-- low, even for a teacher-- but to me it was more than I'd made ever before. I had no idea how much my labor was really worth, and poured everything I had into that job. Many nights, I stayed until 8:00 or 9:00, planning and grading and prepping things for the next day. I was learning how I wanted to run my classroom, how to manage behaviors, how to create routines for myself -- all things they don't teach us in college. I didn't mind working so hard because I was single and still living at home for that first year. Little did I know how big of a mistake that was, and how much it would cost me down the road.

A year later, I moved out and started grad school, a leg of my journey that would take five years. Upon having to pay real bills and support myself, I realized that what I was making wasn't nearly enough to sustain myself. So, I quit. I found a job working with the fifth-largest for-profit charter school network in the country and stayed for three years. There, I learned how to maintain a better work-life balance (although it still wasn't ideal), to establish my own routines and procedures, and most importantly, to build a network of support within my school. I made friends at work-- which I don't do easily as an introvert-- and actually hung out with said friends. After 3 years, it wasn't perfect but it felt like a family to me. I loved working there, but it was eventually time to move on. I tried my hand at public school.

Thinking that my job at a very organized charter school system was restrictive, I hoped public school would be different. It was. I had more freedom than I knew what to do with, so I had to reestablish those routines and decide what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to do away with. However, when it came to behaviors and administrative policies surrounding them, I found it was not all that different from the charter schools that I came from. I also found that since most teachers had been around a while, there were established cliques and groups that were hard to break into as an introverted newcomer. While adjusting to all of this, I let my mental health fall to the wayside. I was working long hours again, in addition to still being in grad school, was barely seeing my friends, and had yet to form any real friendships with my colleagues. As someone who has struggled with mental health for as long as I can remember, this should've been a warning sign.

Around January, I sank into a major depressive episode. I struggled to get out of bed and go to work, to do basic daily tasks. My world felt like it was fire, and eventually, I realized I couldn't keep going. I got help, but by that time my job was in jeopardy. However, considering everything that was going on inside of my head, I knew it was more important for me to get help than to keep working and pushing through. Despite a union representative by my side and the support of my administration, I could not picture myself going back to my own classroom any time soon and moved down to preschool as a teaching assistant. I finished out the school year there and learned that I do not, in fact, want to teach younger students (like, ever. I'm just not the right breed of teacher for that).

With my mental health back on track, I went back to the classroom but reflected greatly on where it all went wrong. While my diagnosis is what it is, there was much I could've done to prevent falling down a rabbit hole...

1) You must have a network to survive in education. It is so easy to become isolated in our classrooms and keep pushing through on our own, but if we want to thrive it is necessary to establish a network of support where you work. This is what they mean when they say you need to have teacher friends, and I finally understand that. It's great having friends, but they don't understand the ins and outs of what we do and how much it can weigh on us. You need someone who will understand if you say your student was being an asshole rather than gasp and ask how you can say that, or worse-- ask if it's really that bad.

2) A self-care routine is vital. As a single person living alone, it is incredibly easy to just pour all of yourself into this job. Surrounding yourself with healthy role models and creating a routine for yourself that involves self-care is the most important thing you can do. Taking time to do little things for yourself because you deserve them and not feeling guilty about spending money (that you can afford) on yourself and not your classroom is all part of this. While I can't speak on being a parent in addition to being a teacher, I imagine that self-care is even more important in that situation because you have two groups of tiny people you are responsible for, and that is a lot of weight to carry around.

3) You can't save everyone. With 25-30 students in a classroom at a time throughout the day, it is impossible to save them all. We do what we can, but even the best of teachers is not a replacement for negligent parents, a broken home, or any other condition in which a student might be living. When I started, I really thought I would change the world. Maybe I will, but the unfortunate thing about teaching is we never really see the fruits of our labor because they take years to manifest in the biggest ways. We see academic progress and behavioral improvements within a school year, but we don't see the true impact of our work because it doesn't show up until the kids are much older. So did I save them? Maybe. Maybe not. But if I worried about every kid I've ever had and how they are doing when I'm not with them, I would drive myself into an anxious mania. This leads me to my fourth lesson:

4) Don't take work home with you. I don't mean papers to grade. I mean the mental baggage we all carry at some point in worrying about our students' futures. At the end of the day, teaching is just a job. An incredibly hard, unimaginably stressful, and immensely rewarding job. If you quit, you will be replaced, just like any other job. The work will always be there, and there will always be something more we could do. But that doesn't mean we have to do it all. So don't forget to have a life outside the classroom and worry about yourself sometimes.

Bright-eyed, full of hope and wonder, naive about what I was getting myself into, and convinced I was going to change the world -- like most educators, this was how I started my career. Eight years in, my perspective is a little different. Maybe it wouldn't have shifted so much if I'd taught in wealthier districts or in more public schools. But students are students no matter their zip code, and they're all in need of good teachers. Teachers who care, but not so much they burn themselves out. Teachers who stay, but not at the expense of their mental health. Teachers who support themselves so they can support their students.

As they say, you can't pour from an empty cup. Eight years in, I am learning how to keep my cup full. In another eight years, maybe I'll still be in the classroom. Maybe I'll move on to something bigger. Maybe I'll run for president. All I know is that how I function as a teacher depends on what I put in my cup. Whether it is the worries of my students or self-care routines, how I fill it will determine so much. What I do know is that, after eight years, my cup is finally filled with the right things, and I will do everything I can to keep it that way, no matter where my career takes me. 

Good Teachers Are Tired Teachers

I am a good teacher. I care about my students. I work hard, maybe too hard. I spend out of my pocket to feed my kids and buy them school supplies. I love them and I love my job. But I am tired. This gig is just not made to last. The question is, what do I do now?

Through a copious amount of therapy, introspection, journaling, and conversations with colleagues and mentors, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that teaching – good teaching, great teaching- just isn’t sustainable. Mentally, emotionally, financially (especially if you’re single), and even sometimes physically-- this sh*t is exhausting.

I have found myself wondering if my own teachers growing up felt this way. They seemed to always be a lot older – or maybe that was because we were younger—and they never seemed tired or stressed out. My students know I am tired. They know I’m frustrated. They can sense it even when I do my best to hide it and put on a show. So what has changed? Maybe I’m wrong and careers in the classroom have always been crappy, but the average teacher salary once upon a time (read: 1995) was $36,675. Based on housing costs and adjusted for inflation, this was a pretty livable salary. Today, the average teacher salary starts at $38,617 with the average salary being $58,353, but 36 of our 50 beautiful states are well below this national average, and if you adjust for today’s cost of living even $40K isn’t enough for a household. I’ve loved my time in the classroom with all of my kiddos, but being in a Master’s program (which I did partially in order to renew my certification) and trying to pay rent on a salary of $40K isn’t easy. A study conducted by Purdue University found that happiness (calculated by satiation and emotional well-being) and income are positively correlated up until an annual income of $75,000. Let me tell you, I don’t need that much to know I’d be a whole lot less stressed if I could just make five grand more and know I could pay all of my bills each month.

Money of course, is a problem many deal with. Teachers don’t have a monopoly on this. If we made a list of careers and professions that don’t get paid enough, we would also see on it: nurses, firefighters, police officers, and all armed forces. These folks deal with literal human shit, put their actual lives on the line, and there is just not enough money in my opinion to compensate someone for that.

According to the average rate of teacher burnout, I’ve made it past about 50% of teachers who quit within their first 5 years. Hurray! Seven years into this shindig and there are so many other things that non-educators fail to see causing this burnout. However, it seems I’m just following the patterns. Teacher attrition is 50-70% higher in poor schools and those serving large numbers of minority students. That’s where I’ve been working, and I know that perhaps if I’d worked in Novi or Canton I would be in a very different place because those schools have money and our system caters to the needs of white students.  I love my students dearly—even the most challenging of the bunch. I’ve had students throw chairs, threaten to hurt me, tell me to f*ck off, and everything in between. I’ve had kids tell me I was their favorite teacher ever, that they wished I was their mom, and that I helped them love school when they used to hate it. I love students on both end of the spectrum and everyone in between. I can’t help it. They don’t always know how to ask for the love they need, but we eventually learn to recognize the need and respond to it.

However, the students have changed. Students today and students 20 years ago are two different beasts. Kids today are more irritable, more distracted, less focused, and more easily agitated than kids when I was growing up. A lot of this is due to screen time, but let’s be real—that’s not the root of the problem. It’s parenting. Parenting has changed. Childhood experiences have changed. And it all has fallen upon the teachers of the country to clean up the mess.

I was at an Eid party last summer listening to a conversation between my mom and her friend about their time raising their children. My mom was reminiscing about relishing every second of motherhood, saying that it’s a blessing to be able to stay home and raise children and not have to return to work. Her friend agreed, but also expressed that after some time, her kids would make her feel frustrated or “drive her crazy.” I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard parents say this—in front of their children. A child knowing they are a mental burden to a parent, in my opinion, is unhealthy. Kids internalize EVERYTHING, whether we realize it or not. I can’t tell you how many stupid little things I am still unlearning from my own childhood with the help of a therapist that my parents probably don’t even realize they created a complex about. I don’t fault them at all, but it is the nature of the beast and it’s important to be careful. 

Based solely on my own observations, I have to say that the vast majority of parents I have met and seen through my career are the latter type. These parents complain when we have too many snow days because they’re “stuck at home” with their children and can’t wait to go back to school in fall because they finally get the house back to themselves. These are often the same parents who substitute conversation for an iPad or a phone screen, or quality time for a video game. As a result, the children are constantly engaged and have to continue to be engaged; when they’re not, they can’t focus (aka ADD/ADHD). It literally affects their brain development. But it also affects how they feel. They’re annoyed when they don’t get their way because normally when they throw a tantrum, they get the phone. They don’t have social skills to deal with conflict because they haven’t spend enough time playing with other children and handling it alone. They can’t assess risk and think through their behavior because their parents handle their mistakes for them. We have to let them do these things in order for them to function. And when they can’t, we have to be ready to accept that their behavior is a potential problem for EVERYONE they come in contact with. Including teachers and classmates.

Even the greatest teachers are not a substitute for lazy parenting. Our kids in the US are continually falling behind their peers around the globe for so many reasons. Summer learning loss is real, but it doesn’t have to be. One option is a balanced school year, which there is much resistance to outside of the education community (and even within it). But if your children are at home over the summer, as a parent wanting the best for them, maybe have them read a few books. Do some real-life math. Make connections to what they’ve learned. Help them see that school and learning doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Create a life-long learner in your child by spending time with them.

My qualms today are many. But that is a personal issue right now, and what I’ll do next remains to be seen. But if you’re a parent reading this, do your child and their teacher incredible favor and just be present. Be a parent. Give them calm when they are in a chaotic tantrum. Don’t give them a screen. Rather than giving gifts like Jordans, give them time. Give them affirmations and love. Give them a parent, so their teacher doesn’t have to.

Sources:

Learning Policy Institute, “Teacher Turnover: Why it Matters and What We Can Do

About It” by Desiree Carver Thomas & Linda Darling-Hammond (Aug. 2017)

National Center for Education Statistics (www.nces.ed.gov)

National Conversation About Teaching (www.ed.gov)

National Education Association (www.nea.org)

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Purdue University, “Money only buys happiness for a certain amount” by Amy Patterson Neubert (Feb. 2018)

Is Teaching Sustainable?

As any individual working within 10 feet of a school building could tell you, teaching is not a job for the faint of heart. For those readers who are not intimately familiar, allow me to paint for you the following scene:

You have a passion for [insert subject here] and want to share it with children. Great! Now share it with a room of 30 nine-year-olds on a Monday morning when roughly 3 of them haven't taken their ADD/ADHD medication that day, 1 is having an emotional meltdown because her friend stopped talking to her, another is emptying his desk looking for last week's leftover snack, 3 more are in the corner tossing around a couple of your stress balls (meant for relaxation, talk about irony), somebody else needs to use the bathroom and you have a line of 4 other students waiting to ask you questions about the morning work (questions which are answered easily if they would just read the directions).

Now continue sharing that love of reading while maintaining rigor for all students, but also making the necessary accommodations and differentiations for the 7 students who are reading at a 2nd/3rd grade level, as well as the 4 students who are reading at a 5th/6th grade level, while the rest are on-track in 4th grade. Some of these kids have hearing impairments, learning disabilities, traumatic brain injuries, or other needs that cause their learning to be deficient and below grade-level. But the state test is around the corner, and they are anxious- as are you. You'll probably have several students today that test your patience by arguing, ignoring you, fighting another student, or maybe they'll just walk out of your room. It'll get under your skin. You'll have to call home during your prep and write it all up during your lunch, or after school. At lunch, you'll become a witness to the child in your class who only has crackers for lunch because "mom forgot to pack him a lunch" but you know it's really because that's all he could find at home. You'll give him some of your lunch because you know his family can't afford another school lunch on his account. It's only Monday. At the end of this day, how do you feel?

If you work in a school, and especially if you were/are a classroom teacher, you already know. We do this every day, year after year, like an abusive relationship that we know is bad for our health but we stay in it anyway because there's some part of it that we see hope in. But there is a huge problem in education that nobody talks about: mental health.

Imagine coming home from the above scenario on a regular basis. Or going to a second job. Even with the best of support systems, teachers are burnt out. That's the problem with the quote pictured above: it implies that the hallmark of a great educator is working to the point that you are quite literally no more. If I was a candle, I would LITERALLY BURN MYSELF OUT. Do you see how appropriate the phrase "teacher burn-out" is now?? *Throws hands in air* This isn't normal. We would never demand from any other profession that a person so devotedly sacrifice their mental, emotional, and sometimes even physical capacities for the sake of their clients AND THEN CALL IT GREAT WORK. We could call it excessive! We would call it unhealthy! We would demand that changes be made to the system! We certainly would not praise them for such behaviors! So why, then, is teaching always the exception?

In the UK, a survey of teachers showed that more than half reported their mental health as poor and of those, about half had been diagnosed by a general physician. Living with anxiety, depression, and other mental illnesses is difficult enough without throwing in the stressors of life in the world of education. Until I started talking about my own struggles with friends at work, I was living under a rock when it came to just how many of my fellow educators were dealing with the same challenges. It seems more common to talk to teachers who admit to feeling anxious, overly-stressed out, or depressed on a regular basis (or perhaps are even diagnosed or on medication for these things) than to talk to teachers who aren't.

It's no secret that happy teachers make happy classrooms. When I haven't had my coffee, it shows. When I feel like crap, my students pick up on it. On the other hand, when I'm on my A game, my students are engaged and enjoy their day and you can feel the enthusiasm for learning when you walk into the room. So aside from burn-out affecting things like turnover and finding subs, it affects our students. Tired, anxious, demotivated teachers are functioning on survival mode and it's not good for anybody. It's like when your phone goes into power-saver mode -- it's a temporary function that's a lot less efficient and not meant for regular usage. You certainly shouldn't be relying on it and if you are, you're probably not getting much done.

With West Virginia, Oklahoma, and Kentucky teachers walking out after having had enough of the garbage conditions they've been working in, it should've opened our eyes to a bigger problem. Nobody can work in these conditions and expect them to produce results. As much as we sometimes feel like it, we're not Jesus-- we can't turn water into wine. Teaching in it's current state is not a sustainable career. Not financially, and certainly not mentally or emotionally. We need and deserve more.

What To Do When the World is Burning

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." -MLK

Philando Castile. Alton Sterling. Dallas. Orlando. Saudi. Baghdad. Istanbul. Dhaka. Sandra Bland. Brussels. San Bernadino.

For the last several days, weeks, and months, it feels like we wake up to a new tragedy either here at home or somewhere abroad. My heart is breaking, and I no longer have words to express what I'm feeling as I process the chaos and tragedy that is plaguing the world. This has gone on far beyond sending "thoughts and prayers" and slacktivist efforts to "stand in solidarity" via the internet while sitting back in the comfort of our homes and going about business as usual. This is deeper than that. This is...well, this is personal.

I am a born-and-raised heterosexual American Muslim with Indian heritage...I am not Black, or LGBT, or a cop, or Iraqi, or Turkish, or Bangladeshi, or Syrian...but I am human. The same blood that is flowing through streets and cities around the world runs through my veins. I am blessed to have never been hit directly by such tragedy, but I am more aware now than ever of my status as a racial and religious minority in this country. My lighter skin, easily-pronounced name, and lack of a headscarf provide me with some degree of security as I walk through the world, however fleeting or false it may be. So, how, then, is this personal? Because if I am not part of the solution, I am part of the problem. If I am not part of the solution, I am part of the problem.

The world is burning, and I worry for the safety and future of the students that have walked through the doors of my classroom. Their beautiful hues of black and brown make them walking targets in a time when skin tone determines the degree to which they are perceived with suspicion. Their milky white tinge shields them from those same paranoid, uncomfortable glares as they walk through their neighborhoods at twilight, blissfully unaware of how easily their reality could have been quite different had they been born with more melanin.

These tragedies are not new -- prejudice and injustice have been alive and well for centuries, well before Europeans discovered invaded North America and claimed it as their own. Anyone who has studied history could easily rattle off a never-ending list of instances of fear and prejudice fueling violence and injustice. With the exponential amounts of racially-fueled violence afflicting us, what can we do? What can we as Americans, as minorities, as citizens, as educators, as humans DO?
1) We can pray. We can look into our hearts and find whatever God or deity we believe in, and we can ask not for a magical solution to end the violence, but for the courage in ourselves to stand up and make a change. Then, we can push ourselves to do more.

2) We can teach. "With guns, you can kill terrorists. But with education, you can kill terrorism." (Malala Yousafzi) Kids today have more access to information than any generation before them, and while they may use it primarily to play Minecraft and watch Beyonce's lastest music video, they will be exposed to this stuff. Talk to them. Let them be part of the conversation. Listen to them. Talk to our white children about the social leverage they have and how they can use that to be an advocate for their lesser-privileged peers. Talk about racism, talk about Hitler, talk about Jim Crow, about ISIS, about war. Talk about democracy and civil duties, about holding our elected officials accountable, about our first amendment right to peacefully assemble and protest.

3) We can act. Black American right now were never given a choice; they have been thrown into this fire and forced to think, to speak, to act. The rest of us? We have a choice. We have a choice to sit back passively and let our country disintegrate, or to do something about it. Let's hold our government officials accountable to do the job we elected them to do. Let's write emails and letters, make phone calls, march in protests, and flood the media until something changes. Democracy only works if we do our part; if ever there was a time to remember this, it is now.

4) We can love. "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." (MLK) Love lets us see the humanity and goodness in people. Time and again, life has taught me that it's incredibly difficult to hate someone once you have heard their story. So let's share our stories and listen to each other. Let's talk to our neighbors and our coworkers and understand their stories while recognizing that we may not be able to relate to their experiences, but we can certainly try to understand them. Let's learn to love one another first and foremost as humans.

In the wake of today's news, our hearts are hurting. We are disheartened, we are angry, we are frustrated, and we are mourning. Let's mourn together...and then let's ask ourselves a critical question: are we going to be part of the healing and rebuilding, or are we going to passively allow for the dissolution of our humanity? Because if we are not part of the solution, we are part of the problem.

Parents: the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

As a teacher, your relationship with parents can make or break your year. My school does a fantastic job at getting teachers to build rapport with them before the year even starts, and encourages us to send home positive notes before any negative ones. (I grew up in a culture where children were not constantly praised or rewarded; they were simply expected to behave and get good grades and if you did, it was nothing extraordinary. If you didn't... Anyway, my point is that giving praise and positive feedback is something I'm still working on.) There are all kinds of parents we deal with. Parents who aren't present and parents who are overly present. Parents who believe their child wears a halo, parents who cry "BULLYING!" any time their child complains about another student, and parents who could not care less how their child is doing in school. Then there the parents who just too much, and who some might call crazy, but which really are just a combination of all of the above. It seems like in the last few weeks, I've interacted with almost all of these types and I'm starting to feel some type of way about it all. Let me start with this morning...

Each week, we send out a grade-level newsletter where, along with other important notes and reminders, we put our learning objectives for the week. We then bold the ones that will be tested, so really, if you're reading the entire thing...a test should be no surprise. I also told students about this test last week, and they were instructed to write it in their planners so they could study for it. I even gave them a study guide! I'm too nice. Despite all of this, I was confronted by an upset mother who had never heard about this test and wanted to know why there wasn't a reminder email or text about it. Um...seriously? She says her daughter didn't bring home any homework, and she called 3 other parents whose children also had not been studying for this test despite knowing it was coming. Okay, so your kid didn't tell you they had a test. How is this my fault? Well, if 3 whole children out of 87 also didn't tell their parents, then there must be something wrong with what the teacher did. or maybe you need to talk to your kid about following directions when they are told to fill out the planner that you supposedly check every night. 

The few days prior to this, a parent attempted to wander into my classroom mid-lesson. I've had parents do this several times to deliver lunches, to deliver a change of clothes for a spirit day, or to drop off homework. Okay, cool..you're being nice and delivering something your kid forgot. But if you keep doing that, you are teaching them two very dangerous things:
1) it's okay to be irresponsible and forgetful, because mommy will always save the day
2) whatever issue you are currently having is more important than the learning and productivity of everyone else and is worth disrupting class for.
Honestly, when did it become okay to just barge into a classroom while students are learning?

Last week there was a Friday the 13th. It really was a scary day. Our entire wing had an explosion of behavior and discipline issues, hyper kids, and a general lack of productivity. When an incident occurred between several students and parents had to be contacted, I was confronted by angry parents who wanted to know why their child had been given a consequence when the other student was the one who started it. They wanted to know what was being done about the student who had made the inappropriate remark. They wanted to tell me that they would not allow their child to be around that type of behavior....and this is where it gets sticky. Because as a teacher, you can't discuss other students besides the one that is legally the responsibility of the parent you are speaking to. Often times, in emails or phone calls, we don't even provide the gender of the other student involved. So when I am repeatedly asked what is being done about "that" student...I just about burst at the seams. Because there is so much that I cannot tell you that I wish I could, because it would make my job so much easier. I'm reminded of an open letter penned by a fellow teacher that brought me to tears and re-reading it tonight, evokes the same response. Here's a snippet that most teachers can relate to:

You're worried that THAT child is detracting from your child's learning experience. You're worried that he takes up too much of my time and energy, and that your child won't get his fair share. You're worried that she is really going to hurt someone some day. You're worried that “someone" might be your child. You're worried that your child is going to start using aggression to get what she wants. You're worried your child is going to fall behind academically because I might not notice that he is struggling to hold a pencil. I know.
I know, and I am worried, too.

You see, I worry all the time. About ALL of them. I worry about your child's pencil grip, and another child's letter sounds, and that little tiny one's shyness, and that other one's chronically empty lunchbox. I worry that Gavin's coat is not warm enough, and that Talitha's dad yells at her for printing the letter B backwards. Most of my car rides and showers are consumed with the worrying.

Maybe that's what it is. I worry. We all do. We worry about the kids who are constantly in trouble and we worry about the ones we never hear from in class. We worry about the ones who are absent nearly every week and we worry about the ones who are here physically but can't stay awake or focus. I'm not a parent, but sometimes I feel like one with all the worrying and redirecting and molding of character that we do. I don't mind; it's part of the job and if I wasn't worrying then I don't think I'd be much of a teacher. 

But through these last few weeks and all of these interactions with parents, there is one thought that sticks with me. It's not so eloquent, and it's not a feel-good warm-and-fuzzy, it's just reality for a lot of us out in the field: teaching would be 10x easier if parents would just parent. Stop being scared of your child and make them (just a little bit) scared of you. When the doctor says they have ADHD, don't be shocked when they keep getting into trouble because you won't medicate them anymore. When your child's teacher tells you your child got into a fight, don't ask what the other kid did to provoke them-- teach them that violence is not an appropriate response, ever. When they forget their backpack at home, let them cry and miss recess and deal with the consequences of irresponsible behavior. Let them fall. Let them cry. Let them learn. Jennifer Senior of NY Magazine sums up the problem nicely:

"Kids ought to be valued; their lives ought to be deemed precious. Ever since we banned child labor in the United States we have come to view children as “economically worthless but emotionally priceless,” in the words of one of my favorite sociologists, Viviana Zelizer. But extending equal protection to kids and assigning them the value they deserve is one thing; swaddling them in bubble wrap is quite another. It has led not just to a culture of irrationality around safety issues, but of moral high-handedness and gratuitous censure among parents themselves."

One of the most challenging parts of teaching is the parents. If I had to put a number to it, I'd say it's definitely top 3. This year, having parents who are responsive, friendly, and involved is something that I'm still getting used to. I am forever grateful to the superheroes who stuff my Monday Mailers, grade my spelling tests, make copies for our team and cut and laminate things so I can focus on the most important part of my job: the students. These last 3 months have been an eye-opener to the wonderful world of task delegation and I can happily say that several days often pass without my setting foot in front of a copy machine. I have a parent who volunteers to help supervise the students at lunch and brought me a box of forks when she noticed my kids kept forgetting utensils... I'm sure it seemed minuscule, but I wanted to hug her for her thoughtfulness. These are the parents that keep me going. Today, right now, I just wish there were more of them.