Colleague Care

...but until then, we'll do what we can to support each other through this interesting time.

I was raised in a family of teachers. I have rather vivid memories of not only events in my own kindergarten classroom thirty-three years ago, but of years and years and years of bulliten boards, schools, towns, school board meetings, parent teacher conferences, school carnivals, open houses and all of the other events that I accompanied my mother to or helped her with in Texas and Alaska. I did some more growing up while in college, choosing teaching as my field of study and profession. I wasn't too terribly observant of all of the educational history I was surrounded by, but a few tidbits here and there got my attention and had me thinking as I began teaching my own students. With my family, my master teacher's input and guidance during my professional year, and terrific mentor teachers as colleagues, those tidbits were sewn together, and after five years of teaching, I felt that I could reach out and invite practicum students and student teachers into my classroom.

I've made new friends and worked with new colleagues after relocating to the Lower-48, and have found these collegial relationships reflecting the fact that I have continued to grow older. No longer the newbie on the staff, nor the youngest, but not so old as to be thought of as "disenchanted" or merely "hanging out until retirement," teachers new to the profession come and ask me for input, advice, or ears to listen and shoulders to cry on when the going gets tough. Shrapnel from the CRT fiasco is still raining down on some of their shoulders and though I now live several states away, how they feel, what they think, and how they problem-solve to manage this situation and their own self-care matters to me greatly.

"Newer" teachers ask new and fresh questions and think of innovative and paradigm-shifting solutions to educational problems, but they also ask those basic questions that more experienced teachers have already moved past. More experienced teachers have been there, done that, and have moved on with their professional knowledge and development, and perhaps don't feel the need (or have the time) to share stories from their own educational histories with the colleagues that have recently graduated from college. When a former colleague expressed both hurt feelings and disappointment over teaching and posed a question on her blog about test scores, "...do they mean that a teacher isn't teaching or that a student isn't learning?" I was inspired to tell a few stories.

Ah, you're in mental-overload-mode now aren't you? That tends to happen to conscientious people such as yourself. As per our OTHER discussions, I'm not sure if the following comments will help stem the tide of professional disappointment for you or if they'll just take your mind zooming in another direction:

* Do low test scores mean that a teacher isn't teaching or that a student isn't learning? Good question. Can you answer it by putting a spin on it though: do HIGH test scores mean that a teacher IS teaching and that a student IS learning? Everyone would have you think so- teachers, administrators, board members, politicians, "experts," etc. but many of us have seen firsthand how reported test scores aren't accurate for whatever reason- a teacher's inexperience administering the assessment, a child's home life or start to that particular day, learning strengths and needs, behavioral issues, disturbances during testing, cultural or socio-economic biases... and don't forget "dumbing down" the test by making it easier so more kiddos will pass, timing the tests with the idea that smarter kids fill in bubbles faster (I still don't understand that one!) and that dreaded "no-no," fudging the scores.

I remember my friends in Barrow (an Eskimo village) years ago not understanding why they got a question "wrong" on the ITBS test. They were asked: what would be good to eat? a) a flower b) a chicken c) a whale d) a car. Now the Eskimo kids who had never SEEN a chicken but who annually helped haul bowhead whales onto the shore when the whaling captains landed "a strike" chose "C, whale." And they got it WRONG. Children who had butchered, cut up, cooked, and eaten bowhead whale had test scores that put them in whatever "needs help" category existed for the test. School experiences happened in isolation, ONLY AT SCHOOL, and "life" for the kids happened outside of school. Students were tested on subjects that were only applicable to them during the school day, not during the annual whale hunt that put food in their bellies and refrigerators.

So NCLB comes along with perhaps a Pollyanna view of reforms aimed to help those considered less fortunate... by ignoring the kids who don't "need" help because they score too high (have you seen any big push for gifted/talented kiddos lately?), making sure the average kids don't slip below their baseline, and by throwing a lot of school experiences at kids that are often only applicable to poor children when they're AT SCHOOL. And school funding is based on the kiddos who are least likely to apply school-knowledge in all aspects of their lives (usually because parents don't), so panic sets in when teachers, administrators, board members, and local politicians figure out that they are being judged on the performance of their lowest students, and they know they are NOT to fail. NCLB doesn't take care of the socio-economic issue or culture of poverty no matter what its proponents claim. The poor stay poor, but now parents, colleagues, and politicians can zing you for not doing their job.

* A lot of people are sucked into the drill that this "school reform" has created. I certainly did not get into teaching to become a revolutionary, a politician, a yeller and a screamer. Nor did I want to be a thoughtless drone, blindly following the commands of all of the "experts." I wanted to help students safely expand their knowledge and appetite for compassion and lifelong learning, and I wanted to work with colleagues who had the same goals. I hoped to be paid for doing something I LOVED, which I suppose is rather indulgent. I certainly do not love all of it now, and I've found that it is usually only with my students that I feel the most fulfilled and effective, the most "aligned" with my own personal goals for my job. What has gotten me through has been reaching out to other like-minded teachers. I was very lucky to have been raised in a family of teachers, a family of GOOD teachers. I was even more fortunate to have worked with the same group of colleagues for a decade before leaving Alaska. We were FAMILY, and while we didn't all agree, most of us felt safe in working together because of our professional mutual respect. When I moved to a new state, I was alone because of the grade I taught and the mood of my grade-level colleague. I had to do my own "professional development" because no one else talked my language. I stayed in touch with colleagues in Alaska, asked them to send me links or copies of materials they were finding useful, and bless them, they did it! I looked online, started finding websites that I could visit regularly so I could maintain some balance and not feel so isolated. When I moved to the next state and was hired, it took a lot of time to find balance between the DRAMA and the real educational issues that needed to be addressed. I had so much I felt I could share, and knew I needed and wanted others to share what they knew with me, but workplace psychology took up more time than should be allowed. So blogging, MySpace, and searching out other resources became a part-time hobby that helped my full-time teaching brain.

I encourage you to continue to reach out. Read some blogs, purposely seek out the thoughts and expressions of teachers from around the world. You won't feel so alone, you won't feel so judged, and you'll know there are a lot of other people out there on your side and on the side of your students.

I'm concerned that many first-year and newbie teachers are leaving college ready to work, ready to teach, and ready to blindly trust educational reforms, mandates, and practices that are not beneficial to students. Some of the newbies are so busy with the duck-and-dodge of their first classrooms and students that they're barely able to come up for air. Others are noticing a huge discrepancy between theory and practice now that they're out in the real world. Many, like my friends, are facing moral and ethical dilemmas as they decide whether or not to risk future tenure, letters of recommendation, and the ability to put food on their tables and clothes on their own childrens' backs by calling other more experienced teachers and administrators "out" for horrible educational practices.

"Them versus Us"

Perhaps it's a totally new concept: administrators, teachers, parents, and students all working together, as a team, in our educational system. No "them-versus-us" mentality that does nothing but create opposition, miscommunication, hurt feelings, and even underhandedness, but actual teambuilding with truly *shared* goals.

I had an interview yesterday at a local elementary school. It was a school that I had taken my resume to earlier this summer. I didn't hear back from the principal until a week and a half ago, when a one-line email message popped up in my in-box: "If you're still wanting a position, call my cell this morning" with the principal's phone number as the signature. I called the cell phone, reached the principal's voice mail, and left an affirmative "yes I'm available to interview" message with my phone numbers. I received a response yesterday morning in the wee hours in the form of another one-line email message: "Can you come in for an interview at 3:30 today?" I emailed back that yes, I was looking forward to meeting the principal at three thirty, and I then inquired for which grade or position I was to be interviewing. No response. I downloaded the Texas Education Knowledge and Standards (TEKS) parent handout for grades K-5, thought about how I'd respond to the questions I anticipated being asked, and enjoyed the rest of my morning with my toddler.

I arrived at the school fifteen minutes before my interview, and was pleased to find the neighborhood parents friendly, and the staff helpful. The students were full of energy as they left for the day, and smiles abounded. All GREAT signs! I signed in at the office, and was soon joined in the waiting area by another teacher applicant also there to interview. She had no idea which grade or position was needing to be filled either, but we quickly found some mental direction when the secretary made an announcement over the intercom asking that all third grade teachers report to the principal. I quickly reviewed the TEKS handout for third grade, made sure my information packet and resume were ready to go and crinkle/crease-free, and talked with kindergarten students who were waiting to be picked up at the office. (The students were wearing AWESOME "10th Day of School" crowns, I HAD to admire them!)

The other applicant was taken to be interviewed first by the principal, who had quickly introduced himself to us as the third grade teachers congregated. After twenty minutes, I saw the first applicant quickly leaving the building looking a bit down and unsure of herself. I wondered if she had been overwhelmed by the number of people interviewing her, or was experiencing the "I-should-have-said-this" aftershock that tends to hit people after presenting themselves for consideration to a bunch of strangers. The principal came and escorted me to the interview room, and I was pleased to see four cheerful teachers waiting.

I introduced myself, and the principal asked me to tell the teachers a bit about myself before getting started with the interview questions. No doubt you've noticed, dear readers, that I'm a bit of a rambler, so once I realized I'd gotten off on a tangent, I quickly added humor to the mix, and apologized for getting off-subject. The principal expressed that he was in a hurry and that we'd need to get the questions underway, and asked the teachers to begin the interview. I was prepared to answer questions about my teaching experience, my educational background, teaching philosophy, teaching style, views on curriculum and instruction, and demonstrate familiarity with Texas and District specific issues such as the Texas State Standards, the district's testing policies regarding NCLB, and how I'd work with bi-lingual students and staff. I also figured I'd be asked about my discipline policy and questioned as to how many extra duties I'd be willing to take on.

I was asked to describe my teaching style, to detail how I'd ensure all of my students experienced success, who I thought was responsible for discipline in the school, how I communicate with parents, and how I'd treat my grade-level colleagues. Nothing else, so I worked to infuse my responses with pepperings of the other information I felt was pertinent (that wasn't being asked for), and was comfortable adding humorous examples and positive messages about working with collegial groups and teambuilding. The response from the teachers was shared laughter, nods of what I hoped was approval, and an overall relaxing of tone as the interview progressed. The response from the principal however, was nothing short of.... bristling, to include the folding of his hands, and the crossing of his arms in front of his chest.

To round out my answer to how I'd treat my colleagues, I responded that I would treat my colleagues the way I treat my students, as "whole people." I may need the E.L.L. teacher's help with some of my students, but I'll remember that when working together in my room, or on committees, or after-school projects, we ALL have families to get home to, so it's important to work effectively so that we're not living, eating, breathing and sleeping at school all the time. And hey, even if I don't get to work with everyone on the staff as much as I'd like to, I'm happy to bring cookies to the staff room once a quarter for staff support!

Lots of additional smiles, laughter, nods and "thank goodness'" from the teachers, immediatly followed by the principal indicating the interview was over saying "Well, I just feel I need to close this interview by mentioning the following. This is a DIFFERENT school. Teachers HERE give 150% and that's what makes us effective. You might want to consider that if you are hired to teach here."

Wouldn't you know it, I had a response.

"Thank you Principal ______________, I see exactly where you're coming from. Since I've taught for twelve years, been hired by three school districts, and have received glowing letters of recommendation from each one, it's obvious that I take my job very seriously and I'm good at it. But my own childrens' band concerts, volleyball games, and science fair projects are just as important as my students, so I won't be staying here until nine p.m. each evening. Teachers who sacrifice their marriages and their families to martyr themselves for their students are, in my opinion, living grossly unbalanced lives."

He thanked me for my time, stood up, and walked me to the door, at which point I gave him my resume and information packet. I'm sure they were tossed in the trashcan as soon as I walked out the door.

Something tells me I won't be teaching third grade at that school this year, which is a shame because I rather enjoyed the dynamic I experienced in my short time with the other teachers and I liked the feel of the school environment. But I had done a little homework before the interview, and found out that this was the principal's first year at this particular school, and that the school's science scores fell below the state's average, and that the school, while "academically acceptable" hadn't received public kudos or accolades for a whopping year. None of these details bothered me until experiencing the principal's reaction to my responses during the interview.

First-year principals, like first-year ANYTHINGS, are eager to prove themselves. In today's Blue Ribbon/Gold Star/Sparkley Crown School competition, and with the requirements set by NCLB, I understand that administrators, like teachers and students, are pushed to perform, and pushed to produce the results that have been labeled as "indicators of success." But meeting administrators that desire the banners, the photo ops and the publicity at the cost of the well-being of their teachers bothers me.

I'm qualified. I do a good job. As a rather simplistic job description, I'm paid to require other people to think. But I'm tired of meeting administrators who don't like the fact that I myself have opinions and am willing to share them, especially when I'm asked what they are in an interview. I don't challenge administrator's authority, nor do I disrespect their role, but I'm very clear on what I think that role is: school administrators are employed to make sure I can do MY job effectively for our students. A principal might hire me, but it's his or her job to provide safety plans, collegial group time, and various other resources for any student and/or teacher support that is necessary. Principals are guides, to help me and my colleagues achieve not just OTHER peoples' goals for our school and district, but the goals we set for ourselves and our students. Principals should be advocates not only for students, but for teachers, support staff, and other paraprofessionals whose jobs make student learning possible each day.

This "them versus us" is getting old. Am I really the only person who feels this way?

Flies and Sugar

My mother used to tell me "you can catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar." Sometimes she substituted "honey" for "sugar," but vinegar always stood firm. As a child I never wondered about the meaning, I just wondered what in the world my mother was doing TRYING to attract *flies*! As I grew older and became interested in making more friends in school, I realized that if I smiled, offered a helping hand, or witheld a verbal or physical "zing" in response to to any offense, I (at the very least) earned polite avoidance from would-be bullies or ill-tempered classmates. Thankfully, I managed to go above and beyond the bare minimum response and made some amazing friends who vibrantly color my school memories from Barrow, Delta Junction, Fairbanks, and beyond to this day.

As a teacher I've followed the Golden Rule even when it wasn't the easiest decision to make, nor my first reaction. I've remained patient, bitten my tongue, and politely steered when necessary. I've taken the time to listen, even if the subject was off-topic, or was a tool of avoidance on the parents' part. Behaving this way has been my investment in my students, their families, my colleagues, and my job. Extra time and patience in the beginning makes it more efficient later on. Parents don't jump to conclusions, don't knee-jerk react, and colleagues don't feel they are working in a hostile environment. Relationship building doesn't necessarily mean we like eachother, but it does mean we choose to get along and follow an acceptable set of social rules. Parents might think my teacher dresses are a little hokey at times (hey, five year olds LOVE turkey and Pilgrim dresses in November!), but they know their children are safe and eager to learn with me.

After my job as teacher has ended, I've gone on to enjoy friendships outside of school with former parents as well, staying in touch, bending an ear, sending cards, going for coffee... which is when I've been able to shift my persona and responsibilities from professional teacher to sincere friend. As a side note, I'm a little quirky in that regard: I don't believe in "crossing the line" during the school year. I don't attend Tupperware, Longaberger or even Pampered Chef parties, nor do I go out to dinner or visit my students' homes until I'm DONE being "the teacher." Mutual respect of privacy is a good thing, though as a kindergarten teacher, there's not much about a child's home life that I don't know about after the first two weeks of school. (Parents, remember there is a "pretend" or "house" center in my classroom. Just as you see replays of "me" each evening as your child plays in his/her room, I see replays of YOU daily!)

As a mother, I have enjoyed the professional courtesy given to me by my friends and colleagues with whom I've worked. I've known which teachers have the most complimentary teaching style for my childrens' personalities and interests, I have had the inside scoop on school activities, programs and policies, and I've been privy to the "real" bottom line educational information that falls under Teacher-ese headings such as "curriculum," "standards/benchmarks," "assessments," "percentiles," "sub-groups," "schema," "cognition," "literacy," and "advanced placement." I get *details* and am not merely told if my children are "doing well in school" and thanked for my support.

After defining, setting, and following my own personal and professional standards, I will admit to enjoying coming in under the radar when we move somewhere new and I'm visiting my childrens' schools for the first time. I watch and listen as teachers and support staff help register students, give tours of the building, and explain the rules and school policies. I'm very pleased when I hear a common-speak that flows between Teacher-ese and the language of parents and families. It shows me that other teachers, school staffs, and administrators (districts?) have made that investment in their students and families (or are building upon it) that I make each year with my own class. It usually doesn't take too long after talking with a teacher or school administrator before I'm discovered however, and then the sharing of the inside scoop begins. My poor kids roll their eyes, ask if they can look for their lockers and seek out the band room as I talk, teacher to teacher, with my new partners in education. Borrowing from Martha, it's been "a good thing."

Our family attended our daughter's mandatory volleyball meeting earlier this evening. Following the school's initial punitive and reactionary tone from the first week of school, the coaches and presenters continued by showing all parents in attendance a twenty minute video required by the district. Various school and sports representatives made it very clear via video that they expected us, the parents, to "be better spectators and parents" by not "ridiculing or intimidating another team or its fans," understanding that "holding a ticket to a school event is not a license to assault others verbally or to be otherwise obnoxious," and not yelling at our childrens' coaches. Just more proof of how things have changed since I was in school. My parents would have never embarassed themselves, me, or my teammates by behaving horribly, and none of my coaches yelled at or berated me to try to get some desired response. My friends didn't boo, but they did cheer louder for my team than the other, and we all shook hands and went out of our way to either be good hosts or good guests when road trips took place. Alaska may be a very large state, but it's a very small community. You either know someone personally, or you know someone who knows someone from each town, village, city or borough. Being nice... "sugar..." matters.

Yes, I understand that this school's and district's tone has been set by whatever happened before our family arrived here, but my "sugar/vinegar" alarm has been going off for almost three weeks now, and I'm becoming depressed by the thought that there is a very good chance it will not cease in the next nine months.

Closing comments from this evening included a promise from the coach that she'd make sure volleyball was fun for the girls this year because NEXT YEAR with "that other coach" was going to be "rough." WHAT?!?!?! She also asked that we NOT call the principal or athletic director for the school district until we had talked to her first. Fair enough, but her reasoning was this: if we need to know why she "yelled at" our children during practice or during games, it would be more appropriate to ask her directly than to go and complain to others.

I understand the flies and sugar. Now I'm wondering what kind of eighth grade volleyball requires yelling, verbal reprimands, and possibly public humiliation as coaching techniques.

Mid-Year Reflection....Planning!

Half the year is over, so it seems appropriate to reflect on what is working in my classroom, and what is not.

My students are as they should be: eager to learn ("What are we gonna learn today, teacher?"), inquisitive ("How come people keep asking me if I lost my tooth? I put it in my pocket until I got home and then Mom put it under the pillow and the Tooth Fairy got it and gave me money. It's not lost. SHE has it!"), expressive ("You know teacher, I'm learning how to not pick my nose no more 'cause Gramma says that's gross!"), tolerant ("Teacher, he's being a pest but I think he won't be so sassy at recess."), helpful ("I can help you write those "k's" 'cause they're hard.") entertaining ("Teacher, Mom is proud of me 'cause I learn-ded my money! I know quarters, nickels, pennies and DIAMONDS!") and kind ("She fell down at recess but I think her mouth hurts so can I take her to the nurse and talk for her?").

Managing the curriclum requirements is going well also. I've been able to align my lesson plans with the state's kindergarten standards and benchmarks, our curriculum materials for the most part are useful, or at the very least, "tweakable," and my students are making progress not only academically, but socially. DIBELS, Round Two is coming up, though I'm not too terribly concerned with how lost my students will look as they try to sound out nonsense words and name letters that they at this point, only use the sounds of for writing. My students recognize more and more sight words each day, enjoy writing and drawing, and have even picked up some science, social studies, art, and music concepts despite the best efforts of NCLB to obliterate those areas of "interest" from public schools. How many kindergartners do you know who will ask "Teacher, when do we get to listen to 'Night on Bald Mountain' again?"

Parents are involved and have continued to volunteer in our room, or drop in for visits and observation. I get email regularly from parents who just want to "touch base," or do some mutual sharing of kindergarten "funnies" that are observed at home or at school. Apparently a few homes get a replay of "me" each afternoon or evening after dinner as children play "school" in their rooms. All of my students' families attend parent teacher conferences. There's a good bond of teamwork going on this year.

My kindergarten-colleague is a joy and brings laughter and levity to those not-so-fun chores of paperwork, meetings, and... more paperwork! We enjoy our own Vulcan-Mind-Meld communication that other colleagues watch from a distance for entertainment, and we readily use our cell phones when necessary for "heads up" calls to help eachother navigate any surprise mine fields that periodically appear. We don't merely have polite professionalism between us, we have a fun friendship! You know what blessings those can be.

Having learned School #3's unique schedules, colleagues' names, district's strengths and shortcomings, and of course, neighborhood quirks during the first semester, the only hold-over issue appears to be PLANNING.
* I do lesson plans for the After School Program.
* My grade level partner and I plan for our T.A. Time (a prep supplied by a teacher's assistant who takes our students to another classroom and uses materials we've prepared and explained beforehand- yes, you've read that right, we "prep for a prep.") two or three times per week (usually we try to plan for a month's worth of T.A. lessons in advance).
* If it is indoor recess and I have duty, I have to plan activities and lead them for first grade students.
* I plan activities and prepare materials for the paras (aides/paraprofessionals) assigned to help my students with IEP's.
* I prepare materials and provide screening results for Speech, Academic Support, and E.L.L. staff members for when they work with my students.
* I help plan and prepare for professional development activities.
* My kinder-colleague and I planned and hosted this year's Secret Santa activity for the staff.
* I plan activities that our fourth grade buddies help us with two or three times a month.
* All teachers must meet with the district Art teacher because while she prepares the materials for projects and leads the process at the front of the room during each visit, she does not choose the lessons herself, or align them with grade level curriculum requirements. If we have "extra" information we'd like the students to know about a particular artist, or would like to tie in the art project's PRODUCT to whatever concepts we might be learning about at that time, we have to prepare additional lesson time or explanatory notes to glue to the back of each handprint flower or sponge-painted buffalo (hey, Kansas Day is coming up!). Any books or stories to accompany the project? Yep, we gather those too.
* And lately, due to illnesses and death in the family, I've had to prepare plans and materials for subs, which any teacher knows can be more labor intensive than regular teaching.

My kinder-colleague and I have been approached by the school librarian. She's feeling a bit left out because she only sees our students when they come to return their books and check out new ones. Library Science is not taught at our school, nor is "library time" a prep option, like Music, P.E., Computer Lab or T.A. times are at many other schools. Our "liberry-lady" would like to get together and spend some of our planning times...planning. Activities and lessons that she can co-teach with us in the library. And as dear a lady as she is, we have been unable, and yes, unwilling to give up more time to go and plan for yet one more person in one more corner of our building.

I can entertain the thought that perhaps I'm merely seeing the glass as half empty instead of half full. I am very appreciative that this district supports collaborative efforts in doing what's best for our students. I am even more pleased that so many colleagues at my school WANT to spend time with us. It means a lot that so many people enjoy my Super Stars the way I do, that so many look forward to their time in our classroom. I am pleased that my students have diverse learning opportunities available to them. But let me be blunt: there are too many spoons stirring the "pot" this year. Too much of a "good thing" isn't a good thing for five and six year olds. I'm used to providing a nice balance between a safe, predictable routine and exciting (yet still safely predictable) surprises or "extras" for my students. But the balance has been tipped grossly to one side, the side where my own time with my students is gobbled away just so we can say we are all collaborating and giving kids as many different learning opportunities as possible. And frankly, in most cases, it's not true collaboration. It's ME getting materials and lessons prepared for others to attempt to teach.

My students are still learning how to "be" at school. They're not seasoned fourth or fifth graders who know the drill and how to maneuver quickly through all of the resources, materials, personalities and expectations they encounter. My kids have just now noticed there are rectangular ceiling tiles in my room. They've noticed. They are commenting on them. They are distracted by them. Ceiling tiles. Because ceiling tiles are interesting. More interesting than the concepts of "putting together" and "taking apart" are at this point in time. Going to the library to have the librarian "help me" teach addition and subtraction this week is... I'm sorry... ridiculous. It won't happen. Because while I'll be able to get my kids back on track (and even use those ceiling tiles for math soon enough!), taking them to the library would just send them off in a completely different direction, for DAYS! Books! Stuffed animals! Computers! Steps! Round tables! Wagons! New cabinets! Maps! More stuffed animals! Shelves that present great potential for climbing! The hunt for a new bathroom! Card catalog drawers! Whoo hoo!

And yet I've been asked to plan... help plan... so that the librarian can feel involved. So that I can say I'm "doing my part" to provide another valuable learning experience for my students. As if I weren't doing my part already. And yes, attempts at tossing feelings of guilt upon my shoulders have been made.

Valuable Kindergarten/Life lesson #35: "Know when to say 'no,' and know that it's okay to say 'no' sometimes."

Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in...

Well okay, Kindergarten. Kindergarten in Texas as a child, kindergarten in Alaska, New Mexico, and now Kansas, as a teacher.

In Texas, I learned I was strong. At the age of four-and-a-half, **I** was the one who broke the pinata at Halloween. To this day, I still have the memory of being blindfolded, with a stick of some sort in my hand, hearing "hit it Mica, hit it!" Then the feeling of contact, and the sound of hard candies hitting the bare floor. "Get the candy, get the candy!" I couldn't. I was too busy holding the corner of the blindfold up away from my eyes, watching the swarm of kids at my feet grabbing for the candy I had released from the paper mache prison. I'm strong. God bless the teacher who probably held the pinata down still where I could hit it.

I endured, sometimes enjoyed, and in the end survived the next twelve years of school, and attended college hoping to be a Broadcast and Journalism major. One horribly inappropriate instructor and enough views of news reporters on television shoving microphones into the faces of families who just experienced some horror, and my mind was forever changed. Back to "what I knew," since it was easier to draw upon my life's experiences as a teacher's kid... freed me up to go out and socialize, meet people, learn the right ways, and several wrong ways of interacting with others. Ta da, six years later (darn that socializing), and I had a Bachelor's Degree in Education.

I was hired late into the school year as a kindergarten teacher. Frankly, it was the **last** grade I ever thought I'd want to teach. I cried. Yes, cried, the night before I was supposed to meet my new students. The next day, with stinging, puffy eyes, I survived my re-introduction to the kindergarten world, thanks to wonderful students, and two amazingly terrific teachers. While one would move on to a principalship in another town, the other would become not so much a mentor, but a role model (I tend to observe, think things through, try them out on my own, and gauge the result BEFORE I ask for help) and eventually, the treasured shoulders, ears, and insights of a true friend I respected not only as a teacher but a human being. She observed, fine-tuned, overhauled, and encouraged my successes, and occasionally was hit by the shrapnel resulting from my clueless lack of experience. When one of her own former student teachers was added to our kindergarten team, I had yet another wonderful teacher from whom to learn. Our colleagues, their families, and our school's neighborhood, children and all, imprinted upon me so many memories, so many opportunities to build my own opinions, so many experiences... I had no idea how they would help me when I had to leave a decade later.

Uncle Sam decided to move my husband and thus, our family, to New Mexico, where I became employed in my second school district ever. Meeting my new colleagues, my new administrators, and my new students and families was quite the experience. No matter how diverse I had thought my decade teaching in Alaska had been, it turned out there was a great big world out there! Even in my own country, attitudes, biases, prejudices, beliefs and practices vary widely. Thankfully, I had taught long enough to recognize the social and professional choreography displayed at my new school. I was able to compare and contrast differences in office procedures, school routines, social cliques, curriculum, socio-economic boundaries, school culture, teaching styles, and school-wide discipline. Some practices, not many, were aligned with my own teaching philosophy and goals. Redundancies abounded, communication never made it completely around the loop, and in a predominantly Hispanic school district, I was asked several times WHY I had number and color words on my bulletin board in English AND in Spanish. On the upswing, my class size was limited to fifteen, and my students got along wonderfully with one another. They were happy, healthy, bright, eager, and kind, and their parents were extremely supportive and helpful. I had two wonderful practicum students who were more colleagues than pupils, and was able to build fun and supportive friendships with subs and parent volunteers. An occasional tray of homemade cookies left in the lounge always garnered thanks and smiles, so there weren't too many social obstacles for me to overcome.

Now, in my third state, and my third school, I'm still teaching kindergarten. Yet again, I've had to sit back, get the "lay of the land," and learn my steps in the new choreography. As I'm able to now compare and contrast practices between three schools, districts, and states, I feel comfortable that my experiences are adding up to help me pick and choose the best of all I have observed, been given, thought up on my own, and in some cases, endured, for the benefit of my students, their families, and my colleagues. My personal and professional philosophies have four supporters at this time: my husband, my kindergarten colleague, the speech therapist, and another teacher at work. Most everyone else with whom I've interacted has been taken aback, not quite sure of what they are observing. My discipline plan, my instructional practices, my vocabulary and tone with my students (and the students of other teachers), have all been questioned by support staff, colleagues, administrators and parents. My students' parents and the four supporters listed previously, seem to be the only adults who understand why I find it necessary to build relationships with my students, to help build relationships between my students, and work as much with the social skills as the academic. Relationship-building with colleagues who possess a similar amount of teaching experience or more has been awkward. I don't FIT. How I think, what I think, and what I do, are evaluated from a distance. My perspectives on discipline, developmentally appropriate practices, support for kindergarten teachers, relationship-building, and my regard for my students' emotional safety at school during this very special year are apparently perceived as odd, not the norm, perhaps even "off by a few bubbles." To feel so outnumbered by professionals who are consumed by what they themselves want from their students instead of what they want for their students is an odd position in which to find myself.

I recently attended a districtwide grade level meeting where most of the debate and discussions revolved around how to make the S.F.A. observers happy. How to get through the entire required curriculum when students wanted to spend more time on certain activities than others. How five year olds still weren't demonstrating perfect penmanship (we're only a month and a half into the school year as of this posting), and how teachers were thrilled their schools' "academic support" staff were allowed to take children into a back room of the building, and "put the fear of God into them" when they wouldn't comply. I was appalled, not only as a teacher, but as a mother. Only a small handful of teachers volunteered suggestions to help with curriculum issues, and our time at the meeting was limited to an hour. Feedback was requested which my grade level partner and I gladly provided, but I left the meeting feeling so outnumbered, and therefore not nearly as open to helping my fellow kindergarten teachers. While I have been providing feedback and hopefully supportive shoulders and ears like my very first role model did, I can't help but feel that without a public and high-enough-on-the-food-chain supporter and advocate, my hands are tied, and frankly, my philosophy is not a good match for this district.

Don't yell. Don't hurt peoples' feelings. Don't hit. Say "please" and "thank you." Eat a snack. Take a nap. Share. Walk with scissors. Don't eat glue. Remember to write your name on your paper, and share your books. Help your friends, smile at your teacher, at least be polite if you can't be nice. Life lessons taught in kindergarten don't often carry over into adulthood. And it's a shame. It's an even bigger shame when they don't carry over to the very people trusted to provide educational and emotional support to children for twelve or thirteen years.

We accommodate students, not the BRAND of the curriculum materials. Not the S.F.A. saleswoman or product support staff who come in and "spot observe" several times a year. I would never consider a doctor, lawyer, or mechanic truly qualified if they only came in to see me on their own schedule, on dates they chose as best for themselves. If they only did a looksie at my car without ever looking under the hood, smiled at me but didn't take my blood pressure and vitals, or only asked if I had a will or not, I wouldn't find them very helpful. Observers who only come in to see if each cutely named activity is being performed at the exact minute of the prescribed schedule... or to see if a poster is hung at the appropriate spot in my classroom , are completely missing out on what they should be there to observe: My students. Learning.

Other issues have had my attention in previous blog postings, and taking them into consideration with my latest observations, it's clear I have to go back to what I learned in kindergarten that October, thirty-two years ago: I'm strong. It's time to find a Master's Degree program, and then a Doctoral Program after that. Perhaps when I have enough letters of the alphabet after my name, my ideas won't seem alien, they'll seem revolutionary. And worth some contemplation and adoption.