Reflection: Mentorship and Pencils During COVID19

COVID19 has certainly been effective at throwing all sorts of systems and semblances of normalcy out the window.  Creating new teaching environments, using new communication platforms and tools and completely reorganizing our days and routines are pretty weighty changes to experience in a short amount of time.  While I wrap up week four of "instruction" and collaboration and problem-solving with all of my colleagues, be they grade-level or building teammates, building and district administrators, special education and other support staff, I know that some folks within the district are likely already beginning to anticipate any needs that parents, students, teachers and staff might have come the fall semester.  Long-range planning happens every year, whether there is a pandemic or some other hurdle in play or not.  No matter when their stay-at-home orders were enacted, other schools and other districts have started to do the same.

During many past springs, I pencil-planned for the upcoming year as soon as the finalized school calendar was published. I pencil-plan rather than ink-plan because I know that events will be rescheduled and our calendar will change.  I'll find new resources, experience new jolts of inspiration, and have to be flexible for unanticipated accommodations. Nothing is set in stone despite the hope that everything will, in time, go according to the way I had both intended and hoped.  Using a pencil indicates that it's a rough draft, the version that precedes the working draft.  For many years the working draft got its fair share of White-Out dabbed across its pages, simply because I liked the glide of ink over the abrasion of pencil. Nowadays, I simply double-click on text, delete it, and revise data within the cell. Knowing that changes will inevitably happen has never caused me to rethink the merit of pencil-planning. It's another way for me to mentally map the foundational pieces I need and plan to implement for my students' benefit.  I doubt I'll ever choose to fly-blind just waiting to be "surprised" during back-to-school PD. I can be informed now and pencil-plan so that future mandates don't throw me against the wall in August.  

As the most veteran member of my grade-level team, and despite having missed the beginning of the year with them thanks to my late-summer surgery and extended recovery time, I am both formally required to act in a mentorship role and personally feel responsible for making myself and my experience regularly available to my colleagues.  I have expanded my PLN over the years to include groups on Twitter and Facebook, and I have been fortunate to meet and learn from all sorts of wonderful early-childhood educators, college professors and library media specialists during my career and master's program.  When I'm asked for help by a teacher in my building or one five states away via social media, I try to make sure to preface what I share with "use it or don't," so that my PLN can cherrypick the best of what I might be able to offer them while hopefully feeling the autonomy to make their own choices and to innovate, rather than pressure to comply and risk becoming a cookie-cutter teacher. I also believe in playing the role of devil's advocate in order to broaden thinking.  Affirmation, agreement, and the feeling of being a contributory component of a trusted partnership where ideas can be shared, explored, or simply explained are essential emotions for members of any team or purposeful group to experience.  I believe that a common goal for teams should be to balance harmony while avoiding tunnel-vision because being repeatedly blindsided by information that could have been shared earlier but wasn't results in wasted time, increased frustration, and eventual mistrust.  Whether lurking or being actively involved in these conversations, I reap the benefit of diverse perspectives and the experiences of others.  I am a mentor and "mentee," a colleague of other educators.

Working from home I still feel like I must operate within dual roles as I teach, collaborate, plan and share.  I'm a colleague who is not only a kindergarten teacher, but the yearbook producer for the school and the moderator for the professional development points requests that teachers submit towards their re-licensure.  I don't respond in philosophic terms to inquiries about the cost of yearbooks, whether or not I have a piece of writing paper that I can scan and share as a template, or the number of points needed for a fifth-year teacher without a master's degree to renew his or her license. However, when colleagues new to teaching and/or new to our building and district ask for a heads-up regarding what to expect from an upcoming grade-level district meeting, or need clarification so that they better understand the shift from academic grading to marks for engagement, my role as mentor requires that I go a bit deeper, and invest time to not only offer the reasoning behind answers and explanations, but to really hear their concerns and worries, too. This can be a highly emotional, intense component of mentorship, especially for someone who empathizes with others.  To me, there is a distinct difference between the nuts and bolts of teaching and the soul of teaching.  As a colleague, I can hand you a ream of construction paper when you've run out.  As a mentor, I can suggest different ways of using it to benefit your students when you ask or express an interest.  Both responses are helpful within their constructs and contexts.  Dictating "you shoulds" or steamrolling others so that they can't learn how to collaborate (though they might feel relief at simply having the decision-making taken out of their hands) are not ways aligned with serving the profession.  Teaching is full of emotions, and not just for the students. Sharing, patience, inclusion and authenticity are essential ingredients to successful mentor/mentee relationships, not to mention team-growing.

Having to try to teach remotely isn't a choice I, or many others, would have made, but wanting to do it as well as I possibly can remains my intention. I hoped to be both an effective colleague and mentor during this time too, but at this point, I feel like I'm failing at giving my immediate colleagues and some distance-edu-friends what they want or need.  None of us is operating at one-hundred percent, and we all react differently to stressful situations.  Issues that have arisen likely wouldn't have become issues at all if the status-quo of our daily instruction with students within our classrooms had been maintained and COVID19 hadn't come along.  We're not all in the same boat, and even our storms differ.  Perhaps some need me to metaphorically just hand them a ream of construction paper, despite the fact that their questions and assertions resemble requests for guidance and/or context.  Compounding this uncertainty for me are *of course*  my old standbys: for one, I can't "hear" another person's tone within an email and rely heavily upon the use of emojis and gifs (score one for social media where emojis reign supreme).  Not many people have the energy, inclination or patience it takes to find the wink, the laughing out loud, or the thinking faces right now, or maybe they're just not considered professional. Secondly, I continue to falsely assume that politeness and consideration will be reciprocated in return for my efforts.  Not everyone says "thank you," during a pandemic (another point for social media where showing appreciation continues to be considered proper etiquette), so I remind myself that it is those with whom we are most familiar that we should afford the most grace, especially when it's for something as simple as forgiving a social faux-pas. After dipping my toes into the ponds and streams of Facebook and the lakes and oceans on Twitter, I'm confident that there are many other teachers across the nation and in other countries who also find navigating their colleagues' emotions a wee bit tricky this month. Perhaps a gross generalization would actually be appropriate for this moment in time: none of us is getting what we hope for right now. 

After four weeks of remote learning, thirteen years in my present district, twenty-four (twenty-five?) years of teaching, and with a nationwide PLN at my fingertips, I still feel both able and inclined to pencil-plan this spring, just as I've done almost every year.  I've worked ahead to curate, create and schedule content via Seesaw, which has afforded me extra time for other pursuits and chores.  Because I've purposely sought out multiple news sources, surfed and chosen to read information shared from teachers in other districts and states regarding their immediate and future proposed solutions to closed schools, and have tracked the daily updates from health officials (I'm ignoring politicians who are advocating for the economy over problem-solving that will save the most lives) that have made it clear that we are, in fact, 1) presently both lab rats and human test subjects and 2) that it won't be safe for us to "return to normal" until we have a vaccine that is at least a year away, I've set myself the task of envisioning what remote learning might look like in August and September (and October, and November, and February, and April 2021). So when questions from colleagues near and far arose this week regarding possible changes and tweaks to the present emergency based technology-heavy format for delivery of instruction, I suggested that any and all continued fine-tuning might reflect not only a current but possibly future need as well: there's a significant chance that we will not be returning to the classroom as hoped for in the fall.  Can I articulate whether my response came from colleague-me or mentor-me?  Not really. Can I unequivocally say that I didn't intend to cause additional stress and worry when I shared my thoughts?  Yes. 

Suffice it to say, I now realize that many teachers are not ready to pencil-plan or entertain possibilities for next year.  Perhaps they don't plan to return and are focusing all of their time and effort into making their last weeks of remote teaching the best that they can for their students and their sanity.  Perhaps their boats and their storms have them planted squarely in the middle of the fiercest fight of their lives and their immediate needs require that they invest all of their time and effort bailing water from their vessel.  Perhaps they prefer the top-down approach, believing that their "circle of control" (yay, ontological coaching, my favorite), is solely dependent upon the decisions of others, so they'd prefer to not do anything at all until an administrator tells them to.  I can admire their perseverance and any commitment they have made to be the best teachers for their students possible. I can empathize with their fear, and sympathize deeply with their pain, with full acknowledgment that it's not just students who have to "do Maslow before Bloom."  No, I'll never advocate that teachers completely hand over the reins of education to administrators and politicians, no matter how much I appreciate all of the "good" ones.  While I believe it's prudent to start the work of tomorrow today, or at least soon regarding the next school year, I understand that not everyone feels the same way for a multitude of reasons. 

And it's here, with these most passive or even resistant of educators, that I find myself feeling neither like colleague-me or mentor-me, but instead wanting to channel Chrisjen Avasarala, a character from one of my favorite science fiction series as I choose to concede (slightly) with this:

"Well, we disagree. One of us is wrong. I think it's you... but I hope it's me."

I hope a true miracle presents itself that enables us to get back to business without fear for our health, or the health of our families, students, colleagues, and neighbors, soon.  But until then...

... hand me a pencil, will you?

Annual Self-Reflection: My Value

With my twenty-fourth year of teaching underway, it's time for my annual self-reflection, which has become something of a tradition for me out here in Blogland. With each successive year, I continue to find myself in the position of having a perspective gleaned from many years of experience, and appreciate that for the most part, I still love my job.  I consider myself lucky that my time as a teacher has been spent invested in diverse communities, successfully coexisting and/or collaborating with colleagues and administrators, and finding joy, humor, and humility within the kindergarten learning environment.  My advocacy for young children continues to be fueled by caring, my knowledge of and respect for their rights as developing, rather than "deficient" human beings, empathy, and enjoyment of my dual roles in the learning process: I'm a teacher and a lifelong student. Not to mention, kindergarteners are fun!

Mentored by advocates of young children and developmentally appropriate practice, challenged by colleagues who either want to maintain the status quo or throw the baby out with the bathwater, and appreciated by families who often find themselves surprised that they like me, they really, really like me, I've seen my fair share of education trends and reforms.  I've explored naturalistic settings, party-themed classroom decor, minimalist backgrounds, and multiple seating options.  I've been seizure-trained, MANDT trained (years ago), and invited to participate in live shooter drills. I've attended both assigned and self-selected professional development and obtained my master's degree after many, many years of searching for the right program, aided by friends and family who helped me envision my future.  I give back to my profession regularly, happy to share my knowledge and expertise, and I understand the responsibility I have to play devil's advocate when future or new teachers are discovering and developing their best practice.  Having the freedom to share an honest, earned and honed pedagogy with others, lighten their load when possible, or just support them with trays of cookies throughout the year has matched my spirit during much of my career.  Teaching has filled my heart, and for quite a long time, I haven't felt as if I would be more valued if I were anyone but myself.

I've seen the family dynamic change over time, as all things do.  There was never a "better time," in parenting during my career. Families have always been diverse, strong, needful, overinvolved, and absent. Some were abusive, most were supportive, and many tried to be nurturing. I have partnered with parents, administrators, colleagues and agencies. My students, teammates and I have benefitted from our relationships with local and national partners in education.  Community helpers have kept us safe and taught us ways to help ourselves and others.  I have also been threatened, stalked, had a mother show me her handgun during a parent-teacher conference, and have had to watch as a student's hand was taken from mine and placed into that of her abusive father the day before Christmas break, thankfully all years ago.  I have fed and clothed my students, and I have intentionally created a womb, not room, of trust and comfort within what used to be considered one of the safer community venues, the elementary school. 

Education has always been big business, which didn't use to bother me as a student nor as a young teacher just starting out.  Armed with math and language arts kits and teaching manuals, I knew that I could rely upon my colleagues to be additional resources, sounding boards, and my backup.  If I needed help with instruction, I could ask not only my kindergarten team but the reading and math specialists for insight and tips. Speech/language therapists, bi-lingual educators, cultural liaisons, and physical therapists freely shared their advice and the context behind it.  I made mistakes, corrected them, modified and grew my pedagogy, much like my students.  I figured out that the powers that be (administrators, parents, politicians, and even teachers) don't always make the best decisions when it comes to the actual learning that occurs in schools, especially if those decision-makers aren't comfortable with or aware of the organic nature of growth: human beings are muscular bags of developing/evolving emotions and skills, not machines. Though the articulation of standards has helped to identify just how much there is to put into place to help build a firm foundation for learning and support it for a lifetime, the subsequent desire to equally distribute, pace, and assess each slice of Learning Pie further continues to place students in a mechanized, assembly-line setting.  I've watched many teachers respond to this wash, rinse, repeat testing culture with attempts at balance: they've implemented project-based learning, differentiated their instruction, integrated digital tools, supported lots of collaboration and talk time for colleagues and students, and offered flexible seating. Despite constant changes in education, veteran educators continue to know that the end of second grade, all of third grade, and the beginning of fourth grade remains an almost magic span of time for children: it's when every previous life experience (not just the reading or math instruction or intense interventions) congeals and creates in students a big bang that heralds their next developmental step in learning.

Over my years of teaching, I've watched (and sounded an alarm, repeatedly) as big business in education has sold parents, teachers and districts the idea that not only will their products help that big bang occur earlier, but they may also someday solely facilitate that learning in the first place.  Districts invest in "research-based" products equating them with research-based best practice, often due to accreditation (and therefore funding) requirements, and these products tend to ride the wave of education trends during the height of their popularity.  Much of the "research" shared is originally commissioned and paid for by the publishers themselves, which for many consumers might suggest the possibility for bias.  I remember when "NCLB" stickers were stamped on curriculum materials and teacher publications, followed by "CC," and then "Research-Based" labels.  Now there's a brand and sticker for all things education, to include social/emotional/character-building "school culture" programs, which are also standardized with mandated vocabulary, products, and very public and documentable implementation.  While these guarantors of success have attempted to prove and improve their efficacy (and brand) through teacher training, focused professional development, and specific artifacts,  I've found that their rigid scripts illuminate a chasm that can exist between new and veteran teachers.  Just as I did over twenty-five years ago, today's newbies appreciate focused direction while immersing themselves in content as they develop their pedagogy and practice, while veterans like me are more likely to cherrypick through new innovations and materials to integrate them into our already well-stocked toolkits.  These differences can often result in educators being sorted into three groups: those invested in the infomercial (they're characterized as "enthusiastic team players" and try to follow scripts with fidelity), those indifferent to the infomercial (they do their job, and tend to jump through the necessary hoops merely out of obligation), and those who find no inherent value in the infomercial... these folks are often characterized as lazy, burnt out, oppositional, and make those around them wonder if they couldn't somehow be convinced to retire sooner rather than later.  After twenty-four years, I know this: teachers in any of these groups can be highly effective.

I repeat: teachers in ANY of these groups can be good teachers.  Teachers in any of these groups have value and bring much to the culture of a school.

With each successive year that I teach, I become more and more the veteran educator, and that means I recognize repackaged product when I see it. And speaking for myself, I find the repetition of it all redundant and inefficient, while others, exposed to it for the first time, find it essential.  It's increasingly difficult for me to feign enthusiasm for a product, program, or initiative when it doesn't feel authentic or valuable to me.  When colleagues who would usually say "thanks for your help," "oh, awesome," or "have an incredibly great day," (like spontaneously expressive and vocabulary-rich normal human beings do), instead replace their verbal communication with me and one another with the very scripted "Wow, way to be proactive!" or "So Michaele, it's awesome how you began with the end in mind," in the hopes that adult and student listeners will also adopt the script, I find myself fighting against both gag and cringe reflexes.  And those folks who insist on insisting (you know the type, they're the ones funded by the product's producers) that they're not "sight words," "popcorn words" or "star words" but MUST BE "______ words," appear increasingly confused as they face the fixed stare that I wear as I attempt to control an eye-roll.

At forty-nine years of age and after almost a quarter of a century teaching, I find myself feeling as if I'm trying to be polite rather than sincerely being polite during these encounters, which is uncomfortable.  I'm a firm believer that polite is professional and I highly value reciprocity, but, being human myself, I too have my limits... as evidenced by the two times I have blurted out in frustration recently.  I find it nearly impossible to respect or trust one-size-fits-all programs because I remain comfortable with and engaged by diversity and I respect individuality.  And I'm not a testimonial person who pitches a brand nor do I appreciate any kind of salesmanship trying to influence my teaching, despite being able to remember a time when I considered any offer of help or proposed solution worthy of thorough examination and acceptance.  As a veteran educator, being surrounded by consumerism posing as pedagogy now bugs me, deep down into the marrow.  When I'm faced with someone who might assume that my point of view suggests that I'm refusing to teach effectively or that I'm choosing to promote chaos, opposition and resistance, I'm left feeling that my experience, prior growth, and purpose aren't nearly as highly valued as my playing the role of a yes-man would be.  I'm somehow failing the "I'm-as-invested-to-do-right-by-our-students" measurement that has been tossed out there with the newly adopted "common" assessment.

And let me tell you, this feeling is less than pleasant.

Every Student Deserves Representation and Safety

I believe teachers' responses near and far to both yesterday's SCOTUS decision and recent news that increased awareness of transgender issues will be the ultimate litmus tests for many in the profession, stretching the patience and tolerance of those with whom they work. Some might consider it the height of professionalism to "leave well enough alone" or "keep your mouth shut," but student advocacy, not just instruction, is part of our responsibility.  In the search for age-appropriate books to add to my class library, I came across a thread on social media where veteran teachers were asserting how they weren't going to read "filth"/"this material" to their students, such as storybooks that include characters who dress in gender-opposite clothing or have two mothers, even if there is a student (or students) in their classroom who has same-sex parents or demonstrates gender fluidity (like many do in kindergarten). 

If "this material," meaning storybooks that illustrate the diversity represented by families, doesn't belong in the classroom and in the hands of our youngest learners who are likely to witness, if not experience these and many other social changes firsthand, then how will students learn to adapt, behave, interpret, and hopefully positively impact the world around them?  How are they to feel safe within their classrooms, schools, and neighborhoods? How are children from more traditional family arrangements supposed to learn about and practice respectful behaviors if they can't ask the questions they're bound to want to every time they encounter something new to them?  Some teachers in the post I stumbled across were advocating for a return to the "good ol' days" of reading, writing and arithmetic, and ignoring "the sick behavior" they find so disgusting.  These folks are oblivious to the fact that change and diversity are the rules on this planet, NOT the exceptions.  Are we to deny our students access to literature portraying biracial or bicultural families, or media that includes images of those suffering from handicapping conditions, or the death of a family member because a teacher thinks they're icky or the topic makes them uncomfortable?  Do we have the right to deny each student supportive representation and the feeling of belonging?  Teachers should not contribute to the idea that some children are less deserving or less human because of the decisions that their parents, in whatever arrangement they're presented make, or because of which gender each child might identify with.  Teachers should commit to the emotional and physical safety of our students and their families without thinking that our opinion regarding issues OTHER than abuse and neglect are in any way our business.  The love and care between parents and children and teachers and classmates has nothing to do with promoting sexuality.  I weep for the children who have to face a "trusted adult" in the classroom who looks at them or their families with an expression of disgust.

It's imperative for those who have chosen to work in the arena of public education to remember who they serve: the public, not just select members of that neighborhood or community. If your upbringing, belief system, sense of entitlement, or even gag reflex prevent you from giving each and every student your best, consider a change in venue. Find support and employment in a like-minded private school, or open your own. You'll be doing yourself, and many children a favor.

*****

I found the following books on Amazon.com- do you know of any others?  Link me up in the comments.

Morris Micklewhite and the Tangerine Dress

The Family Book

Who's in My Family?

Red: A Crayon's Story

... and Tango Makes Three

Eskimo in Oz

My Dear Husband and I were having dinner away from home last night after having run errands for most of the day. We chose a buffet type restaurant for both its selection and its proximity to the Sprint Service Center, where my cell phone was being beaten into you-SHALL-display-email-when-she-wants-you-to submission repaired. The late hour combined with the buffet environment and the other diners that belonged to the senior citizen crowd seemed to bring out our silly side, and soon we were joking about the repairs my cell phone *might* need, the number of used car lots that my husband has to choose from in his search for a smaller vehicle that gets better gas mileage, and how it was funny for me, being an Eskimo in Oz.



It sounds like a great blog title, no? Eskimo in Oz. We'll see if I find some inspiration for that one, since I'm back to rethinking my blogging now that I'll be returning to the classroom. Should I just keep all of my content here and at Tending the Eclectic Kinder-Garden, or should I focus one blog solely on teaching, and use the other as a catch-all... Pondering, pondering. Thoughts?

*****

By the way, after two forty-five minute waits at the Sprint Service Center, we realized that Sprint Service really doesn't...sprint.

From Wiktionary: Sprint: A short race at top speed; a burst of speed or creativity; To run etc. at top speed for a short period of time.

*****

I've missed W.E.I.O. again this year- and will have to make vacation plans back to Alaska over the summer in the years to come to see and hear the dancers, drummers, blanket pullers, Native crafts and vendors, athletes and friends who gather there annually:


Thankfully, Pamyua's "tribalfunk" sound occasionally visits Oz!

*****

Apologies if tomorrow's Show and Share is posted a little later than usual- I'm hoping to get my key(s) to my classroom in the morning and will be photographing the space and materials to help me plan my activity areas for my students!

A Lifetime of Personal Diversity

Alice's post at In Practice was a good read this morning. Addressing how to handle diversity in schools, neighborhoods, and society IS a tough issue, and not just for Caucasian folks. Many people simply want to know how and IF (and when and where) to acknowledge ethnic/cultural diversity. The acts of asking someone about his or her background, of learning something new, of trying to be considerate, making sure no one feels looked over, left out, or unwelcome can actually be awkward for people thanks to humankind's history, no matter how enlightened, unbiased, worldly, just plain kind and inquisitive, or politically correct they may be. But more than some people do feel threatened by anything outside of their own comfort zone, allowing assumptions and stereotyping to influence what I feel are their fear-based behaviors. For some personal history:

I'm a half Eskimo, half Caucasian female born in Kentucky, raised for the first ten years of my life in a bordertown in TX. I lived the next twenty five years of my life in an Eskimo village, a small farming town, and a college town in Alaska. Being a woman who has often been incorrectly stereotyped throughout her life, I grew up wondering who and what I was "supposed" to be with each new hometown locale we moved to. In many cases I was too "brown" for predominantly white communities, and too "white" for predominantly brown communities. A half-Caucasian half-Inupiaq Eskimo girl raised in Texas, eating pâté de foie gras, enchiladas, and hamburgers, while interested in learning French, how to make parkas, and playing the clarinet and violin was apparently an interesting addition to many schools and neighborhoods. I am brunette with dark brown eyes and I tan like nobody's business. Many people assume I am Hispanic. Others admit they assume I am "something," but they're not quite sure *what*. As an adult, I've moved as a military dependent and have been stationed in New Mexico, Kansas and Texas, driving through the states each time a new move is required. Teaching in culturally diverse schools has been the norm for me even in places like Kansas thanks to the high military population.

As a young child, my mother was regularly asked if I was a "Vietnamese war orphan." When I was in the third grade (here in the bordertown), I got in trouble with my Spanish teacher and school principal for "not speaking my language," which according to them was my mother's fault, as she is white. I told the teacher and principal I was Eskimo and was then accused of lying. My mother brought my Bureau of Indian Affairs card in to the principal and told her that yes, while the accusations of my mother not making sure I spoke SPANISH were accurate, it was in fact because in addition to English, I should have been speaking Inupiaq, a language NOT taught in Texas. The harassment from the Hispanic teacher and Hispanic principal stopped. The irony? I did speak Spanish with my Spanish-speaking-only friends on the playground or outside of school.

As a junior in high school, my family lived in Fairbanks, Alaska. The school I attended was the largest I'd ever seen at that time, most students either already sorted or in the process of sorting themselves into social cliques. As the weather cooled, I chose to wear a parka to school that I had made. Standing inside in the commons area waiting for the first bell to ring, still wearing "outdoor gear," students visited with their friends. The punks, the jocks, the band kids, the geeks, the gearheads, etc. were all separated and socializing in their staked-out territories as were the students who sorted themselves by cultural heritage or grade (only the seniors seemed to have license to roam free, socializing or harassing students from any group). I stood with a friend from the bus, talking and laughing, wondering what our French teacher had in store for us that day, when I noticed two students from what appeared to be the "African American Group" pointing, smiling, nodding, laughing, and pointing some more at me from across the room. After some quizzical looks on my part, one of the boys came over, laughing, and told me "we're getting a good laugh, 'cause here you are, wearing that coat, that Eskimo coat, pretending you're a native, when everyone here knows you're half Black." I was floored, not because I perceived what he was saying was an insult, but because somehow I had become a joke based on what people who didn't know me at all thought about me- what they had decided about me all on their own, without asking.

In Alaska, I attended WEIO (World Eskimo Indian Olympics) each year with my Inupiaq grandparents, mother and sister, and I learned how prejudiced my "minority" grandparents really were. When my grandparents encountered girls from families they knew from the village at the sporting events and in the artisans' gallery, I was quickly introduced. But if those girls had African American friends or boyfriends with them, the girls themselves were blatantly shunned by my grandparents by not being offered the traditional outstretched hand or even eye contact. After the girls left the area, my grandmother would scoff, shake her head, and gossip while returning to her beadwork. Interestingly enough, several years later, girls my grandparents had originally shunned who had gone on to have children with African American males were warmly welcomed back into the fold because "taqsipak" (mixed skin color/heritage) babies were considered the most beautiful. I have never spoken fluent Inupiaq. My grandmother has often told me she was glad all of her children "listened to" her when she told them in their youth that they needed to "marry white people to get ahead." My father, and all of my aunts and uncles did just that after graduating from high schools outside of Alaska (Bureau of Indian Affairs "boarding" schools where Inupiaq language and culture were not allowed).

Visiting family in Oklahoma for the baptism of my daughter, I was put into social situations where neighbors, church patrons, and most locals would ask "what ARE you?" After one inquiry led to a tense half-hour-long question/answer session explaining my ethnic backgroud in a greasy spoon diner, the owner of the establishment with whom I was speaking finally offered his hand to shake, pulled me in close and said "well at least it WORKS FOR YOU." Yes, he was referring to what he assumed was my heritage. Yes, I was offended, because I couldn't understand why he felt there was an actual NEED to determine whether or not I was deserving of polite interaction (and frankly service in his diner) in the first place. I didn't care about his skin color, but he certainly felt he needed to make a few decisions based on MINE.

Thankfully throughout my life I have had family members, friends, and teachers who have encouraged me to "keep the best and toss the crap" of my life's experiences. I prefer duck soup (made on the beach in Barrow during Naluqatak) over muktuk, "real" enchiladas over Mrs. Stouffer's, and pâté over okra any day! While a fluent English speaker, I enjoy expanding my vocabulary with conversational phrases, expressions and vocabulary from other languages. Perhaps someday I'll be fluent in either French or Spanish, though I have little hope of speaking Inupiaq as long as I'm away from Alaska. Sign language also comes in handy, pardon the pun. I have an eclectic taste when it comes to my preferences for home decor, fashion, literature, music and hobbies. I can make a parka, mouton mittens, and sew a fur ruff to finish it all off, and enjoy counted cross stitch and crocheting. A wonderful teacher in high school taught me how to make wonton- she was Chinese, while my German friends have vowed to teach me how to make sauerkraut one of these days.


I am aware that I am more likely to have problems with alcohol abuse and diabetes because of BOTH my native and non-native heritages, but my crooked teeth come from my father's side of the family, and my penchant for sparkely jewelry from my mother's. I don't care to go fishing, but certainly love my Aaka's smoked salmon and her deep-fried halibut bites with salmonberry jam. I'm no hunter, but can make a mean moose pot pie thanks to my mother. I like theater but not opera, and the rhythm of the Barrow Dance Team's drums is a sound (and feeling) I've missed for the last five years. Mariachi music makes Mexican food taste better, if that's possible.

I will admit that my mother's family would probably feel more comfortable in my home than my father's. We live different lifestyles. We have different tastes. We have different philosophies and beliefs. And it's okay. To me. And there's the problem. Diversity is okay to people who aren't threatened by it, to those people who are selective in their preferences without having fear or cruelty dictate their tastes, whose intentions are kind, inquisitive, or at the very least, polite. I haven't met too many people who fit that description. Not in neighborhoods, not in churches, not in restaurants, and unfortunately, not even in schools.

"T" is for Tools, "T" is for Technology

Larry Felazzo's post at "In Practice" does a good job of reassuring me that experiential, cultural and behavioral diversities exist everywhere, and that standardizing the use of technology is probably an impossible task. It's one that finds me torn between several ideologies when dealing with the responsibility of preparing my kindergarten students for their future school and learning adventures.

My students come to my classroom with vastly different prior schema. Some are used to all sorts of learning tools, Leap Pad, computers, cameras, dvr/dvd machines, mp3 players, calculators, etc., some have only seen PC's and are surprised to find Macs as a learning center in my room, and still others don't have a computer in their home, much less a dvd player.




While kindergarten tends to be left out of the heavy debates regarding curriculum on inservice days, I'm still responsible for getting all of my students groomed for the first grade. When one first grade teacher is having students author short stories and use educational resources online while the other teacher merely sees computer use as a reward (and gives out "reward time" very sparingly) most of what I've tried to do gets undone before my students ever make it to the second or third grades. With each successive grade, the use of technology in education grows exponentially. Finding teachers themselves all falling within very disparate comfort levels when it comes to the technology that may be available to them and their students, I often find myself trying to anticipate other teachers' shortcomings when setting up learning centers/experiences for five and six year olds. "If **I** can give them the exposure, maybe my students won't be impacted too terribly while they tread water in the next grade." It's a horrible thought.


My classroom is for exposure, exposure, exposure, and exploration/development, exploration/development, exploration/development. So no matter the prior schema, all students can start where they need to, and go where their interests lead them. They receive gentle prodding when necessary by me, but are usually motivated to explore with their friends. I still use the overhead projector, modeling use of math tiles, coins, base ten blocks, Judy clocks, etc., but also give my students overhead transparency sheets for their artwork, so when bulletin board space doesn't allow, we can put temporary displays up and the kids feel like they are in an art gallery, their masterpieces filling the walls, larger than life!



My students use calculators, headphones and dvd players, my iMacs, and printers. Microscopes, hand lenses, thermometers, microwaves, and a tabletop laminator are used by students with extra supervision. Cash registers and "dead" phones in dramatic play, hammers and screwdrivers for creative and LOUD constructions, and musical instruments round out centers filled with paints/puzzles/puppets/ and clay in my room. There aren't many first grade classrooms that carry over learning centers like these.

I understand that the older children get, the more their "exposure" occurs thanks to being able to speak and read. And I've met some teachers who believe "Why experience it when you can read about it?" With all of the curriculum that needs to be covered and tested each year, teachers need to find ways to show students concepts in a timely manner. But when students find topics of interest and don't have the time and resources to continue to explore, learn about and experience them because teachers are reluctant to stretch their own horizons, how can we feel we are truly doing our jobs? I personally don't feel the need to be "up" on every new trend or fashion that comes out of our human expression, but I do believe that students should know HOW and WHERE to safely explore their interests, utilizing all resources available, and technology is at the heart of them.

I've realized that technology isn't a passing fad or trend, but an essential element to how we live, learn and share. If we want our diverse students to communicate, demonstrate knowledge, explore concepts and curiosities, and navigate the world as safely as possible, then we as teachers must diversify our knowledge base enough to offer our students the tools they may or may not want, choose, or be required to use, be they overhead projectors, dvd players, computers, or whatever technological innovation is waiting around the next corner.

GETTING those tools of course, is another matter.