Special Treat: This I Believe

My junior honors students wrote "This I Believe" essays, a la NPR, this week. There were a lot of tears shed as they read them aloud in class. I wrote one, too, but ran out of time to read it to them. Perhaps I will when we return from break. Here it is:

Flying Free

Liz Peterson loved to swing. Everyday at recess while the girls headed for the monkey bars to do dangerous gymnastics and I ran to the basketball courts to play with the boys, Liz climbed onto a swing and moved herself back and forth until she was flying. She would swing until the teacher on duty would blow the whistle and we’d run in for water break, bathroom, and back to class. As we were only in third grade, I obviously did not analyze the symbolic nature of Liz’s swinging at the time. But now it makes sense to me. Swinging, see, is very freeing. It’s like flying for a kid; for an instant you are weightless, hanging in the air, able to see the world from a new perspective. There were probably many moments in her life when Liz wanted to fly away. But she was stuck, as we all are, in a sense, so she would swing.

The kids rarely spoke to Liz. They didn’t sit with her at lunch or play with her at recess. I can’t remember a single person who I could say was Liz’s friend. I’m not sure that I can count myself as one, either. But I was already viewed as a little strange by my classmates. I played basketball with the boys, left class every afternoon for the gifted program, and didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of me. So they let me talk to Liz. I was strange enough to get away with being near Liz, but the kids never forgave her because she was truly different. In fact, they teased her relentlessly.

Liz’s family was poor in such a true and sad sense of the word. To this day, I don’t know that I’ve ever known anyone as poor as Liz Peterson. There were ten children in the Peterson family and they came to school dirty and hungry. Liz told me that she was born with a hole in her heart (awfully symbolic, now, too), and was often sick as a child. She had a really short haircut when long hair was popular. She told me that her mother cut it all off when the she and her siblings all had head lice. But worst of all, Liz wore her Girl Scout uniform to school. She didn’t have enough clothes, so at least two days each week Liz would come to school in her uniform, sash and all. It was too easy to pick on this homely little girl wearing her Girl Scout uniform when she wasn’t supposed to. So Liz would swing.

As a teacher, I see Liz Petersons all the time. They are overweight, completely uncool, or too short or too tall. They have speech impediments or are painfully shy. They are poor, wear headscarves, are gay, or have learning disabilities. They are the kids who sit by themselves at lunch, or hide away in some corner of the school, trying not to be noticed. But they can’t hide. Whatever makes them different is their own Girl Scout uniform. Like Liz’s poverty, they can never take it off.

Liz Peterson, I suppose, is part of the reason I am a teacher today. As a third-grader, I would occasionally sit on the swings and talk to Liz. But I never defended her against her tormenters. I never stood up and said, “STOP.” I don’t think my small act made a difference in her life. I had the opportunity to change attitudes and perceptions. But I didn’t. As a teacher, though, I can now. Every day I get the chance to not only swing with a kid like Liz, but to teach other kids to value one another, too. Through my example, I get to demonstrate the kindness and inclusion that our society often lacks.

I believe in Girl Scouts. I believe in the inherent value every person in the world has. We have done an incredible job creating hierarchies, splitting ourselves into groups, and deciding what makes a person right or wrong. Sometimes we treat each other so badly that we make people hide, hurt themselves, or simply want to fly away. I don’t know what happened to Liz Peterson or if anyone ever believed in her. What I’ve learned is that if we know our value, it’s our job to find and honor the value in others. So for Liz, and for Girl Scouts, for gays and kids who are overweight, for the shy, the disabled, the nerds, the poor, and the minorities, for kids who feel sad inside and don’t like themselves, I believe.

If We Can Just Get Through This Day, It'll All Be Okay

The title today is the mantra of my next door neighbor here on the fourth floor of Kennedy High School. And she's right, in a sense. Today is a day that brings relief. It's the last day of class before break. It's also a stopping point. When we come back from break, the new semester begins. Kids start fresh without their poor grades dragging them down. Classes get switched around a little and you have new faces in class to change the dynamics. The kids also grow up a little over break, and come back excited to see their friends and get back into a schedule again. Teachers often clean up their rooms and rearrange the desks. It's got almost all the hope of a new school year.

That said, these last few days before the break are both tender and horrific. The students wear Santa Hats and eat too much candy. They have so much excitement and often don't know what to do with it. They can also be emotional wrecks. Some dread the holidays because their families are a mess, or it reminds them that they don't have a mom or dad. One of my students had a look of panic about her. On Friday, her family is driving to Guadalajara, Mexico, and she's afraid that they'll be killed by drug dealers at the border. Another student has to spend the break with her father, whom she hates. Yet a third lost her mother around Christmas last year. It brings new meaning to the words "Happy Holidays".

But even the saddest and angriest students are the most tender around the holidays. The student you would least expect brings you a card. You get Snowman candles and chocolate covered cherries and Batman Pez and bookmarks...all with little notes, misspelled and written in marker. You'd think you taught elementary school, but these are high school kids and they've come to regard you as they would a parent or an aunt. They feel something for you and they want to express it. They are sad and happy at once. Even the kids who don't have very nice things done for them want to do something nice for you.

I'd like to package it up, this day. I could sell it, like a movie that makes you laugh and cry and feel better about the world. The holidays give my students a chance to open up, but it's scary what you see inside. There is a lot of pain in there. There is also a lot of hope.

Socratic Circles

Today one of my students wished that Socrates (were he alive today...damn that poisoned hemlock!) could be the principal of the school. Then, he said, every class could center around Socratic discussion. I also had a very interesting conversation in second period yesterday about whether or not teachers were even necessary in a Socratic classroom. This is the joy of using Socratic Circles.

So, it sounds like just another pop-pedegogy thing that comes in and out of usage. Like, for instance, the Word Wall. Right now, the world begins and ends with the Word Wall. Everyone not only should HAVE a Word Wall, but INTERACT with the Word Wall on a daily basis. I had one up but the words got old. For a week or two it just had the sign, "Word Wall" with no words. So I added the suffix "less" to "word". I haven't interacted with my Wordless Wall since.

But Socratic Circles (or anything, for that matter, if the teacher isn't being required to use it whether it's pertinent or not) are so much more than pop-pedegogy. I am such a fan. They teach kids to question, they structure discussion to keep kids on task, and they get the teacher out of the center of everything (except when she's biting her tongue so hard that blood is dripping down her chin, so she steps into the "hot seat" for a moment). There are actually two circles: inner and outer, and each student gets to participate in both. The inner circle is in charge of questioning, discussing, creating commraderie, digging into the text, etc. The outer circle listens and watches (and can step into the discussion briefly to use the hot seat). This gives kids multiple modes by which to learn from each other. And I get to learn so much from them, too!

But best of all, the way students are evaluated is primarily through their Socratic Reflections. This gives them the chance to think carefully about how they participated or interacted in the circle and what they learned from the experience. Most importantly, students must consider what new questions have arisen based on the discussion. Learning, said Socrates, is about questions, not answers.

I think Socrates would be proud today.