Tuesday SOL: Why does it have to be like this?

I am participating in the
Tuesday Slice of Life.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity

for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

We're entering into the tough part of the school year, that time period in the very middle of the year, when so much fatigue has set in. There is so much to do and there simply isn't enough time to get all that needs doing done. I call out a "good morning" to colleagues first thing every day, but we are quick and perfunctory with one another; there is little opportunity to collaborate or share because everyone is so busy with their own never-ending list of must do's.

We had professional development this past week, and I wanted desperately to be working in my own classroom, getting work done. I work alongside a novice teacher, and as she begins to lead more, taking over more of the daily responsibilities, my need for time to meet, plan, review, discuss, and reflect grows exponentially. A short while into the workshop, I had that uncomfortable sensation of not being fully present; I was in two places at once. I challenged myself to listen. I am, typically, a "good student" - usually very much on-task.

Would you believe me if I told you that the speaker was engaging?

As a general rule, I love workshops, I love learning new approaches, hearing about the latest research. However, this just wasn't something I personally would have signed up to do with my time right then, because I am struggling to complete so many other things...I have other priorities. These priorities don't go away or even lessen as a result of this professional development.

I decided to step back and observe a bit, to give the situation a writer's eye. I looked around the room at my colleagues and took notes on what I saw:

- One, furtively scanning her phone, with a furrowed brow, looking tense, worried, or tired, or perhaps all three...

- Another, totally checked out...what I must have looked like just a moment before...eyes glazed, face tilted down, a mile away in his thoughts.

- Two colleagues were whispering together, very, very quietly...probably not about the lecture, right?

- Still another, typing madly on her computer, in the midst of the lecture, clearly not engaging with the material of the professional development, but in all probability getting something done on her to-do list.
- Several colleagues that I had seen earlier in the day were not even in the room...early departure? Doctor's appointments? 

- There's another colleague, feet drumming on the floor, fingers tapping on the table, is she listening to music? I can't see any evidence of earphones...maybe it's one of those wireless sets...hmmm.

Why does professional development have to be like this?
What is it about these sessions that makes them feel so tone deaf much of the time? 

How can so many of us be this detached from the lecture? 

If this were a classroom, wouldn't the teacher realize that the students were off-task and something is not working right?
Why are we learning about this right now?

There is always so much put on teachers, and increasingly little wiggle room or flexibility to think for oneself.

Tuesday SOL: What is death?

I am participating in the
Tuesday Slice of Life.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity

for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

"One can tell the morals of a culture by the way they treat their dead." Benjamin Franklin



We buried Flash the betta fish this week. I noticed he was slowing down one day. The next day when I came in, I didn't even see him in the tank. I looked more closely at the tank and there he was, in long, narrow leaves of the fake seagrass. Imagine, this tiny little life still having the desire and power to die in solitude...living life in a glass bowl, everyone looking at you, and then when it is time to die, finding the one available place of solitude to die.

I shared the news of Flash's death with the preschoolers. I let them see him in the reeds. They asked,
"Is he stuck?"
"Is he tired?"
"Why is he hiding?"
"Why did he die?"
"Is he sick?"

I removed him from the tank and into a paper cup with water, so that we could transport him to the garden for burial. I let the children look into the cup one by one, so that they could each be assured he was no longer alive. They asked,
"Why is he not swimming?"
"Is he sleeping?"
 "Can we make him move?"
"Is the cup too small?" asked one.
When the cup jostled, one declared,
"Flash is moving!"
I asked the children to put a hand over their heart. "Do you feel it beating? You are alive! Flash is no longer alive. He lived a good, long life."

We had a solemn procession down the hall and out the door to bury Flash in the garden. We dug a deep hole, placed Flash within, and then covered him over with dirt. I explained, "Flash the fish will help enrich our garden soil. We will be able to visit him in the garden, should the need arise." The children shared a few words,
"I like Flash."
"I miss Flash."
"Flash is in the dirt."

My colleague took several photos and I was truly surprised and moved by this one; I had not even realized this was happening, in the moment:

Do you see how one preschooler is supporting me, as I prepare to place Flash in the burial spot? It is so beautiful, the empathy and concern of preschoolers. It makes me so hopeful for our world!


***

Alongside everyone in our nation, I woke up to the news about the carnage in Las Vegas yesterday morning. Another horrific mass shooting.

Our nation will throw heart-wrenching memorials, so many flowers and candles, surrounded by breath-taking photographs of our deceased loved ones. We will weep, sob, cry out in grief. We will head right back out to the gun shop when we are done. What is life? What is the value of life? 

We are teaching our children to take it all in stride.  

Our Mommies, Daddies, sisters, brothers, grandparents, neighbors, colleagues, friends, lovers, fish,

all come and go.

We go through the pantomime of caring. Against all odds.

"One can tell the morals of a culture by the way they treat their dead." Benjamin Franklin

What can we tell about a culture by the way it treats life?