sol17-5 Am I ranting or reflecting?

I am participating in the
Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOLSC).
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day of March 2017. 

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

Just recently, I opened up the Washington Post and read a beautifully written piece by a woman I knew a long time ago...her name is irrelevant to this slice, the topic she wrote about is irrelevant to this slice, but seeing her name in print took me back in time.... 

The local elementary program was a paired program with two schools. My boys were bussed to an "early childhood campus" in a poor, immigrant community two miles away for pre-K through second grade; for third grade through sixth grade, the immigrant children were bussed to attend the older elementary campus in my middle-class ('white') neighborhood, a school only a few blocks away from my house. I loved this pairing. I loved the early childhood campus and its dynamic principal, I loved our diverse schools, I loved the education my boys were receiving. All was well.

But not for long.

We entered into a painful period the year I agreed to be on the PTA Board. Due to population growth, the boundaries for our local schools were being redrawn. Some local folks (including the writer I mentioned earlier) were adamant that this was an opportunity to unpair the two schools - to give our middle-class neighborhood its own school again, pre-K through 6th. I don't remember anyone in the immigrant community wanting the schools to be unpaired. But the middle-class neighborhood was in an uproar. This woman and I felt differently. Although I loved the school pairing, I remember this woman speaking in opposition to it (PTA meetings, town halls, school board meetings), speaking passionately, fervently, relentlessly, "I want my child to be able to walk to school." 

The boundary issue pitted neighbor against neighbor. 

She lives in my neighborhood but I don't call her friend. 

It still seems to me that she only wanted her views heard. It still seems to me that she feared the campus, the neighborhood that she did not know. It still seems to me that we humans have a lot to learn about listening, about sitting with the tension of opposing views, about considering the possibility that a different opinion may also be right.

How did it all shake out? The boundary decision left the two schools paired and intact; I don't know if my neighbor/the writer took her child out of the public school system or if she made peace with the decision. Why don't I know? Because, unfortunately, my own house/address was placed in a new school district...my boys had to leave the school we loved and attend a new public school. They still received a great education.

“If I were asked for two words to summarize the habits of the heart American citizens need in response to twenty-first-century conditions, chutzpah and humility are the words I would choose. By chutzpah I mean knowing that I have a voice that needs to be heard and the right to speak it. By humility I mean accepting the fact that my truth is always partial and may not be true at all—so I need to listen with openness and respect, especially to “the other,” as much as I need to speak my own voice with clarity and conviction. Humility plus chutzpah equals the kind of citizens a democracy needs. There is no reason, at least no good reason, why our number cannot be legion.” ― Parker J. Palmer, Healing the Heart of Democracy: The Courage to Create a Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit

Tuesday SOL: What about restorative practices?

This is a Tuesday
Slice of Life.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day. 

Check out the Two Writing Teachers website for many more reflections on teaching.

This school year, my school is exploring restorative practices. Although we have not had any formal training (the school is working on arranging this), we are taking the leap of faith just the same. We were each given a copy of The Restorative Practices Handbook to read, and a couple of our back-to-school professional development sessions focused on this topic. I am so excited for us! I know there is so much to learn still, but it delights me that we are refusing to be a 'zero tolerance' or 'no excuses' school - we are, instead, focusing on the needs of the individual child, and guiding them to a deeper level of thinking. 

What is Restorative Practice?

The fundamental premise of restorative practices is that people are happier, more cooperative and productive, and more likely to make positive changes when those in authority do things with them, rather than to them or for them.

The International Institute for Restorative Practices and Restorative Works: Learning Network are two fabulous resources for more information on this approach. There are suggestions to ask the child with the challenging behavior:

What happened?

What were you thinking of at the time?

What have you thought about since?

Who has been affected by what you have done? In what way?

What do you think you need to do to make things right?

There are suggestions to ask the child(ren) who have been harmed by other's actions:

What did you think when you realized what had happened?

What impact has this incident had on you and others?

What has been the hardest thing for you?

What do you think needs to happen to make things right?

It means so much to have an entire staff consider this practice. Not simply the lead teachers. Not some random or elective course taken by a few teachers. Not some book read by one staff person and suggested for others. Everyone. Administrators. Teachers, both new and experienced. Teaching Assistants. Specials teachers.

Our discussions have been vibrant: what is it? how long will it take? what will it look like? will we say the wrong thing? how will we work in circles? what will a restorative circle look like? how will we communicate this philosophy to our families?  I believe most of us already see how our school's approach to children dovetails beautifully with restorative practice. We believe in teaching "the whole child." We know that in most discipline situations, there is a whole lot of "gray" - who or what instigated this? what else is going on in the child's life? are there extenuating factors? where is the child developmentally? We know that there is not one solution to misbehaviors. 

I think restorative practices are so respectful of children - of everyone. I believe it is rich with relationship-building between teacher and students. I know it is not going to be perfect - human relations are messy. I loved my principal's advice -

"Yes, it may not work quickly AND we don't give up. Humble yourself...most problems are resolved on a kid's timeframe." 

Here goes! A new practice underway! Happy new school year!

SOLSC #20 What if we take one step closer?

During the month of March, I am participating in
the Slice of Life Story Challenge.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for thirty-one days. My slices will be primarily about teaching preschoolers.

Check out the Two Writing Teachers website for many more reflections on teaching.

He appeared out of nowhere in the hallway with several of his middle-school classmates, on his way to class. She, the mom, had just dropped off her sweet little guy at my preschool classroom, to start his day. As she passed by, his shoulder knocked against hers, and then he fell to the floor - much to the merriment of his classmates. Mom was a little surprised, asked if he was okay, he nodded yes in the midst of the laughter, and everyone went on their way.

The next morning, as Mom left my classroom after kissing her little guy goodbye, there he appeared again, tall, imposing, mischievous, surrounded by his middle-school friends. As Mom headed down the hall, he jabbed his shoulder into her shoulder, all the while sporting a big grin, and he threw himself down onto the floor, accompanied by more laughter from his friends. Mom hurried out of the school, on her way to work, but, unlike the day before, an uneasy feeling lingered. Was he doing this on purpose? Why this interaction two days in a row? After some thought, she contacted our principal, to share her concerns.

She didn't know his name. She could only provide a physical description.

The first I heard about any of the above was when the sixth grade boy was brought to my classroom by the principal mid-day, while the preschoolers were napping. The principal asked me if I had a little boy named Mark in my class. Yes, I do. Then she introduced John to me, the middle-schooler, and asked him to tell me why he was here. "I bumped into Mark's mother today and yesterday," he said in a quiet, uneven, chagrined voice. The principal continued, "John has written a note of apology. I think it is very important for him to meet Mark's Mom in person, to deliver the apology. What time does she pick up Mark?" And so it was agreed that John would return to apologize in person that afternoon, and give the note of apology.

Oh these foolish, young boys. There is nothing more important than making your classmates laugh.

The end of the day arrived, preschoolers were being dismissed to their families, and John appeared as planned. I introduced him to little Mark, saying "You'll be apologizing to this little guy's Mom." John was visibly contrite, looking a little nervous about what was yet to come. Into the classroom walks Mark's Mom and she sees John and me and her eyes grow wide. They step out into the hallway and John says his apology and gives her the note, and then he scoots away. Mark's Mom comes over to me, and whispers "How did he know to come here? I didn't want him to know who my child was. I have to tell you I am very scared of him. He said a very nice apology, but he did that mean shoving two days in a row. I think I'm being stalked. I spoke to the principal because I am scared."

I was caught off-guard by this and simply patted her arm, assuringly, saying, "It's okay. He feels very badly about what he did." Mom and Mark went on their way.

However, I couldn't shake the taste of this interaction, her words to me. I wondered,

Does it matter that this middle-schooler is Black?
Does it matter that this Mom is White?
How are we to be in community together - diverse people, diverse ages, preschool, elementary, middle school?
What does it mean for our community if adults are afraid of certain students?
How do we move towards one another?

I am the mother of three boys and any one of them could have done what John did when they were in middle-school. They did many, many foolish things. My boys are White. Did they get a free pass for silly, immature antics at this age?

After several days of wondering and wrestling with this, I followed Mark's Mom out of the classroom after drop-off and opened up the conversation again. "Hey, I was just wondering, have you seen John again since his apology?"

"No, actually, I haven't. Isn't that weird?"

"Well, I hope you do see him soon. I think it would be great if you gave him a big hello and called him by name. 11 and 12 year old boys are so foolish sometimes; my own boys embarrassed me greatly at that age."

And I left it at that.

Maybe a little preachy on my part...but, I wonder. How do we move towards one another? What if we dare to take one step closer?

SOLSC #13 What about social justice

During the month of March, I am participating in
the Slice of Life Story Challenge.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for thirty-one days. My slices will be primarily about teaching preschoolers.

Check out the Two Writing Teachers website for many more reflections on teaching.

I am excited to be participating in Teaching for Change's social justice writing course this school year, Stories from the Classroom. We are a group of fifteen educators in the Washington, DC area and we meet once a month on a Sunday afternoon.

I haven't had a writing class since my freshman year of college. I am now answering journal prompts, brainstorming ideas, collaborating with other teachers about writing, drafting an article, participating in a peer feedback group, getting guidance from published authors, and more. Writing with the lens of social justice is very powerful for me, leading to so much reflection and questioning. Each session has been invigorating  - meaning, I find it very difficult to unwind and get ready for the week ahead!

But, that I must do - get ready for the week ahead. So, I will keep this short!

Tuesday SOL: Three poems about four girls

This is a Tuesday Slice of Life for Two Writing Teachers. 

Check out their website for many more reflections on teaching.

My apologies - this post is not about teaching preschool...
in fact, it is radically different. 
Summer provides me time for reflection and creativity.

I'm daring to share some poetry that arose from my personal research and reflection about the four young black girls who were killed in a churching bombing by klansmen in Birmingham, Alabama in the 1960s.

 "I am just slowly awakening to the privilege of my own life experiences." 
Elissa Johnk


Until recently, I knew very little or nothing about these four young girls.

What were their names?

When did it happen?

How old were they? (How old was I?) (How old would they be now?)

What can I learn about their hopes and dreams?

Why did it happen?

How did their loved ones recover? Did they recover?

Why don't I know more?
Were they invisible to me because they are black and I am white?

Was I taught about them and I forgot?

Or was I never taught?

I don't have answers to all these questions yet, and I have many more questions the more I learn. These poems grew out of my reading/research about this horrific crime. 

Three Poems About Four Girls

The Calculated Crime*

Sunday,

September 15, 1963,

10:22 am,

16^th street Baptist Church,

some 450 parishioners gathered,

Birmingham, Alabama.

5 days after

3 all-white schools desegregated,

Birmingham, Alabama.

21 bombings

in 8 years;

1st that killed,

Birmingham, Alabama.

4 white klansmen,

15 sticks of dynamite,

20 black children injured,

4 black girls killed,

Birmingham, Alabama.

Addie Mae Collins, 14 years old

Denise McNair, 11 years old

Carole Robertson, 14 years old

Cynthia Wesley, 14 years old

Birmingham, Alabama.

[*Note - title of this poem was inspired by a reflection by Condoleeza Rice, at the 50th anniversary of the bombing; Condoleeza Rice was 8 years old at the time of the bombing and a classmate of Denise McNair. Here are her words: 

“The crime was calculated, not random. It was meant to suck the hope out of young lives, bury their aspirations, and ensure that old fears would be propelled forward into the next generation.” ]

-----

Wonder

Shredded,

strewn about,

shattered,

destroyed,

brightly painted children’s furniture,

bibles and song books ,

rear wall of church,

the back steps, and

all stained-glass windows,

except one,“Christ with the Little Children;”

this window was intact,

with only Jesus’ face missing.

-----

Hopes and Dreams

Addie Mae, Denise, Carole, and Cynthia.

September 15, 1963,

a new school year just beginning.

Four young girls, 

imagining, dreaming, hoping, and seeking.

Desiring college and careers?

Imagining love, hope, and peace?

Four young lives abruptly ended,

Addie Mae, Denise, Carole, and Cynthia.

Addie Mae Collins, 14,

An avid learner,

loved to draw,

imagined herself an artist,

strong and athletic,

with a powerful softball pitch,

an entrepreneur,

sold her mom’s potholders and aprons door-to-door,

her family loved her as a peacemaker,

solving conflicts amongst her seven siblings.

Denise McNair, 11,

an only child,

with a ready smile, and

a big heart for others,

she organized fundraisers for muscular dystrophy, and

an annual neighborhood talent show,

with skits, dance routines, poetry,

she was inquisitive,

stood up for others, and

wanted to be a pediatrician.

Carole Robertson, 14,

an “A” student,

an avid reader,

with many extra-curricular activities,

ballet, clarinet in the marching band, girl scouts, choir,

loved listening to rock and roll on the radio,

wanted to teach history,

she loved to let friends practice hairstyles on her,

she was a good listener, a mediator,

thoughtful, reflective, a good friend.

Cynthia Wesley, 14,

a strong student,

excelled in math and reading,

loved music and played clarinet,

she was much loved by two families,

informally adopted and treasured as an only child to educators,

visiting her birth home on weekends as a big sister,

she shows us it takes a village,

we need one another,

we are all connected.

Four young girls,

gifts and passions,

hopes and dreams,
instantaneously,
irrevocably,
shattered,

Wait!
Who were their best friends?
What did they want to know more about?
What were their favorite books?
What did they like to do when they got home from school?
What did they think about as they went to sleep at night?
What were their worries?
How were they hoping to change the world?

Four young girls,

gifts and passions,

hopes and dreams,
instantaneously,
irrevocably,

shattered,

tragically,
violently,
despicably.
Addie Mae, Denise, Carole, and Cynthia.