tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12654094323244180012024-03-13T10:15:27.842-07:00Floor PieFloor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.comBlogger160125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-14059094252141542752022-07-30T16:33:00.003-07:002022-07-30T16:40:04.047-07:00An Epilogue of Sorts<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRS11HQ2NUYKteeB-p77I61wmVUYAv4e9-ceoPwBd7_gKPJHVjWgU-lrtL3KcmP9ghGkfoK7hhVT9qugejNSauNTnPrxaEeYqblV3PQkyq9xXNoFZwXuPdmFWFkKdYlBiKsh_k-N39hW9WkC11dJ7danrdN0IsOrRFqpy6gAo7x5ZBiLQcVzYgA/s4608/DSCN5817.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRS11HQ2NUYKteeB-p77I61wmVUYAv4e9-ceoPwBd7_gKPJHVjWgU-lrtL3KcmP9ghGkfoK7hhVT9qugejNSauNTnPrxaEeYqblV3PQkyq9xXNoFZwXuPdmFWFkKdYlBiKsh_k-N39hW9WkC11dJ7danrdN0IsOrRFqpy6gAo7x5ZBiLQcVzYgA/s320/DSCN5817.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>After my last entry, we went back to school in person that April in 2021, just barely vaccinated and overextending ourselves into all kinds of shapes to serve a "hybrid" model...I'm usually so clear on details but I think I've intentionally forgotten as much about it as I could. It was hard, but at the time I kept joking "It's only for three months. I can do <i style="text-align: left;">any</i><span style="text-align: left;"> kind of shit show for three months." And I did. And it was. And now that unique corner of my life is done.<p>In the midst of all that vaguely-remembered circus, our school was told we had to displace one teacher from every department, including special ed. So I volunteered to be the one displaced from special ed. And someday I guess I'll write in more detail about how hard it was to give up on that particular <a href="http://floorpie05.blogspot.com/2017/07/surface.html" target="_blank">dream</a> of that particular school, but how it was absolutely the right move to make and how I feel like I can simply breathe again at the new school where I landed. I'm back in an elementary school at last, in a resource room, in a leadership position, and suddenly it just feels like a tough-but-fun job that I'm really good at instead of anything more <i>epic</i> than that.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I have worked for Seattle Public Schools for ten years now, and I've been writing this blog in some form or another since 2008, when message boards (and blogs, for that matter) were still a thing. I started it as a way to stay connected with the younger self I'd been, to reflect and tell my stories. It became a space for me to sort of figure out my present and future, too...sorting out parenthood, connecting with other parents and teachers, puzzling and pondering the state of the world, finding old friends, fumbling my way into advocacy and ultimately back to teaching. Which...like I mentioned at the start of this paragraph, I've now been doing for 10 years somehow.</p><p>I started this blog kind of marveling that I'd somehow stumbled into a "mainstream" lifestyle of which I'd never quite felt entirely worthy and couldn't quite place myself within. As I wrote, year by year, I gradually found my footing, and it all just kind of flowed along through thick and thin, from H1N1 to Covid-19, from kindergarten to college. Oh yes. College. My kids are 18 and 15 now, joyful and quirky as ever, and entirely themselves. Mr. Black and I are still married and happy, just a few years shy of donning our matching tracksuits for the next phase of empty-nester couplehood. </p><p>This isn't an ending. But in a lot of ways it feels like the end of the particular narrative I was telling in this space. So I'll think of this final entry as an epilogue of sorts. Felt weird just leaving it here with no closure. So, you know. There it is. Closure. Until the next chapter emerges and comes into focus. </p></span>Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-65040936156719242952021-02-15T13:59:00.007-08:002021-02-15T14:40:25.586-08:00A Year is a Long Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lrusrjy5LxI/YCrt7OEsj2I/AAAAAAAABrE/S9u_nSBWDHU3eu4ohK0L_NIeP3O1lMFMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200220_121629.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lrusrjy5LxI/YCrt7OEsj2I/AAAAAAAABrE/S9u_nSBWDHU3eu4ohK0L_NIeP3O1lMFMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200220_121629.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span>One year ago, I looked at the news
and briefly considered cancelling a trip to New York City I’d planned for
mid-winter break. In the end, I decided to just take my chances and go anyway. </span><span> </span></span></div><br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span><o:p> </o:p></span><span>Some folks at the airport were
wearing masks, but not many. In New York, my mom, sister, niece, and I sat
shoulder to shoulder in packed theaters. Hadestown. Beetlejuice. Girl from the
North Country. Hamilton. We crowded into diners and shops, gathering up our
bubble tea, grilled cheese, souvenirs, and socks. Handmade earrings and grey-blue
nail polish for me. A stylish new coat for my niece. I spent my last day dreamy-drifting
through the Whitney, shoulder to shoulder again. Humans and humans and art. I walked
the Highline with a dear old friend, packed myself into a Lyft to JFK, and flew
home to Seattle.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A few weeks later…Well. You know.</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qRZrX1htnoY/YCryZT5cIqI/AAAAAAAABrc/DqMnhlyqAYI-eI0oq3NDA9zVskxQwjIwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200401_232444.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qRZrX1htnoY/YCryZT5cIqI/AAAAAAAABrc/DqMnhlyqAYI-eI0oq3NDA9zVskxQwjIwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200401_232444.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span>I hold that New York trip close to
my heart like a favorite toy carried out of a house on fire. I hold it as a
symbol of what we’ve lost. I hold it as a testament to general day-seizing and
gathering one’s rosebuds while one may. I take comfort in knowing that we lived
our pre-pandemic lives so freely and in robust pursuit of happiness. </span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span>I’ve also taken comfort – maybe
weirdly, or maybe not – in the fact that we, all of us, are living out a
chapter of history. As someone who teaches history, there’s a certain satisfaction
in recognizing that we are living it. We have a front row seat to what will one
day be a blip on a timeline; a PBS documentary; someone’s obscure graduate thesis;
an introductory textbook paragraph leading up to a century’s worth of
whatever-the-heck is going to happen next. </span><span> </span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I talk to my students about it a
lot. They lean in and sit up a little taller when I explain it to them that
way. (I mean, as best I can tell with all their <a href="https://floorpie05.blogspot.com/2020/12/cameras-off-connection.html" target="_blank">cameras off</a>. But they do have a
lot to say about it.) We are the primary sources now. Our emails, our social
media feed, the Chat from this very virtual class – all relics of a history
that we are living.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I hold myself up as an example. “Remember
that day when [student] was on his phone during class and announced that
someone in our state had died from coronavirus? Remember how I got annoyed and told
him that was just click-bait, that we’d all be fine, and to put his phone away
and focus on the lesson?” They laugh and nod and murmur. “He was right. I was wrong.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I’ve been wrong about a <i>lot</i>
of things as I’ve grappled my way through pandemic teaching. Hard not to be
when everything around us is so shaken and turned upside down. Almost a year
later, I find myself wary of doubling down on any particular conviction as we
hurtle and tumble our way through real-time history, holding on to what I know
that still works and desperately scrambling to learn what I don’t know yet.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I have moments of feeling peevish, resenting
the ever-increasing distance between ourselves and the return to so-called “normal.”
Then I think about what school was like back in the so-called “normal” times
and remember how brutal an experience school was for way too many of our
students. Why are we in such a hurry to get back to that?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I have moments of something even
deeper than fear – not fear of the virus itself, but fear of my own community
that wants to march us teachers back to school, vaccines or no vaccines,
because they’re feeling done and fed-up with being so far from “normal,” too. The
crops are dying and they’re ready to drown the nearest witch.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ju4qMxzcf80/YCr0ZKimdJI/AAAAAAAABsA/ailDXm8SgD0ESXC23-sRZtsBJhG7ZVKwwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1200/5fcd40f452853.image.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ju4qMxzcf80/YCr0ZKimdJI/AAAAAAAABsA/ailDXm8SgD0ESXC23-sRZtsBJhG7ZVKwwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/5fcd40f452853.image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don’t know what’s going to happen with school in the near future, and I don’t know what my next moves are going to be. All I know right now is this:</div></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Someday – maybe sooner than we want,
maybe a painfully long time from now – we’ll go back. I’ll wake up early, get
my coffee and oatmeal, drive my car up Aurora Avenue in the dark, walk into
that school building and up those stairs, and let myself into my classroom. I’ll
check my email and put the finishing touches on the day’s lessons as I hear the
roar of children downstairs pouring out of their busses and into the cafeteria
for breakfast. I’ll welcome my own students into my classroom. The bell will
ring. I’ll close the door. I’ll take attendance and start our day.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">And NONE of it will be normal.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">None.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Because we will have survived
something. We will have endured tremendous loss. We will have been tossed and
turned and tumbled through a rocky passage of raw, unfiltered, pre-textbook history.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 247.8pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">My students have witnessed crowds
of white adults screaming in the streets that our lives <i>don’t</i> matter,
trashing everything from a mask-mandating grocery store to the United States
Capitol building 9/11-style just to prove it. My students have witnessed a
would-be coup incited by the despot we <i>never</i> trusted – a man who mocked
their disabilities, criminalized their religions, brutally caged children just
like them for attempting the same journey to safety they themselves might have made years
ago.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">We were broken
before. We are broken now. We will be broken when things go back to so-called
normal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">But....we
are also resilient. My old friend <a href="https://www.teachertomsworld.com/" target="_blank">Teacher Tom</a> wrote a <a href="http://teachertomsblog.blogspot.com/2021/02/these-arent-same-people-we-sent-home.html" target="_blank">piece</a> today that reminds me of that true, simple fact and gives me tremendous hope. He says:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">These
aren’t the same people we sent home last spring. They have survived a terrible
loss by becoming new people. It hasn’t been easy. As schools re-open, let’s
begin by celebrating who they have become, then make it our business to
understand them as they are right now. We can’t let the hyperventilating over how
far our children have “fallen behind” cause us to plow ahead as if a return to
normal is even possible. Because everything has changed and the children we
teach have changed as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">And I
couldn’t have said it any better myself. Whatever happens next, the skills and
convictions we’ll need to meet it will be the ones we’ve always known and practiced
all along: Honor their brilliance. Meet them where they’re at. Help them lead.
Let them heal. Find joy in their joy. Have hope. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-obvUSlTC65s/YCrtlb7gUuI/AAAAAAAABqs/HQI21i43E0oXE2MMDofK1_0RXH26MNutwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200219_132356.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1680" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-obvUSlTC65s/YCrtlb7gUuI/AAAAAAAABqs/HQI21i43E0oXE2MMDofK1_0RXH26MNutwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200219_132356.jpg" width="320" /></a></p>Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-74821662879139025152020-12-30T20:27:00.002-08:002021-02-15T14:28:12.299-08:00A Merry Little Christmas Now<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kAaK4LcSw3w/YCr1LAdZc6I/AAAAAAAABsI/iefun46NdHcSuZxUFABDUxx4UuSjQ7QIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201205_205818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kAaK4LcSw3w/YCr1LAdZc6I/AAAAAAAABsI/iefun46NdHcSuZxUFABDUxx4UuSjQ7QIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20201205_205818.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><i><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Oh, my love<br /></span></i><i><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">We live in troubled days<br /></span></span></i><i><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">Oh, my friend<br /></span></span></i><i><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">We have the strangest ways<br /></span></span></i><i><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">All my friends<br /></span></i><i><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">On this one day of days<br /></span></span></i><i style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Thank God it's Christmas</span></span></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">For a fifty-something Gen X agnostic lady, I love Christmas
remarkably hard. It’s a childhood nostalgia thing, I suppose. I was an
introverted little quirky-pants with a rich imagination and deep capacity for
joy. Two weeks off from school to immerse myself in a twinkling-lighted
wonderland of songs and cookies and stories with warm-n-cozy tropes, not to
mention </span><i style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">presents</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">….I mean, my goodness. What’s not to love remarkably
hard?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Christmas was when the cast list for the high school musical
would be announced. Christmas was when the college crunch-time of finals and
papers would suddenly just </span><i style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">end</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> and you’d get whisked home to soft beds,
childhood pets, and free laundry. Christmas was holiday parties – candle-lit apartments,
or corporate hotel ballrooms, or married couples’ mulled-cider beneath the Ikea
tree, or shoulder-to-shoulder ironic Santa hats in beer-splattered bars.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Christmas was a deliriously joyful visit to my long-distance
boyfriend in Seattle that turned into an apartment hunt through the drizzly
streets of the post-grunge / pre-Amazon$$$ Capitol Hill neighborhood. Christmas
was epic airplane journeys home to my parents’ Pennsylvania farm to curl up in
one’s old bedroom and be a kid again. Christmas was the arrival of our baby grrrl
and, a few years later, the miraculous healing of my beloved elderly cat.
Christmas was…and is…a desperately welcome break from my relentlessly busy job.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And this year?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">This year, my friends, I love it even more.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">We <i>need</i> it even more. The ritual of celebration. The ritual
of gathering – no wild dashes through crowded airports this year, no big
families dinners, no vacations, no parties, but still…we gather. We speak to
each other with intention. With deeper appreciation. Within this eerie context
that the world as we know it kind of ended this year, and yet we all hang on,
through space, through Zoom, through texts, through social media.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">What an incredible testament to human connection, that we hang
the heck <i>on</i> like we do, through changes we never would have imagined
last year at this time. We literally can’t be “there” for each other. And yet.
We are here for each other.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">This is the first Christmas I’ve had in a while that bore so
much uncertainty. Next year…<i>will</i> all our troubles be out of sight? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A new president. A new vaccine. A renewed
commitment to anti-racism. Living to fight another day, with no shortage of
peril and injustice to fight against. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">We’ll have to muddle through somehow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">So, have yourself a merry little Christmas now. <br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EIfZXSXRsYI" width="320" youtube-src-id="EIfZXSXRsYI"></iframe><o:p></o:p></span></p>Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-50124074849476559582020-12-21T12:29:00.006-08:002020-12-21T12:49:23.920-08:00Cameras-Off Connection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j8bpSEAi8Ac/X-EEFEyKaMI/AAAAAAAABow/xrd3IhS5iOMcDes7E3Vgx1h-g8JgaEztACLcBGAsYHQ/s258/cam_off.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="118" data-original-width="258" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j8bpSEAi8Ac/X-EEFEyKaMI/AAAAAAAABow/xrd3IhS5iOMcDes7E3Vgx1h-g8JgaEztACLcBGAsYHQ/s0/cam_off.png" /></a></div><p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t mind teaching into an empty computer screen. I know
my kids are there.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />“But if they keep their cameras off, how do you know if they’re
engaging?” asks Everybody.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">As if a teacher can ever truly know that. As if our kids aren’t
in figurative “cameras off” mode when they’re sitting right there in our
classrooms. The best answer I can offer is….I just know.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">I know because they type their answers in the Chat, or their
little mic icons flicker on for a moment and flicker back off. They forget to mute, and I can hear a younger sibling’s virtual kindergarten class from another
laptop at the same kitchen table, or a parent on a work phone call, or a crying
baby cousin, or a whispered argument (“I <i>know</i>, Mom! I’m in school right
now!)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">I know because I’ll post a form to rate each Word History
icon on a five-star rating scale, and the grrrl I just knew would love Empress
Wu sure enough ranks Empress Wu the highest. They even do the writing
assignments – some of them with obvious help from a family member, some of them
with obvious help from Google-copy-paste, some of them barely at all, and some
of them with heart warming stylistic evidence that they’ve been reading independently
or that they’ve learned something from <i>me</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I know because they stay when “live” class is over and ask
for help. Except for my Empress Wu grrrl, who stays and </span><i style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">doesn’t</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> ask for help
or respond to my offers or questions. I do other work in the background,
checking in occasionally. “I’m still here to help if you need help. Just let me
know.” Thirty minutes go by. And in the thirty-first minute…she </span><i style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">does</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> ask
for help.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />I know to the extent I’m ever able to know. I know because I
trust – not in their unwavering obedience, but in our very human ability to ebb
and flow, connect and disconnect, mute and un-mute. Sometimes our hearts and
minds need to be elsewhere. But we come back. We always come back.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And finally (as those of you who follow me on social media may
have already heard)… I know because my Life Skills class had the BEST.
FLIPPING. HOLIDAY. CLASS. PARTY. EVER.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OwrOCdjVy84/X-EFODZI1JI/AAAAAAAABo8/Vu2nArbQZYEO4jn0UiWuz-BkFOO0kiCJACLcBGAsYHQ/s758/xmast2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="758" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OwrOCdjVy84/X-EFODZI1JI/AAAAAAAABo8/Vu2nArbQZYEO4jn0UiWuz-BkFOO0kiCJACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/xmast2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I wasn’t sure how a
virtual class party with no snacks was going to turn out. But I knew we had to
try.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Each student chose
one guest from another class to invite, plus a few favorite teachers. We practiced our social
conversation skills. We made connections. We danced to Go Noodle. Then one of
the 8th grade boys started grumbling about the music.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">“I like Slayer and
Metallica,” he explained.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">
“I know how to sing 'Enter Sandman,'” volunteered a shy 6th grade grrrl, and
the next thing you know we're all virtually rocking out to Metallica karaoke.
Little grrrl has PIPES. We even got a noise complaint....from The Boy (now 16, btw), slogging through his own virtual schoolwork.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">We wrapped it up
with another impromptu lesson -- </span><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I modeled how to politely lie to the hostess
if you didn't actually have a good time at the party. Luckily, most of them
truly did enjoy themselves.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">It wasn’t even noon. I hadn’t left my desk. But I was elated
for the rest of the day, as if I’d been to a real, live holiday party with
eggnog and lampshades and mistletoe and a conga line. Very few of our kids had turned their cameras
on. But we were connected. Truly connected.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-49279072048080950162020-05-29T23:46:00.001-07:002020-05-30T12:47:47.909-07:00Don’t Wait for February<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tWLqtgWmwZc/XtH-1SJr5PI/AAAAAAAABjQ/bOtWDvsgWzcw6ZUnwcj7k7ctYrGOh-MnQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200207_133329_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tWLqtgWmwZc/XtH-1SJr5PI/AAAAAAAABjQ/bOtWDvsgWzcw6ZUnwcj7k7ctYrGOh-MnQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200207_133329_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">My fellow Well-Meaning
White Lady teachers out there…there are so damn many of us, it’s downright
embarrassing. Isn’t it? The best of us recognize how marinated in white
privilege we are, no matter who we voted for, no matter what the percentage of
pesticide-free organic produce filling up our reusable shopping bags.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">That’s…a start, I guess.
But even in our awkward state of alliance, we kind of suck. The high-achieving Hermiones
among us miss the point completely, tripping over each other to earn the most
house points for woke-ness. And don’t even get me started on the Mean Girls
among us who’ve managed to weaponize anti-racism against each other – couching
pettiness in equity jargon to get the edge in an argument, looking for weakness
everywhere but the mirror. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">We speak in terms of
“gaps,” and how to “close” them, rarely if ever acknowledging that the
so-called achievement gap itself is a cultural construction. It’s not random.
Somebody had to decide what counts as “achievement” in the first place.
Somebody had to decide what tools we were going to use to measure said
achievement. Somebody – despite piles of research that quantifies
teacher-student relationships and student voice as crucial for equitable
success – <i>somebody</i> helps us teachers feel justified in pushing those
things aside because “There’s just so much to cover!” to get our students ready
for those achievement-measuring tests. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And somebody – in the
name of providing The Best educators for public school students – decided that you
can’t get through the door without a battery of expensive degrees, internships,
and piles of standardized tests. Somebody put up locked gates instead of
windows. Those of us who got in are smart, talented, and passionate…but those
qualities alone wouldn’t have gotten us anywhere. We needed money and time and
more money – we needed privilege, in other words – to truly unlock those gates.
And here we are, disproportionately white. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Many of us are grappling
with how to be anti-racist while knowing that we got here in the first place through
a labyrinth of racist systems – and we continue to run through the hamster
wheels of inherently racist systems that built our city and our state and our
entire nation and the demographics of every Seattle school. Folks…it’s messed
up. And I won’t attempt to resolve it here beyond acknowledging the stark, messed-up,
racist reality of it all. There’s no way to reconcile or justify the cognitive
dissonance and inequities that got us here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">But…here we are anyway.
And what now? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know, man. I’m
no expert. But here are a few little baby steps toward anti-racist practice
that I think we white teachers can take:</span><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Let’s stop telling our
students of color how to feel about…anything. If they want to exclaim that
George Washington was racist, let’s engage that, or at least give them room to
rant it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Let’s lean in to
tangents and off-topic questions. If we don’t know, let’s be honest about that
and maybe model how to find an answer, or have an answer ready for them the
next day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Let’s make a point of
speaking respectfully to and about their parents and grandparents – to the students </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">and</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">
when we’re talking with colleagues.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Let’s own our mistakes
and apologize to our students with sincerity and grace.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Let’s acknowledge when
things are terrible, and that we care. “Yes, I did hear about that lady with
the dog in Central Park. Isn’t in awful?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Let’s really work as
hard as we can to NEVER flipping be that <a href="https://www.npr.org/2020/05/26/862838384/an-avid-birder-talks-about-a-conflict-in-central-park-he-taped-and-went-viral" target="_blank">lady</a> with the dog in Central Park. I’m
looking at you, Nextdoor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">And speaking of
Nextdoor, let’s also work hard to not be <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=NIMBY" target="_blank">NIMBYs</a>. Our ancestors either stole
this land from indigenous people or benefitted from the co-option of that land.
I think we can all put on our big girl pants and be okay with some new building
that’s going to block our view of downtown and bring in more renters.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Let’s spend a lot of
careful, intentional time planning our lessons for <a href="https://blacklivesmatteratschool.com/" target="_blank">Black Lives Matter at School: Week of Action</a>. And if our school doesn’t participate in that…let’s
advocate for participating in it next year. </span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Let’s not wait for MLK’s
birthday and Black History Month to put this stuff at the forefront. The <a href="https://www.zinnedproject.org/" target="_blank">resources</a> are there. It is completely possible to put intentional anti-racist focus into all subjects, all lessons. Because we
can’t afford to wait until February. </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Please don’t wait for February.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-32664593358775929452020-05-04T18:55:00.001-07:002020-05-04T18:57:46.779-07:00Pedagogy of a Plague<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JKJfugKvzeI/XrDD2M60a5I/AAAAAAAABh8/5wuxSXe6p208X6FZ694YhXHSIZQA9uLkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IG_teachin02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="214" data-original-width="380" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JKJfugKvzeI/XrDD2M60a5I/AAAAAAAABh8/5wuxSXe6p208X6FZ694YhXHSIZQA9uLkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IG_teachin02.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Me, kind of not sucking at distance-teaching...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’ve been wanting to write about this for weeks,
but it’s been impossible to settle on one particular way to feel about teaching
in the midst of a pandemic. Ultimately, I guess, I don’t <i>have</i> any one
particular way to feel about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There are moments of success, connecting in real
ways with families and students over the phone or video chat or whatever. I
kind of LOVE creating video lessons, like to the point where I’m tweaking out
on it a little. I’m not saying they’re any good. I’m just saying I love this
shiny new tool in my toolbox and I will now build 50 different dilapidated birdhouses
in a variety of shapes and colors because TEACHING!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And there are moments of struggle and fail. Many
of them. Trying to teach myself how to schedule a video IEP meeting on
Microsoft Teams had me flat on my back in grown-ass-lady tantrum mode a few weeks ago. And, as much
as I love making video lessons, I dread doing “live” shit. My “live” shit </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">is weak, sparse, redundant, and not super-well
attended. I hope to balls it’s not part of our performance evaluation this year,
because holy moly, is all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But the sharpest and most persistent stick in my
side is this: I still can’t seem to find the cognitive balance between the
voices that want so much <i>more </i>teachy-teaching from us (administrators,
mayors, state officials, newspaper columnists, lawyers, tiger parents, etc.)
and the voices that want so much <i>less</i> (parents, generally). The closest
consensus between all of these voices seems to be “NO NOT LIKE THAT!” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6h4k1wq-A44/XrDEuoDClDI/AAAAAAAABiI/eSqaz1DzH38Y9BLvHJVIt-wSvKWxsnzyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Westneat2.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="644" height="191" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6h4k1wq-A44/XrDEuoDClDI/AAAAAAAABiI/eSqaz1DzH38Y9BLvHJVIt-wSvKWxsnzyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/Westneat2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LR4s0TZ4d6c/XrDEumfvdrI/AAAAAAAABiM/MPS85A-TMpsQuz1fveysSXSEoCHwW2iXwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/twitterkaren.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="256" data-original-width="485" height="210" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LR4s0TZ4d6c/XrDEumfvdrI/AAAAAAAABiM/MPS85A-TMpsQuz1fveysSXSEoCHwW2iXwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/twitterkaren.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Last week I got super salty about a McSweeney’s
</span><a href="https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/emails-from-my-childrens-school-before-8-00-am-during-the-covid-19-crisis" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;" target="_blank">article</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">, of all things, that mercilessly exposed the sad fact that we classroom
teachers kind of suck at </span><s style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">digital marketing</s><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> distance learning. It’s almost
as if most of us have had no training or practice in the field. It’s almost as
if we’re using clunky technology that makes a grrrl really lean in to those tech skills she acquired growing up on the farm in the 80’s, twisting the TV’s
rabbit-ear antennae to hear and see MASH through the static. We’re doing the
best we can with the flimsy-ass tools we’ve got, trying to calibrate our skill
set to parameters that just don’t fit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The crankiest part of me wants to ask…. “And for
what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Because is any of this actually helping? Or is our hard work and Apollo-13ing basically just…performative? Expected of us? Defensive, even, against the
many, many detractors of public education and its teachers? Does anyone who
might truly benefit from our work even <i>want</i> us jumping through all these
flaming hoops?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We’ve done a lot of good, meaningful work, too. I’m
proud of us for keeping our students fed, and for how we’re providing families
with books and laptops and various and sundry gap-narrowing devices. That’s
essential work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But this so-called “continuous learning” rollout…I
mean…What even <i>was</i> school in the first place that we’re scrambling so
hard to maintain its status quo? What do “grade level standards” even mean when
people are dying of plague-on-crack and class inequities are blazingly exposed
like never before? What am I even doing when I reach out to a family that I
know has been hit hard by all this COVID mess and I'm all like “Good news, dude.
Phonics lessons!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, yeah. I get it. I’m disappointed in us, too.
I wish I could do more. When the schools first closed I saw it as this
tremendous opportunity to revitalize what public education even means. We were
free! We could keep what was working and toss the rest; help our students
follow their passions and start a whole new public education revolution!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The thing is…I was tired. So were my students.
Any attempt at psyching them up for the revolution left them kind of shrugging
and asking for a nice, safe, predictable worksheet. I’d be lying to say I wasn’t
relieved. I’m too weary for revolution right now, folks. Maybe another day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, for now, I wake up every morning, down a pot
of coffee, and twitch and tweak my way through this brave new world of
digitizing the status quo. It’s not good, and it’s not bad. But, you know. What
is? All of us have strengths and weaknesses, and now we get to see them play
out through the filter of a global pandemic, hopefully learning some new skills
along the way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">No easy answers. But I guess I can think of worse ways to spend a plague.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-11914003528393944412020-04-03T15:51:00.001-07:002020-04-03T15:51:56.868-07:00Sidelines<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4rqOs6gGRbQ/Xoe5l_3WuoI/AAAAAAAABgo/co3q4zNx1kQEr0t9kIcKiET-aCzxBG5eQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/chadwick.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="679" height="250" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4rqOs6gGRbQ/Xoe5l_3WuoI/AAAAAAAABgo/co3q4zNx1kQEr0t9kIcKiET-aCzxBG5eQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/chadwick.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<i>Art by Gregg Chadwick</i><br />
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This might be a shameful thing to admit, but I will say it: I’m
glad to be safe. I feel guilty. And I feel sorry. But I also feel safe and glad.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was so much about
teaching middle school that was hurting, it’s hard to even know where to begin.
So I guess I’ll begin with the parts that have been good: my students, their
spirit, <i>our</i> spirit, the pure thrill of innovation and bursts of success
where you least expect it. Their joy and humor. Their sharp, incisive wit.
Their love. How we all come together around whatever obstacles are in our path
that particular day. Just how they come into the room and everything falls into
perfect, chaotic sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But there’s a fair
amount of fear there, too. And anger. And powerlessness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Outside of my own
classroom, there is no room for all the space I take up…even when I make myself
small, squeezing my too-large body through the tightly packed chairs at staff
meetings in the library, squeezing my too-large voice back into my throat. There
are facial expressions I’ve learned not to make, empathy I’ve learned not to
feel, and a bottomless well of words I can’t say without the grown-ups side-eyeing
each other, glancing anxiously at the clock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There are broken things
everywhere that I am not supposed to notice or try to fix. There is a piece of
my voice that no longer makes any sound. Counterintuition is the new intuition.
There are families who would have loved me and stood by my side back in the
early Floor Pie days who <i>hate</i> me now, scolding and shaming across IEP
meeting tables. There are speeding buses everywhere, ready for someone to throw
you under. And there is <i>always</i> someone to throw you under. Bonus points
if you trusted them enough to be within those throwing arms’ reach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There is sexism so baked-in
that I buy into it myself. “We need more male teachers.” There is rape culture
that I haven’t been allowed to call rape culture. “The <i>teacher</i> creates
the culture in the classroom.” There have been braying jokes about girls and
female colleagues and <i>myself</i> that I wasn’t allowed to take seriously. “He’s
just a baby.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That summer, five years
ago, the school district HR person had laughed patronizingly when I’d called in
the midst of a disappointing job search. He’d all but patted my head when I
said “I want to work in an elementary school” as if I’d said “I want to be a
princess.” He steered me toward middle school instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I tried so hard to be
happy about it. I worked so hard to bring the spirit and joy I found in working
with younger students to this darker, scarier space. I searched for the good,
and I truly <i>did</i> find a wealth of good. I’ve connected with so many
students and families. I’ve learned so much from incredibly talented colleagues.
I’ve even been able to make significant positive differences now and again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Still…there’s fear.
There’s anger. There’s defeat and a sense of powerlessness. There are ruthless,
narrow cracks and corridors to navigate. Even before the quarantine, I knew it
was starting to break me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Working from home is not
a vacation. It’s a whole new job – new technology, new challenges to calibrate for
social equity, the pedagogy of distance learning, and plenty of raised angry voices
telling us (1) how much we’re failing our students by not providing enough
lessons, and/or (2) how unfairly we are overwhelming our families with all
these relentless lessons. I’m plenty busy. I’m just a lot less broken than I
used to feel. I’m safe, surrounded by my kids and cats and husband, and even though this plague might kill us all before
next year, these last few weeks have felt like the strangest of blessings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Honestly, I don’t feel as
guilty about that as people probably want me to feel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We public school
teachers were supposed to be rushing into the burning buildings next week,
saving the city by providing childcare for the folks who are <i>actually</i>
saving the city. First they asked for volunteers. Then they made it mandatory. Then
the union stepped in, and now they’re at least trying to make some sense of it –
working out safety measures, hazard pay, a generally less behind-the-scenes
shady approach to the whole endeavor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Providing childcare won’t
be mandatory for us teachers now. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there
who hate us for that, but honestly, it shouldn’t be. You don’t want your child
in the care of someone who’s being forced to be there under duress. Just trust
me on that. You don’t. Honestly, you don’t even want your child in the care of some
well-meaning non-ECE professional. But I know most of the world just can’t see
it that way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For example, in a letter
to our school superintendent last week, our mayor said this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">[T]his is an emergency where our community needs
help now. No one can stand on the sidelines. Every organization and every
person has a new job description: do what is needed. The well-being of our
children is the responsibility of us all, but it is the core mission of our
public schools.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And, okay. She’s not
wrong. These are unprecedented times and each of us has a duty to bring our
best to the situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But I don’t consider any
of what I’ve done these past five years – or now, or ever – equivalent to
standing on the sidelines. It feels so fundamentally hateful to even suggest it;
so irresponsible and so uniquely <i>Seattle</i> to guilt-trip vulnerable people
– who are, let’s face it, super-easy targets for this brand of shaming – into
harm’s way without so much as a mask or a thank-you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">How I wish that, instead
of shaming us tired and broken and PTSD’d teachers, that our city could find a
way to recruit an army of talented, dedicated, <i>willing</i> early childhood
ed professionals to take this on, and (for the first time in the history of education)
pay them what they’re worth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The city may have just
realized that teachers and childcare providers are “essential,” too, but we’ve
known it all along. We’ve been fighting and hurting and holding everything up
with every last shred of our strength<i> all along</i>. Maybe I’ll offer my childcare
services once things make a little more sense and the details have been sorted
out. For now, though, I need the littlest breath of peace and space to heal
while I figure out how to do my actual job under these extraordinary
circumstances. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I hope that’s enough. I’m
sorry if it isn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 164.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<i></i></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-2747157725791839542020-03-28T23:56:00.001-07:002020-03-29T00:00:28.206-07:00Last Days of the Old Normal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JOrQ_ofGB-g/XoBFHyCtSEI/AAAAAAAABgM/V2S5YdB2GjQYFjPpDjPdJ__Ex4Z0mmfigCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200311_171534%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1545" height="176" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JOrQ_ofGB-g/XoBFHyCtSEI/AAAAAAAABgM/V2S5YdB2GjQYFjPpDjPdJ__Ex4Z0mmfigCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200311_171534%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll admit it. I was
wrong in my last post, comparing our recent plague-times to the good old H1N1
scare of 2009. My goodness, what a simpler time it was TWENTY DAYS ago. So much
has happened since then.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">We were in this weird
limbo that weekend when I wrote that post. I’d just learned that a student’s
sibling had been hospitalized with a confirmed case. I wasn’t supposed to know,
but there it was. I knew. My 1<sup>st</sup> period class was already seated.
The bell had rung. And then a colleague came to the door to pick up the student’s
belongings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Discreetly, in the
hallway, grieving beneath a businesslike efficiency, she told me. Now she wouldn’t
have to bear that shock and sadness like a secret. We had each other’s back,
and the family’s back, too. But I wasn’t supposed to know. So I acted as if I
didn’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Deep cleaning was set to
happen over the weekend. All I could do was wipe down the desks with Clorox
wipes and check my messages, waiting for the doctor’s office to call me back.
They told me to call Public Health. Public Health told me to wash my hands and
wait to see if symptoms showed up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">That weekend felt like it
does when there’s a huge snowmageddon predicted that will supposedly shut down
the city, but you don’t see a single cloud in the sky. Ostensibly, everything
was still fine. We shopped for extra groceries just in case. But I planned my lessons
and worked on my IEPs because there was no way, <i>no way</i> the schools would
close. How would they possibly?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Monday, it was all the
students could talk about. Those who were still coming to school, that is. Every day for the past two weeks, my classes had
been growing smaller and smaller. Fewer and fewer teachers were coming to work.
There was news that two schools in our huge urban school district had closed –
one of them citing a similar level of exposure that our own school had experienced.
Still, we kept on going. I was proud to keep on going. The students who kept
showing up needed routine and caring adults now more than ever. I figured I would
keep showing up until they told me not to. I would NOT give in to Townspeople-of
-South-Park-level panic. I. Would. Not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Tuesday started out
normally enough. I woke up at the usual extra-early time to drive The Boy to
track practice in the dark. I sat up lazily, picked up my phone, scrolled
through social media, and clicked on a story about the situation in Italy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Italy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And somehow, everything
shifted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I didn’t consciously change
my mind about the seriousness of COVID-19. My mind just <i>changed</i>; its
floor giving way to a bottomless well of grieving clarity. I felt sick. Not the
sickness of a cold or flu…just a tidal wave of pure despair. I couldn’t move. I
could barely breathe. As soon as I’d arranged for a sick day and a sub, I fell into
a deep sleep filled with anxious dreams, not waking up until mid-afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And then…I got up. I
worked on IEPs. I wrote lesson plans. I read emails about how horrendously my 4<sup>th</sup>
period class had behaved for the sub and started working on a new seating
chart. I emailed my colleagues reassuring them that I was all better and would
be back at work t</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">he next day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wednesday, there were
fewer students than ever, full of questions and concerns about coronavirus. We
watched Governor Inslee speak during our Social Studies class. I answered their
questions as best I could. I invited them again and again to wash their hands
at the classroom sink. I gave my 4<sup>th</sup> period class the sternest of
lectures about how they’d behaved for my sub the day before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And then…the announcement came that schools were closing. None of us could believe it. The
students weren’t even happy, as I’d expected – just stunned. It didn’t feel
real. It couldn’t possibly be true. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">But there it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And here we are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">A new normal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s a normal I honestly
can’t get my head around to define. I’ve called and texted emailed and emailed
and texted and called, making sure everyone’s safe and sound. I’ve posted distance
learning activities and smiled from the bottom of my heart when I see my
students’ sweet little sentences. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5MLBmGYHZiw/XoBC4lM9mrI/AAAAAAAABfY/NAl2KY7bIqU3OmDG0svSq4_sgonF7G_-gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200312_103936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5MLBmGYHZiw/XoBC4lM9mrI/AAAAAAAABfY/NAl2KY7bIqU3OmDG0svSq4_sgonF7G_-gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200312_103936.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve watched the cherry tree in our front
yard go from cold bare branches to Laura-Ashley rose-colored buds to gloriously
full cotton-candy bloom.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-em9NCYcZ3nk/XoBDbrpT6ZI/AAAAAAAABfo/O9do4EHSN-snK13QR59MQRzjakX-L8kmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200319_140134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-em9NCYcZ3nk/XoBDbrpT6ZI/AAAAAAAABfo/O9do4EHSN-snK13QR59MQRzjakX-L8kmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200319_140134.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2D-vDJFUCWg/XoBDqojbjGI/AAAAAAAABf0/Tjy83xiFjkcyNd6ReXW-2fkGNz-xz3pnACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200323_103316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2D-vDJFUCWg/XoBDqojbjGI/AAAAAAAABf0/Tjy83xiFjkcyNd6ReXW-2fkGNz-xz3pnACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200323_103316.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I’ve fed the steller’s jays, who wait for me every
morning like my own special flock of chickens. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wNGGk782jto/XoBCnjPISxI/AAAAAAAABfM/RgtkivPF5HMXBaWF45rkD1FA6-2n3gjNACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200317_151845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wNGGk782jto/XoBCnjPISxI/AAAAAAAABfM/RgtkivPF5HMXBaWF45rkD1FA6-2n3gjNACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200317_151845.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve cancelled trips and
hit “refresh” over and over on Amazon, jockeying for a grocery-delivery time
slot. I’ve flailed in frustration trying to teach myself how to set up an IEP
meeting on Microsoft Teams. I’ve done yoga on the kitchen floor in between e-mail
pings from work. I’ve sat for hours with cats on my feet and shoulders. I’ve
let my hair grow wild and mermaid-tangled and free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HxfjGoi0RtE/XoBDhtNLcWI/AAAAAAAABfs/14wufAiWlE8__0_GtzQHNyJSmceoV5gzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/91026319_10216830593901807_4825387867201077248_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HxfjGoi0RtE/XoBDhtNLcWI/AAAAAAAABfs/14wufAiWlE8__0_GtzQHNyJSmceoV5gzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/91026319_10216830593901807_4825387867201077248_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve absolutely savored
all this extra time with my own kids, both of them teenagers now, so gorgeously
them<i>selves</i>. They talk non-stop about D&D and video games. They
binge-watch their shows and keep up with their schoolwork with minimum nagging.
The Boy practices guitar, Grrrl writes and draws. They come and go from their
rooms, making their own lunches but gathering as a family at dinner times. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve cried only once –
when I read about the high school principal in Brooklyn who died from this. Good
people are going to die. The helpers. The ones who put themselves in harm’s
way. I cried and then I picked up my phone and saw an opinion piece from the
Seattle Times criticizing us teachers for letting our students down. I cried a
whole lot more and stayed up all night delving into an audiobook to put it out
of my mind. I woke up with a killer migraine, took some meds, answered some emails,
had my first virtual team meeting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The next day, I made
enchiladas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. Black and I just ebb
and flow, loving each other, still, with an older, stoic love. We are family to
each other. We do what has to be done. We help each other, laugh with each
other, squabble when it’s time to order online groceries – a process I <i>love</i>
every bit as much as he detests. We move around each other like two old compatible
cats in this strange new day-to-dayness of our lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">What’s coming next, I
can’t begin to imagine. The Battle of Hogwarts? Who can say. But, just as
Hagrid said, a few books before that Battle of Hogwarts, “What’s coming will
come, and we’ll just have to meet it when it does.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Godspeed, my gentle
readers. Stay safe. Wash your hands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4fCnqjxxoko/XoBDXblhHsI/AAAAAAAABfk/DoESPCcPKk8dP-bXe32b-cD_ro7J6OQVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200320_152848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4fCnqjxxoko/XoBDXblhHsI/AAAAAAAABfk/DoESPCcPKk8dP-bXe32b-cD_ro7J6OQVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200320_152848.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-68688646757802339302020-03-08T14:09:00.001-07:002020-03-08T14:10:08.964-07:00Plague & Privilege<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QooXuz2yFvU/XmVe0YnSBtI/AAAAAAAABew/U_wvd9v5410B0awFaslQxKAQUGdgpMApQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/empty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="800" height="220" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QooXuz2yFvU/XmVe0YnSBtI/AAAAAAAABew/U_wvd9v5410B0awFaslQxKAQUGdgpMApQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/empty.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t mean to make
light of it. Or maybe I do. It all feels so familiar, is all. Remember swine
flu in 2009? Remember how people drove to other counties and stood in line for
hours with their kids for the vaccine?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Grrrl was one month away
from her 3<sup>rd</sup> birthday – just young enough to get her in under the
wire when a limited supply of the vaccine became available at our pediatrician’s
office. I felt a little silly showing up an hour early, but there was already a
line around the block. In November. In Seattle. During a phase when Grrrl had
some pretty serious opinions about never wearing a coat. Other parents were
smart and had one waiting in line while the other waited in the car with the
babies and toddlers. And they all had coffee. Why oh why had I not thought of
bringing coffee?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Meanwhile, Mr. Black had
already survived a confirmed case of that very swine flu two weeks earlier. He’d
quarantined himself in our bedroom and actually managed to not pass it along to
the rest of us. Still, my Grrrl and I hunkered down in the rain and waited for
the vaccine line to move, reading her favorite books and singing her favorite
songs, coat-less and coffee-less. We didn’t get swine flu. We didn’t even catch
colds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now my Grrrl is 13, and
she diplomatically asks if she can stay home from her Saturday activities. “Are
you worried about coronavirus?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, I’ve just had a bad
week,” she says stoically, and after some encouragement tells me that some
adult at school publicly called her out and scolded her for holding hands with
one of her friends in the hallway. She’s not outraged, or even angry. Just
quietly, deeply mortified. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">To make her feel better,
I shared some of my own stories from the week. It started with dumb jokes, of
course. Somebody coughs. Three other 8<sup>th</sup> graders yell and point “Aahhh! Coronavirus!” and it’s all fun and games until the anxious kid with seasonal
allergies won’t come to school anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The next time something
like that happens, it’s not a joke at all. A different anxious student is screaming
for real and demanding that student at her table stop sniffing (to be fair, it
is pretty gross). But the also-anxious sniffing student she’s screaming at is
crying. “It’s just phlegm. I don’t have coronavirus.” He happens to be Asian,
and he’s fed up in a way he doesn’t completely grasp after several days of this.
I intervene and manage to make it a little bit better. But the boy still cries on
and off for much of the day, and the girl hasn’t been back to school since.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At my yoga class, the
teacher asks us if we’re all working from home as much as possible. I’m
surprised to be the only one in the class who doesn’t answer with an
enthusiastic “YES.” When I say that I work in a middle school, so much about
them freezes. Not just their bodies, but their facial expressions. It’s like..they
have the presence of mind to <i>not</i> chase me from the room with pitchforks
and torches, but they haven’t perfected a replacement behavior for that impulse.
I joke about it on social media, but that look of frozen terror in those faces
is going to haunt me. There’s something very….<i>not</i> funny about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At school, the jokes
continue. We’re asked to present a lesson from our school nurse during homeroom
to curb the hysteria and channel all that anxious energy toward hand-washing. You're welcome:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MnycMbDpe2M" width="560"></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the hallway, students are joking “Let’s lick the doorknobs so they cancel
school!” There are reports of students fake-sneezing at people in Starbucks
because HILARIOUS. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">By Friday, well…shit gets
slightly more real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am almost supernaturally
calm, because this was inevitable. While the parents of our school’s Facebook
page start engaging in exactly the rhetoric one would expect of parents on a
school’s Facebook page, I wash my hands and discreetly message my doctor’s
office for next steps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Over the phone, a Public
Health nurse advises me to just keep swimming, but monitor for symptoms for the
next fourteen days. So that’s what I’ve been doing. Fever? Nope. Coughing? Nope.
Shortness of breath? Nope with a side order of nope sauce. Lately I’ve been
starting each morning by taking a big, luxurious breath of rich, creamy,
full-fat oxygen. I count my blessings. And I acknowledge the privileged space I
take up in this world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m honest with Grrrl
about all this, and I talk her through the likeliest scenarios. I assure her
that even in the worst-case one, the four of us will be safe and sound with our
health insurance, our paid sick days, our ability to purchase food and supplies
ahead of time, our access to technology at home, and our being in low-risk
groups to begin with. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My fears are for the people
who don’t have access to all of that. And my fears are for a society that is
elbowing them out of the way to snatch up the last bottle of hand sanitizer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-50539734245131464792020-02-14T22:52:00.000-08:002020-02-14T22:52:03.551-08:00My Vitriolic Valentine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sTtNgMyUTIc/XkeRSiEu-VI/AAAAAAAABds/Owtob5C-iVEHe9Ufb93WCMCVxwAwM5wJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Chang_DontTellMeWhattoDo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="881" height="181" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sTtNgMyUTIc/XkeRSiEu-VI/AAAAAAAABds/Owtob5C-iVEHe9Ufb93WCMCVxwAwM5wJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Chang_DontTellMeWhattoDo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">How do we know it’s that
bad? He sent me an email that was maybe an apology, or more likely one of those
“sorry you’re such a fruitcake” non-apologies, and I didn’t even read it. Instead,
I blurred my eyes out of focus so as not to accidentally ingest any possible
doubled-down toxicity as I clicked through all the necessary steps to send it
and any further attempts at contact directly to my Junk Mail folder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And even though it happens
to be Valentine’s Day, this has nothing to do with ghosting some bad old
boyfriend. No. I’m ghosting my son’s high school guidance counselor instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t care to share my
son’s business on here, but I do want to write about my own experience of the
fallout from my attempt at helping him sort out some things at school. I want
to share it because it was one of the more surreal moments in my 10 years of IEP
team meetings, and I need to air it out before it rots in my soul and hurts forever.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The last time something
like this happened, The Boy was 4 or 5 years old, still in preschool and undiagnosed.
Some preschool dad went full asshole on me on the playground. Screamed at me “I’m
sick of YOU, I’m sick of your KID! He should be kicked out of school!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rOY5OKgtRFY/XkeUXHhiVHI/AAAAAAAABeE/9bbhrepWayEzd3P_Or0QvVY5UuYeIqcBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/04c759ebdab68a693dc298c2fa990a82.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="175" data-original-width="175" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rOY5OKgtRFY/XkeUXHhiVHI/AAAAAAAABeE/9bbhrepWayEzd3P_Or0QvVY5UuYeIqcBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/04c759ebdab68a693dc298c2fa990a82.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I high-roaded it and
waited for an apology that never came. I heard through the grapevine that his
wife was “torn” – appalled by hubby’s bad behavior but super-proud of him for
standing up to, um, that autistic kid and his mom on a preschool playground. I
saw him years later at some kid’s birthday party and he actually tried to talk
to me as if nothing had happened. Ha. I saw him again at a high school open
house a few years ago and I actually moved seats so I wouldn’t have to see the
back of his big stupid head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There have been a lot of
awful moments between then and now on the ASD Road to Life in the Mainstream,
but that first moment is the one that can still bring bitter tears to my eyes
all these years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Today, though, I might
have to crown a new king of that particular domain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He didn’t like that I’d
emailed at night and then expected to hear back by late morning. He didn’t like
that I said I’d drop by the school that afternoon if I didn’t hear back. “Didn’t
like” is putting it mildly, though. He rhetorically tore me several new ones
today. Scolded. Talked over me. Scoffed and made these little high-pitched
laughing sounds. Kept on going even after I’d said “Please stop, you’re making
me uncomfortable.” I am not exaggerating any of this. And yes, I admit that my
whole email/drop-by strategy was on the obnoxious side, but the vitriol he
spewed in my general direction….he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hated</i>
me in that moment. Hated me for sending an obnoxious email when I was confused
and upset and worried about my kid. Hated me for showing up at that meeting
still upset and worried and confused. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He tried to explain how
busy teachers are. I told him I know that, because I am also a teacher. He told
me he was surprised to hear that I’m a teacher, because I don’t conduct myself
like a professional educator. He told me my email was bullying. The Boy was
sitting right there crying. I started crying too. Nevertheless, he persisted.
Eventually he had to leave for another meeting, and it was time for The Boy’s
dentist appointment anyway, and we left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yes. This all really
happened. I don’t believe it either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So. I didn’t curl up in
a ball and die like I wanted to. I cried in my car for maybe 30 minutes,
replied to the administrator’s apologetic email with a simple, straightforward
account of what had happened, gathered my wits about me, and drove to my own
school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My students had been
making valentines…little choppy pink and red hearts and scraps of pink and red
paper all over the floor. They were so excited about our upcoming mid-winter
break that they all joined in with the kid who makes fart noises and
fart-noised up the joint until I begged them to stop and a girl explained “Fart
noises are how you know we LOVE you, Ms. Floor Pie!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Still, in the pit of my
heart I kept hearing it. “You don’t conduct yourself like a professional
educator.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">When the kids went
joyfully home for the day, I cried all over again. A few colleagues have
reassured me that I’m not crazy and that I did not, in fact, deserve that level
of vitriol. But I’ve been at this game long enough to know that I’m never going
to change vitriolic minds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So, okay. I don’t need
to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But I also don’t need to
shut up about it.</span></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-7410599223361610752020-02-08T15:04:00.003-08:002020-02-08T15:04:54.806-08:00Never Not Broken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2FO8sbUzTxU/Xj8925A3vRI/AAAAAAAABdA/tlTyqxhACBwnCI85XoL6IUtZpn5hWTxfwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/wolves_crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="489" height="210" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2FO8sbUzTxU/Xj8925A3vRI/AAAAAAAABdA/tlTyqxhACBwnCI85XoL6IUtZpn5hWTxfwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/wolves_crop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Art by Emily Winfield Martin</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u>Part One: Love</u></b></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">What I hear is a very familiar outburst of “SHIT!” in a high-pitched child’s voice, trying out the power of that word. So familiar, in fact, that it barely registers at all except for the out-of-place surroundings.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">She’d made a mistake, knocked some things over, spilled the coffee. It’s pretty much the only reaction you could expect if it were water instead of coffee, my classroom filled with middle schoolers instead of a posh organic grocery store filled with posh organic shoppers. I am one of them in many ways: Prius in the parking lot, well-crafted fingerless mittens on my hands, and the money to pay for a mini-cart filled with fresh organic oranges and cookies and grapes.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But in just as many ways, I am not one of them at all. I don’t look up or even grimace when she hollers “SHIT!” and spills the coffee. I don’t freeze up until I hear the stern man’s voice in response: “Go. Now. Without your coffee. GO!”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I only look when she strides right past me out the door, not a child but a grown woman, striding out the door and down the sidewalk screaming “FUUUUUCK! AAAHHHHHH!” like it’s just another Thursday at my job, except there’s no staff of loving adults who will graciously head her off; no quiet counselor’s office for her to take deep breaths and plunge her hands into some kinetic sand; no one to bring her a granola bar and ask her if she’s ready to try again.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In the posh organic grocery store, there is only nervous laughter and commiseration among the staff and shoppers. If they were my students, we’d unpack it. I’d insist on grace and respect for the person who is struggling, but I’d make a space for the others to share their feelings about it. We’d share stories about the times when we got angry and lost it. We’d even reminisce about the time when <em>I</em> got angry and lost it. (“You were SO MAD, Ms. Floor Pie! We thought you were gonna quit that day!” So did I, children. But I felt much better after I took a break and came back when I was calm.) And then I’d remind them that we’re not robots and that we all experience anger and frustration. It’s what we do next that counts. And we’d make a plan for how to welcome the student back in when they were ready.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But it’s a grocery store, not my classroom, so I just keep rattling my mini-cart up and down the aisles, taking the deep breaths I wish I could have coached that woman to take and feeling pretty certain it wouldn’t have done a damn bit of good anyway. People say it all the time. We’re doing them a disservice. What about the Real World? What will they do then, when there’s no kinetic sand and no breaks in the counselor’s office and no granola bars and only a cold world of consequences? What then?</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Sorry about that interruption, ma’am,” says the manager when I pause by the La Croix’s to decide on a flavor. He looks like a younger, more earnest Ron Swanson. He probably thinks I look so shell-shocked because somebody yelled “SHIT” in my favorite posh organic grocery store.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m supposed to tell him it’s okay, but I can’t find the words. So instead I just blurt, “I work with mentally ill children.”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">This is a pretty big exaggeration, but not entirely untrue. Not to mention rhetorically effective. The flash in his eyes.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">So I keep blurting, motioning to the fruit and cookies in my cart. “All of this food is for them. They’re having their Writers Celebration today and every single one of them, even the ones who hate school the most and always refuse to do work…every single one of them wrote a story.”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He nods, maybe wondering what my point is. There’s no real need to keep blurting, but there I go anyway. “And I’m so PROUD of them, but I’m so worried about them, too. That woman sounded just like some of my students when they get angry, and I feel like I just saw how the rest of the world will see them when they grow up…and I know that no matter how hard I work every day and how much progress they make, there’s really nothing I can do to…to keep <em>that</em> from happening to them.”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And then, because I can read true empathy on his face, and because I’m pretty sure he cares but has no clue what to actually say, I add “But I know you have a job to do and a store to run. I understand.” And truly, I did.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Thank you,” was all he said. But he really meant it.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Y2rNFfXY_8/Xj892-tILCI/AAAAAAAABdI/5K-vxKAII_oVULxr84xdY7SayVMssgq_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/ShesLostControl_crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="569" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Y2rNFfXY_8/Xj892-tILCI/AAAAAAAABdI/5K-vxKAII_oVULxr84xdY7SayVMssgq_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/ShesLostControl_crop.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><i>Art by Emily Winfield Martin</i></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b><u>Part Two: Hate</u></b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Weeks later, during a particularly wonderful but also particularly challenging school year, I’m still pondering that episode. I’d meant to write it up as a Christmas-themed blog post, but something stopped me. Maybe I didn’t want to put a false glow on something that, in fact, is not as glowingly simple as that story makes it appear.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Weeks later, in fact, I found myself crying slow, calm, steady tears in a movie theater by myself on a Thursday afternoon instead of in my classroom, where I should have been.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was at the movies because my principal had sent me home for the day.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My principal sent me home for the day because I’d straight-up lost it in her office, sobbing and sobbing because one of my students, in his disability-manifested anger, had ranted at me in the hallway in a particularly sexist and rape-culture tone, and because he’d recruited another of my students to join in, both of them braying the joyless laughter of white men reclaiming their power.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was crying because several female colleagues I love and trust did most assuredly NOT have my back on it, in fact high-roaded and blamed me for it. (“He’s just a baby,” one of them is reported to have said in a department meeting the next day.)</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was crying because this is not the first time something like that has happened.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was crying because every time it happens, the message is “Floor Pie, you’re just too sensitive. You need a therapist. You need to get your shit together on your own time.”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was crying because, as rotten as it feels when stuff like this happens, I absolutely do <u>NOT</u> <u>want</u> to quit this job. I can’t keep myself from it. It’s the only thing I’m this supernaturally good at. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m worthy of taking up my privileged space in this world. I’m called to it. I love it even when I hate it. I couldn’t quit it if I tried.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7oZLMrGgvnY/Xj892_BD-hI/AAAAAAAABdE/14rVeYxoCh0qgtSkLbCwKIktJpIUeKHewCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/octopus_crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="481" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7oZLMrGgvnY/Xj892_BD-hI/AAAAAAAABdE/14rVeYxoCh0qgtSkLbCwKIktJpIUeKHewCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/octopus_crop.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i>Art by Emily Winfield Martin</i></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b><u>Part Three: Resolve</u></b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">This story doesn’t necessarily have a happy ending, and neither does this work. I came to it with passion and ferocity, but that doesn’t mean I get to be the heroine of the narrative. And, like I tell my students, I’m not just some right-doing robot. I get hurt and blow up too, just like they do. And when that happens, I take a break, maybe curse in the privacy of my own home instead of posh grocery stores and classrooms. I cry soundlessly in the back rows of movie theaters. Then I go home and watch TV with my kids, plan little vacations, order Indian food with extra samosas. I talk it through and through and through with my husband who tries to make me feel better by saying things like “Well, you work in public education. Public education is messed up.”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">This work breaks me. But…this work builds me. This work lets me feel hopeful in an increasingly hopeless world; it lets me feel like I am doing <em>something</em> helpful for the people most likely to be steamrolled under the emerging dictatorship we’re all living with because we can’t bring ourselves to die for the cause just yet.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">So, here I am. Hating what I love, loving what I hate, joyful and striving and so very, very tired. There are things I could do next. There are ways I could keep doing this but make the parts of it that suck at least suck less. There are good days, bad days, unmemorable days, and summer vacations. There are times – lots of times – when I feel connected to this world with benevolence and joy. There are times when I’m counting the days to the next school break. What’s next for me and this gloriously ridiculous career? One way or another, for better or for worse, it’s likely to be more of the same.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">That’s not a happy ending. But I suppose it’s a hopeful one.</span></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-87140425706037356062020-01-04T15:01:00.004-08:002020-01-04T15:33:33.570-08:00Heroic Toaster Oven<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2CxtMMoaodU/XhEfVKM-mhI/AAAAAAAABcE/qRjmMuMBPm0MN90qQapdDI0FnDaywaW5wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/NeverNotBroken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="191" data-original-width="265" height="229" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2CxtMMoaodU/XhEfVKM-mhI/AAAAAAAABcE/qRjmMuMBPm0MN90qQapdDI0FnDaywaW5wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/NeverNotBroken.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>The other day, our yoga teacher taught us about Akhilanda, a goddess whose name literally means Never Not Broken. Strangely apt.</i></div>
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">So, winter break
draws to a close and a new decade begins with an entire continent on fire; begins with
another country bombed by orders of a petulant impeachee; begins with children who
should be my students by now still caged and traumatized at the border, and my social
media feed is mad that not enough people know or care.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S9A7Ik8Q6TA/XhESbbSqkAI/AAAAAAAABbg/fehOqtS1I24K6gy8pZaPdvZODnt-UZVhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20180616_220825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S9A7Ik8Q6TA/XhESbbSqkAI/AAAAAAAABbg/fehOqtS1I24K6gy8pZaPdvZODnt-UZVhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/20180616_220825.jpg" width="150" /></span></a><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The social-media
shaming about our silence and complicity really stings, I’ll admit. I mean…I
still haven’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">done</i> anything about any
of it. Two summers ago I held up this sign at local rallies. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Every so often I
send little donations here or there. There’s a part of me that sees the news
and rages and dies inside, believing I should be out there burning shit down
instead of feeding the cats and taking down the Christmas tree. But here I am.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">It’s been nice having
two weeks off…not just from work, but from the whole swirling vortex of
humanity that is public middle school special education. It’s been nice to
clean my house, go to movies, eat full meals, and spend time with family and
friends like an actual human person. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">When I dive back in
on Monday, I won’t be sorry. I’ll simply enter a different dimension; switched
from ‘off’ to ‘on’; a swimming pool opening for Memorial Day weekend, busy and
flooded and serving its purpose. This is my purpose. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">And I don’t mean “this
is my purpose” in a grandiose way. I mean it simply. Functionally. Not
heroically. Less like Wonder Woman, more like…I don’t know, a toaster oven or
public transportation or something. A mundane and necessary miracle that’s
actually widely available and everyone’s gotten used to by now. I’m a toaster oven
that loves being a toaster oven because I AM A TOASTER OVEN. What else can I
be?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But, while we’re all
still in a New Year’s reflective state of mind, I’ll also add that this whole
business of becoming a special education teacher kind of </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">was</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> my own little ‘hero’s journey’ of the past decade. It started
with The Boy, who will be turning 16 this year and that part is no longer my
story to tell. Suffice it to say that through his story, I found my way in to
this chapter of my own. It </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">felt</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
heroic at the time. It felt like I’d saved my own kid from a burning building
and then went running back into that building to save as many others as I
could.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AL4RNBKGJcg/XhEV1uTffQI/AAAAAAAABb8/rUooYYXs9Q8EGWZkyAodJJgKAcJ4mP9bwCEwYBhgL/s1600/LunaSticker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">I believed in my
heart that I could work for and within that system without being coopted by it.
And…you know…I sort of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can</i>. But it
doesn’t look or feel anything like you might expect. It’s lonely. It’s strategic.
It’s political. It’s complicated. It's fraught with opportunities to fail. It’s just hard <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">work</i>. Hours upon hours of relentless work. There are folks who
would have read my blog and cheered me on back in the day who pretty much think
I suck now, or that my school does. One of my best friends and mentors used to
tease me about ‘siding with the oppressor.’ Meanwhile, among my
colleagues and administrators I am always and forever Luna Lovegood at the
Ravenclaw table. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quibbler</i>, anyone? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4aHV0AaYmDs/XhEgdpbuRmI/AAAAAAAABcQ/6aYKqFygQ5IXyQd2fjlZ2m4SCOJlcCJjACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/LunaThestral.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="617" height="178" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4aHV0AaYmDs/XhEgdpbuRmI/AAAAAAAABcQ/6aYKqFygQ5IXyQd2fjlZ2m4SCOJlcCJjACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/LunaThestral.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And so, between the sober
reality of being more toaster-oven than heroine and the even-more-sober reality
of our literal world being on fire/at war/doubling-and-tripling-down on the
intentional traumatizing of children at the border…I have to say…I still kind
of want the cape. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I want my little endeavors in my little corner of this doomed world to count for something, It <i>has</i> to mean more than just scrambling to stay afloat at a challenging job while Australia burns into the sea. E</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">ven (especially?) in the context of this post-45 apocalyptic terror storm we're all living in, I need to believe that the work I'm doing is somehow part of a solution. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I want this story – this 10+ years story that is the Floor Pie blog – to have an uplifting ending, and I want Tina Fey to play me in the movie version. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Basically, I just want to keep telling this
story like it’s a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">story</i>…not like the middle
class medium latte with a side order of compromises and Powerpoints that it
actually is. My being-a-toaster-oven notwithstanding, there truly are still loads
of good strong stories to tell. Maybe this year, some of them will find their
way to the pages.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Happy New Year.</span></div>
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-86684480724327223062019-04-08T14:16:00.002-07:002019-04-08T14:53:02.017-07:00Speak Up, Shut Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7U9jnf-i7Y/XKu413AMrMI/AAAAAAAABZU/UZLB-A3EasctU4icgHzuJufzPyNRsTqOACLcBGAs/s1600/E_WinfieldMartin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="713" data-original-width="570" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7U9jnf-i7Y/XKu413AMrMI/AAAAAAAABZU/UZLB-A3EasctU4icgHzuJufzPyNRsTqOACLcBGAs/s200/E_WinfieldMartin.jpg" width="159" /></a></div>
<i>Art by Emily Winfield Martin</i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Am
I on the autism spectrum myself? People have joked that <a href="http://floorpie05.blogspot.com/2015/01/apple-and-tree.html" target="_blank">I am</a>, behind my back
but supposedly with love. Did I really never talk when I was in preschool and early
elementary school? I know I did. At home I did, anyway. I was the Master of
Ceremonies, Kermit the Frog of the Muppet Show, ordering my little sisters
around. At school? I don’t know. I remember lots of people, teachers and
students alike, being concerned that I “didn’t talk.” This perplexed me. How
could I talk when no one was starting a conversation with me? What was I
supposed to do? Just, like…talk? To nobody? To anybody? It made no sense. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">But
all through school I was weird, weird, weird. Too bossy at home with my
sisters, too introverted everywhere else. There was a little success in being
funny; in making fun of myself before it occurred to anybody else. Now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> was a crowd pleaser. Making myself
the joke. Meanwhile I was studying the normal people and trying to learn how be
like them. Had it pretty well mastered just in time to go to college and be
sneered at by all the people who were cultivating weird. Again…it made no
sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Eventually
I figured out who and how I actually wanted to be, and life got good. I put the
weird years behind me, never fully believing I’d been particularly weird in the
first place. Even then, I blamed it on context. Normal old Berks County, PA not
knowing what to make of a girl who was sometimes funny and sometimes didn’t
even talk. Didn’t let the door hit me on the ass on the way out. Found my
people, found my friends, found my lovers, found this job and that, found my
way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">There
was a part of me that was always afraid it would show in up the gene pool,
though. And sure enough, <a href="http://floorpie05.blogspot.com/2009/02/and-sometimes-therell-be-sorrow.html" target="_blank">it did</a>…but not at all in the way I was expecting. For
there was The Boy in all his fierce and furious glory. Oh, he talked all right.
He was athletic and smart. And he was fearless, or so it seemed. I was so relieved
and proud. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Until….well.
We know this part of <a href="http://floorpie05.blogspot.com/2010/12/full-circle_05.html" target="_blank">the story</a>. The Boy’s on the autism spectrum, and having a
name for it ignited my own dormant superpowers, and I blasted my way <a href="http://floorpie05.blogspot.com/2014/05/school-work.html" target="_blank">back</a> into a
teaching career, running back into some figurative burning building to save
everyone else now that I’ve saved my own child and myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">You
know who hates that origin story? Administrators. Even the good ones. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Save</i> everyone? From a figurative <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">burning building</i>? I don’t know where
they all learned how to do this, but they all know how…they can somehow just switch
off their mirror neurons at will and become a vacuum devoid of any and all
social cues. I’ve seen it so much now, from my own son’s IEP meetings to casual
conversations with colleagues. You have to stay “positive,” where “positive” is
defined as “never critical of the school district in any capacity, ever.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Speak up. But also…shut up. Even my non verbal
social cues are too much. Too much nodding in sympathy, too much eyebrow
raising, validating some family’s narrative that could land us all in hot water
if we don’t watch out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">When
I was brand new, and working in a building where it never occurred to anybody
to see me as much of a threat, an angry mom showed up in the office during 3<sup>rd</sup>
period. The office called to tell me. They asked discretely if I wanted them to
call security. I said no. Instead, I asked them to send up someone to cover my
class and told them I was coming down. They <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">let</i>
me. I think they were just too surprised to know any better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">The
mom was there in the lobby, fierce and frothing. “Let’s get out of here,” I
said matter of factly, and told the receptionist I was going off campus. Again…they
let me. To this day I am amazed I got away with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">We
walked. It was a splendid autumn day in a fancy West Seattle neighborhood. Bright
blue sky, juicy yellow leaves splashed all over the lawns and sidewalks. I
offered to take her out for coffee. Stunned, she agreed. As we walked the few
blocks to the cute little neighborhood coffeehouse, I apologized for what had
been happening. I explained all the backstory. Explained which steps would be
in her and her son’s best interest. I told her all the things I liked about her
son. And I told her about my own son, and all the struggles we’d had in our
early days of having an IEP. She ordered a hot cider and I ordered a nice hot coffee
for myself, and we sipped and chatted. I was back in time to teach my 4<sup>th</sup>
period class. And although we had our ups and downs for the rest of her son’s
time at that school, she never, ever showed up at school ready to kick someone’s
ass again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">I’m
proud of that story, but I’m terrified to ever tell it to anyone I work with. I
was just following my instincts. Doing what I thought was right. My instincts
are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">good</i>, is the thing. At least…I think
they are? Hard to tell anymore. More often than not, my instincts tend to get
me in more trouble than an anxious little introvert can bear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">You’re
too quiet. Unless you’re too loud. You’re too much. And you’re definitely not
enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Last
year, a gen ed language arts teacher pulled me aside and said, with a mean-girl
smile on her lips “I think you’re confused.” She didn’t like how I’d been helping
the students with IEPs navigate their way through her assignment. I had a simple
explanation. I wanted to speak up. I started to explain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">But
the tears came. And nausea. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">I
excused myself to the nurse’s office. (It’s mighty nice working somewhere with a
nurse’s office.) By then I was pouring sweat and shaking. And the tears and the
tears the tears the tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">They
called the paramedics. My blood pressure was so high, they worried I might be
having a heart attack. Too much. Shut up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">I
cried until my teeth chattered. I shook. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">But
I wasn’t having a heart attack. Later, my doctor reassured me that I was at
extremely low risk of that particular problem. Panic attacks, though. That’s
another story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Aren’t
I so weird? Who has a panic attack just because some sorority girl teacher is
an asshole to you? Me, I guess. Go tell the people who think I’m on the autism
spectrum. They’ll find it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hilarious</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">It
was a year ago. Teachers in my district get three free visits to a therapist
per school year, so I used all three learning how to successfully breathe my
way out of an approaching panic attack. I haven’t had another one since then,
knock wood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">But
I’m hurting, my friends. I’m hurting and carrying all the internalized
otherness of my youth with me in the bottom of my gut after all these years. I
don’t know how to navigate the world like a “normal” person, and it scares me
so much. Speak up? Shut up? I never can get it right. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">A
high-up higher-up person sat me down recently, after a meeting that had the
potential to be awful but somehow hadn’t been…possibly because I’d kind of hit
it out of the park? She told me as much. A rare honor. Such a finely
articulated compliment, and from a revered administrator who rarely ever gives
them. All the things I’d done well. All the things I’d done right. All the good
things about me in general. There were some “but’s.” There were some pointers.
There was some heavily-veiled subtext, but I’ll never know what it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Still
and all…they see my worth. I mean…they see it to a point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">I
can’t shut up. Even when I know I’m supposed to. And lots of the time, I can’t
speak up, either. Not in a way that anyone will hear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">The
thing is, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> I’m good. I never
ever would have attempted a career in teaching middle school special ed if I
believed otherwise. I know deep in my heart that my very weirdness leaves a
deep and powerful well of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">awesome</i>
within me, to the point where I kind of can’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> be awesome. I’m just…awfully sloppy about it most of the time,
and it’s hard for the other grown-ups to see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">The
kids, though? They see. And I guess that’s the only possible closure this story
can have. So I’ll just keep trying; navigating this path because I’m viciously
compelled to, sometimes awesome, sometimes awkward, sometimes just plain tired.
It doesn’t always have to make sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-50677689892795132102019-01-19T23:51:00.003-08:002019-01-20T10:00:45.476-08:00Periods<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zg4qk3Iz56w/XEQmVB8uCjI/AAAAAAAABXg/O5u5ywj8WmI2dErZ2oy_ztvCvUtSDoCQACLcBGAs/s1600/12342503_10205450149997822_7267677603834000795_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zg4qk3Iz56w/XEQmVB8uCjI/AAAAAAAABXg/O5u5ywj8WmI2dErZ2oy_ztvCvUtSDoCQACLcBGAs/s320/12342503_10205450149997822_7267677603834000795_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Threshold<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">I
understand Spanish but I can barely speak it. They crack up when I catch them
teasing a classmate about her “novio,” and want to see what else I’ll
understand, trying to out-do each other with nastier and nastier words, gleefully
watching my face to see if I know what they’re saying. There's an adorable joyfulness about it, like when a 4-year-old chases you. These dudes were 4 not that long ago. It's heartwarming to see it in their faces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Elopement<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">The
trick with Student P is to not go looking for him. “I’m good at hiding,” he’ll
say proudly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once he realizes that I’m
not looking for him, though, he’ll always come and find me. Wide-eyed and
joyful, hates work but loves his teachers, refuses to write until he finally
sits down and cranks out something that could be the opening act for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Being John Malkovich</i>. He is open and raw
and soft and scarred; no posturing whatsoever; almost terrifyingly childlike
and amiable. There’s a raging darkness in there that I wouldn’t dare attempt to
peer into. But I sense it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Prep<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">I
didn’t plan this conversation. I didn’t even know I was going to see Student Q
today. He’s not my student anymore. I barely recognize him anymore. But we’re
happy to see each other and I want to say something, so it falls right out of
my heart. “I’m worried about you.” And his face…just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">opens</i>. It’s as if there’d been a hard shell around it, and I can
see it just crack right open. We just talk. It’s a really good talk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Every
single person I tell this to is quick to remind me “It’s not going to do
anything” and “You can’t change him” and “You can’t fix this” and I flipping </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">know</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> that. I know that. But I don’t care.
We had the conversation. We saw each other. We heard each other. That can be
enough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">IEP
Meeting<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Right
in the middle of this wacky week, I’m taking a half-day and signing on the “Parent/Guardian”
line of an IEP signature page instead of my usual“Special Education Teacher”
line. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">I
never take The Boy to school, so I miss the turn and don’t know where to park. I
don’t know which door to go in, either, and he is bemused by my incompetence. He’s
taller than me now, and we’re walking down this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">high school</i> hallway past all these teenagers and posters for the
winter dance. Ten years ago I was having an existential crisis over <a href="http://floorpie05.blogspot.com/2009/02/and-sometimes-therell-be-sorrow.html" target="_blank">whether</a> he
would be ready for kindergarten in the fall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">It’s
a good meeting. He’s having a good year. But I still feel winded and broken at
the end of it. If I’m really honest with myself, at the core I guess I still
don’t see his deficits as deficits. And I’m deeply sad and sorry that the rest
of the world does and always will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">I
wish things could be different. But he’s happy and settling into adolescence
without too much friction. He’s growing so fast and far beyond my reach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Class<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Student
R brings his colors to school but can’t quite bring himself to wear them. Folds
and unfolds the crisp new bandanna on the table in front of him with a heartbreaking childlike reverence, like it’s his new dinosaur or train or
science kit. People higher up than me have known for longer, they have more
power, more knowledge, and they are trying to do what they can. So I just keep teaching. Teach the
whole class, then sit with him and teach it all over again, and he’ll get out
the work and try. He’ll usually try.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">Department
Meeting<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 285.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">It’s
my turn to share a “positive” about my week. And even though this week has been
beyond ridiculous, I know exactly what to say. Through all this storm and
stress, I feel love for my students and trust in myself. And it strikes us all,
the moment I say it, how simultaneously huge and insignificant that is. Love and trust. Half
full. Half gone. But half full.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-71709741334816756352018-10-02T00:01:00.004-07:002018-10-02T00:09:22.400-07:00The Monday After<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--IkYz4fjNzM/W7MYq7BSXQI/AAAAAAAABWk/lHk1M87Bw4Q7eFscZ9_Mm-Mb3mti67m4gCLcBGAs/s1600/Corazon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="236" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--IkYz4fjNzM/W7MYq7BSXQI/AAAAAAAABWk/lHk1M87Bw4Q7eFscZ9_Mm-Mb3mti67m4gCLcBGAs/s1600/Corazon.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Art by Emily Winfield Martin</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Thank
God it’s Monday. Bless this gloriously rainy, drippy Monday piled to the ceiling
with work to do from the moment I set foot in the building. </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">GO.</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">How
was my weekend? I watched too much news and felt too many feelings. SAME, responds
Everyone, but there’s no time to commiserate and that in itself is a blessing. I
roll right into my easy morning class and then the sweet luxury of striding through
the misty rain to one of the portable classrooms to check on my students with their
newly hired teacher, then back up to my classroom because some of her students
still need new composition notebooks, back through the mist to the portables
and then “I’m sorry Ms. Floor Pie, I need one too, I forgot” and back again,
rain and stairs and stairs and rain and thank <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God</i> for the healing task of going and getting. Moving. Helping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
it’s a meltdown upstairs, an easy one, a plain old chocolate-and-vanilla case of some
hapless student teacher earnestly breaking the kid’s brain by casually
remarking “The answer in the book must be wrong, then.” I miss the entirety of
my prep period and go straight into my next class and the next one and the next
one. Cold oatmeal from breakfast for lunch, forgot to photocopy the vocab
baseline assessment so I’ve got to improvise something else, unexpected new
student with rumblings of soon-to-be-discovered triggers, the yellow Theraputty
got misplaced somewhere in the classroom, (but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">where</i>?), holy moly the sixth graders actually remember a LOT of
what they learned in elementary school, and the momentum of this day is a
blessing, is all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
not even thinking about the news.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Except
I’m kind of constantly thinking about it, too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
students have all gone home and I’m face down across several desks. PTSD, I shrug,
because I’m blessed enough to have the kind of co-workers who get that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
don’t work with kids who hit and bite anymore. Haven’t in years. When I couldn’t
sleep last night, though, when anxiety was water-sliding the course of my
nervous system and crashing into sadness, the thought popped into my head
involuntarily. I hope some kid punches me right in the face tomorrow. I don’t
know why I thought it. Or hoped it. Maybe just yearning for proof and validation,
at last, that all this hurting is real.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s
like….it’s not that I ever <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">liked</i>
getting hit or bitten,” I find myself explaining to a colleague. “It’s just
that there was always something so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">satisfying</i>
about that bruise. It’s like, you can <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">see</i>
it, so you know then that someone really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i>
hurt you. You can trust yourself that it happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
gasps and nods. “YES. Because you finally have proof!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Solidarity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
make you feel like it’s your fault. The thing is, when you’re the adult and
they’re the child, it actually kind of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i>
your fault. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So
we share tips for how we’re teaching about consent whenever we can, in the
cracks, in the hallways, any unstructured time, really. She’s braver than me,
and straight-up calls it consent. Drills her kiddos on it like it’s going to be
part of state testing in the spring. “Do you have her consent? Did you give
consent for that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She’s
also been telling her grrls “You don’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have</i>
to be okay with that to be cool,” They roll their eyes, because of course they
do. But more often than not, she sees relief on their faces when they hear it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-2524835351406087852018-09-16T02:37:00.000-07:002018-09-16T23:38:09.671-07:00Advisory<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UU3owAbdoaU/W54jmcyHldI/AAAAAAAABUg/9RYAj6hwx2QaZQJTRSIIDfz6gpA5OpOjgCLcBGAs/s1600/_485626_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="1100" height="105" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UU3owAbdoaU/W54jmcyHldI/AAAAAAAABUg/9RYAj6hwx2QaZQJTRSIIDfz6gpA5OpOjgCLcBGAs/s400/_485626_orig.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><i>Emily Winfield Martin</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">On the 5</span><sup style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> day of school, he
told us he didn’t have a math class. I thought he was joking when I saw the sly
but sheepish gleam in his eye and a full grin on his usually-so-serious face.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Lucky!” yelled the other kids. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“You must be really smart!” someone
theorized. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Wait, REALLY?” I asked, scrambling to
enter the right password on my laptop to access a copy of his schedule. Sure enough,
no math class. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I just thought…that maybe not everybody
gets to have math in middle school,” he reasoned earnestly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I hastily composed an email to the
registrar, who hand-delivered his corrected schedule within minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On the 7<sup>th</sup> day of school, he
looked up from his math homework to watch me trouble-shooting a classmate’s
malfunctioning school-district-issued iPad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I wish I still had my iPad. I had one just
like that one at my old school,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Wait, REALLY?” I asked, scrambling to enter
the right password on my laptop to access his elementary school teacher’s
contact information. Sure enough, his own school-district-issued iPad had been
lost in the shuffle. She’d found it just that morning and would arrange for a younger
sibling to bring it home to him that afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The next day at school, he showed me a
game on his iPad. I keep the classroom open during lunch for my students who
prefer a quieter alternative to the cafeteria. We were peacefully munching and
chatting sporadically, mostly focused on our books and phones (and teacher
email). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Can I show you my game?” he asked, and
there it was, something mathematical, all multiples of 4 sliding hither and
thither, speedy but pleasantly rote. He told me proudly that his mom had some
incredibly high score at this game. Maybe somebody somewhere had a higher score,
but she was the only person he knew with a score that high. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I would ask her what her strategy was,”
he pondered matter-of-factly, “but I can’t. Because she had cancer. And she
died.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Wait.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">"Really?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">His eyes were on his game. “Uh-huh.” The fours and eights and sixteens
and thirty-twos slid and multiplied on his screen. Without looking up or
speaking, his classmates tuned in almost instinctively, in stoic solidarity. Kids
are braver than adults like that. They just know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I didn't have to scramble for the right words. I know them well enough. So I said all the kind and correct things one
says and asked the questions one asks, and he answered succinctly, but sincere. “Can
you make sure that nobody comes and takes me out of class to talk about it?” was
his one request. “They kept doing that at my old school. I didn’t even know who
the people were.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Oh, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hate</i>
when they do that,” a classmate sympathized, and all the others chorused their
agreement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I reassured him that no one would do that
to him here. I started to explain what resources are available at our school if
he ever did want to talk to someone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Can I go back to showing you my game?” he
said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">So we did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-3897200393374058632018-09-09T09:16:00.000-07:002018-09-16T00:49:59.373-07:00Area of Growth<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T1I484RNBJs/W5VGgW-jzcI/AAAAAAAABUM/UozLr-agnkshvRT8IRbmedaY0DxzrKbIQCEwYBhgL/s1600/teachy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="352" data-original-width="450" height="250" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T1I484RNBJs/W5VGgW-jzcI/AAAAAAAABUM/UozLr-agnkshvRT8IRbmedaY0DxzrKbIQCEwYBhgL/s320/teachy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">All the seats were filled. Okay, so there were ten
students instead of thirty-six. Ten students with a teacher-provided snack on
their desks. Ten students having a conversation with each other and with me
instead of just listening to me talk or filling in worksheets. I get it. My
classroom doesn’t look like your classroom. So maybe you just didn’t realize
that I was in the middle of teaching a class.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I was every bit as hungry and tired and
squirrely and eager-to-get-to-lunch as those ten students, so maybe that’s why
I made that stressed-out face when you asked me when my lunch is. I didn’t mean
to. It’s just that I could infer from the key details of your non-verbal social
cues (and from my background knowledge of years-long precedent) that when
someone asks “When is your lunch period?” like that, it’s never a prelude to an
invitation to have a nice lunch with them. No, I inferred, this was an
invitation to address a problem during my lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I started talking before I remembered to
take the edge out of my voice. I get it. I don’t like when people are unhappy
to see me either. I felt sorry the minute I saw the disappointment in your face
and I could barely get the words out. I apologized and made a subtle gesture toward
the students, who were growing squirrelier with every second my attention was
on you instead of them, and I said what I felt should have been obvious. “I’m teaching
a class right now.” If it makes you feel any better, I felt weirdly ashamed for
setting that boundary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Which is why, when we passed each other in
the hallway during our lunch, I apologized and made time to listen right then. How
I wish I’d at least grabbed my yogurt from the fridge and had a few spoonfuls
first. Maybe then, when you’d told me you have all these students with IEPs and
no information I wouldn’t have countered “Yes you do!” and somewhat defensively
itemized the volumes of information I’d spent the last few days preparing for
teachers, pushing off my own lesson planning to the very last minute. I know I
shouldn’t have sounded so annoyed. But I do appreciate you acknowledging that
you’d received that info and just hadn’t had time to read it yet. So I softened
my tone and asked which student, which period, what sort of behaviors are you
seeing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I shouldn’t have phrased the question that
way. Ask someone for a short-list of behaviors, they’re going to give you a
short-list of behaviors. Some teachers know how to present a concise and
neutral 3-point bulleted list in special ed jargon, liberally peppering in the
student’s strengths and all the things they adore about them. But sometimes,
like today, there’s still hurt in the teacher’s voice when they recount the
students’ behaviors with loaded descriptors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The Boy’s first grade teacher used to do
that. Every day, that same beleaguered look on her face; that nasty “you just dinged
my car in the parking lot!” tone in her voice as she ticked off the day’s list
of grievances. We were a few months away from a diagnosis (they still called it
Aspergers back then). This landscape of Seattle Public Schools was strange and
new to me, only two years in. I knew what I knew from all the co-op preschool
parent ed classes I’d taken, but the teachers and administrators and even the
counselor at this school knew none of it, and they’d look at me blankly when I
felt like I was making so much sense. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RN6liSXnTOA/W5U91rsYnvI/AAAAAAAABTw/5a6C-k3P9SIuoTADkniFaijdHNeRqhD4gCLcBGAs/s1600/z_n_me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RN6liSXnTOA/W5U91rsYnvI/AAAAAAAABTw/5a6C-k3P9SIuoTADkniFaijdHNeRqhD4gCLcBGAs/s320/z_n_me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Meanwhile, I stood helplessly apart while
their current of ignorance swept my little boy further and further away from
his wild strengths and raw talent, tighter and tighter into the grip of its
narrow definitions. He broke out in hives and snapped his teeth and ticked all
kinds of nervous ticks we’d never seen before. And still, they blamed him. And
me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Many years of working in this school
district and an M.Ed. in special education later, I know now what I deeply
suspected then – I was right. They were wrong. They were wrong in the most
hurtful way that an educator <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can</i> be
wrong. They were wrong in a way that could have damaged that child if I hadn’t
intervened and changed his course. I got him out of that toxic situation, and
then I got myself back into teaching so that I could do the same for as many
kids like him as I could reach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And here we are. Turns out that path isn’t
quite so simple. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I know what I’m supposed to do. Don’t
scare the teachers. Don’t make them feel like they can’t come to you for help.
They want to learn, they want to do it right and be good at this. They need you
to teach them how. You must treat them the way you treat your own students –
meeting them where they’re at with strength-based interventions and lots of
positive praise; five positives for every time you accidentally let it show on
your face that they’ve just said something blood-curdlingly ignorant and hurtful.
Because you’re the teacher. You roll with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I want to be good at navigating all that,
because I know it’s the only paved road to success. Maybe right now it feels
like I’m just swallowing indignity after indignity when all I want to do is
bellow at people like Chris Farley’s “IN A VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER!” guy. I have
to hope that it won’t always be this hard and won’t always feel this way. I
have to trust that there is room in my scarred and shell-shocked heart to grow;
to deflect the pain of ignorance’s impact but still absorb its good intentions;
to find and nurture whatever elements of strength are in there, desperate to grow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">So. I can forgive myself for not being quite
there yet. If I can manage to also forgive colleagues for not being there quite
yet…maybe then I might finally become the unstoppable force of sheer awesome
that I’ve always yearned to be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 168.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But first I’m going to have a cup of
coffee. Small steps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-20376755023131052332018-06-30T07:52:00.000-07:002018-06-30T08:03:43.066-07:00Floor Pie FLASHBACK! - Elitist, My Ass (September 2008)<div class="separator" style="background-color: transparent; clear: both; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<i>“You know the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull? Lipstick!" – Sarah Palin</i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
As the applause thundered throughout Palin’s speech, I felt like I was back in 7th or 8th grade again, trying to will myself invisible or at least tune out the taunts of my classmates. Ah, the Dawn Wiener years. And even though I’ve done my best to repress it, the knee-jerk physical memory of that time catches in my throat whenever I hear a crowd jeering in its victorious rejection of people like myself.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zW86bEg9VI4/WzebLglXhGI/AAAAAAAABTQ/Kt3EUvsLQ6014bOIWT2OdSv4oAO27YLlwCLcBGAs/s1600/Dawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 16px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="182" data-original-width="322" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zW86bEg9VI4/WzebLglXhGI/AAAAAAAABTQ/Kt3EUvsLQ6014bOIWT2OdSv4oAO27YLlwCLcBGAs/s320/Dawn.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
That pit bull line reminds me of a former co-worker who once described, with great self-righteous indignation, how she’d grabbed a woman by the shirt and slammed her into a wall because the woman had accidentally bumped into my co-worker’s small daughter at a crowded Wall E. Weasels. It also reminds me of my friends whose toddler bit an older child at a crowded children’s museum (through his jeans, no broken skin). The victim’s parents not only refused to accept their many sincere apologies and concern, they screamed at my friends and followed the family all through the museum, followed the mom into the ladies room, verbally harassing the parents, demanding their phone number and medical records, threatening the museum with legal action. </div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
That, to me, is what a pit bull in lipstick looks like. Timid types like myself tend to reject these folks in the first place, and it’s not about elitism. We’re just not big on being a target for someone’s displaced aggression.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Earlier this year, my state was dismissed by a political surrogate as a bunch of “latte-sipping elitists.” And while I was tempted to just scoff it off, I had to think about it. I do drink lattes, after all. Maybe they were onto something. I’ve recently questioned my long-held rejection of my <a href="http://floorpieosa.blogspot.com/2009/06/pennsylvania-we-never-found-july-2008.html">small Pennsylvania home town,</a> realizing at last that adolescence is a train wreck no matter where you grow up, no matter how privileged you may be. As a shy, quirky, anxious girl in glasses, I would have been harassed no matter what.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
But it’s a hard thing to unlearn. A small town upbringing may not have harmed me, but it really didn’t do me many favors, either. Teachers espoused anti-Semitism, homophobia, and creationism with impunity. A classmate’s tragic suicide was co-opted into an insensitive war-on-drugs circus. One American history teacher had us convinced that brutality to slaves was a myth. His reasoning? “Slaves were property, like a car. You wouldn’t beat up your car, so slave owners didn’t beat up their slaves.” Oh. Okay. But we believed it. </div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
My parents were Vietnam-war-protesting Jimmy Carter supporters, bleeding hearts through and through. But the racism, the homophobia, even the sexism of the community still managed to seep into my sensibilities. It wasn’t that I consciously believed it. There wasn’t a speck of hate in my heart. But I’d learned to be complicit to fit in. In a town where supporting Walter Mondale made you some kind of a radical, I accepted without question that an all-white, straight community was Us, and assumed I’d never actually intersect with Them.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
And thus, young Floor Pie packed up her paisley sweaters and went off to a small east coast liberal arts college.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
I’d been an outcast nerd for so long. The Dawn Wiener years ended with junior high, largely because our high school tracking program finally separated me from my detractors. The meanest ones would still taunt if our paths crossed in the hallways, but we were in different classes and different lunch periods now.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
But even as I was making friends and getting involved in theater and music, I was still quite the asexual oddball. I’d yearned for college, and when I finally got there it seemed better than I ever could have imagined. I met people who were creative and proud to be smart. They liked their high school English teachers too! They didn’t like Ronald Reagan either! They introduced me to Kate Bush, Suzanne Vega, and Robert Smith. I’d found my people!</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Until I blew it. My farm-fresh ignorance cringingly revealed itself over the first few days, and the cool kids dropped me like the nerd I’d always been. There was a trip to Manhattan I wasn’t invited to, but found out about afterwards. There were times when I’d see them see me coming and they’d hastily duck out. Some were catty, some ignored me, some tried to be patient and still let me hang out, some were downright mean. After a few weeks, I retreated without making too big an ass of myself.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
So there I was: rejected by both sides of the culture war, settling among the mainstream 80’s girls on my freshman floor to be their loveable token weirdo. It was more frustrating than painful, really. I could see exactly how my ignorance and over-anxious enthusiasm had caused me to forfeit a place at their table. Crappy as they’d treated me, I still identified with their intelligence, their pop culture, their whip-smart senses of humor and irony, their politics. These things spoke to who I truly felt I was at heart. </div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Thankfully, my social life, social skills, and political savvy improved over time. I found a happier niche with a merry band of alternageeks, and those years still have a special place in my nostalgia file. But I never reconnected with that first group of would-be friends. Sometimes I imagine they’re out there stumbling upon my Facebook profile or my listing in the alumni magazine. I can just hear them scoffing smugly to see that I’ve ended up a stay-at-home mom. “Sounds about right. That’s about all she was cut out for.”</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Yeah, maybe I’m still bitter. But I haven’t let the bitterness trip up my (oh, forgive me) journey of self-discovery. I could have taken this college experience and parlayed it into the disgust for “liberals” or “elitists” that so many seem to share. But that wasn’t it for me. I had to suck it up, hang back a little and just listen and learn. Hate the arrogance, not the ideals. It would have been nice if those guys had given me more of a chance. But at least I still gave myself a chance.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Okay, we’re venturing into Afterschool Special territory, here. Turn the ship around.</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-25042946517468142942018-02-24T13:24:00.004-08:002018-10-02T23:39:37.136-07:00Smart and Kind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zmof_hJfhbk/WpHW0-l3MXI/AAAAAAAABPw/8_a4s-b-0PU-yWVChSBsLPEhnj_QPPycwCLcBGAs/s1600/208_stick%2B%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zmof_hJfhbk/WpHW0-l3MXI/AAAAAAAABPw/8_a4s-b-0PU-yWVChSBsLPEhnj_QPPycwCLcBGAs/s320/208_stick%2B%25282%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m
not so scared for my boy anymore. Not like I used to be. Not compared to, say,
his final year of preschool, when I anxiously devoured Dave Cullen’s excellent
book </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Columbine</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> in a mad and desperate
search for clues and validation, all because he’d been knocking over the same
kid’s blocks at preschool every day. Knocking over another 4-year-old’s
blocks…mass shooting…turns out I was missing a few key pieces in there, but
honestly the way our (entirely white) preschool community was responding to The
Boy’s raging glimmers of as-yet-undiagnosed ASD, I can’t really fault myself
for the fears.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Years
later, as a middle school special ed teacher, I realize now exactly how
predictably common that response is to students with disabilities like ASD,
ADHD, and PTSD. It’s chilling how often I’ve heard the term “sociopath” tossed
around lightly and wildly inaccurately by teachers and even a speech therapist
once (not at my current school, thankfully). And every year there’s at least
one anxious mom or grandma or dad of a kid who’s basically </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">fine</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> who comes to meet with me before the school year begins, shell-shocked
and sometimes tearful and a little bit broken from having been made to believe
that their child was fundamentally Bad. Sometimes the students show up
believing it about themselves, too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And,
to be sure, my students can get up to some shenanigans. I don’t excuse these
behaviors and neither do their families. We hold these students to high
expectations, and we teach and re-teach and coach and practice. We chart their
progress and celebrate their successes. We hold them accountable with love. Years
ago, one of my boys made me so angry, and I said, with such fierceness in my
voice “You are SMART and KIND!” Instantly he stopped fronting and slumped into
tears…maybe because he’d needed so badly to hear it. Maybe because he knew at
the root of it all, it was true.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">In
the wake of yet another devastating school shooting, I’m seeing a lot of
conversations unfold out of our fears. It’s necessary and productive, of
course, and I hope some good will come of it. But there’s a new little thread
in the collective narrative that has me a feeling a bit uneasy – friendly admonitions
here and there in my social media feeds encouraging us to raise boys who, you
know, </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">won’t</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> grow up to be mass
shooters. Raise your sons to be sweet. Raise your sons to be gentle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Oh.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And,
you know, on behalf of my fellow mothers of boys with ASD, ADHD, and PTSD, I’ll
just say </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">thanks for that</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. It might
never have occurred to us to worry and fear and shame ourselves over our sons’ behaviors
if it weren’t for the steady voice of concerned townspeople waving their
pitchforks of good intentions. Remember when they used to blame autism on
“refrigerator mothers”? Honestly, why even bother trying to scientifically
disprove such bullshit at this point; our culture is so determined to
oversimplify and seek a cartoon villain to pin all the scary things in the
world onto.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eVXTfia32TU/WpHbHVPpl7I/AAAAAAAABQQ/e2zQ5Yp_htEDVjKTe7MRJUwjLurEYxt_ACLcBGAs/s1600/cuffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="462" height="247" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eVXTfia32TU/WpHbHVPpl7I/AAAAAAAABQQ/e2zQ5Yp_htEDVjKTe7MRJUwjLurEYxt_ACLcBGAs/s320/cuffs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Look.
If you’ve never had to sit in a school administrator’s office wearing the Cone
of Shame with your sobbing child while they tell you all about some
unbelievably ridiculous thing he did or said that you absolutely DID NOT raise him
to do or say…well, have a gold star and a cookie and take a moment to be
grateful for your good fortune. I promise you, gentle readers, I never set out
to raise a boy who would knock over somebody else’s blocks any more than you
did. No one does. I don’t excuse it, and I have absolutely held us both
accountable for his transgressions over the years. But it’s a rocky road, two
steps forward and seven steps back always, constantly. The judgment and
speculation about our boys and the likelihood that they’ll go fabulously wrong?
It’s not helping.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">There
have been supportive teachers in my son’s life who have seen and embraced his
strengths and used that as a starting point for their work with him. And there
have been teachers so preoccupied with vigilance for some imaginary evil that
they’ve mistakenly seen it in him. Guess which teachers helped him make the
most progress?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">This
whole business of “Holy moly, be careful you don’t accidentally raise a school
shooter” is a slippery slope, my friends. We are setting ourselves up to hurt
and to fail. Worst of all, we’re setting ourselves up to look at our young men
with suspicion and fear and maybe even self-fulfilling prophecies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Yes,
by all means, report incidents of concern to your school principals or even the
police. But once you’ve reported it, let the administrators and police officers
do their jobs and don’t pile on with fear and judgment. The young man you
reported hasn’t done anything yet. Maybe it’s not too late for him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And
when it comes to the young man’s mother, please trust – you’re just going to
have to trust, because she might not give you the satisfaction of showing it
publicly – that this hypothetical young man’s hypothetical mother’s heart is
already broken into pieces upon pieces, because she was quite sure that she DID
raise him to be gentle and sweet. Consider the possibility that being gentle
and sweet and seeking a way out of one’s misery through horrific violence might
not be mutually exclusive. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Life
is complicated. Human beings are </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">complicated</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">.
There’s no such thing as good guys and bad guys. We’re all of us just a pile of
wounded humanity swinging from branch to branch, trying like hell to survive
and save face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Like
I said to my student all those years ago: He – </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">whoever</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “he” is – is smart and kind. If we’re going to be vigilant
about anything, let’s be vigilant for the goodness in our boys instead of the
evil. SEE the sweetness in them in the first place. Nurture it. Model it in
your response to them, even when their behaviors upset you. Isolating troubled
children and pushing them further and further away is probably the most
dangerous thing we can do. Let’s pull them in while we still can. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<br />Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-88087906730674311762018-01-17T23:30:00.001-08:002018-01-17T23:31:09.023-08:00Meanwhile, 20 Years Ago...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g8CgUxmzdoc/WmBMb-IjhRI/AAAAAAAABPU/KqCh_odg8hY_0pbt1aw4sNdIZ6SopMg5wCLcBGAs/s1600/couple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="713" data-original-width="570" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g8CgUxmzdoc/WmBMb-IjhRI/AAAAAAAABPU/KqCh_odg8hY_0pbt1aw4sNdIZ6SopMg5wCLcBGAs/s200/couple.jpg" width="159" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
January 18, 1998</div>
<br />
Well...what can I say? Work is Melrose Place, but it's not all bad. I met someone new at Erin's party. I'm happy of course, but it's hard to be too optimistic...the way these things keep exploding in my face. Person A is detached. Person B is long gone. This guy is somewhere in between the two - well-read, educated, cool, <i>Simpsons</i> fan, and so forth. He's very attractive in that way I love...slim, boy-like, exquisite hands. We shared an orange and touched fingers. We held hands and kissed goodnight. Man, I can't even focus on <i>what</i> to feel. I don't want to worry or be cynical. So...we'll see.<br />
<br />
It occurred to me that maybe I run into these problems because I misrepresent myself as One Who Is Too Cool to Care...when in fact, nothing would make me happier than the right guy sewed to my couch/bed. One who spends the weekend and emails me six times a day. Sure, that would suck with the wrong guy. But with the right one...<br />
<br />
Anyhow, I don't have any answers. I just thought I might try to <i>not</i> misrepresent myself this time and see if it makes any difference. Probably won't, but it's worth a shot. I <i>like</i> this guy. I like <i>all</i> of them...why does it always end in huge disappointment? Oh well...half-full/half-empty, right? Tune in next week and hope for the best.Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-67814716591626167322017-12-09T19:37:00.001-08:002017-12-10T08:14:38.187-08:00Not You. (But Also a Little Bit You.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D8t1Era-TsM/WiylxEZB-XI/AAAAAAAABOI/6Xcsz6SPXnorNGswjdrM360WNKJOOxp9ACLcBGAs/s1600/summer-interior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="795" data-original-width="956" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D8t1Era-TsM/WiylxEZB-XI/AAAAAAAABOI/6Xcsz6SPXnorNGswjdrM360WNKJOOxp9ACLcBGAs/s320/summer-interior.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The #MeToo reckoning of the last few weeks has turned out to
be quite the unexpected rabbit hole for
me. Somewhere between Louis C.K. and Al Franken, I had to pull over and think
about whether I really wanted to pursue that particular rabbit any further down.
Because I was pretty sure that at the bottom of it, all I’d find would be a blazing
inferno of my own suppressed rage, ignited long ago by the twigs and sparks of little indignities
swallowed over years upon years. How could I face such a fire without
completely succumbing, becoming endlessly and unforgivingly <i>one</i> with the rage? I had IEPs to write,
lessons to plan, emerging young men to guide with love and empathy away from
the crimes of the fathers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know how rescuers will blindfold
horses to lead them safely out of a barn fire so the horses don’t freak out and run
away? That’s what I’ve been trying to do for myself. I didn’t want to see that
fire. I just wanted to get myself safely outside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the fire, my friends, it is everywhere. Let’s go ahead
and extend that metaphor and recall the relentlessly smoky skies that hung over
my beloved Seattle for most of last summer. That’s realistically closer to
where I’m at. I’ve
only endured the low-level “something’s not quite right here” hazy effects of devastating
fires raging elsewhere. Nothing traumatic, thankfully. Just low, slow, steady
doses of toxic smoke and muted sunlight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know. Boring stuff, like when they stop being friends
with you as soon as they know that sex is definitely not going to happen. When
they devour your respect and admiration like a platter of holiday party
appetizers, but will disappear for months at a time if you dare utter even the
slightest criticism against them. When you can’t even go to the
store or have an office job or walk across campus without being evaluated – are
you worthy of their desire? (And if you’re not, then how <i>dare</i> you even show up being so unenjoyable to look at.) When we're heartily encouraged to see our disappointments through the filter of “He’s Just Not That Into You.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or…when they send you texts admiring your writing, confess
to a boyish crush and then, before you've even had a chance to smile and ponder over it, request nudes and declare
“You think too much” when you say no. Turns out they admire an awful lot of
writers besides you and have quite the collection of boyish crushes. PS – those
other crushes are hotter/more talented/just overall better than you. PPS –
would you spy on some of those crushes on social media for him since they’ve all
blocked him? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Boring, everyday stuff, really. Who <i>hasn’t</i> had some version of any of those things happen, like, this <i>week</i>? But I’ve been so afraid to say any
of it out loud. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For one thing, saying it out loud is a sure way to end meaningful friendships that I’ve been laboring so attentively to
maintain. Not all of them, of course. Some of these guys (like the “send nudes” guy) can go jump in a lake.
Others, though. In spite of their endless mountains of male angst bullshit, I
have loved them all so much that I’ve agreed to be complicit and breezy,
swallowing every last complaint so they don’t disappear in a puff of smoke.
Finally giving voice to all this? They’re already gone. I’ll miss them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saying it out loud makes me vulnerable to the obvious
criticism: WHY would I even bother with such friendships in the first place?
Hey. Okay. You got me. I like friendships with men. I still occasionally get sweet
crushes on men. I am attracted to men, and this is what being attracted to men <i>is</i>…so it’s kind of my fault for putting
on the football helmet and getting out on the field in the first place and then
“whining” that somebody pushed me in the mud.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saying it out loud makes me vulnerable to this criticism,
too: Hey Lady, maybe the problem is <i>you</i>,
with all your intensity and negativity and wanting people to like/respect you
as much as you like/respect them. Men have more important things to do than sit
around talking to you. Put out or go home. And either way, shut up about it or
else you’re “psycho.” (They love to call us psycho, don’t they?)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saying it out loud makes me vulnerable to the chorus of
female friends who stick up for these guys. There are more of them than not.
You know it. I know it. They’ll post on social media all day long about Louis
C.K., but wait until someone in their own friend group pulls something like
that. Then see how much they’ve got your back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, yeah. Now that I’ve pissed off and alienated pretty much
everybody, I’ll just say this: I loved our friendships. I’ve missed you when
you’ve been unofficially absent from my life with the faint promise of someday
coming back, and I’m going to miss you even more now that I’ve broken the
unspoken agreements and conveyed my disappointment and need so publicly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So…if you’re
so vain that you probably think this song is about you, please consider the following:
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(1) I don’t want or need your apology. I wanted you to never
do this stuff in the first place. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(2) I don’t need your explanations. But if you feel so
compelled, you can go ahead and try to explain yourself anyway. I know I haven’t told the
whole story here. I know I’ve only focused on the things that hurt my feelings
and lasted over the years. Tell me all about it if you must. I’ll read it. I’ll
listen. I’ll try to be fair.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(3) Think twice before posting outrage at the bad behavior
of celebrities and politicians on social media as if you are somehow superior
to these dudes. Maybe you didn’t do anything quite <i>that</i> bad. But you’re not so clean that you couldn’t use a good long
look in the mirror. Have you ever made a woman doubt her own logic, reasoning,
beauty, intelligence, or basic need for self-respect? Did you use the other
women who admire and adore you as ammunition against her when she tried to
argue? Have you worked as hard as she was working to maintain a friendship, or
did you just breeze in and out as it suited you, entirely on your terms? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know, just…think twice about all that. And
tread a little more lightly around that glass house. <o:p></o:p></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-43457443394733883212017-07-07T11:20:00.002-07:002018-09-16T00:48:07.315-07:00Surface<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B8xoRxjPp_Q/WV_P5sea6uI/AAAAAAAABMs/O-n6llc03CcmHycxgvj1FS2MjgNNFtMEgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1705_fb.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B8xoRxjPp_Q/WV_P5sea6uI/AAAAAAAABMs/O-n6llc03CcmHycxgvj1FS2MjgNNFtMEgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_1705_fb.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three things I’ve learned during my transition from special
education parent to special education teacher:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><!--[endif]--><b>My family’s journey, as painful and
soul-shattering as it was, is not even a little bit unique. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
This is the rule more than it is
the exception: A wily bright-eyed 5-year-old full of reckless intelligence and raw
spirit shows up for kindergarten and can’t make the cut. His sensibilities get
tweaked and twisted hither and thither, out come the behaviors, out come the
adults’ baggage as they respond to those behaviors, throw in a diagnosis and a few
dance numbers and in a year, give or take, the child is in a special ed program
– maybe a program specializing in emotional/behavioral disabilities (EBD),
maybe in a different school entirely. From there, it can get better or worse.
Or both, from year to year. There’s no school or system alone that will wholly
sustain a child. What matters, always, is how engaged and flexible and empathic
are the adults in the classroom. But children are resilient. They can and do
emotionally leapfrog a successful path across the adults who “get” them, sailing
safely over the ones who don’t. It’s true, people. One person absolutely <i>can</i> and <i>does</i> make a difference in this respect.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><!--[endif]--><b>The discrimination I always suspected when
I was just a parent is not only there; it is thriving and unapologetic.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
The stories I could tell. I think
what hurts most, though, is my own persistently naïve assumption that if you
just reason with people, they will see the light and say “Thank you very much
for the constructive criticism” and enroll in a series of trainings. Yeah. That
doesn’t happen. I don’t know what the actual correct answer is, but I have
learned the hard way that simply speaking up and shining a light in the dark
ugly corners is definitely NOT the way if you want to survive in this biz for
very long. But there are like-minded people here too, good people who’ve been at
this a lot longer than me and have learned some wise and stoic ways around and
through. Someday, I hope, I’ll find authenticity and effectiveness in
navigating the cracks as they have. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><!--[endif]--><b>My family’s experiences of 1 and 2 are the
5-star easy-peasy white privilege version.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Anything I’ve seen happen to white
children with ASD, ADHD, or trauma is a trip to Disneyland compared to what happens
to children of color with the same disabilities. <a href="http://www.seattletimes.com/education-lab/race-dramatically-skews-discipline-even-in-elementary-school/" target="_blank">Bias runs deep</a>. I don’t have
much more to say about that, because it’s not really my story to tell. But I’m constantly
working to learn and unlearn and, most of all, to listen. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A change is coming. My whole career thus far has been me in
the cracks, working simultaneously within and against The System to catch and
strengthen any of the kids who slipped down there. I have, for the most part,
found my strength in opposition. Standing by my students when they’ve been misunderstood
or unfairly punished. Amending behavior plans that were little more than a
laundry list of complaints about the student’s deficits. Empathizing with families,
hearing and validating their complaints, helping them find their own voice and
empowerment. I’ve kept my students company on those chairs outside the
principal’s office, sat by them under tables and in corners of the hallways, struggled
through inscrutable paper/pencil assignments with them, staffed “stay back”
rooms during field trips and school dances they weren’t allowed to attend. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now I’m moving on. A brand new school that’s opening in
the fall chose me, in part, <i>because</i>
of all these things I’ve done and stood for. This school aspires to be
different. Its leaders and staff are driven by similar passions and sense of
justice that drives me. Which means, in theory, anyway…no more cracks. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Welcome to the surface.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How very strange. Suddenly, instead of hunkering down and
finding sneaky ways to thrive within a system, I’m standing <i>with</i> and <i>for</i> a system in broad daylight. How intimidating, really, because what
if I’m terrible at it? What if all I really know how to do is fight? And then
the fight gets taken away and….well….all that’s left are my own little
shaky-legged inadequacies?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s the fear, anyway. And as fears go, I suppose the fear
of being terrible at teaching is a pretty easy fear to have. Because, let’s
face it, on some days we just <i>are</i>, and
it’s never the end of the world. Just, you know, keep swimming. Keep working.
Keep learning. Try new things. Try other new things. The Boy’s best teachers,
after all, are never the ones who are unyieldingly The Best. They’re the ones
who can flow and reflect and expand and absorb and change. As a parent on the
verge of enrolling my then-2<sup>nd</sup> grader in his very first special ed
program, I <a href="http://floorpie05.blogspot.com/2011/08/welcome-to-cracks.html" target="_blank">wrote</a>:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
But ultimately, what I want is
something you can’t really legislate. I just want autism to be accepted from
the ground up and build from there. And nobody officially does that. They
either have it in them or they don’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, you know. I have it in me, at least. This might not be
easy, but it just might be the best year yet. Onward.<o:p></o:p></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-65769430416726282442017-01-21T13:32:00.003-08:002018-09-16T00:48:07.324-07:00On This Day <div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cGcEZO1_8X0/WIPQkz_JfGI/AAAAAAAABKw/5hv_0OuuFBUJsMxBi0pNGqFh2vmgf6aTACLcB/s1600/20161109_095731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cGcEZO1_8X0/WIPQkz_JfGI/AAAAAAAABKw/5hv_0OuuFBUJsMxBi0pNGqFh2vmgf6aTACLcB/s320/20161109_095731.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
I didn’t think I would cry. Or that it would be my students,
some of the only people who’ve been keeping me sane and happy during these dark
and dangerous times, who would be the ones to tip the scales in the direction
of weep-fest. My 6<span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">th </span>graders, joyfully returning from a walk-out
organized by the neighboring high school to protest the dark and dangerous
times. My 6<span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">th</span> graders, bragging that they’d ditched the march and
gone to 7-11 instead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then immediately taking it back upon seeing the
disappointment on my face.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fcvaA7VSEJA/WIPQ4C20M9I/AAAAAAAABK0/IpzPtzcyFz0ojFrBo_BUbtyueRQq2WsDgCLcB/s1600/20170119_175254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fcvaA7VSEJA/WIPQ4C20M9I/AAAAAAAABK0/IpzPtzcyFz0ojFrBo_BUbtyueRQq2WsDgCLcB/s320/20170119_175254.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shouldn’t have been surprised, because OF COURSE they
ditched the march for 7-11, being basically children and all...children who no
longer get recess or much of anything beyond endless paper/pencil tasks and
ample opportunities to feel bad about themselves; children whose teachers pull
me aside in the hallway to scold me for being such a bad babysitter (where are
the consequences? how are they being held accountable?! ); children whose <s>case manager</s>
teacher is sitting motionless at her desk, staring into the computer screen
while the tears stream and stream and stream; children whose new president, the
one they were supposed to be protesting while they were sneaking off to 7-11,
is about to appoint a leader who doesn’t even want this teacher here protecting
them from 15-day suspensions and a grading system that punishes – sorry – <i>holds them accountable</i> – for their
disabilities.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re giving me a negative vibe, Ms. Floor Pie!” scolds a
student, not wanting to hear anything more about freedom equaling
responsibility, and storms out of my classroom to play with the other kids
cutting class in the hallway. And that’s the tipping point. Here come the water
works.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The principal shows up and is thankfully, surprisingly,
supportive. Looks into the kid’s face, the kid who’s surely going to give me
playful hell on Monday for calling the principal on him, but who still needs to
hear that principal say THIS teacher will fight for your education when no one
else will! And you want to mess with THIS teacher?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally I’m able to sniff and apologize. “I’m sorry you had
to see that. But now you know that teachers aren’t robots. We have feelings
too, and our feelings get hurt just the same as anyone else’s.” They get it.
Because kids, in general, are simply better human beings than adults are much
of the time.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6iJDUo_QwOY/WIPRT6LpJKI/AAAAAAAABLA/JAYMgZpw6eswGMQPZNcqoS556qryj2aFQCEw/s1600/20161109_170305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6iJDUo_QwOY/WIPRT6LpJKI/AAAAAAAABLA/JAYMgZpw6eswGMQPZNcqoS556qryj2aFQCEw/s320/20161109_170305.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Earlier that day, I’d spent my prep period on the phone with
the school psychologist who’s doing The Boy’s 3-year reevaluation. She’s beyond
amazing, this woman. The school psychologist I’ve been waiting for. She’s got
some harsh truths and concerns and hypotheses for me, but my Zod she sees the <i>nuance</i>, too. She sees what I’ve been seeing
all along, what I’ve tried to express to blank stares glancing anxiously at
their watches around too many conference room tables over the years. Not this
time. Even his classroom teachers have written complex, nuanced,
frank-but-strength-based whole <i>paragraphs</i>
about him in the drafted reevaluation. I’ve never seen anything like it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, as if to underscore the hilarious absurdity of my
work/life balance these days, my classroom door opens and in walk three of my
boys, my “high flyers” as we say in the biz, deep in conversation with each
other while I continue to talk to my son’s school psych as if nothing out of
the ordinary is happening. A moment later, an administrator comes in, radio in
hand, urging them to return to the cafeteria where they’re supposed to be. All
four of them vanish as quickly as they appeared. “Isn’t it great that they felt safe coming to
your classroom?” asks a colleague as we laugh about the absurd situation over a
small Special-Ed-Supporters-Only happy hour. Yes, I think. It is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We say our goodnights, I turn on my cell phone, and there it
is all over my social media feed like a bitter orange cherry on top, marching
into power to gleefully piss on my very livelihood and everything I’ve ever
cared deeply about. And I’m crying again, silent and stoic, seemingly endless
cascade of tears down my face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CQHlQ9CKP9c/WIPUWnR8s7I/AAAAAAAABLw/_-HEa7UgeBUiQLh_OKuA2HS_RyN5KFM6QCLcB/s1600/20170121_114248%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CQHlQ9CKP9c/WIPUWnR8s7I/AAAAAAAABLw/_-HEa7UgeBUiQLh_OKuA2HS_RyN5KFM6QCLcB/s320/20170121_114248%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
Today, though, my social media feed is all pink hats,
ferocity, and inspiration. Driving Little Grrl to her Japanese class this
morning, the streets of Seattle are packed with freedom fighters of all
descriptions, waiting at bus stops, walking, biking, gathering for group photos
before heading off to the march. And when I pick up my phone again it’s full of
texts from various pink-hatted family members – not just the ones who live in
DC but from all over the nation, taking a stand.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m finding this all incredibly encouraging as I plod
through my usual Saturday routine of trying to catch up on paperwork while
special education is still even a thing. And I’m reflecting on the brightest
moment of my teaching yesterday…first period, right after the principal’s
lengthy announcement detailing the rules for participating in the walk-out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The United States of America is still a free country,” I
told them. And even though they’re not supposed to get this information until 8<span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">th </span>grade, I drew the Three Branches of Government triangle on the board. “He’s not
the king,” I explained, to many students’ relief, and I wrote the names <a href="http://www.murray.senate.gov/public/" target="_blank">Patty Murray</a>, <a href="https://www.cantwell.senate.gov/" target="_blank">Maria Cantwell</a>, and <a href="https://jayapal.house.gov/" target="_blank">Pramila Jayapal</a> on the board under the “Congress”
point of the triangle. “You don’t have to be 18 to call and email these women,”
I said. “Tell them what YOU want from your country. It’s still your country,
too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I saw their faces brighten just a little.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pgz2QcHlunM/WIPSMw2X2pI/AAAAAAAABLM/A-3HrBiAYh0WUqvnkYqpEsWFQ0lAg_33ACLcB/s1600/IMG_6183%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pgz2QcHlunM/WIPSMw2X2pI/AAAAAAAABLM/A-3HrBiAYh0WUqvnkYqpEsWFQ0lAg_33ACLcB/s320/IMG_6183%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-18865251707677424872016-12-03T20:42:00.001-08:002018-10-02T23:38:49.082-07:00Colder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7BhY8c8IOb8/WEOZZMRMHMI/AAAAAAAABJc/P7D5TiQniJgAFaBRcWGWui5-fk7sq0CmQCLcB/s1600/IMG_3996_fp.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7BhY8c8IOb8/WEOZZMRMHMI/AAAAAAAABJc/P7D5TiQniJgAFaBRcWGWui5-fk7sq0CmQCLcB/s320/IMG_3996_fp.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
December gathers us in. It calls us out of the darkness,
back from our various endeavors; shepherds us safely home through rain-slicked
pitch dark streets at 4pm, through lines at the airports, through those last
few weeks of school. December calls for us to help, too. Bring coats and food.
Welcome them with love when they show up at my classroom door unscheduled,
pacing and frustrated, puzzling it out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cry a little on the inside but don’t scold when one of them,
through the sheer force of the his own anger and sorrow as he tells me the
story, absentmindedly forces and forces the window until the rusty old lock breaks
off and clunks unceremoniously to the floor, all rust and splintered wood.
People who force kids to say “I’m sorry” should watch their faces instead; watch
for the moment of impact before they remember to put their tough-guy personas
back on. “I…. I didn’t think it would break that easily.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t say “It’s all right” because, truthfully, it isn’t.
But my face betrays something too, maybe a child-like disappointment as earnest
and pure as his child-like shocked-at-his-own-strength remorse, and that look
between us is really all that’s needed. Later I find him and his buddies
joyfully helping the ladies in the office gather up bags of groceries to donate
to a local food bank, loading them into the school counselor’s car, students
and adults all eagerly buzzing about the prospect of snow this weekend.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
December huddles me in to Starbucks, not because I’m <i>that </i>much of a sucker for their marketing, but because a Christmas-decorated
Starbucks was the scene of one of the happiest moments in my life ever – where
13 years ago Mr. Black and I silently rode the hospital elevator down, solemn
and unspeakably joyful at once, gingerly holding a black and white ultrasound printout of
our little outer-space soon-to-be first baby. A boy, we’d learned only moments
ago. So before we went our separate ways to work, we sat near speechless in the
hospital Starbucks downstairs, gazing reverently at the first-ever picture of our
son, dreaming away under the opulent reds and greens.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lCnHRu3BsSk/WEOaXY95IZI/AAAAAAAABJk/ERhD1Y56b3oUORBhi4aTHV4NGpEB0oUWwCLcB/s1600/Starbucks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lCnHRu3BsSk/WEOaXY95IZI/AAAAAAAABJk/ERhD1Y56b3oUORBhi4aTHV4NGpEB0oUWwCLcB/s1600/Starbucks.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
December celebrates Little Grrl’s birth. Can’t take a chilly
walk through our neighborhood past the Christmas lights without remembering a
similar walk Mr. Black and I took almost 10 years ago, pausing to breeeeathe
through gut-splitting contractions amid all that merriment. As we hurried into
the hospital lobby trying to remember which was the right elevator, a
sparkly-white Christmas display caught my eye and filled me with a thread of
joy and anticipation through the pain. Santa Claus comes tonight. My parents
came, trimming the tree and taking 2-year-old The Boy on various holiday
excursions while baby and I huddled into a blissful nest made of holiday movies
and delicious meals from the preschool families. </div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jkiSMBeVnco/WEOcBEn9a7I/AAAAAAAABJs/9DoBnETsn6QgLfwNJzI1JXP7ykLl-esFACLcB/s1600/Mother_and_Child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jkiSMBeVnco/WEOcBEn9a7I/AAAAAAAABJs/9DoBnETsn6QgLfwNJzI1JXP7ykLl-esFACLcB/s320/Mother_and_Child.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
December sometimes has a Christmas miracle or two up its
sleeve. One year, for example, our aging cat came down with a serious kidney
infection. “Eric says it could be fatal,” The Boy, age 7, stoically informed us
as he and Mr. Black strode into the emergency vet’s waiting room straight from
school. Second grader or not, Eric wasn’t wrong. We cancelled our holiday
travel plans and stocked up on subcutaneous fluids and a needle disposal bin
along with candy canes and presents. We brought our Tiny Tim of a kitty home
from the animal hospital and steeled ourselves for heartbreak. But, in true
Very Special Christmas Episode spirit, the kitty pulled through almost
completely. God bless us, every one. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wzFLRJ1Lits/WEOcqBIVcAI/AAAAAAAABJw/u0DUKv1u3FMGyWFnKqqsNDHGkPdpvbNdACLcB/s1600/MeeLoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wzFLRJ1Lits/WEOcqBIVcAI/AAAAAAAABJw/u0DUKv1u3FMGyWFnKqqsNDHGkPdpvbNdACLcB/s320/MeeLoo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
December gathers us in. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about it
this year, given the political state of things and its immediate impact on
loved ones, on many of my more vulnerable families at school, on the very
existence of public education. There are dark and difficult times ahead. Our
values and beliefs have been shaken to the core – not just from the election, not
just from Standing Rock, not just from the untimely deaths of African
American children at the hands of prejudice and ignorant fear…but from the real
impact I’m seeing on my fellow “helpers” in the trenches with me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because sometimes it gets to be too much. As much as we
care, as much as we love, if we don’t let go and move to higher ground, our own
caring is going to drag us under. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YvAoZFiqnqo/WEOdVKrBTcI/AAAAAAAABJ0/e7YmG-3Kcy4eE7iYOLIEOeXAE-uEtvYZgCLcB/s1600/IMG_8293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YvAoZFiqnqo/WEOdVKrBTcI/AAAAAAAABJ0/e7YmG-3Kcy4eE7iYOLIEOeXAE-uEtvYZgCLcB/s320/IMG_8293.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’s one of the strongest, one of the very best. He’s
practically Santa Claus himself. No…Dumbledore. Not Dumbledore falling from the
Astronomy Tower in the 6<sup>th</sup> book, thankfully, but Dumbledore in the 5<sup>th</sup>
book when he’s temporarily forced out by a growing movement of cynicism and
distrust of children, leaving us to form our own little rag-tag “army” of sorts
and hope for the best. And he’ll wave goodbye sayin’ don’t you cry…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
December breaks our hearts. We learned it on the Monday
after Thanksgiving, about five minutes before we had to welcome back our
students and all the attendant post-Thanksgiving-pre-Winter-Break madness. A
few of us gathered at the back of the library and did that thing teachers do when
they’ve been unexpectedly pushed a few thousand feet too far – cry on the
inside, in our throats and at the very corners of our eyes without any actual
tears or sobs. People were asking me about it all day. “I’m shattered,” I
replied plainly. Calm, without hyperbole. “But what can we do? I guess I’ll
just have to learn how to be my own Dumbledore.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now, I’m typing all this up in another Christmas
Starbucks while Bing Crosby serenades us and people come and go in their
running/biking garb, every conversation swirling with anxiety and theories
about our country’s impending regime change. “It’s beginning to look a lot like
Christmas,” Bing persists, and cynical dismissal feels almost <i>too</i> easy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
December gathers us in. As rocky as this year has been, I <i>still</i> feel the love and joy of the
season as strong and poignantly as ever. My boys loading that car with
groceries for the food bank. My teacher friends checking in for coffee and
gallows humor. Mr. Black with delicious food on the table when I stagger in
from the cold dark night covered in my O the Humanity haze, The Boy punctuating
my jargon-filled school-related rants with air horn sound effects, bursting
into a rousing chorus of Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” to cheer me up.
Little Grrl regaling me with stories about her day at school that are so carefully
organized that I suspect she’s been using a Common Core rubric to plan their
delivery.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And my wonderful, wonderful mentors and colleagues out
there. Every freedom fighter, every helper, every single one of you who has
touched my life and made me a stronger teacher and a better human being, from
my ACLU-staffer days to cooperative preschool to graduate school and Seattle
Public Schools and beyond. I love you all so dearly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
January will force us back out into the fight and the fray.
But December gathers us in. Let’s embrace it. Hold each other, laugh together,
eat delicious food together, let ourselves have fun. Troubled times or not, we
need this. And we deserve it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tidings of comfort and joy, my loves.<br />
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dcDDkEjypnQ" width="560"></iframe>
<i>It's in every one of us </i><br />
<i>To be wise </i><br />
<i>Find your heart </i><br />
<i>Open up both your eyes </i><br />
<i>We can all know everything </i><br />
<i>Without ever knowing why </i><br />
<i>It's in every one of us</i><br />
<i>By and by</i>Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1265409432324418001.post-26014050083140424952016-06-18T07:13:00.001-07:002018-09-16T00:48:07.307-07:00Off the Rails<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vHtx2zHHgA4/V2VWs_1sj1I/AAAAAAAABIE/_hPASs5akv0-NI2Pvwov2FOHIstXRZVTgCLcB/s1600/rails.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vHtx2zHHgA4/V2VWs_1sj1I/AAAAAAAABIE/_hPASs5akv0-NI2Pvwov2FOHIstXRZVTgCLcB/s1600/rails.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
kid goes off the rails, everybody loses their damn minds, but no one really
knows what to do. I’m relatively new to the profession, but I’ve seen it too
many times. Different schools, different kids, different adults. But it’s the same
no matter what. Everyone’s baggage comes in and drives about 90% of it. No one
wants to get too involved even though everybody’s got a damn strong opinion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Some
simply want it punished and shamed out of the kid…or punished and shamed out of
the parents. Some want things to change that are too late to change even if we
could. Some don’t care what you do as long as it stays out of their backyard. Some
have a long list of people and systems to blame but absolutely no ideas about
real ways to go forward from here. Some of the people you think are helping you
are helping you right off a cliff – maybe not intentionally, but still, that’s
the effect. And secretly, cynically, everyone agrees that the kid is on the
trajectory he’s on no matter <i>what</i> we
do; that we’re basically human duct tape at best and at worst.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You
have a good heart,” a mentor tells me. “You have a good heart, but that’s not
what your school is about. You won’t win this. Stay focused on what you <i>can</i> do. Don’t make yourself the target.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yesterday
I was the target of nothing but a killer migraine that I’d been holding at bay
all week. Finally overtook me on Friday, the day the kid finally came back to
school only to hide in the bushes, half-heartedly throw a few rocks in the
general direction of another student, hide in a bathroom, and curse loudly in
the classroom of the teacher who particularly hates cursing in her classroom.
Am I suspended now? Can I be suspended now? How about now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
held the pain and nausea and disequilibrium in a small closet behind my left
eye, kept my classroom cool and dark and kept my voice low and calm as we
talked through the behavior contract again and he tried not to cry, handed me
his phone without looking at me, agreed to the assistant principal’s terms
before darting off to lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
then I could finally go, finally go while I was still functional enough to
drive, drive myself home to a mercifully empty house, a long, hot shower, and
hours upon hours of blissfully medicated sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Waking
up many hours later, everything is right where I left it. Q4 progress report
assessments to score. Meetings to prepare for. Emails to answer. Worries and
resentments to put to rest because what the hell is the point of having any
feelings about any of this? It’s not personal. This is our business; managing
and processing children and their educations and their behaviors, free and
appropriate and public, a great post office or DMV of human experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What
I’m understanding now is that this IS the job. There is no resolution, ever.
There is only the day-to-day flow of behaviors and interventions and different
behaviors and more interventions and checks or x’s on the chart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’ll
be a teacher they remember,” my mentor said. “You’ll be someone who was kind to
them, someone who tried.” He doesn’t say, but clearly implies “But don’t think you’re
going to change much of anything.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Can
this be enough? I think, at least for now, that this <i>has</i> to be enough. I’m tired and embarrassed and a bit
disillusioned. But I’m not sorry. And I’m not ready to give up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Floor Piehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06533240227865369012noreply@blogger.com2