Keep Driving

Teaching is hard. Very hard. Each year is like playing a card game. There are years when the hand you are dealt is manageable. And then there are years when you are given a hand that you are quite sure will need a miracle intervention in order to survive. This year is one of the challenging ones. I have been blessed with a couple of relatively good years so it is my turn in the cosmos of educational card decks to hit the speed bump. The phrase “Hit me” has taken on new meaning. There are days when I would rather take a physical hit or two than face down one more session of thirty students who need more than one person could ever possibly provide.

Let me describe a sample middle school class period.

Topic: How to use a dichotomous key.

Level of difficulty: Effort and application of a new skill required.

Me: Working like a mad woman, trying to demonstrate, explain, model and guide.

Student One (30 seconds into the lesson): "I don't get this."

Student Two: "Can I to go to the bathroom?"

Student Three: "Student One is looking at me."

Student Four (moving into to my personal space): "I feel like I’m going to throw up."

Student Five (head down on the desk): "I’m not going to do this."

Student Six (giving me the stink eye and muttering under her breath): "This sucks."

Student Seven: "I don’t have a pencil."

Student Eight (sneaking one more round of Cookie Crush on his Chromebook): "I still don’t know what you’re talking about."

Student Nine (walking in late): "I lost my binder."

Student Ten: "Student Seven just said a bad word."

Student Eleven: "I don't have an eraser."

Student Twelve (tapping pencil furiously): "What time does this class get over?"

Me (still teaching like a mad woman): "I believe we can do this. Let's try again."

Well, you get the point. It’s exhausting and I wish I was making this all up. I’m not. That was Friday. I've blanked out the other four days of the week.

Before you feel too sorry for me, please know that I willingly signed up for this gig and, by Gumby, I intend to persevere. Teaching is not for the faint of heart and despite the fact that I have at least one day a week that I long to be the sample lady at my local grocery store, I still believe in my profession. I also have many little peeps who are counting on me to provide them with an education that will take them into a future they aren't even sure about yet. For every "I don't get this", there is a "I want to know more." 

No surprise that the squeaky wheel is louder than the smooth rolling, fully functioning tires. It is my job to find a way to safely and productively drive this vehicle to the end of another academic year, speed bumps and all. 

Student Thirteen (intently following along): "You know, I think we're just having trouble with this because it's Friday."

Thank you, Student Thirteen. I'm going to cling to your words of encouragement and continue to believe in another new day.

Virtual World

Our school district recently adopted a 1:1 technology initiative. Translation: each student now has his or her own techno device. The little peeps are using I-Pads, the middlers are using Chromebooks and the oldsters are bringing their Chromebooks home like checked out library books. Gone are the days of teachers scrambling for a limited number of computer labs. No more early morning intercom announcements, "Whoever has mobile lab C, please return it immediately." Missing are the spicy e-mails scolding the boorish behavior of those who use mobile labs and neglect to plug them in so they are charged up for the next day.

Despite the obvious advantages of having student troughs filled with technology, I am mourning the loss of simpler times. For years I watched angst ridden middle schoolers wobble their way through the halls, leaving a trail of pencils, gum wrappers and scraps of paper. Now, they flash fearful eyes as they precariously balance a computer on top of their worldly possessions. One misstep and they know they are in for more hurt than just a skinned knee and bruised pride. Many have resorted to carrying yet another bag to protect the god-of-all-knowledge-and-goodness.

Unfortunately, many of the students view computers as game dispensers rather than educational tools. They are baffled by usage procedures that don't involve instant gratification. It's natural for them to post responses such as, "hey girl, what's up" or "LOL, check this YouTube video." It's not so natural for them to be assigned websites filled with actual paragraphs of information that need to be read and digested.

It's easy for me to go down roads of fear as I worry that someday I might be lying on a gurney with a doctor googling, "Where is the spleen?"  This generation has no problem texting every thought that comes to mind, instagramming all their memorable moments and downloading apps that entertain them into the wee hours of the morning. The line between virtual and real can be blurry at best.

A poignant moment occurred when I announced to my class that we would be going outside for a classification activity. Usually, such an announcement is met with cheers as we leave the confines of our classroom. This year, a young man stopped me on the way out and asked, "Do I have to do this? Can't I just GoogleEarth it and call it good?" My jaw dropped in a speechless stupor. It never entered my mind that one could use a computer to feel the wind or touch a dragonfly's exoskeleton.

Yes, indeed, it's going to be an interesting year as we meander our way through technology land. I'm going to take a cue from my students and download the coolest wallpaper background possible, watch a YouTube video of someone eating chocolate and wait for my troubles to melt like lemon drops. If you're not sure what any of that means, I think you can google it.

The Birds

Growing up in a world without video games, Facebook and televisions with a thousand channels meant my siblings and I had to make our own fun with what was available.  I was not an outdoorsy kid but I quickly discovered that if I wanted a break from folding mounds of diapers and performing other household chores I would have to escape into the spaces beyond my front door. My sibs and I made up our own games like “Hide the Can” in our grove of trees where we imitated treasure seekers of old and searched for each other’s hidden cans. We crunched along on gravel roads with our creaky old bikes, destinations to be determined. Wild plums and mulberries beckoned us when they were in season and we filled our stomachs full of their rich juices. We poked around the old cemetery near our farm and scared each other with creepy tales.

One of my favorite activities was bird watching. My mother purchased a field guide of North American birds and suddenly a new world of opportunities opened up. We would head out into the fields with our little book and a pair of binoculars, hoping to see or hear a new bird to identify. I loved hearing the beautiful trill of the Eastern Meadowlark and watching the flight patterns of the Red-Winged Blackbirds as they flitted from fence post to fence post. We didn't have to set up fancy bird feeders because our backyard was one gigantic feeder with everything our rural birds needed.

Since that time, I have lived in urban settings, often without any established trees and I abandoned my overt birdwatching habits. That is, until the horrific ice storm we endured last spring. I felt so sorry for our feathered little friends that I put out an old cookie sheet with some bread crumbs and hoped that I could help just a few of them find a meal.

Now I’m hooked. I was only going to help them out during the ice storm but they convinced me otherwise. Truth to be told, we need each other. I can think of nothing more calming than watching and listening to birds. The little chickadees chatter away while they pick at the tray of seeds. The male cowbirds puff up as they try to woo the somewhat unimpressed females. The bossy blackbirds bully their way into the crowd and have their way with the food choices. The mourning doves plop themselves down on the feeder and take an after dinner nap. The cardinals make their presence known with their bright colors and loquacious manners. The goldfinches bippety-bop their way to the feeder for a snack and quickly flit away. And of course, the squirrels move in like playground bullies, taking away the lunch money of others.

My garage sale field guide is now dog-eared and always at the ready as I reacquaint myself with my in-flight neighbors. I hope to graduate to something more high tech than a cookie sheet for my feeder, but so far, the birds haven’t complained. After all, that same pan fed us with many delicious treats so why not continue the tradition with my new found friends?

Bon appetit!