All posts by Tall Poppy Teaching

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About Tall Poppy Teaching

I choose to call my blog "Tall Poppy Teaching" because tall poppy syndrome describes a cultural phenomenon in which people who have achieved something beyond the typical are cut down, resented, or attacked. Tall poppies in a field are often cut off to ensure uniformity. The kids I serve fall under the "tall poppy" category and gifted education is often seen as elitist and unnecessary. But it is neither. I've chosen to work in a school that is designed for gifted and other out-of-the-box learners in the Rocky Mountain region, acting as a pseudo-admin in addition to doing a lot of other things that are being added to my job description daily. I get to innovate, problem-solve, and advocate for our tall poppies. When I'm not working, I enjoy spending time with my boyfriend and furs, experiencing wonderful food and drink in the shadow of a tall mountain, yoga, fly-fishing, and reading books about characters who can solve the world's problems in the span of a few hundred pages.

Culture, Community, Curriculum

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Culture, Community, Curriculum.

I’ve been given the opportunity to grow into a position that allows me to provide parts of our new teacher onboarding and training.  When our school opened 9 years ago, it was pretty chaotic, and I remember tables lining the hallways covered in curriculum and resources.  No one knew who was to take what, and the items we had chosen from the piles of furniture and supplies in the gym were in utter disarray in our classrooms, waiting to be put together in ways that would provide a warm environment for learning.  Our teacher training and onboarding were intentional and long.  My head was full before lunch every day.  It encompassed everything we might need to know (that had been figured out anyway) and with the understanding that each of us was chosen for a very specific purpose and that we were bringing skills, knowledge, and passion to the table, we embarked on a simply amazing journey.

Last year while I was preparing what I’d do for new teachers, I got to thinking about how to structure what I needed teachers to know and understand so that they could join the rest of the staff in the work we’d be doing with a good foundation in why we do what we do.  I thought back to how I might categorize everything we learned that first year:

Culture, Community, Curriculum.

The culture of a school determines whether it lives or dies.  It’s the “why” behind a school’s existence.  Who do we serve?  What is our purpose?  What are our goals?  What do we believe?  What are our values?  How will we live the mission and vision of our school? If the people working in a building don’t share in the answers to those questions, it affects the culture of the school, how families and kids view it and exist within it, and how it’s seen by the public.  Culture matters.

Community matters as much as the culture–it’s the community that defines the culture.  It includes those who work and learn within the walls of the building, but also those who support the school from the outside–the neighborhood, the district, the graduates, the local and state level organizations who believe in the mission of the school.  There’s a lot of overlap between culture and community…they’re intertwined like vines on a wall, growing and changing with the needs of the school and the kids who are learning there.

Curriculum is the last piece, and it joins the first two, being just as intertwined with the others, not standing on its own. It’s the “how” we teach, the resources we use, the ways in which we approach our learners and the opportunities we provide them to explore content and delve into it, pulling forth the pieces of information and connections that they’ll take with them into high school and beyond.  Providing teachers with resources and allowing them to tailor how they share what has been determined the kids need to know is critical.  We can’t use canned, scripted curriculum with tall poppies, no matter how simple it might make our teaching.  Most, if not all, of our tall poppies have already begun looking toward the horizon beyond and are wondering what’s out there, what’s next, and would be stifled if we taught that way.  We do not teach widgets, and the children we serve require that we take risks beyond the teacher’s edition to ensure that they make meaningful connections to what they’re learning.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll meet with new teachers who have agreed to join us on this amazing journey.  Some are new, right out of a teacher training program, others have a little experience, and still a few come with years of teaching kids under their belts.  But for all of them, it’ll be like the first year all over again. Their questions will range from where can I find white out to how do I use the copier to what do I do when a kid does <insert thing that drives them nuts>. And while we chat, they’ll be worried that their classrooms will never get put together to be ready for kids. Those with experience will figure out how to put their classrooms together to be functional somewhat quickly, but the new teachers, well, they’ll experiment a bit, using what they saw their cooperating teachers do and probably change the layout of their classroom 200 times between now and May…and tweak things multiple times every day between now and the first day of school.

I think that if they can keep in mind as we go forward into the other pieces of professional development we have planned for this year and meetings with families during the next two weeks, they’ll be fine.  I hope it gives them a good foundation for the work we’ll do this year on behalf of the kids we serve.

And I hope that I get good feedback so that I can keep growing and learning too.

Upshifting…

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This summer, I tried to downshift.  I really tried.

I watched a fair bit of Netflix, binging on Friends (Monica and Chandler just got married and I vaguely remember that there are children coming…) for some time.  I stared at my sage green walls and wished for Chip and Joanna to come and fix my house–they could do whatever they wanted and add shiplap to any wall they pleased.  I consulted a design specialist to choose paint colors so I do it right and not end up with a hodgepodge of colors I like that don’t flow.  I purged kitchen gadgets and doohickeys still in boxes from when I moved in.  I lamented the lack of storage in my kitchen and got rid of bags of reusable grocery bags that had found their way into every nook and cranny of my kitchen and closets.  I rearranged the living room (again).  I napped in sunbeams that wandered across my couch.  I spent three days in the mountains with a friend, hiked, consumed farm to table food, drank local beer, and fished a Tenkara fly rod (and “caught” a baby trout, flinging it into the grass behind me on a backcast accidentally…and returned it safely to the river.)

I slept in till 6am and sat down to eat a breakfast that required chewing.

And now I am somewhat back to work, drinking smoothies for breakfast in my office, preparing for teacher training which begins next week.  I get to work with the new teachers, both those new to our building and new to our profession altogether.

I keep trying to remember what I wanted to know as I started my first year of teaching as I develop and refine our onboarding process each year.

The first day I was allowed into my classroom, I was escorted into a room which had been a storage room for science stuff and spied a large cabinet in the middle of the room…and nothing else.

I remember wondering how on earth I’d afford to buy desks and books and all the things one traditionally have in a classroom.

I was told that desks and such would come in a little bit, and if I found I needed anything else, just ask and it’d show up eventually.

I sat in the middle of the room and just looked around at the sheer nakedness of it.  There was dust and the bunnies it creates, and I tried to imagine where I’d have a library, a reading table, my own desk…

I tried to make a to-do list on the whiteboard using the one Expo marker I found.  It didn’t work.  I gave up and went to the teacher store and bought decorations, hoping that when I returned, I’d have furniture and would have figure out what I needed to do to make that naked room a home in which kids could learn.

There’s so much you don’t know that first year, and part of you just wants to create an environment in which kids can grow and learn.  You don’t know the kids and the culture of the school is still a mystery.  You’re trusting of the people you meet and hope they’re all steering you in the right direction with advice and suggestions.  You don’t know where your teaching materials are, and you don’t know what the hell you’ll teach either because the level in which you did your student teaching is quite often far removed from that which you are hired on to teach your first year.  You don’t know the code to make copies or the one to shut off the alarm.  And you can’t remember the name of the secretary or the custodian, but you remember being told that those are the two people you need to be nicest to because they’ll do things for people they like when they ask politely or need a favor.

You don’t know when your health insurance kicks in or when you can see the dentist.  You aren’t sure when you get paid, but know that every single cent is spoken for…for several months.  You don’t know how early you can come in or how late you can or might be expected to stay.  You are wondering about whether or not the outfits you bought at Target and Kohl’s will meet the dress code, or if you’ll need to go find a full on skirt suit or five to have something that’s appropriate for work.  You know that you have three dollars in change in the ashtray of your car, and are seriously considering a trip to Del Taco on the way home.

As you get into your classroom, you are overwhelmed by the amount of stuff that’s there–furniture in piles in the middle of the room, books, teaching materials arranged in such a way you can’t make sense of any of it, and stuff left by the previous teacher that you aren’t positive you can throw out.  You struggle to see how the pile of furniture was arranged in a way that was functional for kids.  Panic sets in as you realize that you also have to plan lessons to teach and prep materials while you’re creating this learning space.

And with the overwhelm and panic comes one of two things (or sometimes both in quick succession): teary meltdowns in the middle of the floor or pure stubbornness to make this work.

I was often the person who did both, sometimes simultaneously.

In the pseudo-admin role I have now, my overwhelm comes from the whiteboards that magically keep expanding to hold another idea or twenty as I think about things I need to do, get, or figure out.  It comes from the emails requiring an action I snoozed until today that all pop up at 8am and I think to myself, “Why on earth did you snooze everything for the same day?  That was really stupid.”  It comes from the random sticky note attached to something unrelated reminding me that I was supposed to have done something which I may or may not still be slightly ahead of.

My brain went on overload today about 12:30 as I was talking with new teachers about how to put their classrooms together, trying to tell them only what they needed to know to survive today and maybe tomorrow, not overloading them with everything in my head that I know they need to know.  It’s hard to keep your mouth shut.

I gave up at 2 and came home.  I have a yoga room to finish painting and putting back together before I get teachers on Monday.  During all that downshifting I made a decision on paint and decided to create a space that was just mine, in which I could do yoga, work out, or just sit in meditation. Eventually, I’ll put a chair in there, maybe paint the dresser, but it’ll be a pleasant, calm space that’s a bit of a getaway.

A space in which I can downshift again.

 

Saying “Yes”

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A friend called the other day asking if I might like to go with her to a wildflower festival in the mountains for a few days in July.  Usually, my first instinct would be to say no because I didn’t feel that I could afford it, couldn’t take the time away, felt guilty because that’s just not what my people do.  We work.  We don’t vacation.  Hell, we don’t even staycation.  This downshifting/sabbatical thing has been difficult, but I’ve forced myself to do things I enjoy like sitting on the porch reading, cleaning the spare room so I have somewhere I can do yoga without hitting a piece of furniture, enjoying the outdoors, taking time for myself to be with friends, enjoying food and drink at places I don’t normally go.

Something in my heart told me to think about her suggestion before I answered.  I tend to overthink, and then lose opportunities because I’m too late and I thought too long.  I gave myself until Friday morning to decide.  By then, I’d have been able to look at where we’d be going, see what others thought about it, and spend some time determining if I even had enough money to go and have fun, not pinch pennies.

I put off thinking about it until Thursday.

I try to meditate every morning.  Sometimes I used guided meditations from a variety of apps on my phone, and sometimes I just sit in the quiet of the morning, listening to the birds and the traffic on the street outside my house.  I often get lost in thought while I meditate, but Thursday morning I was able to just listen.  The person leading the meditation talked about how we are worthy of living our lives to the fullest and should take opportunities that present themselves to us, no matter how small.  Our lives are often spent “doing” instead of “being” and it’s a completely different thing altogether to go somewhere and just be in the moment…  That made sense to me.

Normally, I’d ask friends what they thought, essentially asking for permission to go–that it would be seen as acceptable to my tribe that I go.  I didn’t this time.  I asked my boyfriend if he minded if I went, and he didn’t and would even make sure the cats didn’t have a house party.  Summer is his busy season so it would be hard for he and I to get away, but I should definitely go–I’m on summer vacation after all, and I should vacate if I have the chance!

I texted my friend and we made a few plans, evening finding somewhere to stay that wouldn’t cost a hojillion dollars.  We won’t be gone long, only a few days, but it’ll be glorious.  Lots of time outside, lots of time to talk and process (she’s brilliant, see, and I learn so much from her, both professionally and personally), and lots of time for me to learn how to just be.  And for the first time ever, I’ll have a little money to partake of the spa…

I thought over breakfast this morning about how we are so quick to say “no” when a new opportunity arises.  It’s as though it’s safer to say no up front, not risking the possibility of complications, things going badly, or disappointment if it doesn’t happen.  We’re quick to do it when our kids ask to do things that are a little different in our classrooms too.  I remember giving my kids assignments and telling them that if they had another idea, we could talk about it.  It was a risk, and the first time I said it, I never anticipated how many would come to me with their ideas.  Their ideas were different, to say the least, one being to create a newscast, complete with additional anchors and a weather and sports person, to demonstrate what they’d learned about Medieval history.  But I rarely said no to their requests…their ideas were always innovative and fun, often more complex than anything I’d come up with, and because my focus was on evaluating the content of their work and their understanding of what we studied, not the manner in which it was presented, I could simply enjoy their imaginations while they worked to prepare what they wanted to share.

It was worth it to say “Yes” when they asked.  It’s worth it to say “Yes” to an adventure too…even if it’s just a couple of days in the mountains.

 

 

Sabbatical

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I went to school yesterday because that’s what adults do. We go to work every day, do the things, and then come home to relax with something cold to drink.  I’ve been doing just that since I was 17 years old. Get up early, go to work, do the things, come home when the things are done, and then relax.  Days off are to be hoarded in case something terrible happens, and vacations are something other people get to have.  If I’m not at work, I can easily be replaced.  (I know this because it’s happened.  I got sick with the H1N1 flu for seven days, came back, and someone else had been given my job.  I am definitely replaceable.)
 
I have two whiteboards in my office with lists of things that are to be accomplished. Things to do. Some are of my own doing, and others have been assigned to me. When school was out, I looked at the calendar and said to myself that I have approximately seven weeks to complete all of these things and began plotting how I would chip away at each one every day to ensure that they are all finished by the time our lead team meets up again at the end of July.
 
I went to school yesterday because that’s what adults do. No other cars were in the parking lot. No lights on. The hallways were quiet. I walked down the dark hallway to my office, unlocked the door, flipped on the lights and my two little fans, and began to work. Chipping away at this thing or that, listening to an audiobook of my summer reading work about resilience and self-care.  I figured others would show up eventually…it’s summer and others prefer to sleep in.
 
I sent a reply to an email that I hadn’t gotten to last week and got an auto-reply from my director who’d been copied on the note back saying the office was closed and she’d begin working through emails in July.
 

JULY? The hell is this JULY business? My whiteboard is full of THINGS that need to get done!  June and July are the only times they have any hope of getting completed!  Had she lost her damn mind?  

In a polite panic, I sent a text.
“So we aren’t working for a month?”
Knowing I’d seen her out-of-office message, she replied, “Office officially closed Friday.  Still have a few things to do, but trying to downshift.”
“Um…uh…<string of apologies for not knowing how this is works and advising I’d be taking work home so I’m not in the building and in the way of the custodians to clean…masking protests>”
“winky smiley. just enjoy a downshift yourself.
A smiley face.  She had lost her damn mind.
On the verge of tears, I looked at my list on my whiteboard, sighed heavily, and began thinking of what I’d need to accomplish those things at home.  Files, books as reference and for reading, supplies…  I piled them neatly on the corner of my table, rearranged my bag, and slid them inside, making sure to take extra Sharpie pens and a pad of paper just in case.  The daughter of a secretary is always prepared with the right office supplies.
I set my own out-of-office reply for my email…begrudgingly.  I’d trust her.
Downshifting.
I messaged my boyfriend before I closed my computer to slip it into the bag too
“Apparently we aren’t working for a month.  I’m going home.”
I felt like I’d been fired.  He would understand.  He was brought up the same way I was and owns his own business, so time off is hard to have, if not impossible, and separation of life and work is even more complicated because the two are so intertwined.
I went to Target and bought new athleisure wear.  If I wasn’t going to be working, I may as well get back to running or yoga or something that looks like this “self-care” stuff everyone says I need.
$102 later, I drove home, still sick to my stomach.  When was all this work going to get done?  I can’t get it all finished in two weeks mid-July when everyone else is back and my priorities get pushed to the back burner.  People will be livid that I haven’t completed the things I said I would, and I wouldn’t be prepared to roll out several projects I had in the works, and I’ll be behind and even more stressed than I already am.
I spent the afternoon still in disbelief, sitting in my quiet house, watching the cats follow the sunbeam across the floor, snoring softly.  I looked up Pure Barre classes, yoga classes, books at the library I could read, and recipes I could try.
A month.  I have no idea how to downshift.  My entire life has been spent working, and while I’ll take an odd day off here and there for an event like Comic Con or a concert, or a day trip to the hot springs, there’s a lot of guilt associated with any of that…
As teachers, many of the comments we get from those not in education involve the words “Must be nice to have summers off.”  To justify my pay, my existence, and my profession, I’ve never taken a summer off save a random day here or there for something special.  I’m always working on this project or that, going to classes, reading books or watching webinars on how to do my job better and more effectively.  I have never taken a vacation because it’s seen as taking advantage of my job by the public.  I have never gone out of town for longer than a few hours or an overnight, and even then I try to figure out ways to justify it and tie it to my job…can we go to a museum? an attraction that ties to Colorado’s history somehow?  The public already looks down on the profession I chose, so I’ve always fixed it so that they couldn’t look down on me for taking advantage of that time “off.”
Downtime is hard.  You look around your house and see all the unfinished projects, the walls that need new paint, the TV that should be hung, the carpet that needs replacing, and the kitchen you never use because you’re never here.  You run through the list of things you didn’t get done all school year for lack of time.  You see highlight reels on Facebook and other social media about trips others take to exotic locales, or simple staycations in town, and envy their ability to drop everything and go somewhere.  You flit from one part of a to-do list to another, never quite finishing anything because you fear there won’t be enough time once you start a project.  You must do all the things, not just one of them.  This explains the baseboards in my house…and the entirety of my spare bedroom.  I won’t even begin to discuss the storage closet on the deck.
I woke up this morning still annoyed and unsure of what to do and sorted through my personal email as I drank my lemon water, still in my pajamas at 8am…which never happens.  One of my emails was titled “Sabbatical.”  (click the word to go to the link)  I listened to the podcast while I was in the shower, and emerged less annoyed and seeing a little wisdom in my director’s use of the word “downshift.”
While I don’t consider myself a leader by any stretch, what they said made sense.  People who do jobs like mine need to separate altogether for a while sometimes in order to do those jobs better.  EVERYONE needs time to separate from work for a while, and Americans as a whole are awful at it, existing in the state of panic and constant stress and wearing it as a badge on their chests, but those whose positions are so intertwined with who they are need to separate more often, for longer periods of time. The idea is that you come back recharged and with a clearer mind to tackle the work you’re tasked with and to be a better leader.  I thought about the idea of not being able to afford it…my pay doesn’t stop during the summer, thankfully, but a sabbatical isn’t something I’d planned for at all this summer so funding is quite limited.  I began thinking about what I could do next year or the year after…what it could look like.
So I’ll give this sabbatical thing a shot.  My bag hasn’t moved since I came home yesterday.  I’ll see how I feel about things next week.
Downshifting…

The Morning After

Connections, Gifted, Gifted Best Practice

“We presented at Comic Con!”

There is a bit of child-like glee in that statement, and I’m fairly sure we said it a thousand times driving home from Comic Con last night.  Yeah, it’ll look nice on a CV, but the feeling of accomplishment alone is pretty awesome.  We got to speak to our tribe.

I haven’t been in the classroom for two years, and that knowledge is hard to swallow some days because I just figured I’d always be in the classroom.  I often forget what it feels like after a lesson goes incredibly well…there’s a legitimate high from it, and you roll over every moment, over and over again.  The nodding heads, the whispers of understanding, the thinking faces, and the ones incredibly difficult to read–those are the ones you’re trying to get something resembling a reaction from and the moment you see a tiny flicker of understanding, a slight softening of the furrowed brow…success.

Adults aren’t that different from kids.  They come in with an agenda of what they want to learn from a session like this.  These people waited HOURS for our session and while surely they were off enjoying the rest of the con, they stayed to see US.  We had the last presentation slot at 6pm.  This is the slot reserved for the newest presenters or those that the organizers aren’t sure will pull an audience.  It’s the pity slot.  “Well, you’re new, and this sounds like it could be interesting, so we’ll see…and even if no one shows up, the experience will be good for you.”  And in the world of education conferences, you take the slot they give you until you have built a name for yourself and can request something different.  And that takes a minute.

But people came.  I worried all day that no one would come and I tried to sell our session to everyone I sat next to in another session, everyone I stood with in line, and even those people waiting impatiently for their phones to charge while they people watched.  I worried as our session time neared and people dressed as characters I couldn’t identify began making the mass exodus to the exit…who would be left to come to our sessions?  Any Wookies and Daleks had left hours ago, and only a few Hufflepuff remained.

Educators often tend to go to those sessions for which they can justify having gone to their administrators.  At Comic Con, sessions tend to lean toward the use of comics and graphic novels in the classroom, cosplay, a tiny bit of STEM.  More than one audience member in other sessions I attended questioned how one could possibly incorporate comics and graphic novels into a very structured classroom environment, one in which what you teach and how you do it is dictated from on high and there is a price to pay when you deviate from that structure and insert anything from outside.  It makes me so sad to hear that at any conference, but moreso at this one…innovation is a huge piece of Pop Culture Classroom and Comic Con…  So teachers end up in sessions that they can tie directly to how they are told to teach.  Sessions that stick strictly to their content area.  Sessions that don’t challenge them to think outside the box for fear that they’ll bring back an idea and infect other teachers with the concept of innovation.  Or they aren’t allowed to go to any conferences at all…no learning for you.  Administrators often forget that their teachers are students too.

Alohomora.

In the Harry Potter books, this was a spell used to unlock doors, windows, or other objects.  It’s a real word actually, and it means “friendly to thieves.” As I worked through the slides the last few weeks it dawned on me that teachers invite others to borrow and steal their ideas, transforming them into something they can use to benefit kids.

Our hope was that our presentation might unlock some minds to the ideas we presented, the most important of which is that gifted kids need support beyond what typical learners do and creating connections to the things they enjoy is what reels them in and makes learning fun.  I think our spell worked.

I was exhausted when we finally got home.  I am still exhausted, but today, instead of being the presenter, I get to simply be at Comic Con, people watching, listening to authors talk about their books and projects, meeting a movie star, looking at the art I love that connects feeling to color and backstory.

I won’t dress up.  My inner perfectionist won’t let me yet until my hair is longer, I am thinner, and I can create a perfect cosplay.  I don’t want to insult the character by doing it wrong.

I’m still a bit on cloud nine about our presentation (hence the stream of consciousness) and the number of minds we might have unlocked…and exhausted or not, I’ll just let that carry me for a while.

 

Connections, Gifted, Uncategorized

School has been over for about a week, for kids anyway, and I’ve been working on several projects all at once, a little at a time.

One project is a presentation that I’m giving with a friend at Comic-Con.  Yes, Comic-Con…where those who don’t cosplay are in the minority, but there’s no judgment either way.  I went last year both to Educator Day and then again the next with my love and a couple friends, and I kept thinking to myself, “You know, you could totally present a session for teachers…”  And so, when the call for proposals went out, I submitted one and asked a colleague to present with me.

It always intrigues me that at general educator conferences, no matter where they are or for what purpose, they very rarely include any sessions that address the needs of gifted students.  There’s always several that address remedial needs, support, and intervention.  There’s always a whole bunch for typical learners, sharing myriad ways to skim the surface and barely touch the standards.  But there’s not often anything about what gifted kids need…not even a mention as a sidenote in a session.  The general education community simply doesn’t recognize that gifted kids have needs that need to be met.

As we’ve been working to put together this presentation, taking our expertise with working in the classroom with gifted kids and meshing it with our own geek passions and lessons and random conversations we’ve had with kids about them in the context of academic learning, lots of memories surfaced.

The two boys who refused to speak anything but Wookie to me for two weeks during my second year of teaching.  I saw them.  I honored it.  (And I got an earful for not disciplining them over it.)  But when they were ready, they did anything I asked because they knew I’d understood who they were.  And that was far more valuable to me than simple compliance.  We had a connection.

The boy who, upon arriving to school the Monday after seeing the most recent Star Wars movie, says to me (after weeks of “Don’t any of you DARE spoil the movie for me!”), “YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTER DIED!”  And I teared up in the doorway…while the rest of the class watched me try not very successfully to hold it together.

Life skill: No spoilers, no matter how excited you are to share something.

489th commandment: Thou shalt not make your teacher cry at 7:55 a.m. on a Monday because the man she was going to marry when she was 8 died in a movie when she was 41.

The gaggle of kids who spent two years with me in language arts writing about things like Minecraft, Pokemon, Endermen, and a host of other geek-related topics…and ONLY writing about those topics.  They wrote narratives with alternate endings and revised characters, informational books and historical timelines, persuasive essays on why parents should allow them to play, and essays connecting the games, cards, and characters to real life issues, people, and events.  A piece of me hoped they’d grow out of it before the end of the year, and start writing about things that mattered…and then I remembered: when you’re little…those ARE the things that matter.  They don’t have to write about poverty, homelessness, or suicide yet.  There’s a purpose in these explorations…and they’re important.

The girls who asked on more than one occasion if it was ok to cry when reading a story or a non-fiction piece…  Of course, it’s ok…we connect to characters and people…wonderful authors and writers paint pictures of people with whom we can.  That’s part of the beauty of being human.  I handed them tissues and sat with them a while.

As my friend and I ran through what we would say for each slide, who would talk about what part, I caught myself getting teary-eyed remembering each one of the kids who inspired a phrase or story, or how I felt, a gifted kid myself, watching an episode of a sci-fi show or reading a fantasy book, tearing up when something awful happened to a character I loved or I had a moment of deep understanding.  “Ohhh…now I get what he meant.”

I’ve been on the verge of tears most of the day.  When my phone went off early this morning with an alert that Anthony Bourdain had died, probably by suicide, I really hoped it was one of those hoaxes that would pop up with “JUST KIDDING!” later on, news outlets scrambling to account for their screw up.  As the alerts kept coming, my sadness grew.

We’ve lost one more of our tribe.

I mentioned it to someone in passing, and they couldn’t wrap their head around why I’d be upset about a TV personality, a brash and sarcastic food show guy, committing suicide. They thought I was being silly.  It wasn’t as though I knew him.  We weren’t friends and I’ve only ever seen him on TV.  They couldn’t understand.  He was one of us.

It’s like the girls and the stories…  We connect to certain people, real or fictional.  I’ve said for as long as I can remember that I want to eat and drink my way through a multitude of countries–I don’t want to “see the sights.” I want to experience the life in another country.  I started watching Rick Steves on PBS share tiny, hole-in-the-wall places to stay and eat on PBS, and when Anthony Bourdain began his adventures, I followed.  I followed because he showed the reality of the people he was visiting, the human side of them. People’s grandmothers cooked for him, opening their homes and families to him and his cameras. He got them to share about life where they were, how politics around the world impacted them, how history had changed their worlds, and what challenges they face every day.  He talked with them about the history of the food they shared, the preparation of a dish, and the cultural significance of it.  He asked them about their families, their everyday lives, their hopes for the future.  A typical food show presenter wouldn’t go to all that trouble.  He was intentional about what he chose to share and how he chose to share it…he had a purpose in every moment on camera.

Our tribe lost a member.

So when my friend and I present next week in front of an audience of hopefully more than three Daleks, two Chewbaccas, and a member of Hufflepuff,  the pieces of our gifted world that we share will have a greater significance.

Linda Silverman said something along the lines of “Gifted is who we are, not what we do.”  And as educators, honoring the “who we are” part when kids are passionate about something, no matter how geeky, silly, or insignificant we might think it is, matters.  There’s often more to it than we know…and the kids need us to SEE them.

Like a Tardis, they’re bigger on the inside.

 

 

 

And just like that…

Uncategorized

And just like that, they grew up.

I got to witness a couple of amazing things today.

First, two boys who will always be mine taught a whole lesson in algebra. I have absolutely no idea what they taught, though some of the words were familiar, but the fact that they captured a class of 20 of their peers in all their math geekiness and spoke Mathish (a foreign language in which I am not remotely fluent) together as a group for a little over an hour was a sight to behold. These are boys who were still learning how to collaborate and share their thinking clearly when they left me. And now, they are teachers… It was beautiful. I teared up a bit. So proud of those two kids…and all the kids in the room who geeked out together while I listened to what was essentially a foreign reality tv show.

And later on, I got to sit in on a conversation with a group of kids who will always be mine as well (and a few who weren’t ever, but oh would I have loved to teach them when they were little!), discussing stereotypes and archetypes in literature, and how that translates to gender roles in movies and current literature and other media. They were eloquent, disagreed with one another respectfully, made incredibly good and solid points on all sides, and articulated issues in the world that I hadn’t really ever considered, much less would have discussed at 12 and 13 with my peers. Tears flowed freely while they spoke and discussed and argued together.

I remember so clearly when one of them asked me through huge tears, at age 8, if it was ok to cry while reading a story. I remember when all one would write about was Slenderman and Minecraft…creating fantastic answers to questions no one had asked. I remember another who loathed writing…and had no qualms about telling me so…who has now found a voice through poetry. I remember how deeply some felt for characters in novels we read together, how angry they were about injustices both real and fictional, and how passionate they were about taking action when something wasn’t the way they thought it should be…from medieval arranged marriages for power, land, or title, to the fictional possibility of uniforms at our school.

I’ve been out of the classroom two years. And while I don’t regret it necessarily, there are only a few groups of kids left of whom I’ll have memories like this…remembering when they were learning to articulate their thinking clearly, creating valid arguments that went beyond “because it just is,” writing across genres only about zombies, Minecraft, and Pokemon as though those were the most pressing issues of the time. I cannot express how thankful I am to have gotten to be even a tiny part of the lives of these kids…and how grateful I am to get to work with those to taught them after me…knowing they have been in good hands with people who love them and want only good things for them as I do.

This time of year is when things are most bittersweet. Feet in two worlds…one reflecting on the year that was, the growth, the learning…and the other looking forward to what will be…

This is the work that we do…helping to grow kids into human beings who are compassionate and kind, articulate and thoughtful, passionate and excited to learn for the sake of learning…and making strides to be the change they want to see in the world.

Through so much icky in the world right now, there’s hope…and it’s through kids that hope exists.

Abundance

Education Funding, Uncategorized

Teachers across the country are rallying for better funding for schools.  And the American public has a problem with it.

People believe that because we choose to teach, we are not entitled to the same standard of living as the rest of the country.  Our jobs are perceived as essentially volunteer positions by many, with a healthy dose of self-funding for our classrooms and our students.  The words “do more with less” continues to be the mantra of a variety of groups, and often, the words that get attached involve “no more funding until test scores increase!”  I made the mistake of reading the comments on an article yesterday and I was so angry with the commenters and their lack of fundamental understanding of how society is supposed to work and what is truly important in education that I had to close the tab and go for a walk.

All this leads me to something else entirely: the idea of abundance.  The public sees the millions of dollars allocated to education and are incensed by the fact that teachers are still asking for more funding.  This funding will help them personally, yes, but more importantly, it will also provide for millions of other things beyond their paycheck.  To the public, it’s as though teachers aren’t grateful for what we have been provided and have no right to ask for more…not for our schools and most definitely not for us.  We, both teachers and schools, should budget what we are given better, live within our means, not spend money on frivolous things.

Why does the public get to determine what our budgets should look like?

Growing up, money was always tight.  My school uniforms for school were never new and always handed down through swaps with the wealthy families I attended school with.  I still don’t know how my parents afforded to send me to a parochial school–they aren’t cheap.  Most of my other clothes were sewn by my mother or purchased during end of season sales hoping she’d guessed right and they’d fit by the next season.  A loaf of hot french bread was a treat, and meals were almost always casserole types that would last several days. We went on drives if there was a little money left over for extra gas, packing sandwiches to eat on the way, but never a real vacation for fun.  Books weren’t bought, they were borrowed.  If I got sick, it was a huge deal because a doctor’s visit wasn’t cheap, and neither would the medication be if it was needed. Often it was a question of whether we paid the utility bill or the phone bill or the rent if something happened to the car or if something else needed to be repaired. (Parents, just a warning–you always think the kids can’t hear the discussions…but we do…and we feel the tension across the table at breakfast, and we hear the heartbreak when the car won’t start… again.)  There was always a sense of being behind…that there was never enough.  I feel sometimes as though I’ve been behind my whole life.

I went out of town on behalf of my school a few weeks ago, and had pretty significant car trouble once I got there which impacted my ability to focus on why I had driven two hours to begin with.  I did what I had gone there to do, but I was worried the whole time about what the repairs would cost, how I would get home, if I’d have to stay there another day and pay for a hotel with money I didn’t have, how missing a day of work would impact others in my building and how I’d be perceived both by administration and colleagues for not having a backup plan and not having enough money to pay for the needed repairs.  Luckily, most of the repairs were covered by warranty, but I had to borrow funds to pay for the remaining repairs that weren’t.  The dealership arranged for a rental car for me to drive home and I could pick up the car in a couple of days, which happened to be a work day so my being gone would be less of an impact to others.  I could pay back the money owed out of subsequent paychecks over a few months.  I don’t like owing people for anything…not time, not service, and definitely not money.

Fast forward to the next paycheck.  Bills are paid or scheduled to be paid, and there is money left over. It feels like there is too much left over. What got forgotten?  What got missed?  When the repairs were being done to my car, they noted I’d need new tires too so I started pricing those.  That cost eats half of what I have left, and then the question becomes is it worth it to buy the tires now after being told they’re needed or should I try to wait another six or eight months, hoping they last that long, and squirrel away money for it every month and hope that nothing else goes wrong to eat into that stash?  If I just buy them, I’d have enough for groceries and basic needs (and a few things considered frivolous), yes, but what if something else happens?  I’m afraid to spend anything, fearing that if I do, I’ll just be behind again.

The judgment in my head begins talking: If I buy new tires, what if they fall under “extravagance?” in the minds of others? What if I choose the wrong set and their cost is considered a waste of money because they weren’t the least expensive available?  Should I just have driven less altogether to make them last longer?  I’ve already been told more than once that I should save more, but I’ve never had a month where I was ahead enough to save that magic amount Dave Ramsey and others tell adults they ought to have in an envelope stashed in a drawer–and interestingly enough, nothing’s ever said about what happens when you need to use it.  Well-meaning friends tell me that much of what I choose to spend the money I earn on is a waste or frivolous altogether.  People have shared with me (with best intentions of trying to be helpful) that having my hair done every month or so is a waste of money (Supercuts is seven dollars for a trim..that’s plenty to spend on a simple haircut), acupuncture, doctor’s visits to seek out answers, and other self-care are things that aren’t necessary, the items that fall into the grocery category that I buy are too expensive or unneeded altogether. I should meal plan like it’s the Depression, thrift store shop for everything I wear, and use only the least expensive personal care items.  I shouldn’t feel entitled to doing anything with the money I earn that most others can without even thinking.  Live within my means…but what does it mean to live?

I watch as others purchase beautiful condos with big-city views or second homes in the mountains, shiny new cars, and listen as friends make plans about vacations to Europe for the summer and full home remodels and extended hotel stays while the work is being done.  I listen as people share plans for outdoor adventures and time away from the world. I smile silently listening to friends plan weddings and talk about graduate coursework and retirement plans.  They’ve earned all of these things and I’m happy for them.  They rarely lament having to buy tires, make car repairs, replace furnaces or water heaters, and they don’t sigh heavily as the checker at the market tells them their total, mentally calculating how much of their food budget is left for the next 25 days.  They always seem to have more than enough to do both what’s needed and what they want to do. They don’t live to work…they work to live…to have the life they imagined.  Very few of these people are teachers and very few have ever had any of what they’ve done with the money they earned questioned.

There’s a lot of judgment out there about how teachers do their jobs and spend their time, and now how they spend their money.  People question the effectiveness of teachers based on scores from tests that were created by non-educators that don’t test the right things to start with. Friends report that in other states you can lose your job for simply being in a restaurant that serves alcohol, whether you’re drinking any or not. Others report that if you are seen out in the world dressed in a way that a community or board member feels is inappropriate (e.g. swimsuit on a beach) you can be fired. Our social media presence is constantly under scrutiny, and clicking “Like” on the wrong thing or posting a picture someone might find questionable could have a letter of reprimand in our file or at worst, fired. Few other jobs in the world are under the same level of scrutiny by the public.

And now the public believes that it gets a say in how our money is spent: both teacher’s checks and money provided by the state.  The problem is that they don’t understand how any educational funding is spent and it’s really quite complicated.  I listen to my admin talk through budget items and it’s not a simple as “Yes, buy the things.”  There are a thousand questions to be considered before anything requested gets bought, no matter how critical the purchase is to the work teachers are doing for kids. I think that’s part of why teachers end up buying so much on their own too–we get how complicated it is, but still need the things, so we just go ourselves for the things we need to make our work lives run smoother.

I wonder sometimes what it feels like to just be able to buy the damn tires without worry over how it’ll be perceived or shame over not having enough saved up for when they needed to be bought.  For a lot of teachers, this is how they have to think about everything from rent to groceries to how to supply their students with what they need in the classroom.  That same inner dialogue happens for both kids’ parents and school administrators too…  How do we do more with less?  How do we find a sense of abundance?

 

 

 

Connections

Big Ideas, Gifted Best Practice, Integrated Curriculum

Have you ever read an article or watched the news and wondered what precipitated an event or issue?

Why did Columbine happen?  How did the standoff with David Koresh begin?  The Oklahoma City bombing?  Why is violence so prevalent in our society? What’s with all the protocols for the British Royal family? The lack of funding in education, how did that happen?  The pro-life or pro-choice movements–what values brought about that split in thinking? Why did the city choose to put in a road a particular way that drives you nuts?  A book you really got into–what made the author choose to write it?

You’re looking for connections.  And for gifted learners, connections are everything.

Over dinner last night, my boyfriend and I got into a conversation about “sage on the stage” educators and how effective that style of teaching is.  Our teachers at the high school level and in some college classes used a lecture format infused with some discussion to disseminate information to us, expecting that we would memorize information and be able to regurgitate it on tests.

I remember vividly taking notes, frantically writing down names and dates and events during lecture in my high school American History class.  I remember making piles and piles of notecards to help me memorize who did what when and where because that was what had been communicated as important: the names, the dates, and the events.  We didn’t discuss much that I recall (though others might remember it differently), but I know that this style of teaching, without an opportunity to process those names and dates and events in a way that created some sort of hook or story I could follow, some connection for me, created a loathing and disinterest of American History (and later American Literature because it was taught much the same way by a college professor) that still impacts me.

For a gifted learner, connections are how sense is made of things in the world.  They want to know why about everything…and one question leads to others, often seemingly unrelated:

  • Why do Peeps swordfight when you stick toothpicks in them and put them in the microwave?
  • Why does the moon seem bigger or closer at certain times of the year if its orbit doesn’t change?
  • Why does daylight savings time exist at all?
  • Why are the Palestinians and Jews fighting?
  • Why were some against slavery and some wanted it to continue?  Why did Americans think it was okay to begin with?
  • Why does a particular type of person become a beloved president by some and reviled by others?
  • Why is race still such a big deal in the US?  In other countries?
  • Why does the economy going to hell in one country matter to any other?
  • Why do people keep bringing up Ayn Rand and Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale when talking about what’s happening in our country?

I love teaching language arts, in part because I love words, but also because it touches every subject area.  When I taught a novel, I often looked into what was going on at the time it was written or the time period in which it was set and encouraged my students to do the same to have a better understanding of the story.  One can learn an awful lot about history through literature.  We’d talk about the social structures within a book and the values of the characters and discuss why or how they said or did particular things.  We made conjectures about upbringing, societal norms, and compared and contrasted those with what we know or do today or those in other novels or short stories we read. The fantasy books kids devoured were fascinating to pull connections out of because so much of the story was rooted in real life.  When we discussed poetry, we talked about meter and rhyme and the math and science behind it, why some words change their pronunciation to meet the needs of a particular line, how the words are arranged to serve a variety of purposes, and why the poet might have written it at all.  I pulled non-fiction pieces that tied to subjects discussed in books or poems for us to review, and students researched important events, places, and people to write about while they proposed their own connections between ideas.

I did many of the same things when I presented history, sharing it with kids as a story so that they could build connections between dates, people, and events and geography, politics, religion, economics, scientific thinking, and mathematical practice.  We tied lifeskills lessons into history: how did the big idea of power impact society during the middle ages or Colorado’s early history and how does it impact our classroom community now?  Very little of my time in any class was spent lecturing and requiring kids to take notes.  I tried to provide opportunities for kids to experience the content, discuss it, tear it apart, question it, and understand it so that they could apply it to the next level of study.

Science and math were more difficult for me because neither is my area of passion or expertise, but there’s a way to create connection there too, though hands-on explorations, research of theories and ideas, and talking to people who use the skills kids are learning in their everyday jobs.  We skyped with engineers, talked with people from the city utility company, and took a mock mission to space.  We studied the evolution of scientific thinking and how particular algorithms were developed and what they’re used for.  There’s a place for paper and pencil practice of math as well as documentation of experiments and notetaking with memorization, of course, but that can’t be all a child experiences in math and science classes.  If I were in the classroom now, I’d be doing quite a bit of refining in how my science and math classes were organized to allow for more opportunities for kids to go beyond the steps of the experiment or algorithm to explore connections in these areas.

Some would say that the way I taught and the informal assessments I used weren’t best practice because they aren’t rooted in hard data: the number of questions that addressed particular pieces of information answered correctly vs. those answered incorrectly.  Hard data has a place in tracking progress, of course, but learning is a process, not a regurgitation of information.  It’s cyclical: how a child accesses the information they’ve been introduced to and uses that knowledge to communicate their understanding over time is far more valuable data than hard numbers in a color-coded spreadsheet that tracks progress on daily quizzes over yesterday’s material.  My experience is that they take that understanding with them and use it in other situations…and that’s what we want, isn’t it?

It breaks my heart when I hear middle and high school teachers talk about how great their lecture went but they can’t understand why so many bombed the quiz or gripe about how kids aren’t learning what they so carefully presented through a powerpoint and complaining about how notetaking skills suck because it doesn’t follow the format they want used (even if the notes totally make sense to the child). Their kids, particularly the gifted ones, are being denied a tremendous opportunity to understand content by experiencing it…not just having it presented.  Thankfully, many of the teachers I know who teach at these levels have further developed their practice and now incorporate more research opportunities, discussion with complex questioning, role play, debate, and Socratic seminars, and active learning experiences to facilitate the understanding of their content area, not simply learning the information.  Their assessments require the demonstration of understanding and connections between ideas, not the simple regurgitation of bits of information.

When we choose to become teachers, for most of us, it’s not about simply sharing what we, as adults, have already learned.  It’s about facilitating the understanding of the world around us so that kids can go on to improve it.

 

The story behind the blog

Uncategorized

I was listening to a webinar tonight and was encouraged to “share my story.”  I thought I should provide a little bit of background so that anyone reading this understands a bit better how I came to do this work with and for gifted kids….these tall poppies.

Growing up, I never quite fit in anywhere.  I was awkard and had a few friends, but never felt truly connected to most of them.  I tried to be the girl they’d like, tried to fit in, doing the things they enjoyed, but none of it brought me joy.  I played sports, but didn’t excel at any of it which was irritating–it was a going through the motions to please my parents, both of whom were fairly athletic. I tried lots of other things like piano and dance and skating, and maybe it was the wrong instrument or type of movement, but I couldn’t quite fit there either.

As I grew up, I found that my group of friends got smaller and smaller, and I spent more time reading on my own to learn what I wanted to know about the world because I wasn’t getting anything out of class or the people around me.  In school for as long as I can remember, I was the girl who finished the vocabulary book in the first week of school and hid her own novel in front of the one the class was reading, counting paragraphs until my turn and noting the last few words so I’d hear when it was my turn. I got lost in stories and then wanted to know why women were treated so poorly, or why people gave up their children, or why wars started to begin with, or how come it was that certain people had all the power while others had so little, why some people believed so forcefully in a deity no one could see and who may never have existed at all.  I had a few friends I could talk to about all the wonderings I had, but most people didn’t get it.  Early on in school, I’d learned to keep my mouth shut because what I had to say or ask wasn’t viewed as important by those who held the power in the room–sometimes that was the teacher, but most of the time it was a small group of students who ran the show, publicly humiliating anyone who wanted to know more.

It took two classes in college to show me that what I had to say did matter.

The first was a philosophy class and the professor was a strong, independent woman, who spent several years in Brussels simply because she could. She was unafraid.  We talked about Locke, Plato, Descartes, Socrates, Hobbes, Rousseau, and others…and we debated…a lot.  She encouraged me not only to think but to find out what others thought and to use reason and logic. It was the first time anyone encouraged me to say what I thought and to ask questions.

The second was a women’s literature class.  There were maybe 10 of us, and it was brilliant.  We talked not only about the stories but the history behind each one, and the role of women at various times in history and how this literature, written by women, both exposed and shaped women’s history…  Because it was a small group and because there weren’t any men in the class (just worked out that way), there was an openness to say what you really thought without fear of being shot down or ridiculed.  And that mattered.

I ended up having to go get a job for the sake of having money to live on and help support my mother and I, and I worked in several industries–general secretarial, optical retail, insurance customer service, and insurance sales.  I hated all of it and kept being told that while I was fairly good at my job, I spent too much time educating people on what I felt they needed to know instead of selling what I was being paid to sell or service.  More calls or sales = more money.  But my heart wasn’t there. So took a risk and I left my last job, applied to go to school at night to get my teaching licensure and took a position as a secretary until I could be a teacher.  I didn’t want to do as my parents had done and simply work…I wanted more out of my life.

My first three years of teaching were not stellar.  I was green and felt I had no idea what I was doing, so I sought out every bit of professional development I could to be better for the kids I was serving.  I worked those first three years in a lower income district with kids who ranged from several grade levels below to several higher.  I was told early on that while I was expected to support those below grade level get to where they were supposed to be, scaffolding the work we did to meet their needs, those who were above grade level…well, not much could be done for them–they’d be fine.

And that didn’t sit right with me.  It felt wrong in my gut…and wrong in my heart.  Why should a child who wants to read and discuss The Scarlet Letter at age 10 have to sit through the class reading leveled readers with revised snippets of stories and non-fiction pieces about polar bears fixed to focus on particular skills when she had already demonstrated that she mastered those skills and could read and comprehend at that level and beyond…and had questions that required the use of the full piece of literature to explain?

A series of events prompted a friend to tell me about a new charter school opening and she suggested that it might be something I’d like. So I applied.  And then I stalked once I found out exactly what their purpose was.

Their goal was to create a home for learners who already knew the things and wanted more. They wanted a place where kids didn’t finish the vocabulary workbook the first week and hid their own novel behind a leveled reader the class was reading because they got to go to the class they were ready for.  They wanted to build a school where kids were encouraged to ask questions, to draw conclusions, to look into issues and situations with depth, researching and reading to find out the “why” behind events.  They wanted to create a home for learners who were advanced or different in their thinking, their doing, and their existing in the world.  They wanted to create a home for gifted education advocacy.  They wanted to create the academic home I’d always wanted when I was a kid.

And so here I am. 12 years of teaching later, eight years helping this place grow. My favorite thing, beyond the work with kids, about my job is that I get to innovate.  I get to create my own job description as I go.  I’m trusted enough to know when to ask for help or support or share questions I have.  I’m encouraged to think outside the box to solve problems.  I’m encouraged to help kids learn to advocate for what they need with peers and with adults…because we all have adults in our world who need to hear us say, “Hey, I need THIS in order to do my job…make it happen.”

I’m not in the classroom anymore, which is harder some days than others because I loved the time with kids, watching them grow. But, not being in the classroom gives me time to get to work with teachers and other adults who share their lives with these kids so that they can begin to understand the needs of these tall poppies and help them navigate a world they experience so very differently than others:

  • They need to be seen…really SEEN for the incredible, creative, quirky, asynchronous kids they are.
  • They need to be heard.  Gifted kids need for the people in their world to hear what they are thinking and help them find information, solutions, and additional questions to answer to deepen their understanding. They need to debate and hear other viewpoints and have their own challenged and develop arguments to challenge those of others.  They need to have their thoughts acknowledged, not shot down simply because they shouldn’t be thinking about things like that yet.
  • They need opportunity.  Gifted kids need the opportunity to excel and be recognized for it because they worked hard or because they did something amazing.  They need the opportunity to struggle and persist.  They need the opportunity to experience failure so that they know how to pick themselves up and begin again.  They need the opportunity to try new things in different ways to see if it will work.
  • They need to be understood.  That doesn’t mean that they need to get their way all the time.  And it doesn’t mean that they need to have people around them who understand the “theory” behind giftedness and wax eloquent about it to them.  They need people to combine the seeing of them, hearing of them, and providing of opportunity for them so that they can do things that might make a difference in our world.

The difference they will make might be creating something that sounds or looks beautiful simply so that it exists to bring people joy or make them feel an emotion.

It might be writing or creating or saying something that challenges someone to think differently about a situation.

It might be the creation of a foundation or organization to support people in need or develop something to improve lives.

It might be becoming the voice of people who can’t speak up for themselves.

It might be sharing their ability to make people howl with laughter or feel all the feels and need more tissues.

It might be becoming the helpers that Mr. Rogers memes reference after every bad thing that happens in our world.

It might be having the vision that sees what could be…that could make the world a better place somehow.

The tall poppies don’t need to be cut down so that they’re uniform so that the field looks pretty.  These tall poppies need to be allowed to stand tall, growing as tall and strong as they can so that they are able to see what the future might hold and what they need to do to help it along.

That’s why I choose to do this work.  My voice matters.