Category Archives: Gifted

There’s No Crying During Zoom Wine School

Big Ideas, Connections, Education Funding, Gifted

Shortly after the world stopped turning and we hunkered down at home in mid-March, a restaurant not remotely local to me began having a wine class every Sunday via Zoom. Friends shared the link with me, and I started going. They said the learning was good, but the chat was why they went. It lasts about an hour or so, and the chat was full of good people, funny people, and people looking for connection when there was so little to be had.

I started going and I don’t think I’ve missed a week since. Someone created bingo cards and there are t-shirts (I have two). Another proposes a wine school field trips when all this nonsense is over. There are guest speakers, winemakers, wine buyers, sommeliers, and other people from the restaurant world from their local area and beyond. And yes, the chat is spectacular. People worry when others don’t come or are late. I have never met any of these people yet I am willing to spend an hour or so of my Sunday afternoon with them and look forward to it every week. I learn some things about wine, and yes, that’s interesting to me, but moreso there’s connection, which many of us are lacking.

Social media right now is a hot mess. A friend deleted FB from his phone and is slowly managing withdrawal. Others have blocked friends and family because conversations have ceased to be kind, and others have simply unfollowed in the hopes that those people will stop commenting on posts to create drama and cause problems. In many ways, it’s almost as bad as it was just before the 2016 election, with outright lies, misinformation, denial of actual occurrences, unkindness, insults, and refusal to understand that behind every opinion is a human being.

A friend noted the other day that now that the 4th of July has passed, summer break is more prep than relaxation. In the before times (probably the best description I’ve heard yet), teachers spent a lot of July working on curriculum, taking PD, prepping their classrooms, supporting Target singlehandedly with school supply purchases so there would be extra just in case. This year, none of us know what to do because we don’t know what school will look like. Trump and DeVos are calling for all schools to reopen and things to get back to the way they were or else they’ll pull funding–kids don’t get sick, right? State and district-level administrators are brainstorming ways to keep kids and staff safe and healthy, while still complying with the demands of this administration out of fear they’ll lose MORE funding and have to cut even more positions, putting additional teachers out of work.

Building level administrators have it the hardest I think. While upper levels ARE thinking about kids and staff, they aren’t the ones fielding questions about exactly what the fall will look like and how their kids and families will be impacted. If you flipped through social media lately, you’d think that teachers were once again the problem and they didn’t want to come to work. But that’s just it–we do want to come to work, desperately…we miss our kids and families. Teachers are researching things on their own like face shields vs. masks, fresh air and how to get it into windowless classrooms, how to create a flipped classroom to maximize the time they get with kids, what to do when there is no AC and air recirculates throughout the building, how to have class outside or online while some kids are at home, how to create a community of learners who aren’t allowed to be anywhere near each other nor see one another’s faces, and what to do when teachers have left the building and go home to their own families, their own kids…is there a pile of teacher laundry in the garage and a shower to hose off with before they walk in the house to be with their own families?

While I was listening to wine school this afternoon, I came across a post a friend shared on her social media from someone else and I got a little teary which then involved some questions from others to just me if I was ok (Lambrusco doesn’t generally evoke tears I guess). Remember, none of these people actually KNOW me…but they could SEE me, and that mattered an awful lot.

I’m not a religious person necessarily, but sometimes, we have to pull out all the stops and call on whatever higher powers might exist. This is the post:

From Kathleen Caldwell Dial, “Wrote this today in response for a group of friends asking how they can pray for me. Wanted to share with you…

As you know, I believe in the power of prayer. Here are some ways you can pray for me, and any school leader at this time: Pray for our health, the health of our staff, and the health of our students. We love those we serve. Pray we can be innovative with safety measures given the resources we have and the mandates given. Safety is our highest calling. Always has been. Pray we can appropriately and excellently staff the array of school options we are giving families. We long to do great work and make a difference. Pray we can strongly support student and staff social/emotional/mental health and character development. This matters. This isn’t one more thing on the plate–it is the plate. Pray we can accelerate learning. Pray we can have the stamina needed for the big work and long days we have before us. Pray for wisdom. We have never done this before, neither have those who lead us. Pray for us to lean on one another, and our teams. Together is better. Relationships are central to our work. Pray for us to keep hope in the equation. It can feel like we are hard pressed on every side. Pray for our hearts. ❤️”

Whether you are a praying person or not, these are the thoughts that our educators need right now. They need to know that they are supported. They need to know that you recognize that their fears are not selfish and that they’re not trying to get out of work. They need to know that their lives matter. They need to know that the things they are trying to do for the kids and families they serve matter–they’re well aware they won’t make everyone happy but they’re trying. They need to know that the public recognizes that they understand that there is risk involved in re-opening school…and that they’re scared too. Everyone from the first year teacher to the seasoned teacher and all of them in between and around them is scared too. A lot of what if’s are hanging over us, putting even more weight on our shoulders.

It was good to be seen today by those at wine school…just seen. They didn’t ask me to fix anything or go deep into explanation, didn’t make me feel bad for having feelings and showing them to a hundred plus people I don’t know, didn’t share their opinions on anything. They simply said yeah, we get it. And that was enough. We can get through this together.

Falling Apart or Falling Into Place

Coaching, Connections, Gifted

This is the time of year that teachers begin to notice changes.  Some changes are easy to spot.  Joe grew what seems to be a foot over Winter Break.  Annabeth and her sister got braces.  Jed’s voice has begun to change. Kids are more gangly (or less) and are better (or less) able to recognize where they are in space.  Awkward misunderstanding-based interactions become less frequent.  Behaviors teachers are tracking become less frequent or require fewer redirections.

They can walk in a straight-ish line from the classroom to another location and it didn’t take six years to get them into a mostly reasonable line to start with.

Other changes are more subtle.  Some kids seem more mature, more responsible with fewer items lost or left behind every afternoon.  Some are suddenly more independent. The mass exodus of pencils out of classrooms slows slightly.  Angry outbursts happen less often and kids seem more mellow.  More writing happens with less complaining about how utterly awful it is.  Confidence has appeared.  The ability to make and defend arguments improve.  Random acts of kindness happen more often with no expectation of reciprocation.

Newer teachers are beginning to feel hopeful. The days become less focused on surviving until dismissal and more focused on growth, both for their students and for themselves. They don’t feel like everything is falling apart every moment of every day.

They’ve gotten into a bit of a groove.  One or two nights they stay late to prep for the week, and are starting to take more time for themselves on weekends, setting boundaries about planning and prep at home to make room for time with spouses and friends. They know where they put things in their classroom and why…and can find them again with more ease now.  Watching them teach, they seem more at ease, both with content and flow, but also with their role in the classroom, whether that’s “Sage on the Stage” or “Guide on the Side” at any given moment.  They’ve grown the eyes in the back of their heads and are now able to tell Toby to put it away without ever turning around.  They know when CJ has a cell phone in her lap to text Josh across the room and can confiscate it without a word, beginning the draft of an email to CJ’s father while giving the next set of instructions so she doesn’t forget to send it later.

Their “teacher bladder” has kicked in and their ability to consume lunch in 20 minutes while fighting with Bob Marley the copier has improved.

They’re willing to share strategies and learnings with others now.  They have more confidence in their own abilities and have a better idea as to what they need from their colleagues, mentors, coaches, and principals.  They feel more comfortable asking for what they need and brainstorming solutions with others.  They’re digging into data and looking for opportunities to challenge their kids…and themselves.

They start thinking about next year.  They see the light at the end of the tunnel…and it looks promising.

There are still frustrating moments of course.  There always will be when you aren’t working with widgets.  Some afternoons at 2pm, visions of being a barista or bartender look pretty good.  There’s gripe sessions over wine or beer with friends and spouses (and opportunities to teach their spouses and friends that griping doesn’t mean they have to fix the problem…just listen) that lead to a reset of sorts.  Sometimes that verbal processing leads to newfound determination and ideas.

And for me, it’s the time of year that I look at my growing to-do list and hope that I, too, find my groove before June arrives.  I need to find a good schedule for the things I’ve put on my plate: getting into classrooms to observe, supporting kids in the moment, and other projects that have due dates…mine or someone else’s. Another round of conferences begin next month and I want to grow in how I present sessions to teachers.  The feedback received in the fall was great, but now I need to tweak to ensure I’m not the only one having fun.  I want to create a solid induction program that makes sense for both new teachers and those new to us, that focuses on the most important practices and gets to the heart of our mission and vision. So many projects.

I had the opportunity to be with kids for a little while this week and did an impromptu mini-lesson based on an objective listed on the whiteboard. Once the kids got started, a parent volunteer in the room noted that she thought I ought to be with kids in the classroom all the time again…I was a good teacher. She was so sweet to say so. I do miss it. I miss the predictability of it all and the control I had over how my day went. There was little chaos in my world then, and I was protected in my classroom from anything else going on in the building. I had one job…and it was glorious.

I chose this. I could have said no. But it was a chance to grow and learn. A challenge. An opportunity to innovate something that we hadn’t had before. I was handed the opportunity to build my own job–few people get to do that in their lifetime. And even on the most frustrating and difficult days, it’s still glorious. Every day I learn something new and feel more confident in the decisions I make. I don’t second guess myself as often, and yes, I still screw up. I’m willing to ask for support and learn quickly what I don’t know when a situation arises. And there are lots of those.

I’m no less a teacher. It just looks different. And my tall poppies are educators, learning to navigate the field of their own tall poppies, with all of their beautiful quirks. It’s all falling into place.

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.