On Friday, I cried.
I cried when an about-to-graduate-and-go-be-amazing Ac Dec senior gave me a teacher appreciation card.
I cried when my principal showered me with embarrassingly excessive praise.
And I cried when asked by visiting administrators about my teaching style.
Friday, four curriculum administrators from a neighboring district came to watch my class. They wanted to see a workshop style classroom, and so they were invited to mine. With them was my district curriculum supervisor, my inclusion teacher, and me. Seven adults. Maybe 24 kids. An unusual ratio.
First, my students read their choice books, and I managed to confer with three different kiddos. Next, they prepared themselves and their thoughts for their fourth book club meeting using the ultimate academic tool, Post-it notes. Then, off we went. Book clubs met and discussed their questions and findings while recording their conversations for me to view and giggle at later (they are always hysterical and enlightening!). Ten minutes later, we reconvened to discuss the idea of missing scenes that we know happen in our stories but aren't privy to reading. How do we know they are there as readers? What would those scenes sound like? Why did the authors skip them? Again, we returned to clubs to analyze those missing pieces and invent what we thought might have been.
It was a total blast!
My students were on point as they would say! I've never seen them work so hard and share so much and really show what they know and can do. I KNEW they had it in them, and they blew me - and our guests - away. Gonna have to be some baked goods from my kitchen in their futures!
Following class, the visitors and I found a place to chat, and they showered me with praise for my students and questions for me. When did I change? How do I plan? What do I ask kids when I confer with them? How do I organize a class? A week? A semester? How did I arrive at organizing books clubs in this way? How did it feel to let go of traditional structures and ideas?
My motor mouth ran for an hour. Finally, things wound down. And then the question. The sweetest lady with the kindest brown eyes who'd smiled at me all morning asked, "What do you say to a teacher who is finally going to try this for the first time?"
"I would tell a teacher who is willing to take such a risk that it's ok to be afraid. Trying new things is so scary, so frightening. But it can also be exhilarating, and it's ultimately worth it for our kids."
And that's when I cried.
I think the adrenaline of the morning was oozing from my tear ducts. I think my pride over my students' performance was welling in my eyelids. And the utter truth of remembering how frightened I was just a few short years ago to let go of so much of what I knew and had experienced myself as a student and a teacher completely crushed my composure. Another kind lady at the end of the table dug a tissue from her purse and handed it my way. Thank goodness she had one; my sleeve was drenched!
Friday was possibly the most exhausted I have felt in eons, and it's taken all weekend to feel functional again. Yet, I'd do it all over tomorrow. And the next day. Because my students rocked this observation and really demonstrated their skills! They are incredible, amazing humans, and they are worth it all!
I cried when an about-to-graduate-and-go-be-amazing Ac Dec senior gave me a teacher appreciation card.
I cried when my principal showered me with embarrassingly excessive praise.
And I cried when asked by visiting administrators about my teaching style.
Friday, four curriculum administrators from a neighboring district came to watch my class. They wanted to see a workshop style classroom, and so they were invited to mine. With them was my district curriculum supervisor, my inclusion teacher, and me. Seven adults. Maybe 24 kids. An unusual ratio.
First, my students read their choice books, and I managed to confer with three different kiddos. Next, they prepared themselves and their thoughts for their fourth book club meeting using the ultimate academic tool, Post-it notes. Then, off we went. Book clubs met and discussed their questions and findings while recording their conversations for me to view and giggle at later (they are always hysterical and enlightening!). Ten minutes later, we reconvened to discuss the idea of missing scenes that we know happen in our stories but aren't privy to reading. How do we know they are there as readers? What would those scenes sound like? Why did the authors skip them? Again, we returned to clubs to analyze those missing pieces and invent what we thought might have been.
It was a total blast!
My students were on point as they would say! I've never seen them work so hard and share so much and really show what they know and can do. I KNEW they had it in them, and they blew me - and our guests - away. Gonna have to be some baked goods from my kitchen in their futures!
Following class, the visitors and I found a place to chat, and they showered me with praise for my students and questions for me. When did I change? How do I plan? What do I ask kids when I confer with them? How do I organize a class? A week? A semester? How did I arrive at organizing books clubs in this way? How did it feel to let go of traditional structures and ideas?
My motor mouth ran for an hour. Finally, things wound down. And then the question. The sweetest lady with the kindest brown eyes who'd smiled at me all morning asked, "What do you say to a teacher who is finally going to try this for the first time?"
"I would tell a teacher who is willing to take such a risk that it's ok to be afraid. Trying new things is so scary, so frightening. But it can also be exhilarating, and it's ultimately worth it for our kids."
And that's when I cried.
I think the adrenaline of the morning was oozing from my tear ducts. I think my pride over my students' performance was welling in my eyelids. And the utter truth of remembering how frightened I was just a few short years ago to let go of so much of what I knew and had experienced myself as a student and a teacher completely crushed my composure. Another kind lady at the end of the table dug a tissue from her purse and handed it my way. Thank goodness she had one; my sleeve was drenched!
Friday was possibly the most exhausted I have felt in eons, and it's taken all weekend to feel functional again. Yet, I'd do it all over tomorrow. And the next day. Because my students rocked this observation and really demonstrated their skills! They are incredible, amazing humans, and they are worth it all!
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