Home(work) for the Holidays

“Teacher, I didn’t do my homework because…..” Every teacher has rolled his or her eyes at this line. However, there are times when school should accommodate the rest of students’ lives. Perhaps a dog’s wayward eating habits do not qualify, but what about religious holidays?

The Jewish High Holidays just ended, and my community has a significant number of Jewish families. Each year about this time, our assistant principal sends an email to teachers asking them “not to schedule assessments or major projects on the days immediately following Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, as many students will be unable to properly prepare due to family & religious obligations.” The assistant principal sends out similar notices for Easter, Ramadan, and a handful of other holidays.

It doesn’t matter.

Students report that they have quizzes, tests, and significant homework assignments due immediately following the High Holidays. When families are going to services, family gatherings, or traveling to be with relatives, time is tight. So the choice is to either participate in family and religious events or do homework.

I overheard two staff members talking in the teacher workroom.  One complained that his practice schedule was altered on the evenings before the holidays. He said that he made it clear to his athletes that it was okay if they needed to miss that practice or leave early. The second coach said something astute and sensitive: kids don’t want to disappoint the coach (or teacher). Although the practice may be noted as “optional,” kids fear that will reflect badly on them or cost them a chance at participating in the next contest.

The same scenario played out academically. As a teacher noted that his students were reporting lots of homework and tests the day after Rosh Hashanah, another teacher stated he made it clear that, if students were not able to get the work done, they just should tell him and he’d adjust their activities in class. But kids don’t like doing that. This teacher did note that few students had ever actually done this. I was not surprised.

I just learned that one coach had scheduled a field trip on the Sunday following Yom Kippur. The kids reported that it was “mandatory.” Given that some kids travel to celebrate the holiday, and Sunday after Yom Kippur is the primary day to get all that work done, this “field trip” was ill timed and insensitive.

School does not happen in a vacuum. There are many priorities competing for a child’s attention: activities, work, family, health, not to mention the emotional drama that is unfortunately part of many of our children’s lives. But none of that matters when we have to get through unit seven!

I am disappointed in some of my colleagues. Yes, it takes a little more planning and creativity to find a way to make a schedule work during the fall Jewish holidays – or the spring holidays when Easter and Passover come at nearly the same time. But it is important that we do so.

Kids do need to partner with their teachers. Students need to use assignment sheets to plan in advance. They can approach teachers and point out problems before they become issues. However, the adults have to give them these tools. If the test is announced on the Wednesday before Rosh Hashanah, the student has been put in an untenable position – and it is the teacher’s fault!

It is important that we acknowledge that school, specifically homework, is only one of many priorities for students when they leave the classroom. We can help kids manage the “crunch” times, whether they are religious holidays, the play, or playoffs. It is critical to teach them ways to juggle their lives outside of school and stay engaged in their studies. It is a give and take, and teachers need to be better at giving.

Tears at the Airport

“Don’t cry in front of your child,” was the advice a friend gave me. And I didn’t when we dropped our daughter off for her freshman year of college about a year ago. I had more than a few tears after we left the dorm. I had a rough time on the flight back home. And then I got used to the new situation, video chats, text messages, and visits every two or three months.

But this year it is different.

My daughter just left for Africa. This time, she will be away for four months and there will be no visiting. This time, she is in a foreign country far away from the familiar. This time, she is really on her own. This excites her, and it scares me.

She is capable, smart, and strong. I am very confident that she will be able to cope with the challenges ahead of her. I know that some of them will be significant, and some will be “growing experiences.” My fear is not rational. It is not about her; it is about me.

My daughter’s semester abroad is so much more than an extended vacation. A majority of the students we know study aboard in more conventional locations. Had she chosen to study in Europe, the weight of the distance would probably have been less. Maybe. Since she is traveling to a part of the world that is very different and very distant, it means that she is more on her own than she has ever been before. And I am less in contact and control.

Yes, I think that is what this is about. This is about the ever-present parachute, even when she is two hours away by plane. I could come to her rescue if she needed me. I could sweep in and play powerful parent. I haven’t done that. She hasn’t needed it. But I could. It is possible. Not this semester.

We want to protect our children. We want to shield them from emotional or physical harm. We don’t want to keep them in a bubble, but we don’t want scars or scares. I don’t know that this impulse ever goes away. I can’t imagine ever losing it. Yet, I must suppress it.

I cried at the airport when we dropped her off. We all cried at home before we left. I cried on the way home, too. And every so often an irrational fear hits me, and I have to fight that feeling.

There are many parenting turning points. Many seem to be related to increasing the distance between parents and children. They are about putting our children in the very positions we worked so hard to keep them from; placing them in harm’s way, stepping back, swallowing our anxiety, and letting them protect themselves.

And we want that. Right?

Yes, I want that. She is more than ready for it. She can do it, and I am going to have to step back, shut up, and let her go. Besides, she is in Africa.

Yet, I am not ready to let go, and that’s tough luck, because she is on her way. And I am crying.

Back in the Salad Again

My school has a distinctive smell. I know the smell. It is the “school without kids in it yet” scent. It is the anticipation smell. It is the smell of possibility. I love going to school in the weeks before students arrive. I photocopy and decorate my classrooms. I get all the things I have packed away and pull them out again.

There are sad moments as well, as I realize that I won’t have last year’s groups. I miss them. I am delighted when familiar faces appear in the halls, and when new faces become familiar.

Getting ready to go back to school may be one of the most difficult transitions of the year. But transitions are one of the things that make being a teacher so joyful. Teaching is about working with people over time. Teaching is about change and embraces the transitions. We go. We go back. And each time we go back, we are all in a different place. Each time I enter my classroom, there are different children. Even day-to-day, my students grow, change, and develop. It is a beautiful and wonderful process.

It has been a good summer, and I have loved almost every minute of it. I am almost ready to return, and I am getting myself there. Recently, I got a glimpse of my class lists. Many of the kids I know. Many I know somewhat. Most I don’t know at all. I am excited to get to know them well. I am eager to learn with them.

New students and new things to study! I have rarely taught the same course for more than a few years in a row. It doesn’t matter much, because my lessons are never the same. In order to keep up with the kids, the lessons must change, too. Each summer I fuss with my curriculum. This summer, I gave one of my classes quite an overhaul. It is very different than it was last year. While there are texts I have taught for many years, they turn out very differently with each group of students. When I meet a class, I learn about them as individuals and a group. Even different sections of the same course end up with different lessons. They must! I need to tailor the course to the kids.

A few years ago, I was given a Freshman English class that was all male. No girls. I made a few adjustments in the texts (For example, I had been teaching A Midsummer’s Nights Dream; I went back to Romeo and Juliet), and then many adaptations to activities and lesson structures. The group needed more small group work, more physical movement, and this group loved reading aloud and enacting literature. So that’s what we did.

And once I get to know the kids, I can help them grow in new directions. Neither their strengths nor their struggles should be their prisons. I try to help students understand their current skill level and then teach them how to improve (or develop) those skills.

It is wonderful to reconnect with my colleagues. I have seen a few of them over the summer at workshops and meetings as well as at social events. Being away from each other for a little while lets me see them anew. There are new things to share: an engagement, a pregnancy, a new degree, a new home, and, of course, a new school year.

It is all thrown together: new kids, new tales, old colleagues with new news, updated curriculum, and all the energy and activity of the start of school. To twist the old Roy Rogers song, “I’m back in the salad again,” – and delighted to be there!

A Warning to College Profs from a High School Teacher

Educational reform has run amok in the United States. Our current education “programs” are destroying our children’s learning. This article articulates this beautifully. Please take a look:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2013/02/09/a-warning-to-college-profs-from-a-high-school-teacher/

The College Journey Continues: A Partially Empty Nest

The house is quiet. My daughter is at college. My son is at camp. We have quick visits with my daughter on special weekends and winter break. Since she is doing college in three years, she does not come home for the summer. We have video chats, text messages, emails, and phone calls a few times a week. Soon, she leaves for Africa. My son lives here, but increasingly has his own schedule that depends less and less on his parents. Right now he, too, is away. Even when he is home, he only one wing in the nest.

I am adjusting to how much I see, or don’t see, my children. It is the right amount, but it is not what I would choose. I am fighting the over-parenting impulse. It isn’t easy.  

My busy life is distracting, and I have my own activities. Most of the time, I do not focus on the fact that my daughter is far away. Yet, she is on my mind. Frequently. When I see the blur that is my son, I must resist the urge to reach out and stop him!

My friends whose children have left the house say that, although they too missed their children initially, they came to really enjoy their empty nest. I am not there yet. I am delighted that my younger child still has a few years before college. And maybe I can’t fully appreciate the quiet with a child still living at home. Maybe I don’t want to.  

I am becoming a long distance parent. I am learning to hug via FaceTime. I am figuring out what it means to send a pithy text message with an emoticon to convey my feelings.

I will not keep my children dependent and sheltered. I do not want them to remain “children.”  However, I do want them to remain. This is really about our changing roles. This is about accepting and embracing my new role when I have been so comfortable and happy in the old one.

And this is about letting go. Having loved ones far away is challenging. I liked our relationship when the kids were younger. It didn’t need fixing or “time off.” I am still mourning that relationship, and working on liking the new version. It is where the relationship must go next to stay healthy. I know that. I am just not there yet.

That is what I keep telling myself. This is the right move. This is good for them. This is the natural way. I know this is only partially true. Many kids go to college closer to home. Some separate regardless of physical distance. Some stay very close (sometimes too close) when they are even farther away.

And my children are capable! They can handle problems without me. They do not need their father to rush to their rescue. I am not their only resource for assistance, and they are good at coming to me (or other people) when they need help.

As I face the reality of my children making their own “nests” and living a majority of their lives apart from me, I am living a kind of adolescence. My daughter is not a full-fledged adult out of the house. My son will soon have his driver’s license and need my help even less. But I have not full launched them into the world. This is a trial period; a training time. We are all learning and figuring out how this works. I hope we’ll get the hang of it by the time the nest is really empty and our younger child departs for college.

Winning Plays

I am not a sports person. As a child, my athletic experiences were painful, humiliating, and drenched in sweat. However, I married a coach and an athlete and, unsurprisingly, our children have been involved in performing arts and athletics. When my younger child was waffling about soccer, I even became a coach for a few seasons.

There is a stark difference in the quality of my children’s experiences in theatre and sports. With few exceptions, my children’s experience on high school teams has been uneven and often frustrating and painful. They have loved their time working on plays and musicals. The key difference is the adults in charge. Whether it is a play, music ensemble, or athletic team, there are a few critical strategies that “coaches” can take so it is a healthy and positive experience for all kids.  

Be inclusive: The kids in the theatre are molded into a company. Every student has a job and is actively involved - even if a stagehand only places a prop or a “spear carrier” says only, “dinner is served.” If a student is chosen to be on the team, that student must do more than practice. While I have some qualms with the value, I understand that, at the varsity level, high school sports are about winning. For other levels, inclusion, the development of skills, and time on the field must be valued at least as much as victory. 

Build community: The track team at our school is remarkably close. Kids in theatre productions make new friends that extend beyond the boundaries of the show. There is a reason for this. The adults in charge help kids develop deep and meaningful relationships with each other. To them, kids are far more than chess pieces in a game. They create experiences in rehearsal and practice that allow kids to go beyond the superficial and break down “clique” barriers. That has never happened for my children on their teams and has been a consistent high spot in their experiences on stage.

Treat kids with respect and caring: Both of my kids believed that their coaches didn’t really care about them. With only one exception, my children neither liked their coaches nor thought that their coaches liked them. Their relationship was strictly business. In one case, my child feared her coach. My children cherish their relationships with the adults in theatre. Community is built on relationships. In theatre, kids get the message that their participation matters. The technical director and stage director get to know kids. They learn who they are beyond the show. This takes time, but more importantly, it takes adults who really want to connect deeply with kids. I know there are coaches, sponsors, and directors who fit this mold. 

Strike a balance between the needs of the individual and needs of the group: “There is no I in team.” There is no “I” in theatre either. The fact is that kids are individuals. They are not robots who subsume themselves in the collective. They are part of a team (or company), but they are also multidimensional people. They have families, other interests, and unique qualities. It pains me that my children had to sign up for special lessons and participate in club sports to be able to make the cut for teams. Many of my children’s teammates do nothing other than one or two sports. Specialization is what is required to compete. This is sad. I want my children to play sports. I also want them to play musical instruments, participate in clubs, go to youth group, and explore many activities.

Foster kids’ success: As a teacher, I work hard to help every student succeed. Every child in a production has a role to play. My children have been frustrated in sports because they did not have the opportunity to succeed. Furthermore, they didn’t feel like the coach was their ally. The coach was a critic, who more often than not gave them a thumbs down.

Our theatre program has a motto: The most important thing is how we treat each other. Can we treat kids in a more humane and caring way? Can inclusion and the development of skills sit side by side with competition? Winning means more than scoring: it is about the quality of kids’ experiences.

Summer Guilt

“So what are you doing this summer?”

I am asked this question daily. I didn’t choose to be a teacher for summer break, but it is a wonderful benefit. When people ask me what I am doing, I often feel my answers don’t measure up.

I have my stock responses: I do about 80% of my lesson planning over the summer. I take workshops and classes. My wife and I travel. I spend a great deal of time schlepping my children and going to their activities and sports. We have quality family time. Yet, that doesn’t feel like enough. I do that during the school year.

I should say something like, “I am building homes for the poor, writing a book about literacy, running two marathons, reroofing my home, and teaching summer school to disadvantaged students – and that’s only July!” I feel guilty that my summer is not justified with productive and generous activities.

The truth is I like summer because it is not overstuffed and moves at a leisurely pace. It is the opposite of the rest of my year. Instead of the frantic early morning rush, I savor the slow slide from morning wake up to workout. I love making and enjoying breakfast rather than rushing through it. I get to say, “yes” to social engagements, special events, and last minute jaunts. My summer is not frenzied like the rest of my year, like the rest of my life!

So now I feel even guiltier. Not only do I get summer break, it is enjoyable and relaxed! I think, “others get a few weeks of vacation, and I get a whole summer.” That isn’t fair. Everyone should get to enjoy this kind of change of pace.

There are the stock rationalizations: my job as a teacher is different than other professions, but we know the truth about that. Everyone’s job has stress from clients and bosses, homework, legislative demands, non-air-conditioned work places, underfunded budgets, and restless teenagers (and their parents). Every job has its unique challenges and perks. We’re all in the same classroom –right?

I am a parent as well as a teacher. As a parent, summer is a joyous gift! I get to go full time with my family. I have the time to sit through long baseball games (and not grade quizzes at the same time), bring kids off to the pool, or take time to do whatever my children want. My kids and I share this calendar, and that may be my favorite thing about summer.

So how do I alleviate my summer guilt? I make long lists and do everything on them. All those home task, special projects, and school tasks that didn’t fit into the regular year finally find have my attention. Summer for me is not totally free – but unlike the rest of the year, I am in control of my schedule.

Summer is my crazy profession’s antidote. Maybe someday, we’ll find a way to make both teachers’ and students’ lives more balanced throughout the year. We won’t have the summer binge and the  school-year purge. I wouldn’t bet your vacation on that happening soon.

Someday, I’d like to take the summer off completely. I’d like to have a summer free from lesson planning, workshops, and schoolwork. One summer, I’d like to lose my to-do list. But that has another name: retirement. And my retirement is not that far away. Then I will really feel guilty!