Added: Jonathon Brasfield - Date: 28.11.2021 19:43 - Views: 28743 - Clicks: 3427
Slowing as I exit the freeway, I realize it. But there they are. Those tingles that I get when each year of teaching officially begins. Always we begin again. I taught that class of 10 8th-grade Honors English students from September through their 8th-grade graduation and still remember their names and a few faces. My supervising teacher gave me her class and her trust — and the invaluable experience of trying out my own ideas and learning through experience.
With that class, no other teacher was in the room — I could just teach and enjoy the. Of course, my supervising teacher checked my plans, and we met daily to discuss what was happening, but by the 2nd-semester, I was pretty much on my own…and loving it! Today, I begin again. I remember names and faces and words spoken and jokes shared and tears cried and the trials and the celebrations. I remember the ones who came to my wedding. I remember the ones who gave me an invaluable gift of a battery-operated baby swing for my first child after putting up with my pregnancy-induced moods all year.
I remember the ones who came into my room at lunch to play Jaci Velasquez on my computer because they knew I was a Christian and would let them play the CD. I remember the girls, now women with kids and grand kids! I remember so much more. I read a book with that titleand the idea has stayed with me. Always…we begin again. I have no idea what this year holds — who knew last year would end up in the virtual world and that this year may start that way?!
Yet, still, I, and every other teacher, begin again. We begin to anticipate who our kids are; we wonder will they laugh with us, will we be able to share life with them at a deep level, will we find commonalities, and of course, in all honesty, will they like us? So much joy in that anticipation as we begin again! Friends ask what I lessons of pasion during the summer.
Truth is that this summer found my options limited so I worked on new ideas for each of my classes. I teach 6th, 7th, 8th, 10th, and 11th grade English classes, with the grade being a new addition for me. Creating, in any form, is beginning…again. And it gives me tingles. And now, I begin again. Those tingles remind me I have more kids to know and love.
I begin again. And I am so very blessed. May they begin again. In all ways. Leave a comment. Filed under Passion and PurposeReflective Practice. Last year, though, something changed. I lost focus. I walked into my classroom focused on two priorities: decorating and using tech-stuff.
I walked into my classroom focused on t he images of what I should be and do gathered during a summer of social media immersion. I scoured HomeGoods had gift cards! On each table, I placed baskets full of pens, pencils, highlighters, and post-its; and of course, centered on each table, a mason jar full lessons of pasion sunflowers. My 7th and 8th-grade kids were going to feel so comfortable in this cozy, warm and sunny environment. I wish. Last year was one of the most difficult of my year teaching career. I spent time trying to integrate my new-found tools and ideas with a curriculum that was pretty well set by the administration.
This led to questions and concerns from my supervisors about what I was doing, which put me on the defensive by November. I cried because the more I tried to explain myself, the more worried I became about failing. And in all of this, my kids became the background, not the foreground of my daily life. As I focused more and more on proving that I knew what I was doing, I lost sight of the kids in front of me.
I am a broken crayon who has a purpose. I look forward to walking into my next classroom with my focus on my. Some of whom will also be broken crayons. Needless to say, I jumped up and down and shared my blessing with everyone on all of my social media sites. I was thinking possibilities. Thursday, a. I arrived by 8 a.
Exhausted … but thinking possibilities. Each session I attended throughout the conference turned out to be energizing. And I checked out all of the resources that presenters so willingly shared on the CUE site! Highlights also included checking out the exhibitors and meeting one of the hip-hop artists from Flocabulary. Yes, I love hip-hop — I probably enjoy Flocabulary videos as much as or even more than my middles.
I do so with much gratefulness for my colleagues, the administrators who hired me, and the kids with whom I shared my days. It may seem strange, then, that without a teaching position for the next year yet, I spent 3 days at the CUE Conference. When a month ago, I realized that I would not have a teaching position lined up, I wondered if I should still attend the conference.
Teachers teach, just not on the same day, or in the same way. Teaching is part technique, part artistry, and part personality. Just as students bring their various selves into the classroom and learn differently, so do teachers bring their various lessons of pasion into a school and teach differently. What if, however, the class is taught by a teacher who loves the spontaneous responses of kids eager to share?
Is this to be considered a lack of engagement? Possibly not. I do know that I realized today that I love what I do because of my lessons of pasion, because of my artistry when creating learning experiences, and especially because of my unique and personal interaction with these kids I love. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something I can do.
That was the heart of Carol Findlater, my fourth grade teacher and inspiration. Miss Findlater loved and lived passionately and instilled in each student confidence of success. I write about Miss Findlater here, because she connected students to herself in a way that transcended the sharing of content knowledge and physical space for nine months, and she instilled a passion for life, not just learning, that continues to inspire my own learning and teaching years later. Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door! Lazarus, In fact, I do not recall wanting to become a teacher because I loved children or even had a desire to help students. Inmost of the adult women I knew were homemakers. Thinking about Miss Findlater, I decided to visit the alumni of my old neighborhood school, and yes, many students had written of their memories of Miss Findlater. For instance, a boy from my same fourth grade class recalled:.
A quickie about Miss Findlater. She was my 4th grade teacher at Peter Burnett. She was so nice. When I was the window monitor and put my hand through the window and cut four of my fingers nearly completely off she was so concerned she came to the hospital with me. I remember her lessons of pasion fondly Jones, I visited her at Peter Burnett School. When Miss Findlater passed away, I attended her funeral, along with the entire neighborhood. Many of us who had traveled a fair distance and arrived only a half hour before the service, had to stand outside as the church was full.
We stood, with dignity, and we knew that Miss Findlater had touched each of us with respect, and love, and life. I long to be and continue to admire those teachers who are the Carol Findlaters of their schools. Those are the students I want to teach. Of course, desire is the first step. The next step is taking the risks involved to be that type of teacher. Do I risk anything for my students?
Do I truly advocate for students? Phelps, More recently, Aaron Hogan encourages teachers to risk vulnerability Hogan, What do you like? I have an interesting, evolving role; I hope as I continue in whatever capacity I am in and wherever I am, to strive to breathe life-giving respect and passion into my students daily. Corbett, D. No choice but success. Educational Leadership, 62 68— Hogan, A. Dave Burgess Consulting, Incorporated. Phelps, P. The three Rs of professionalism. Kappa Delta Pi Record, 42 269—Lessons of pasion
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