A Different Type of Teacher

Twenty five years ago, I was blessed with a handsome baby boy. I named him Phillip Michael. I remember at the moment he was born, I promised him I would take special care of this special gift. As a small child I noticed how smart he was, so I began teaching him how to read. By three years old, he was reading everything he could find and was willing to talk about what he had learned with anyone who would listen.

When he became school age, I was his kindergarten teacher and his first and second grade teacher. I worked hard with him and he always excelled. When he left me and moved on to third, I was excited to see that he continued to excel in all of his classes. I was so proud of him. He was always proud of him. He consistently competed in spelling bees and had a natural gift for basketball.

Upon reaching middle school, he began to struggle with math, but he always worked hard and did his best. He passed seventh grade math and eighth grade and was finally ready to move on to high school. I was so proud of him! Finally high school! Freshman year began.

Bright and early one morning, I had dropped off my son at school and was heading to work when I got from on my phone. The distress sound in his voice told set off my mommy alarm. “MOM!!! Mrs. T said that I was going to fail and have to go to summer school!” Of course, I was just as outraged as he was. “Phillip, what are you talking about?” Who is Mrs. T ? She isn’t your math teacher. Why is she talking to you about your grades? When did she say you would have to do summer school?

Phillip said, “Mom, I was sitting on the floor in the hallway, getting my things together for the day and she yelled at me. She said I was failing my math class.” I was stunned. Who was this woman? Who did she think she was to say such discouraging things to him so early in the morning. “Son,” I said, I don’t understand. Who is this woman?” He replied, “She is the registrar.”

My heart stopped. I moved from infuriated to seeing red! I couldn’t believe it! we hadn’t even finished the first semester yet. So I breathed a prayer and called my mother. Mom!! I am going to kill the people at that school! Through tears as I drove, I began to pour out my frustration and pain to my mother. I screamed out my pain and cried out in anger at the disgust I was experiencing. I was outraged! How dare the registrar tell my son at seven-thirty in the morning that he might as well quit trying because he was going to fail anyway. I had watched my son come home and agonize over his math.

I listened and watched him call friends and skype others to get help. He had stayed up long nights struggling to understand the concepts. I had visited the school and had meetings with the teacher, to ensure that Phil was going to class was asking questions. Never had I been told that he was failing. Never had a bad report come home, no text, no calls, no emails. The teacher had never offered tutoring.

I knew Phil had been going to another teacher to get the help hie needed because his teacher didn’t have tutoring available. I knew he was doing all that he could to stay on top of his work. He was sinking faster and faster and nothing was helping. I would get emails from the school about hot lunch money owed but never a peep about my son’s academic progress.

I was outraged! I was flustered! I was downright MAD! I could only think about the lack of communication. I though about what I was doing on my job to ensure my students success. I was thinking about the phone calls I had made, the parent teacher conferences, the home visits, and the learning plans that I had helped to write. I thought about all the tutoring times that I set up and the lunch periods I had given up to help students that were struggling. I stopped, stepped back and took a moment to reevaluate and reflect. I tried to give excuses. I thought maybe this was the teacher’s first year teaching or maybe Phillip is a disciplinary problem or maybe he was too involved in basketball. Maybe he needs to spend less time working on his jump shot and more time on his algebra. But I knew he had done all of those things and still he was failing.

My mother said to me “Let’s investigate this. Let’s see what we can find out.” She suggested that I ask for a conference with the teacher and the principal. I agreed and emailed the principal to ask for a conference. I even emailed the teacher and asked him why I hadn’t heard from him first and why had I heard from the registrar. Why had he not contacted me? He told me that I should have been looking at my child’s grades in the online learning management program that the school used.

I explained to him that I had no knowledge of this program and had not been made aware of it and how it worked. Even as we went back and forth I knew he was not going to hear what I had to say. Finally the principal set up a meeting with me. I asked my mother to go with me, I didn’t trust my intentions. I felt that I was right. I knew that if I went into that meeting without my mother sitting there beside me I was going to come across the table and kill both the math teacher and the registrar. I knew that if I went to the meeting I was going to rearrange the math teacher’s molecules in such a fashion that the only he would be able to teach was would be the inside of his eyelids how to turn from black to pink.

The associate principal was a good friend of mine. She called me and asked me to come in early. My principal had given me the whole day to get clarification on the issues that I was having at my son’s school. That morning, my husband and I prayed together for patience and the right words as well as understanding. I arrived about thirty minutes early and went to see my friend. She knew I was wearing my heart on my sleeve. She prayed with me and for me. She begged me to go into the meeting and not make a fool of myself. I promised her I would be professional.

But I knew that was only wishful thinking. My mother and I went into the meeting. The principal introduced himself. He asked me what happened. I explained as best as I could that I had already handled the registrar. I just needed him to clarify fo me what the school policy was on grading scales and syllabi. I pulled out my son’s syllabus for class and the work that had been handed back. I explained to him that I was not asking him to pass Phillip if he deserved to fail. I was asking him to help the teacher to be fair and considerate of the parents. I begged him to help his teachers communicate with parents more.

The principal stood behind his teacher, as any good principal would, and explained that according to the syllabus and grading policy Phillip should be failing. I listened and before I could speak, my mother spoke. I must explain, my mother had her Ph.D in education and was the Director of Education for the small private school system. This system covered schools in the state of Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Louisiana and Arkansas. She had promised me that she would only speak to keep me at bay but I think as she listened to the foolishness, she too was fed up. She was very slow and deliberate in her remarks but she was also right.

The principal in his foolish thinking began to disagree. But then he stopped and began to listen to the reasoning behind what had happened he too began to change his tune. Finally even he agreed that the actions of the teacher and registrar were in bad taste. Reluctantly, the algebra teacher was called in. He was asked by both principal and associate principal how he contacted parents when students were in fear of failing. He couldn’t answer. I asked him how he expected Phillip to be a success when he obviously wasn’t expecting success since he kept me out of the loop. He said to that was not his concern. I was floored and angry. I was back at the heat of my anger. I was back to the point of measuring him for his own personal body bag. I had his funeral planned in my mind. I could see myself singing over his body as pallbearers lowered his ignorant carcass to the earth from which it had originally come.

Sadly he never apologized. He only said he would contact me from that point on and keep his grades up to date so that I could check them online. He took my email address and phone number and promised to keep me in the loop. I left the meeting feeling like I had been talking to a wall, a brick wall. I knew in my heart that nothing would change but i refused to be labeled as the outrageous ignorant parent that came to the school and jumped the algebra teacher.

For weeks, I heard nothing. I asked my son he felt and he was still frustrated but he kept trying. He worked hard all year to get his grades back up and at one point even had a C. Never in our lives had we been so excited about a C. He continued to struggle but by the end he was feeling more successful and it seemed that prayer still worked.

But then springtime came, the algebra teacher who happened to be also be the choir teacher, began to prepare for this big year end musical. He took the choir to choir camp for a week and stopped having after school tutoring. He was so focused on his end of year program that his other classes had to fend for themselves. A substitute teacher taught algebra for weeks, well he babysat for several weeks. Finally the end of the year musical was over, the children had done a wonderful job and choir/algebra teacher was ready to complete his calling and finish the year out. But he was tired and decided that he was no longer doing any tutoring. He was tired of teaching so he quite doing that too. He let the classes know that he would be giving a final in about a week and it would be over the end of the textbook.

Phillip came home disgusted. He was studying every night and going to a tutor everyday. “Finally he said to me, Mom I am going to fail this class. I know I am. I have tried my best but my teacher is not willing to help me. I just don’t understand what is going on in this class and he is not teaching any more. In fact, we go to the gym and play basketball during algebra class now. I don’t think I am going to be able to pull a passing grade. I have done all my homework and all my classwork. I have prayed and talked to my tutor but I don’t know what to think about my test today. I didn’t recognize any of the material.” “Well,” I said. “I know you did your best and that is all I am asking of you.” He breathed a sigh of relief and worked on a project for another class. The school year finally ended and summer came. I received a phone call. Phillip had failed algebra by three points. I was inflamed. I couldn’t believe that with all the work that he had put in the teacher was not willing to pass him. I wasn’t asking for an A, just a passing grade.

This experience was so difficult for me. It was that summer that I decided that I would never be that kind of teacher. I would teach not only my content but I would teach with a heart. I would build a relationship with my students. I would work to ensure understanding, be fair, and create a classroom of tolerance. I am still striving for those goals. I pray that some day I can say I was successful .

An Unrelenting Headache

I had a challenging start to my week and I thought it would never end. I had a killer headache — the type that just won’t quit. I tried to do all the right things: I drank lots of water, watched my salt intake, took my vitamins and tried to get some rest. However, my headache had decided it was here to stay. My headache and I had a conversation.

“Look you need to be with someone who can spend time with you, love you, cuddle in a nice warm bed with your, listen to your and give you what you need.” I told it. “I am not the one.” I’m not the nurturing type, at least not to headaches. It is a challenge for me to focus for more than an hour these days, and this headache was demanding not just hours but what felt like days.

If you’ve ever had a headache like this one, you know that the only thing that usually woks for it is rest and ibuprofen. But if you find yourself with these headaches often, it begs the question: how can we create a life with lower levels of stress?

Like so many educators during this pandemic, I’ve been reflecting on why I teach. Pre-pandemic, I loved teaching. I loved connecting with students and having meaningful conversations. I loved being creative in the classroom and watching their lightbulbs go off. I enjoyed creating creative learning experiences for students like crime scene investigation units for Shakespeare’s plays or discussions on contemporary issues using literature. The authentic learning that was happening was what I lived for.

I would leave my classes feeling invigorated and challenged. The conversation alone were something I looked forward to. In the thick of the pandemic, I found myself trying to pull as many of my tricks into a virtual classroom space. I stressed over my students and their quality of education but then I was forced to come to a new realization. My students couldn’t learn because they were drowning in stress and depression. My students, even though they were home, were stressed out and drained from the pandemic. I worried about them.

Today as I look at these pandemic learners, I am finding that each of them requires more of me, more of my attention and assistance. But unlike the headache I grappled with earlier, I like them. They make me smile and if they are the cause of my headache, well bring it on buddy. I am ready for the pain. What do they say, “NO Pain, no Gain!” This is the kind of pain that is worth it because my pain is my students’ gains. I am all about the gains. So Mr. Headache bring it on buddy, bring it on!

Dreams

Dreams…

Dreams Deferred by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore-

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over-

Like a syrupy sweet

Maybe it just sags

Like a heavy load

Or does it explode?

For many years, I taught Lorraine Hansberry’s play A Raisin in the Sun. Her play begins with this poem. We would have discussions built around this poem and about our dreams and how they affect us. What would our dreams do for us? How do we navigate our plans for our dreams. I taught this lesson but I never really thought about how my decisions really impacted my dreams. As a teacher my dream was to see my students find success. Early in my career my focus was always on my students and making school fun. I loved having fun. I loved planning the fun lesson. I loved watching the conversation grow. The “ah ha” moments happening were what I lived for. But it wasn’t really my dream. I wanted my students to have the best that I could provide but I didn’t know what that meant for me as the teacher. I gave them everything that I had, I came to every class ready to give 100%.

But somewhere I had lost my zeal. I just wasn’t interested anymore. I still did the work, I still worked fairly hard, but I didn’t really have the same enthusiasm anymore. I couldn’t figure it out. I started looking at what I needed to do to change career path. I was just burned out. Did my dream dry up? My frustrations were festering like a sore. Nothing was a syrupy sweet, it felt like my issues had become a heavy load. I took a step back and thought about what I was really doing. What did I really want to become? Did I want to be a teacher or did I just enjoy the creative process? What did I want to take away from it all? Did my dreams match my goals?

I decided to accept my fate and teach. I want to lead. I love learning and this seem to be my path. Teaching is my mission in life. It is my quest. Like any quest, teaching is hard work. Teaching is not just work, it is a lifestyle. Teaching is more than all of these things. It is a calling. Sometimes for teachers, it appears that we get lost in all of the menial tasks, the lesson plans, the paper work, the grading, the faculty and staff meetings, the emails and the memos. But teaching is such a gift and such a blessing that leaving it really could never be an option for me. My dream doesn’t sag like a heavy load. My dream expands, my dream is developing, my dream is deep. So I think maybe Langston Hughes was right, my dream explodes.

My Morning Routine

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

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Productive Habits

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

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Top 10 Places to Visit

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

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