life, death, and spring

I've spent the last 2 weeks living the luxurious lifestyle of my current year-round schedule, enjoying the last intersession break our school will ever have. It was originally scheduled to be a full 3 weeks, but the snow allowed us to take one of the weeks in February, so we've only been granted two weeks and a day off (we have to go back next Tuesday). The kids and teachers who chose to teach have been back for a week now taking/teaching fun classes that have SOL standards secretly embedded into them between the cooking, crafts, and video-making.

I am so going to miss this next year.

Not just because I've had 2 weeks to play in the sometimes beautiful, sometimes cold, sometimes too hot spring weather.

I've busied myself planting flowers on my balcony, a task that always makes me miss the classroom. In first grade we had an intense plant unit, where each child had a chance to plant one or two plants of their own, along with a class garden and other planting experiments where we watched the magic of roots, shoots, and leaves. In first grade science = magic and there is nothing that compares to the excitement of first graders witnessing nature.

One year, instead of telling them what plants need to live we developed hypothesis of what those important elements may be. Each child was able to choose where in our classroom to place their plants- in the window, over by their desk for indirect light, the sink for easy watering, by the air conditioner, or in the closet. Each child needed to write why he was placing his plant in that place, and had to be able to articulate his hypothesis of what plants needed and why his experiment would show that.

We waited to perform this activity until the plants were already healthy green stalks, and the children had already tenderly cared for them for a week or so and grown attached to their plant. Do not forget that in first grade everything has a soul- every object has a life of its own and pencils, plants, crayons, and books all automatically have feelings.

The class excitedly filled out their hypothesis papers and placed their plants in their desired location. Days went by as we charted, observed, measured, and checked our hypothesis.

The results were as expected- those who placed their seedling in the sun had plants that continued to grow strong. Those who placed it in indirect light had plants that grew, but not as well. Those who placed theirs in the closet had plants that died.

Died.

I will never recover from the look I received from the first graders whose plants had withered without the sunlight. They had killed their plant- they cried. And I had forced them. I had turned them into murderers.

There were tears, pouting, foot stomping, destruction of someone else's plant, and more tears. They were killers, their plant had died. It was my fault.

In retrospect perhaps we should have had some generic class plants we could have put in the closet so that it wasn't any one's personal plant who made its way to plant heaven. This would have left every first grader with a healthy plant, and relieved all guilt of from the 6 year old gardeners of becoming plant killers.

I wanted to tell them not to worry- anything I plant, no matter what I do, dies under my black thumb. That they should get use to killing plants because they have a whole life ahead of them of forgetting to water the beautiful potted plant from a friend, or going on vacation and returning to find that in one week the sun has withered the garden beyond repair. Or from being on spring break and watching the squirrels dig up your newly planted pots and throw your geraniums to the ground below.

But that would only solidify their belief that I was a plant murderer so I held my tongue, and allowed them to redo the experiment in the sun.

dreaming

The other night I dreamed that when we came back from spring break Amazing stood up from her wheel chair and walked. The minute I woke up from this dream I wanted to go back to sleep- back to the wonderful world where this amazing girl could walk and play with her friends without help from an adult.

When I fully came into consciousness and realized that no amount of sleep would make her walk in reality, I began to get a better sense of how her parents feel. Do they have these dreams as well? Of watching their strong daughter stand up and walk? Of everything developing as it does for other children? My dream haunted me throughout the day, with the feeling of hope and elation I felt in those few seconds of waking before I was able to distinguish between reality and fantasy. She's not my own child- she's one of many I work with on a daily basis- what would those dreams do to me if she was, in fact, my own? If my life centered around her?

Not being a parent myself I work hard to try to understand where parents are coming from when they are dealing with their young child's developmental delays. I don't think any amount of rational thinking would bring me to know the desperate desire of hope that was found from that dream- a desire I can only imagine is 100 times stronger and greater in your own child.

autism in fiction

Somehow over my extended 2 week spring break I've managed to read 2 books that both center around a main character with Asperger's syndrome. House Rules, by Jodi Picoult, and Marcelo in the Real World by Frances Stork York. It's interesting to see how popular fiction is beginning to attempt to focus on characters with Asperger's syndrome, and how the authors choose to portray their main characters.

The holy grail of autism in literature is The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, where the author, does an unbelievable job of portraying his character's world, in both the internal workings of his mind, and how his disorder impacts his family.

I'm not sure I can place either of these in the same category as The Curious Incident. However, despite the fact that I think Picoult copied many themes and even direct phrases from Rules, by Cynthia Lord, she does an incredible job of giving a 360 view of her character's communication disorder, and how it impacts those around him. It forced me to ask tough questions for myself- how do we prepare our children for the real world? Do we make it possible for them to independently handle the strain of life? Is it our job in schools to prepare them for more realistic situations, or do we need to focus on teaching them important academic tools like reading and writing that they also need to be successful?

Picoult uses a court room with expert witnesses to educate her readers about autism, which occasionally comes across as what it is, paragraphs out of an autism text book, but because it is a court setting she weaves the lectures nicely into the story.

Maybe it is because Picoult did such an incredible job of writing in the first person for her character with autism, but I couldn't appreciate Frances Stork Young's portrayal of his autistic character in Marcelo in the Real World. Marcelo, who is the same age as Picoult's main character, is not nearly as convincing. Young seems to flirt with autistic tendencies in writing about Marcelo's world, but does fully decide which of these tendencies his character has. His character occasionally speaks in the 3rd person, but does not do it consistently or in any discernible pattern, and bounces back and forth from first to third person in the same sentence. I've worked with children with autism who do speak in the 3rd person, but they reserved this for particular situations, and once they were in their 3rd person world they did not easily switch out of it. Marcelo's characteristics seem to bounce back and forth between a character with autism and one with a severe auditory processing disorder which would cause him to respond slower to stimulation, questions, extended wait time, and would in fact limit his communication. Marcelo says throughout the book that Asperger's is the closest definition to what he has, and I can't help but wonder if they should revisit his eligibility.

I was disappointed with Marcelo, but enchanted with House Rules, neither of which were the reactions I was expecting when I began reading both books. Marcelo, which promised to be an enlightening young adult book turned out to be written as though it was jumping on the autism bandwagon, and House Rules, which I was sure would be an autism bandwagon book, read with a more realistic portrayal of the world children and families with autism live in.

Our school's amazing librarian felt the same way about Marcelo, and expressed disappointment that the library could not offer a book to young readers with communication disorders that they could relate too. I'd love to hear other thoughts on Marcelo in the Real World, House Rules, and other books that portray characters with autism. What is out there for our children with high functioning autism to relate to? Or, because of the nature of their disability, are we more concerned with finding someone for them to relate to than they are?

We can all, in our own way, Stand and Deliver

We all have one- one romanticized Hollywood education movie that somehow brings us to tears- creates for us what we think good teaching is, or at least inspires us to look beyond daily life and see our students, our schools, and our role as an educator as part of the larger battle.

I'm not sure how old I was when I first saw Stand and Deliver, but I know when they showed it to my 7th grade class I was already familiar with the plot, the characters, and the message. While I tried to pretend, along with my classmates, that it was the most boring movie ever shown, I secretly was once again taking all of Jaime Escalante's work to heart.

As a young, naive child growing up in the country I was most struck by the social injustice of it all when his students were accused of cheating on the AP calculus exam. I'd always been taught if you worked hard you could achieve your goals, and that the world would be proud of you when you did. Perhaps Stand and Deliver was my first introduction into a world of hypocritical expectations and pre-determined roles set upon us by society.

I can't say that the movie made me want to be a teacher, but Escalante's story did give me a thread that I would continue to weave into meaning throughout my life- seeking a balance of social justice, looking beyond what is commonly accepted as social truths, and working hard with pure determination at all you do.

What Escalante did was teach the children in front of him. He saw what they needed to achieve their goal and made it possible. He didn't accept a given format for teaching, and didn't follow the expected path his administrators and peers expected of him. He knew his students and responded to their needs, never lowering his expectations, but instead allowed what he knew about his students to help him help them rise.

I read Jay Mathew's tribute to him in this past week's Outlook section in the post, and I suddenly saw where Mathews is coming from in his education theory. Through his education position at the Post he has encouraged schools to create more AP classes, and to encourage more students to take AP classes. Mathews has worked on changing the culture of only allowing certain students to take AP classes by creating an incentive for schools to encourage all their students to take these classes. Mathews praises schools like KIPP, with their Saturday classes, extended hours, and high expectations. All of Mathews' work, it seems, has been inspired by what he saw from Escalante.

I can't help but wonder if Mathews did what so many of our law makers and bureaucrats do to a good idea. Instead of seeing what is truly behind Escalante's work, he tried to recreate it, and in doing so took some of the good out of it. Although encouraging more students to take AP classes seems like a wonderful goal on the surface, a school will only achieve what Escalante did by truly knowing and embracing their students' needs. Escalante knew what was needed in his community and responded to it. That does not mean his method can be recreated. Instead, what needs to be replicated is his desire for achievement, his belief in his students, and his dedication to changing the set path to make it meet the needs of his students.

What Mathews has done, instead, is attempted to create a set path. It is a good path, and in many ways may be a better path than what was there. But we've lost the true meaning of Escalante's work. Instead of being encouraged to use our own teacher intuition and our creativity, and to know and respond to our students' needs, Mathews is merely encouraging us to follow a set way- asking us not to question whether or not it works for particular students. Once again assuming that teachers must be told by those above them how to do their jobs, because they cannot think for themselves.

One cannot set a curriculum that shows students we believe in them- the only way to do that is for the teachers themselves to believe in their students, and to be passionate enough to pass that belief on to their students through their teaching, dedication, and drive, just like Escalante did.

Happy Easter!

One of the aspects I love about my church is that it has many children with special needs. Parents have told us they feel more comfortable letting their children "make a joyful noise" here, because we let children be children, and accept them for who they are, developmental delays, communication disorders, and all. We have a few little ones we've been watching grow and mature over the years. We love them, but I don't know if they feel the same love for us- the very nature of church can be difficult for some of our little ones.

As you can imagine, if you are sensitive to noise the church choir & its organ may not always be your cup of tea- and if you self-stem by clapping, or stomping your feet, it may be a long, difficult hour of trying to stay quiet.

Then there is the time for passing-the-peace, which requires everyone to stand up, shake hands with those around them and make small talk for about 2 minutes before sitting down again. Once again, I imagine this time is difficult for someone with autism- the noise level rises suddenly, you have to touch strangers, make eye contact, AND small talk. People you only kind of know get in your face and force you to talk to them. Typically our church children with autism stay in their seats with their eyes on a coloring book, frantically trying to pretend it's not happening. (There are times when I'm feeling particularly anti-social that I'd like to copy their coping strategies)

This morning however, one friend with autism stood up, turned around, and shook hands with us, "Happy Easter!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down. He then ran down the aisle, shaking hands with everyone he could reach. As he made his way back to his seat he exploded with pride- "Mom, I think I passed the peace!"

He certainly did.

rain, rain go away

The day before spring break began we were scheduled to go to the zoo with our kindergarten classes. 8 classes of about 20 kindergartners each, tromping around the zoo.

In

The

Rain

But we all got up, dressed, and ready to go spend a few hours leading our wet but happy classes around the zoo, pretending to see animals who were too smart to come out and play in the wet weather. So when the trip was postponed we all at first felt a sense of relief- we wouldn't spend the whole day cold and wet- but then came the sense of panic. What on earth were we going to do with an entire day with some very disappointed kindergartners? The classroom teachers were fabulous in pulling things together, watching zoo clips on websites (have you seen the baby panda videos on the San Diego zoo?) and even checking out a Wiki created by 2nd graders at our school.

Most of the kindergartners were sad, but got over it. We'll go in the spring, we explained, in April when it's warm.

Some, however, did not.

Children with special needs have a harder time of rolling with the punches, and being flexible. It doesn't really matter that it's raining outside. We'd said we were going to the zoo- so we needed to go to the zoo.

One of my friends never recovered from this disappointed. He stomped around the classroom angrily, occasionally hiding in the classroom bathroom when an adult attempted to approach him. He sat upside down in his chair for awhile- something we've noticed he does when he's upset. (we're considering teaching him yoga since he tends to go into the positions naturally as a coping strategy). He threw his feelings journal on the floor- refusing to draw about how he felt. He didn't want to calm down- he yelled. He wanted to go to the zoo. He didn't want to go to the zoo in April- he demanded, he wanted to go to the zoo today. We'd said we were going to the zoo today! Why not today?

I felt his pain. Because really, when I got up in the morning I was prepared to go to the zoo too- I was not prepared to sit in the hallway with a disgruntled six year old yelling at me about how he didn't get to go to the zoo. And really, at that moment, the zoo in the rain might have been more fun.

But we survived the day and we all took our disappointed selves home to relax over a much needed spring break.

ah, spring break

As soon as the long, rainy Friday ended last week Mr. Lipstick and I jumped on a plane and headed to Florida. With the weather forecast predicting the coldest day yet in March for our area we couldn't help but feel like we were escaping. We spent two days enjoying spring training and then headed to Palm Beach where Mr. Lipstick had won us a 2 night stay at a very luxurious resort. Here's the thing- Mr. Lipstick wins things. He once won us a ski vacation in Colorado- a variety of one to two night stays at different ski resorts, that included lift tickets, and air fare. He's won us dinners, door prizes, and vacations that sometimes we can't even take because we don't have time. His family is the same way. I never knew there was a lucky gene, but apparently there is. I'm hoping to have it wear off on me now that I've become a Lipstick myself, but no luck yet.

So we settled into our ridiculously posh surroundings feeling like we were playing pretend among the rich and famous. Yet as we lounged by the pool on the first day we quickly realized that something was keeping us from fully enjoying the vacation. Maybe it was all the splashing, yelling, and water fights coming from the pool. Turns out the downside of being a teacher and going on spring break when everyone else has spring break is that you have to travel when everyone else has spring break. Which means relaxing, romantic swimming pools are full of kids. Not that there is anything wrong with kids. I mean, I love kids. I've dedicated my life to working with kids. But, sometimes, a girl wants to sip her Margaretta and not wonder if the parents are going to break up the sibling fight that's quickly spiraling out of control, or if she's going to have to step in and do it herself.

Watching families who can afford to take their entire crew to a 5 star resort for a week was educational to say the least. We saw some wonderful, loving families who joked and played together. And then we saw some others. The favorite was what we came to refer to as the "All American" family, who did not sit down together without every child having a Nintendo DS in their hand, and the parents holding their own blackberry/cell phone. Over a $28 per plate buffet we watched one family not interact once because they were so absorbed in their individual games.

Across the way we watched a mother flag down a waiter to request to bring her daughter a bowl of chocolate syrup. "Chocolate syrup?" the waiter asked, clearly confused as the girl only had a bagel and a piece of bacon on her plate. "Yes" the woman replied. End of conversation.

When the waiter returned with the syrup the girl did not look up, but took it and carefully poured it over her bagel.

The mother in the Juicy Couture sweat suit who pulled her 10 year old daughter out of the pool to deliver the bad news- she'd just gotten her daughter's lacrosse schedule and it conflicted with her soccer practices. AND they'd have a game on mother's day. The mother, arms across her chest, ranted away, while her daughter listened politely, eying the heated pool where her friends were happily playing. I have a feeling it wasn't her idea to play both soccer and lacrosse.

The mother who kindly explained to her son that The Cat in The Hat comes back was just too long to read in the hot sun. I almost stepped in- "I'm a professional, I'll handle the read-aloud" I imagined myself saying.

I'm sure all of these are good parents, and nobody is 100% on their A game, especially on vacation when you are forced to spend an unnatural week together in close quarters. Maybe if it was me I'd be thrilled to hand my child a DS so we could enjoy our $28 pancakes. But I want to cry out "You don't know how lucky you are- you speak the same language as your child! You're total bill at breakfast is more than some parents make in a day! Talk about how delicious the pancakes are- compare the different types of syrup- ask your child the benefits of pouring chocolate syrup on her bagel!!"

But maybe I'm just jealous of all these children who spend their spring break in the heated pool- not having to know the childhood adventure of jumping into cold water after a rain storm. Or not having to throw away their trash because the is someone walking around doing it for them- when we decided we had trash we wanted to throw away we literally could not find a trash can- no wonder the children were leaving their plastic cups and napkins on the side of the pool- and they miraculously vanished.