fear

'Fear leads to anger, which leads to hate, which leads to suffering. This is the path to the dark side.' ~ Yoda, Star Wars

The speaker yesterday, Dr. Jed Baker, opened his lecture with this quote. He talked about how as teachers we can't be scared of our kids and situations. He mentioned the anxiety teachers can feel about being in control in front of others (administrators, fellow teachers, etc), which leads to reactive discipline rather than good teaching.

He then applied the quote to kids on the autism spectrum. Our job is to teach them the skills they need to integrate into society so that they will not fear, be angry,or hate, which can all lead to throwing chairs, running, biting, or other coping mechanisms.

I thought this concept of fear leading to suffering was perfect. So true not only for our kids but for us as well.

I just quoted Star Wars on my blog. Never saw that one coming...

paper work vs. lecture

Today was a teacher workday so that teachers on the year-round calendar could attend trainings with the traditional calendar teachers who have not yet started back. We are blessed to have a principal who allows us to choose whether or not we're going to attend these trainings. If we choose not to we can use the day to de-clutter our classroom, catch up on paperwork or have a mid-week breather.

This morning I was one grouchy camper on my way to my training session. How, I wondered, did I voluntarily give up a day of getting organized to go sit in training for 8 hours? After years of teaching first grade I don't do very well sitting for over 30 minutes. What was I thinking?

My grumbling stopped about 3 minutes into the presentation. It was incredible. Dr. Jed Baker was presenting on social skills training. I had spent the summer reading his books but had never put it together that he was the speaker assigned for today. He could probably explain how paint dries in a way that would make you excited to watch it.

I took so much from the day. Despite the fact that I still have stacks of paper on my desk I am ridiculously happy I attended. I got answers to questions I'd been grappling with all month and gained insight that I can apply tomorrow.

I don't like to share.

I don't. I've finally gotten good at admitting it. I'm not good at sharing. I don't like sharing my food at restaurants, and I don't like buying books with friends "to share". I don't like group work. If I have a problem I like to fix it myself to see if I can do it. I like my own things. I like to do things at my pace.

So I really don't like to share big things, like my kids.

They've hired a new special ed teacher, which is fabulous. We qualify for one with our numbers, which means our case loads will get smaller. This is great, except... I don't want to give anyone up.

We're a month into school. I know these kids. I know their parents. I know the books they like and the way they scrunch up their face when they get frustrated. They are challenging me and I want to follow them through to the end.

This is not fair to them. I'm making it about me. They deserve a special ed teacher who has more time. Maybe even someone who knows what they are doing more than I do. I know these facts. I can state them professionally. I can logically reason that it is best if we split up our caseloads. But I don't have to be happy about it.

If I was a kindergartner right now I would pout in the corner. I would hold onto my kids until I was told I'd miss recess if I didn't share. I might even miss a teeny, tiny bit of recess just because I didn't share a little while longer just to see if the teacher was serious. When I did hand them over I'd go sit with my head down for awhile and stomp my feet so everyone would know I was mad.

But I'm not a kindergartner. I'm suppose to be an adult. Not to mention a professional who is being paid to look out for the best interest of the kids. So fine. Take some of them if you have to.

But you can't make me happy about it.

Hopes and Dreams

Every Friday morning I have "book club" for my former students before the school day starts. They come to my room whenever they arrive at school and get to walk past the patrols (which makes them the coolest kids ever). We chat about what they are learning in their classes, look at old photos, and read books. It's fairly unstructured, which means no extra planning for me. There is usually a core group of fourth through second graders who come weekly. They are usually joined by a few kids who decide that just for one morning they really need to hang out with their first grade teacher. I think we all have mornings like that.

I love these mornings. I get to catch up with my kids and hear about what they are learning. They show me their books for guided reading and I get teary eyed with amazement that they've come so far since first grade. It's a great reminder to me that I don't have to solve every kid's problems within the year. Sometimes kids learn at their own pace and it's the woven mixture of teachers that produce the final product, not one amazing year.

This year one of my visitors looked at me and said,
"In third grade my hopes and dreams are to listen to the teacher, because I don't think I've done that yet in school. Not for you, not for second grade, not ever."

It certainly was something we (as the teachers) worked on with her in first grade and something I heard they worked on in second grade. Now, in her 4th year of school, it's suddenly occurred to her to take ownership and put this as her working goal for the year. How grown-up she sounded telling me her plan to pay attention. "If someone is talking to me I'm going to say, 'please stop, I'm trying to listen' and then I'll move away from them"

I loved the realization that all those days filled with patience in first grade finally paid off, two years later.

My hopes and dreams do not need to be for success by the end of the year, but to be a step in the ladder of a child's whole learning career.

runners

I have been a runner all my life. I ran cross country and track in high school and college and continue to run road races. I love running and all of the feelings that come with it. The freedom to let your mind wonder. The flying sensation of running faster than you thought your legs could go. The energy you gain from a quick jaunt around the park. Running can put you back in control of life, calm you down, ground you and energize you all at once.

So maybe I understand why I have two children who choose to sprint from the classroom occasionally. If I was in kindergarten and had a communication disorder, I'd probably find it freeing to take control of the situation and go sprinting for the door. If I had an emotional disorder I would probably relish the control I found from running. It would allow me to deal with my emotions while removing me from the crazy class that's really annoying me anyway. Not having the language to say, "Hey, you know, I don't like to read because it makes me feel stupid. This morning has been rough and I ALREADY feel kind of dumb so I'd prefer to take a pass today", running is just another method to cope with all that.

I can understand it, but I'm ready for it to stop.

Running cross country for 8 years left me with arthritis in one ankle at an early age. I can still run, but shouldn't go as far as frequently as I use to in college. Which means the occasional sprinting from the classroom after a kiddo isn't really good for my ankle. (Not to mention trying not to twist it while skipping over blocks and toys on the floor).

I've also had to start keeping another shirt at school in case of extended runs in the late August heat. I've given up wearing any shoes other than my running shoes, not wanting to risk sprinting in a pair of heels.

I've written social stories on how everyone has to walk in school. We read them over and over again. Some times I think they are working. Then suddenly, right when I least expect it, bam. We're out the door, into the hallway and up the stairs before I can leap over the small kindergarten tables (as well as small kindergartners) to catch up.

We have got to find other coping mechanisms.

'special-ed gravy train'??

This week's City Paper has a feature on 'How to get your child a private education at a public-school price'. Basically it creates a step-by-step procedure through the IEP process which highlighting where "the fight begins" and which steps parents have power to can take control of the system.

At first I was horrified by the directions on "how to get your kid on the DCPS special-ed gravy train'. It seemed like a horrid way to cheat the government out of money intended for a community of children. Plus, it recommends using an advocate, something every special ed teacher is taught to shutter at. While the article is written with a 'how to manipulate the system' attitude, I started to think it actually had some good uses. It lays out parent/child rights in clear, easily understood terms, something the school system doesn't always do for parents. In a choose-your-own adventure format it visually shows the IEP process and exactly how far you can legally take it.

The IEP process can be intimidating and I imagine a lot of parents are not comfortable expressing their concerns to a table of professionals. Specifically those families who had terrible school experiences themselves or are not legally in the country are far more unlikely to question the system. I've been uncomfortable at some meetings when I worried we were taking advantage of the fact a parent was following Asian cultural norms, did not speak English, or was worried any arguments would lead to questions of legal status. (We would never intend to do this, but I fear sometimes it happens) Although these parents would be questioning me and the quality of my job, I would preferred them to have us prove our concerns. Even if the result of the IEP would be the same, parents could go home with a sense of confidence and understanding of their own child's education.

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/cover/2007/a_special_education.pdf

The article is offensive, but is still a useful tool, even for parents who don't want to abuse the 'gravy train'. (This is easy for me to say not working at a school with over-zealous parents. I am sure there are schools whose lives have been made miserable by this article)

All I can say about today...

Is that my normal Friday treat of a tall espresso drink from Starbucks was not nearly enough caffeine. Even a jolt of soda at lunch didn't help me have enough energy to keep up with the kids.