So, What Would YOU Do?

School is a kinda crazy place. People leave their children for a minimum of 6 hours a day, 5 days a week, with total strangers because...well, that's what you do.

Most times it works out ok, with some "strangers" creating more memorable experiences or possibly having a better rapport with a child than others. Then, at the end of one school year, you take your child from that now "non-stranger" and start all over again the following school year because...well, that's what you do.

Being the "stranger", or teacher, on the other side isn't any less complicated. You have the responsibility of educating someone else's child, the best you can, for a minimum of 6 hours a day, 5 days a week because...well, that's what you do. But unfortunately life isn't that cut and dry.

As a teacher I am paid to educate children. Sure, social skills, learning how to make good decisions all come into play as well, but mostly my job is supposed to be about helping children to try and understand new things. Unfortunately my job isn't that cut and dry either

Example:

Sweet girl enters my class. She does not look at all like the other children in fact, she doesn't look like any student I have ever had before. She has orange/green colored skin, with dark brown circles with crusty scabs under her eyes. It's obvious something is very wrong. As we go outside to play she carefully pulls out a hat from her backpack and places it on her head. When I ask, "What's up?" She explains she is allergic to the sun.

Now, personally I have had 4 or 5 students who were allergic to the sunshine and it truly does cause them grief if they do not keep covered. But for some reason this didn't seem to be the complete answer to all this young lady's problems for as time goes by, this darling seems to be having difficulty keeping up with the class. At times, tired, at times distracted and other times seeming "foggy headed". It seems that there is always something.

One day my darling enters my classroom covered in scratch marks. In fact, her arms are bleeding from scratching so much and she is having difficulty staying put in her seat. What could be going on?? So, I ask.

Darling explains that with the exception of chicken, she is allergic to all meat, most vegetables and fruits, as well as any sugary things. Apparently, the night before her family had gone out for a birthday celebration and ate hamburgers, fries and chocolate sundaes. All the things she was allergic to. She was now suffering the consequences.

Oh my. Surely her family must have known she would break out from head to toe if she were to eat all of these foods. What were they thinking? I swear, I need to call that parent and tell her...

STOP!!! Hold on there.

As a teacher it is my job to educate the future. It is NOT my job to judge, evaluate or preach others in their parenting. As well, in order for me to be successful in my job I need to be allies with my parents so we both can work together to help their child grow. It is a fine line that teachers walk each day, that divides what is and what is not our business to get involved in. And for me, this problem was tippy-toeing all over that line.

So, now you have the facts. What would YOU do? Send me a comment and I'll let you know later the outcome from this story.

Now and Then

Sometimes I think about all that has changed in schools since I was a kid, not to mention working as a new teacher. Sometimes I cringe, and sometimes I chuckle, sometimes I write my buddies who read my blog. So, today is nostalgia day. Prop up your tootsies and walk down memory lane with me. See if any of my memories ring a bell.

These are a few things I remember:

Then:
Men and women teachers had a dress code. Women were to wear dresses, nylons and heels. Men were to wear suits with jackets and ties. When I first started teaching the dress code was lifted so women could wear pants. Apparently I caused quite a stir with the mommies for I wore jeans. They didn't realize I couldn't afford new clothes and used my old college wardrobe. Even so, I still can't figure out how men could afford to dress in a suit every day.
Now:
To be honest...is there a dress code? I remember one teacher at my school who looked better than Britany when Britany was in. Tight, low, ummm, I guess it all goes-apparently it isn't one of the state standards.

Then:
Friday, art days and Wednesday film days. Man, when I was a kid I LOVED those days. I was talking to a fellow teacher the other day about "film days" and she had no clue what I was talking about. Schools used to have movie projectors that were on carts that rolled from room to room. On the cart was a big canvas bag filled with movies that were on various topics from art to nature to...whatever. College students wanting to be teachers had to pass the audio/visual class on how to work the projector before you were allowed into student teaching. Personally, I only passed because there was a shift change in the instructors and I lied about knowing how to thread the projector (don't tell my school district.)
Now:
What film? What art?

Then:
The cafeteria food was-food. Throughout the morning you would smell cookies baking, grilled cheese sandwiches and other yummy things. In November you would get shredded turkey with gravy over mashed potatoes the day before Thanksgiving and as a kid I would beg my mom for the 35 cents to eat in the "cafe" that day. Milk would cost a nickel and there was no such thing as low fat.
Now:
It is frankly bizarre what is served to kids nowadays under the guise of food. This crud comes in cellophane wrappers that the cafeteria workers heat up. Whenever I see this stuff I always wonder if parents know what their kids are eating for lunch. If they did, I think the cafeteria (or "barfateria" as we call it in my room) would be out of business. What's funny, is if you ask kids what they would like to eat if they had the choice (I did) it is actually healthy-who knew?

Ahh, memories. Such fun on a lazy day. Maybe you have a few too-write and let me know! Enjoy.

Kids With Keys

When I was "little" I couldn't imagine anything that represented being "big" more than a set of keys. I would rummage through my parents' desk drawer hoping to find stray keys that had no purpose or meaning to them and place them on my neon, magenta rabbit's foot key chain, where they would then have a wonderful purpose and meaning to me. Big keys, small keys, red keys, they filled out my chain quite impressively and I loved it. To me these keys meant POWER! Listen to them ting-a-ling!! Ahh, the joy of it all.

From my perspective not that much has changed since I was a "little T". Kids still love having keys but now it seems that the keys are actually theirs from the very beginning.

House keys worn around the neck, man that was a craze. Kids felt the first shreds of adulthood once they were given the golden (well actually, brass toned) key to the family home. Wow. It symbolized trust, maturity and manual dexterity ta-boot! Now however, children are driven to school, unable to so much as cross a street without supervision, therefore eliminating the need for that blazing symbol of coolness. Shame.

What seems to have followed is this:

Each day big sister comes to pick up her little siblings. She patiently waits while backpack, homework pages and empty lunch bags are gathered by the younger crew. During this time we chitty-chat about what her life is like being 16, and the new responsibilities of having a driver's license.

She: Man, my mother has so many things she wants me to do for her now that I can drive.
Me: Yes, it is amazing how that one piece of paper has opened up new doors for the both of you.
She: Yeah...that's why I am looking for my own car.
Me: Wow.
She: I've already test driven a few but want one that is safe, well, cuz of the little ones I have to pick up and all. And don't worry, I'll show you when I get it!

3 days later:

As I walk into the parking lot towards my '98 Mountaineer, my hands full of whatever it is that teachers seem to carry back and forth with them, I see her from the corner of my eye. With keys in hand she proudly begins jumping up and down, ready to give me the grand tour of her first car- coming with more bells and whistles than I could ever possibly remember.

I breathed in that new car smell. It was...well, magnificent.

She: Do you LOVE it?
Me: (nodding my head like a bobble doll) Yeah! They really know how to make a car over there at Range Rover.

With my key in hand, I head back to my car. Sigh...enjoy.

The Gift

I am always amazed when I am invited to a student’s home for dinner. I mean, when I think about the number of times I have asked a teacher, boss, principal etc. to dinner it starts with a ”N” and ends in an “EVER”. So I do not take the honor lightly when the invitation happens. But truth be told, I would be less than honest if I told you on this particular night I was feeling as “honored” as I should. I mean, I realized the effort it was taking for the parent to prepare that night’s meal (or so I thought, keep reading) and what a nice thing it was to do, but I was tired. My days start early, and it was a Wednesday night, I knew I still had to keep the energy flowing for two more days. Not to mention, the family spoke very broken English so the evening would be filled with gaps and lulls in conversation unless I was on my toes the entire night. Therefore, on that particular day I would have loved to just stay at home and veg. But I didn’t.

When I arrived at their address I pushed the doorbell-no answer. Then I remembered, Han’s mother told me to open the gate and walk into the backyard. Humm, maybe a backyard BBQ? So, open the gate I did and out came the two smiling faces of Han and his mother who led me to their home- in the one car garage.

Now don’t get me wrong. It was a nice place, equipped with a mini fridge and hot plate in the closet/kitchen, a small bed in front of the window where Han slept. Next to his bed was a tiny table with 3 toddler sized chairs around it, a toilet and a loft where Han’s mother and father slept.

I smiled, hoping not to show my surprise and sat down in the tiny, red plastic chair looking at the vast array of food in front of me. Noodles, curried shrimp, pork dumplings, fried rice and more- so much more that the platters were laid on top of one another on the table now directly touching my knees. How had she made all of this? Where had she put all the food before I got there? I mean, I had seen her "kitchen". I later found out they had no car and with the nearest market miles away, how far did she have to carry it? To think that someone had gone to this effort for me. My friends, I have tears even now telling you.

Sitting there, with my surroundings beginning to sink in, my eyes began to well-up. I kept pinching myself in the arm in order to help me stay focused and stop the waterworks that were on the verge of flowing. I realized this night was so much more than I had anticipated. It was a gift and I needed to learn as much as I could before it ended.

I began to ask questions. I asked how she happened to come to the United States.

She told me they had moved from China 5 years ago. She and her husband had been government scientists researching global weather. They were important. Important enough to be given an apartment to live in for free and important enough to be threatened if they were to leave the country.

I asked, "How did you end up here in my town?"

The answer was one that can only happen in our world today. The Internet.

When their son Han was born, he had been sickly from the start. Colds, fever never able to gain weight. The final blow came when he was 2 1/2 years old. His parents were told he had a heart condition so rare that the doctors in China could not help. He was given 6 months to live. Unable to take this as the final answer for their son, they began an Internet plea for help. Their message was sent around the world, country to country, from chat room to chat room, until unbelievably it reached a parent who's child had the same medical condition. This parent began a 3 month campaign of raising enough money to fly Han to the same hospital her child had been treated.

The government would not allow both parents to leave the country at the same time, they were much to valuable. Han and his mother left to seek the medical attention necessary to save Han's life. Their story was unbelievable. Han, so weak the doctors feared he would not endure the surgery. His mother, unable to bring more than a small bag from China didn't know where to place it so she left it at the front door of the hospital each day, then slept in the doorway of a local building until more good Samaritans helped her find a room.

Meanwhile, the only way the government would allow his father to leave the country was if he were to be accepted to a university program that would further his education and therefore help their country in the end. He was accepted and arrived in the United States 22 months later.

And now, here they were. Prominent global scientists living in a 1 car garage for the love of their child. Father was going to school, taking classes that would allow him to eventually teach university level Mathematics, working nights in a Chinese restaurant as a busboy, only coming home on Saturday nights for the distance was too great to travel daily on his bicycle. Just so amazing were these people.

Fast forward...the years progressed. Han's mother and I became quite close. The news was looking good for their family in many ways. They were granted permanent status in our country. Han's father had graduated and was offered a teaching position out of state at a university. Once there they would have a real home after 9 years.

The downside was they would never be able to return to China again, no relatives would be granted permission to come to the United States, as well. But as Han's mother told me...they bought a web cam.

Another miracle from the Internet. Enjoy.

Vent

As the author of this blog I have decided that I am entitled to write about whatever I want. This means from time to time I reserve the right to just vent. Let it all out, tell you what I really think about STUFF in my world. Like every other average day to day worker there are times when I just have had have enough. Today was that day.

Vent:
Why is my classroom expected to be the location of a child's birthday party?

Don't get me wrong, I am a confetti and streamers kinda gal. I like celebrations. If you were to come to my home you would have no problem guessing what holiday is happening next. Eggs, bunnies, trees, glitter, flags, ornaments, blow-ups, pop-outs whatever visualizes the moment...I got it!

But a school is different.

School is a place where little people come, with tender hearts and feelings, and they wear them not very well covered, on their sleeves. It is a place where people of all faiths, including the ones who do not celebrate holidays and birthdays, gather for one purpose-education. School is a place where people of all beliefs, colors, sexes and whatever else you want to add to my list that can divide, segregate or make us different as humans, come together to help the next generation of learners succeed.

It is not, however, home.

Why the vent today? Because one darling cried all yesterday morning when they thought mommy forgot to bring the donuts for their birthday celebration. Their day was lost, even after phoning home and they discovered that mommy was to bring them the NEXT day. Once this travesty was resolved with mommy coming to school to pass out the goodies...today I hear, that this sugarfest for the classroom was not the only hoopalah for my little darling. No, tonight there will be a party for the family, with another wizbanger on Sunday for the same kids who got the donuts today! Yet, I ended up with a crying STUDENT for one full day who also affected the learning of all the other STUDENTS around him for one full day.

I could go on forever about this topic.

Like, the grandfather who promised lunch for the entire class and ended up bringing 1 medium pizza for my classroom of 37. Dear God were those kids terrific, not complaining but certainly rather baffled, as I was cutting that poor pizza into shoestrings and reminding them to say "Thank You".

Or the father who, in the middle of our math test, "dropped-in" and "dropped-off" an ice cream cake, no plates, forks, cutting utensil-nada. He told me he just figured I had everything here and left.

What about the poor children who do not celebrate holidays? Sometimes they don't know-can they eat the food, drink the drink, sing the song? And the food allergies (they seem rampant now days)? Not to mention the poor child on the "ketosis" diet who wasn't allowed to eat ANYTHING except high fatty foods to stop her seizures.

From a parent's perspective I understand the need to do something special for your child on the day of their birth. From a teacher's perspective I see 37 days of potential catastrophes, like yesterday.

Breathe in, breathe out. Relax.

Now I have "vented". I feel the breeze of a new tomorrow. Thank you for letting me return to my work able once again to enjoy.

Mother's Day

Today is my day. A special day that those who are supposed to, have the wonderful opportunity to sit back and worship me. AHHH.

Humm, just thinking...

Maybe I've got it all wrong. Yes, I am a mother and a wife but then again, if it weren't for my dear hubby and number one and number two sons, I would be neither-right? So maybe, just maybe, today is the day I am to thank them for all the wonderful things they do that make me proud to be theirs.

So...here goes.

Hubby. You absolutely amaze me. After more than 30 years of marriage you still have that cute twinkle in your eye-and a lot of the time it's when you look at me! You selflessly come each and every year to help my classroom run more smoothly by fixing, hanging, nailing and whatever else I can think of. As well, you take one full day off from your own job so that my kids can have one fabamundo last day of school. Honey, no one wears a cowboy hat better than you!
Thank you.

Number One Son. I have always called you my "techno wizard." Without your continual patience when explaining computer "stuff" I would never be able to get it into this rather thick skull of mine. You have networked, repaired and upgraded so many computers I fail to even remember the number. You are constantly supporting my latest and greatest adventures and take one full day off from your job so that the kids in my class can square dance and play 21 like the 49er miners did. Mommy loves you.

Number Two Son. You are a burst of energy that all kids are just attracted to. Thank you for donating your time and expertise to show my class some really great activities that they otherwise would never know. Your control over my class always surprises me, after all, I remember when you were just a little kiddiddle yourself! Much love from Da Madre.

Well, now everything seems right. I have expressed my sincere appreciation...now, they can get "on" with the worshipping!

It's my day to enjoy!

Testy's TFF's (Teacher Friends Forever)

As teachers we spend more of our time IN the classroom and OUT of the loop in terms of adult contact. This new addition of Wednesday blogging is for teachers to call OUT to their TFF's for the kind of "been there, done that" support that only we can give. Send any future "shout outs" to my email address at: thetestyteacher@gmail.com, so we can include them in the upcoming Wednesday editions of Testy's TFF's (Teacher Friends Forever)

So here's a question sent in from one of my TFF's:

What's an easy way to maintain parent communication but not take hours of prep time to do it? At my school we have to contact parents in a "meaningful way". Anyone have any suggestions?
Linda

Great question! So? Anyone out there have a great solution?