Sometimes we take a knee

I used to watch NFL every Sunday. Because we didn’t have a team really near us at the time, I grew up with really only 3 choices in teams to follow: Washington Redskins, Atlanta Falcons, or Dallas Cowboys. These teams were defined by their players. Because of William “the Fridge” Perry, who played at Clemson,  I went outside the box and became a fan of the Chicago Bears. I followed them for years admiring the work of Perry, Walter Payton, Jim McMahon, and Mike Singleton. Then motherhood and career “sidelined” my NFL following. When the Rosebros were little, Sundays were spent at church, Wade’s lunch, and playing at Happy Hallow Park most of the day. When the boys were older, I used Saturdays to catch up on school work (either principal or course work) meaning Sunday was church, grocery shopping, and laundry day. In the meantime the NFL went on and it changed. Players switched teams often looking for larger contracts and bigger paychecks. It became less about teamwork and more about individual glory. Players nor coaches define teams as they change so often it is hard to keep up. Jerseys of favorite players cost almost $100 and in one year may not even be accurate. Even attending a game is outrageously expensive making it almost impossible for a “regular” family to attend. Therefore being a fan of the NFL is no longer a part of who I am yet as the Rosebros have gotten older they have become huge fans of NFL football.

Then last week, the NFL made huge headlines. I was quiet on the subject of kneeling during the National Anthem not wanting to offend anyone. The Rosebros were discussing this at dinner and I sat and I listened as my two white teenage boys who have not suffered from any segregation or prejudice debated the subject. Their father is a veteran. They’ve been taught the value of our country’s ideals. From an early age, they were taught the Pledge of Allegiance, the National Anthem, and even the Star Spangled Banner. Not only were they taught the words, they were taught the meanings. Yet, my boys have also been taught many other things along the way. They’ve been taught people matter regardless of what they look like, what their last name is, or what their address is. They’ve been taught you love people for who they are. Rosebro1’s first girlfriend was black. Her mother and I both joked about how it didn’t matter to us but both of our families would be bothered. Rosebro2 probably has more friends who are African American than he does who are white but I really am not counting because I do not keep note of this type of thing. And yet as I listened to them debate, I felt a sense of overwhelming pride and immediate guilt. My boys seem to have stronger opinions on the subject than I do. My boys seem to understand civic responsibility better than me. So while I am so happy that I haven’t failed them, I seem to be failing myself.

Then Saturday as we were watching 4 different football games-all at once- we watched as a player was hurt and hurt badly. Cameras zoomed in on the cheerleaders-all on a knee-then to both teams-all on one knee. One of their own was hurting and they took a knee. They took a knee. They took a knee because someone was hurting. 

As if a sign I needed, a friend, an African American friend, called me about this same time. She was returning my call from earlier in the day when I called her to tell her about an encounter I had had at a store on Saturday morning. As we laughed and she detailed how she “would have my back”, I realized that she was right. She would have my back. If I needed something, she would be the first one there. She would fight for me if necessary. I would guess that our sisterhood is so strong that she would probably die for me. Yet, I’ve been silent.  I’ve been silent. There is this constant fear of saying the wrong thing, alienating friends-both white and black, or making the situation worse.  Truthfully, I am very likely to say the wrong thing. So I am silent. My silence tells my friends, my colleagues that I do not care about their pain.  It tells them that I love them as long as I do not have to take a stand or pick a side.  Silence speaks so loudly and tells my black friends that I do not love them or value our friendships or relationships enough to fight for them or stand beside them.  And that disappointment and sense of betrayal hurts. It hurts my friends and it hurts me to know I’ve hurt others.

So, I don’t know what the right thing to say is. I know that I love our country and I love that our freedoms allow us the right to protest peacefully which is what these NFL players are doing. I know that just like taking a knee when a player is hurt, these players are taking a knee for a country that is hurting. Being black in America is not something I can pretend to understand. I have had conversations with my African American friends and mentors about this but it is like most experiences-you can sympathize, listen, but not really understand because you've not fully experienced it. Yet by dismissing the fears and anger of those who are not us is damage. So I vow to listen. I vow to talk. I vow to have those conversations that may make me uncomfortable, may make others upset with me, may help me learn, and just possibly may make me better. When we take time to listen and then take time to share what we learn, we can begin to heal hearts and make changes.

Our schools are diverse. We have children of all different races, socioeconomic levels, religions, and cognitive abilities. We also have students who are hurting.  Some are hurting because they don’t understand the pain of those like them that they hear about from their parents, the news, even their friends. We have some who are hurting because of so many other issues. Yes, our job is to teach ELA, Math, Science and Social Studies, but our job is listen. We listen when our students need us. We listen to understand not to be understood. We listen. Sometimes we take a knee, look in the eyes of our children, and listen. Sometimes, we just take a knee.

Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust

It comes as no surprise that my family loves Disney World. I get the question constantly with eyes rolled. “Y’all are going there again?” My answer will always be the same, “Yes, we love it there.” And we do. I cannot really describe why or how this addiction to WDW began but it is strong. I thought that maybe my boys would grow tired of WDW after a few years, but they are actually more excited than I am when a trip is coming. When folks realize that I don’t care that I am judged for my love of WDW, the next question I get is “Do you not get bored doing the same thing every time?” And my answer to that is we always find something new and exciting to do with each trip.

This summer we went on a tour in Magic Kingdom. These private tours are offered for a “behind the scenes” look at how Disney is done. When we signed in for our tour, we were in a room with another family who also was signed up for one of the tours. Our tour was to start at 9am and theirs as 9:30-they arrived way early. Our tour guide came out and the other family was a tad frustrated that we were being led on our tour first-they clearly felt like appointments were mere suggestions. Being that we were at the happiest place on earth and I had not had my Starbucks fix yet, we happily agreed to pass on some pixie dust and allow this family to go on their tour first with our tour guide.  About 10 minutes later the second tour guide, Emanuel, arrived and greeted us with the warmest smile. It didn’t even begin to faze him that we were not the family that he was expecting.  Emanuel, dressed in khakis, a long sleeve pressed button down white shirt, and signature WDW plaid vest (all in July-mind you) quickly became one of those people you just knew you were going to like.  He took us on a fantastic tour that not once bored my sarcastic husband, inquisitive me (not once was he bothered by my questions), or two totally different personality teenagers. In fact, we were all engaged in every word. He took us to a part of the underground Disney that wasn’t part of the tour (unless he tells everyone that), he gave great detail about each thing we were seeing. He didn’t just simply herd us around, we were his mission that day and his love and passion for WDW showed through each step taken with him during our tour.  I was impressed with his knowledge, his historical facts about WDW were better than a wiki. I loved how he could answer my questions, make a corny joke to make my husband laugh, and make fun of adults so my kids would be engaged with him seamlessly.  Our tour was supposed to be 2 hours long. It lasted 3 hours and it felt like 5 minutes. 

When we returned to the starting point, another guide was waiting on a tour and I jokingly said that I hoped he was as good as Emanuel. This guide looked at me with all seriousness and said, “He’s the best. We all want to be like Emanuel.” I started thinking about Emanuel the other day.  I would love if someone would “want to be like” me. I would find that the most complimentary thing a person could say about me -although I would quickly give them about 100 reasons why they wouldn’t want to be like me. I also wondered what our schools would be like if we had 100 Emanuels.  What would it be like to have 100 people who would just roll with the circumstances unconcerned that things were not what you expected? How awesome would it be if we all had so much passion for our jobs that we each wanted to be like each other?  How awesome would our school be if we celebrated learning with and from each other in PLC, PD, or just by simply sharing our own readings that we were happy that these lasted longer than we expected? How awesome would our school be if we knew that if we didn’t have the answer, the person beside us would help us find the answer-if they didn’t already know it themselves? How awesome would our school be if everyone could fully engage a diverse crowd so seamlessly that everyone learned?

What could happen in a school with 100 Emanuels who are genuine, invested in their work, have passion, learn a little each  more each day, take pride in doing things right, engage the people they serve, and do so with a magical spirit? Are you an Emanuel?  All you need is a little faith, trust, and pixie dust! 

Super Hero Cape

Unlike my Monday Musing stated last week, I am the official “where is my _________” girl. In my home my motto is-Everything  has a place and everything in its place. There is no junk drawer in the kitchen. There is no catch it all basket in the foyer. Everything has a specific place where it belongs…….book bags on their hooks in the carport, phones and MacBooks have a charging station in the family room, stamps have a small basket in the first drawer beside the refrigerator, keys belong on the neatly placed hooks by the door-where you’ll conveniently find outgoing mail-you get the idea.  It is a fabulous system- yet I am the only one that follows it!

You see I live with boys. Book bags are left at the kitchen table after homework is done, keys are thrown on the pool table as they enter the house or left in the pants they were wearing when they throw them in the laundry basket. I am called upon when one of the boys in my house cannot locate ___________ (fill in the blank here with just about anything you can imagine).

Last week when we had our unexpected day off Monday due to the hurricane, I spent some much-needed hours working at JBE. Around 1pm, I received a phone call from Rosebro2 who was desperately searching for his homework folder. I immediately stepped into superhero mode asking a few questions like when did you have it last, what where you doing the last time you had it, etc. Within a minute, I had magically, over the phone, located his folder. His response, “How do you do that?”

As I got off the phone, took off my superhero cape, and reflected on that statement “how do you do that”, I realized that I can “do that” because I am a trained educator who uses data. The boys run around frantically searching place to place in obvious places while I stop and ask questions. I gather data. I also have schema like- where was the darned folder the last time he lost it. The other piece to this is trust. For instance, Rosebro2 once lost his phone. When I started the data collection phase, I realized that the data was skewed. Rosebro2 had taken his phone into his room-which is against our house rules-therefore making the data unreliable- because he wasn’t telling the truth. This is one reason why I love that we do so any many of our own beginning of the year testing-not only do we get to know our students, we also know the data is reliable. 

Now that we have almost completed our beginning of the year testing, it is now time to “do that”- it is time to analyze the data. Data is important. It helps tell us what our students know and don’t know. Yet, when we dig a little deeper we can figure out how to utilize strengths to develop skills, how to use students’ interests, and use our schema to use strategies that we’ve used with similar students to help our current students.  If we don’t use the data appropriately, we become like the Rosebros running around frantically searching in place to place (think Pinterest, Teacher pay teacher here) looking for solutions and praying it will work or at least keep them busy. Instead why not borrow my super hero cape and use the data to start asking those questions. How can I use this data to set up my small groups? Does this child have an attendance issue? Why is there such a huge gap in ELA and Math achievement and what can I do to lessen the gap? What skills are missing? Where do I need to start to meet my kids where they are rather than where I wanted them to be? As one of my favorite quotes states, ““The goal is to turn data into information, and information into insight.”

What we see.......

Friday night, I was EXHAUSTED.  I have no idea why, really.  I had had a pretty typical week with no major incidents or problems, but for whatever reason I found that I wanted to go to bed around 6 on Friday night. I was secretly more than thrilled when I arrived home and Rosebro1 was not feeling well and he and I skipped out on the football game. After some Tylenol, he felt better and wanted supper. I realized that left to his own accord, he would have eaten ice covered cheerios so I resolved to making dinner for us. One of my favorite things to make is homemade pizza. I am an all veggie kind of girl while the rest of my family is extreme carnivores. We set about making a ½ and ½ pizza. We were in the middle of making our own pizza when I struggled to find the pepperoni. I knew I’d bought some last week. I looked first in the pantry. Then thinking maybe we opened them already, I looked in the fridge and with no luck headed back to the pantry and another look into the refrigerator. Again I struggled with the idea that maybe I didn’t purchase them after all or maybe I have early onset dementia then Rosebro1 opened the fridge and while holding up the package of pepperoni stated, “Is this what you’re looking for?” How had I overlooked this not once, but twice? When I grabbed the package from him, I realized that (hopefully) the reason I had overlooked it was the packaging is very different than it usually looks. I had visited the new grocery in town (not making that mistake again) and the packaging was different than what I was expecting from my usual store purchase.  As I was shaking off the feeling that I have early onset Alzheimer's, I thought about the fact that often what we see depends on what we are looking for. I wondered how many times I have done that as an educator and even as a leader.  I see a kid sleeping in my class, I see his laziness, terrible work ethic, and total disregard for how much I’ve planned for him. I have a kid who never does his homework and I see a kid who could care less and will end up in mug shots. I see a parent consistently pick up their child late and I see a parent who could care less about their kids and should have their parental rights taken. Or, I could see a kid who has a home life so bad, that he sleeps on a floor and not a bed which makes for sleepless nights. I see a kid who has no guidance or skills in how to plan free time afterschool. I see a single mom who works 3rd shift and tries to sleep while her kids are at school so she can spend time with them afterschool and work to provide for them while they are asleep.

Very rarely can I get very down. I am usually an extremely happy person and the little things that can be aggravating aggravate me for a few minutes then I roll with it. I am an absolute “glass half full” kind of girl. This is one reason why I don’t fret over huge things or even small things. I also celebrate small things as well as huge things. While I look at the things on my to do list with regret sometimes, I also give myself a virtual pat on the back for all the things I have been able to scratch off. Our work in schools is daunting and we do have those students who don’t have a bed time so they sleep in our class, or who have no one to help them at home, or someone at home who does not care, and countless other stories. But part of what is important is keeping a vision on that as well as looking at the possibility. After all, what we see depends on what we look for.

Are you ready for some football?

My Dad not only ran a farm but he also coached football.  As his only “son” for 8 years, I was his water boy, team manager, and biggest cheerleader, until my Mom felt that I was becoming a little too tomboy when they allowed me to play pee wee football one season.  She made me be a cheerleader the next year.  Back then, cheerleading wasn’t a sport.  It was far from the athleticism, skill and competition of cheering today.  While I enjoyed it, I really wanted to watch the game.  I really wanted to play the game.   I love football.  Not just a little but in a “not leave the couch all day Saturday and watch every single game” kind of way. 

Friday night, with Rosebro1 still “couchlined” from his recent knee surgery, we watched the SHS game on TV.  Not a great game, but what I loved more than anything was watching Rosebro2 on TV doing his thing as team manager. It isn’t a secret, but Rosebro2 has my love of football gene.  He loves every down, can recite the entire game afterwards, and knows each players’ abilities and lots of their stats.  He jumps to his feet when our team scores, he yells at the refs, he blames the coaches for bad play calling and he gets concerned when a player goes down (the trainer’s kids have a heart for that kind of thing).  He wants to be a sports announcer or a sports statistician when he grows up.  Secretly I have doubted this career.  Why?  Rosebro2 has some speech issues, the field is packed with candidates, and I’m not a risk taker-it’s not a safe secure job.  But he lives for this kind of thing.  He doesn’t watch DisneyHD, Cartoon Network, he watches ESPN.  He reads the sports section of the newspaper.  

Unlike some kids who have waited for the release of some animated movie, Saturday he had us watching When the Game Stands Tall this weekend followed by The Blindside. We’ve watched it 100 times.  As we watched and I drifted into the mindless quiet of that first week of school tired, I watched my boy’s face light up with every play and every scene as if he had never watched the movie before.  And then a scene with Kathy Bates came on when she is tutoring Michael.  I realized that I was selling Rosebro2 short.  This is his dream and who am I to doubt it?  Should I not be his encouragement when he has the courage to want something?  I should be his blindside.  I should protect him from those obstacles he doesn’t see coming so that he can do great and wonderful things.  This doesn’t mean he doesn’t stumble or fall and make mistakes, but that he’s protected enough to go into battle and accomplish his dream.  First and foremost, I have to know him in order to know how to be that blindside.  As I thought about that I, of course, thought about school.  I thought about our students and the notion that unless we have true relationships with our kids, we can’t help them accomplish the goals we have for them this year.  The relationship you have with your students has to be the most important goal you have these first few weeks.  Without that you’ll not notice when they are having trouble, when something has changed in behavior, nor will you have true vested interest in making sure you are protecting their blindside so they don’t end up like tackled so hard they end up on the injured reserved. What are you doing to ensure you are creating relationships with your kids?

Losing my Marbles

I asked my people not to get me a Mother’s Day gift this year. I was not wanting to really celebrate Mother’s Day, this first one without my mother. I wanted to ignore the day altogether. I wanted to wake up and pretend that it was just a regular Sunday, yell at my family to hurry and get in the car for church, pray that we did not get a speeding ticket on the way to church, get out of the car and pretend that I had not just screamed and yelled at my children for the past 1/2 hour, and then argue about where to get after church lunch. I don’t usually get my way. As it would be, my brother and his wife decided to have their baby dedicated to the church on Mother’s Day. Because my mother lived a faith filled life, it was the perfect day to celebrate her and her much loved first granddaughter. My boys (all 3 of them) didn’t listen about the no gift thing either. They purchased me an extremely special locket that I will cherish like no other. As the day was winding down, Rosebro1 texted me (yes...the 21st century) to come to his room. He had a gift for me. He handed me a jar filled with marbles. 208 marbles to be exact. I’m realizing every single day how much he is like me.  He had read something in his daily devotional about Moms losing their marbles. He told me that he knew he and Rosebro2 (and if he were telling the truth...their Dad) make me lose my marbles most days. He said that I would get them back and he handed me a second container that was empty. He told me that each of the 208 marbles represented the number of weeks I had left with him until he graduates from high school and each week I was to take one marble out of the full jar and put it in the empty jar. When he graduated, I was to receive all my marbles back. The weight of the jar had been burdensome until he told me that. At that moment the jar seemed almost empty and light not because I was soon to be free of him, but because I realized what little time, influence, and guarding I have left with him. My weeks-my days- are numbered with my children. Painful, yet sometimes exciting, thoughts. Rosebro1 was trying to be funny-and I allowed him that. It was later that I cried (sobbed really) and realized that I may be doing an okay job with him after all, but how I wished I had more marbles to give away. When I remember that my days are numbered, it reminds me to make the most out of every day-every moment. I remember to leave the paper work on the desk until the next day, help with homework, to play basketball in the driveway rather than watch TV, plan mom/son dates, go to church as a family, stop stressing so much, eat our meals together, and continue to tuck them in at night. 

As I contemplated my marbles, I thought of our marble losing at school. The last two weeks of school feel like an eternity. They are hard. We have so much to do, the kids are on shutdown mode, and we’ve had a full MOON for goodness sakes! But our marbles are so limited with our students. Our time really is so short. 180 days seems like an eternity in August when your new students don’t yet understand your rules, routines, and procedures and appear to be miles away from where you want them. But 180 days in May seems to have flown by faster than a jet and all we intended to accomplish didn’t happen. So few marbles to give away. Do we intentionally plan to give them away by giving all we have every single day? Or do we stress over the amount of work we have left to do and give them away by being less than our best in order to just make it through the day. If we are going to lose our marbles-and it is bound to happen– should not those marbles matter?

Draft Day

 I am a football junkie and I am a huge Clemson fan. Rosebro2 is no different. The NFL draft was a few weeks ago starting on a Thursday night. Rosebro2 and I had spent many hours discussing possible draft picks and scenarios. We had watched analysis, we made a mock draft, we debated each other's choices.  As it just so happened Rosebro1 & 2 had a concert the night of the draft. The concert was to end at 8 but ran over. A few minutes after 8 my phone buzzed and I saw a news ping detailing the #1 draft pick. I carefully watched Rosebro2. I knew his phone had buzzed in his pocket as well. One to follow the rules, he was caught in a conundrum.  Should he not look at his phone, or would his need to know who the #1 draft pick prevail. Even from the bleachers, I saw the panic in his face. I also saw the very poor job he did of pulling his phone out quickly from his pocket, the "YES" fist pump he made at his seat as he put his phone away. After the concert, we quickly drove home so we could watch the remainder of the draft looking for our Clemson favorites and when they were going to be picked.   

  As we watched the ESPN coverage, I was memorized by the way they scrutinized these players to pieces.  As the announcers were making predictions of who the next pick would be, they gave stats from the college play, their NFL combine, their weight, height, strength, agility, speed, quickness, focus, leadership, and their off the field character. They spoke of their weaknesses and what they needed to do in order to get better.  It got me thinking, what if we had a teacher draft or a principal’s draft?  Would I make round 1?  Would you be a first round pick? Now in the real world this would never work. When I taught 6th grade the first assignment I always gave to judge their writing skills, was to tell about their favorite teacher.  Not one child spoke about an easy teacher or one who gave little homework or showed movies.  What they described was teachers who challenged them, inspired them think, encouraged them and treated them well.  So no need to work on that 40 yard dash, but remember kids are counting on you to be worthy of their number one draft pick.