Mine Is Yours

My principal recently released the demographic breakdown of our school for the current school year.  If you've read some of the blogposts prior to this one, you know how proud I am to work in a culturally diverse school.  Diversity is the reason I teach where I teach.

Anyway, over 40% of our students are African-American.  The second highest percentage is Hispanic (Mexican, Guatemalan, and Honduran).  Followed by Asian, Caucasian, Native American, African and mixed race.  We're sort of like Walgreens.  We have a little of everything.

Needless to say, we're diverse.

But like I've written about before, there is one common thread that links all of the students together.  It's the chain that bonds them together.

Poverty.

Of our 268 students, 99.6% qualify for our free or reduced lunch program.  I'll save you the long division.  We have one student in the entire school that doesn't qualify for free or reduced lunches.

Now I could take you on a journey through the daily struggles of poverty.  But I don't know anything about living in poverty.  I've never come close to experiencing it personally.   I wouldn't be able to do much more than retell stories I've heard students tell.

I could try to influence you to do something to help those living near you who are in desperate need of help.  But that's not what I'm going to do either.  You're probably already aware of people in need and places to serve.

Instead, there's a lesson to be learned from these children living in poverty.  It catches me off-guard time and time again.

My students love to give.

Despite not having much to give, they give.  It doesn't matter that they are coming from homes that qualify for free or reduced lunches.  They give.

And you know what, they never give begrudgingly.  They never give as if their mom or dad is making them give.  They never give to satisfy some sense of guilt.

They give because they want to.  They want to show that they care about you.

Last week, one of my students brought in a plastic sack filled with what appeared to be an object the size of a NBA basketball wrapped in layers of newspaper.  On the top layer of newspaper, it was evident that he'd had a little trouble figuring out exactly how he wanted to address the gift.  After a few attempts that had been scribbled out, he'd written "Merry Christmmas" in black ink.  He proudly gave it to me and told me it was for "Ms. Tiffany" (my wife) and me.  I gladly accepted the gift and told him I was anxious to see what it was.

Fearing that the other students might make fun of what was underneath all of the newspaper, I waited to open the gift until my students were at music class.  When I began to open the gift, I found the newspaper to be carefully wrapped and taped.  I peeled back layer upon layer.  The basketball-sized gift kept getting smaller and smaller with each piece of newspaper I removed.

Finally, I reached the center of the newspaper and found the gift my student so eagerly gave.  It was a well-worn, stuffed, pink bunny.  Why he thought I needed it, I'm not exactly sure.  But I appreciated it nonetheless.

I wish I could say that the well-worn bunny was some long, lost treasure that I'd been searching for.  Or that it was at the top of my Christmas list.  It wasn't.

But I appreciate everything that it symbolizes.

It reaches far beyond the tradition of giving Christmas gifts.  It's about sacrificing something of value (your time, your possessions, your talents) for the benefit of someone else.

Despite his circumstances, this boy gave up something he had in order to try to make someone else's day better.  You may not have a worn out, slightly filthy, pink bunny that can make a difference in someone's life.  But you certainly have something to give.  So do it.

Give.

Turn Off This Song and Go Outside

The students at Franklin begin every school day singing a song during the opening announcements.  It's usually patriotic in nature or something that celebrates a specific culture being highlighted during the month.  Through the first eight weeks of school, we sang "God Bless America".  This week, we switched to an uptempo and ridiculously high version of the classic Woody Guthrie tune, "This Land Is Your Land" (& when I say fast & ridiculously high, I mean Alvin-and-the-Chipmunks-hopped-up-on-5-hour-energy-and-sucking-helium fast & ridiculously high).

Anyway, after two days of this nonsense, one of my second grade girls has had enough.  She told me this morning that she didn't want to sing "This Land is Your Land" anymore.

Instead, she said she'd rather listen to Lil Wayne.

Lovely.

That got me to thinking about what song I'd want to sing every morning.  I haven't settled on one just yet.  Got any suggestions?

Music Monday: I Still Remember

Last week, a good friend of mine was trying to sell me on Spotify.  You know, the new music site that lets you listen to 3 trillion songs, in multiple languages, all at once.  At least I think that's how it works (There's a slight chance I could be wrong.  If I am, be sure to let me know in the comment section.).  Given that I'm a little protective of my music-listening habits, I wasn't quite ready to jump on the Spotify bandwagon.  After all, I could be potentially drastically altering one of my most treasured pastimes, consuming music.

Anyway, after discussing it with my buddy for awhile, I could tell just how much he's enjoyed discovering all that Spotify has to offer.  So I left the conversation agreeing to check out Spotify within the next couple of weeks and getting back to him with my reaction to it.

One thing that is keeping me from embracing the never-ending library of songs is the possibility of judging music too quickly in order to move on to something that is more immediately satisfying.  I'm worried that I might overlook music that would eventually mean a great deal to me simply because I wasn't initially impressed by it.

Nearly a week later, I've yet to download even the free version of Spotify.  Like I said, I'm hesitant to have so many songs at my disposal.  I'll get around to checking it out eventually.  But in the meantime, I've been wondering what bands/albums/songs I might have passed over if I would have had access to Spotify over the last few years.


Case in point: British band Bloc Party's second album, A Weekend in the City.  I admittedly was completely disappointed by the album the first dozen times I listened to it after purchasing it.  If I had listened to it on Spotify, I imagine I would have listened to it, been unimpressed, and moved on.  There wouldn't have been the same desire to give the album an extended opportunity to catch my attention.  Because I had purchased the album and it thus became part of a relatively small library of music, I gave A Weekend a 27th chance.  And I'm glad I did.  I now consider it one of my top five favorite albums and home to an absolutely beautiful guitar riff that has an indescribable effect on me every time I hear it.

I'll get around to trying Spotify, and it'll be sooner rather than later.  But when I do, it'll be with a sense of caution.  After all, I still remember each album I own and it's place within my library.  When I open the door on Spotify, I'm afraid that will no longer be the case.

Music Monday: Singing In My Sleep

Late on a Sunday night back in November of 2007, I left a Thanksgiving party with friends and colleagues to venture across town to catch a solo set by Dan Wilson, the former lead singer of Semisonic. He was opening for Sondre Lerche (who was touring in support of his work on the Dan in Real Life soundtrack) at the Waiting Room in downtown Benson. I had debated whether or not to leave the party. Given that I was one of the organizers of the shindig, I felt it might be a little rude to take off. But on the other hand, I decided it'd be even more rude of me to skip out on seeing the guy who wrote one of the most clever verses in recorded music history.*

So with a digestive system full of turducken, I made my way over to the Waiting Room and witnessed one incredibly crisp performance. Wilson took to the stage without a backing band and played a set full of songs that were as timeless as black and white photographs.

As Sondre Lerche went on stage, I spotted Wilson standing off to the side near a big window that looks out on Maple St. I went over to shake his hand, and he was gracious enough to engage me in conversation for a few minutes. I let him know that I had been playing some of songs for my first grade students and that they loved his music, which made him smile. I thanked him for his music, shook his hand, and left.

As I walked to my car, I thought about how I could have stayed home that night. Instead, I went out and caught a show that was an education on what every songwriter strives for--making music that is the soundtrack other people make their memories to.

*For those of you wondering about the claim I made at the end of the first paragraph, check out the second verse of Singing In My Sleep by Semisonic

Ships In the Night, Part 2

**This post is an update on the situation described in the previous post, Ships In the Night.**

Data made it to school the next day.  Despite the anxiety and the imagination that had gotten the best of him, he had survived the night.  I asked him about the pirates, and he responded with a look of confusion.  Not because he didn't remember our conversation.  He did.  The confusion was more from his inability to fully express is thoughts and ideas.  Remember, his English is far from perfect, so he may not have had the words to offer his true thoughts on the matter.  After some time and some thought, he explained that he and his friend had made the desperate decision to break the pirate treasure they had found in hopes that the pirates would then be satisfied and leave them alone.  It was his perception that this decision, no matter how difficult, had saved them from enduring the wrath of the revenge-seeking pirates.

I have to admit, I absolutely admire Data's imagination.  As you and I grow older, life can make it more and more difficult to maintain our childlike imaginations.  In some regards, that can be a good thing.  But in many other instances, it's rather unfortunate that we let it slip away from us.  We get caught up in the rigor of our day-to-day lives and fail to fully utilize one of the great gifts given to us as humans.

I'm obviously not encouraging each one of us to let our imaginations get the best of us to the point that we lose sleep over the possibility that pirates are after us.  But I'm guessing each of our lives would become a little more interesting if we let our imaginations run a little more freely, like we did when we were young.  When we imagined having superpowers, rather than focusing on our flaws.  When we imagined taking part in adventures that took us to the ends of the earth, rather than being worn down by the grind of everyday life.

Data's imagination transformed these last few days from ordinary to extraordinary.  They may be days he talks about for years to come.  The days he thought he was fleeing angry pirates.  It'll be a great story.  One that will probably get even better with each passing retelling.

I want to hear from you.  What stories do you have?  When did your imagination get the best of you?

Ships In the Night

After school today, I had a rather serious conversation with a student I taught last year.  The subject matter caught me by surprise and I wasn't sure how to react to what he was telling me, so I basically stood there and listened to what he had to say.  When the conversation was over, I walked away questioning if I handled it the right way.  Let me fill you in on the details, and I'll let you decide if I was right or wrong.

To give you some idea of the type of kid I was dealing with, picture a second grade version of Data, the Asian gadgets expert from The Goonies.  He has the same imperfect English, wittiness, and personality that other kids his age gravitate towards.  In fact, it's such an accurate comparison that I'll just refer to the kid as Data to simplify things.

So Data and I were standing outside the front of our school when he mentioned that he was scared for tonight.  This was something I'd never heard him say before.  But I knew he has a sibling and a cousin who have been battling some health issues lately, so I was concerned that perhaps one of them had gotten worse.

I asked him what he had to be scared of.

He looked at me and, with complete seriousness, said, "I'm afraid pirates might get me."

He was honestly worried that pirates were after him.

Stunned by what I'd just heard, I suppressed the urge to laugh and asked him what he'd done to upset the pirates.  He then went on to explain that he and a neighbor friend had discovered part of a "treasure" buried in the ground near his home (which is located in north Omaha).  It apparently had a skull and crossbones pirate symbol on it, which gave him cause for concern.

As our conversation went on, I could tell that Data wasn't joking about any of it.  He and his friend had even created a map to detail where they'd found the treasure.  Or perhaps it was to where they had reburied the lost loot.  Data didn't clarify.  He also went on to explain that he'd had a nightmare the night before of a pirate chasing after him (I should have asked him if the pirate running after him happened to be wearing an eye patch and going by the name One-Eyed Willie).

As he finished filling me in on all of the details, I found myself not knowing if I should break it to him that he and his friend have nothing to worry about.  I could have explained that, due to the proximity to the nearest large body of water, the chances of buried pirate treasure being found in Omaha, NE are slim to none.

Instead, I made the decision to let him sweat it out for the night.

Before turning to head back inside the school, I looked Data in the eye with all of the seriousness I could muster and said, "Good luck tonight."  He said thanks and started walking home, unsure of who or what might be waiting for him.

So what do you think?  What would you have done if you were in my shoes?

Music Monday: Sing

Push play before reading.

As summer comes to a close and a preview of the coming fall air can be felt on the walk out of my apartment building toward my car each morning, the soundtrack in my head regularly turns to the sounds of Travis.  As soon as I open the door to step outside and feel the crisp, cool air, my mental soundtrack begins playing the intro to the song "Sing".  Perhaps the sweeping wind-like sound of the opening few moments of the song reminds me of the fall breeze.  I can't quite put my finger on it.

My friends and family probably get tired of this, but I have a habit of making comments like, "If there's ever a movie made about my life, I want this song to be included."  (It's not like I actually expect a movie to be made about me.  I'm not that interesting.  I guess it's just my way of saying that a band's music has meant a great deal to me.  But then again, maybe, just maybe, this blog will take off and become so popular that a movie actually is made about my life.  Don't worry, you'll be able to say you were reading me way back before anyone else!  And moving on...)

Give Travis a listen if you haven't already.  Your life will be better off because of it.  And if by the slim chance you don't actually like their music, try having a food fight like the one above.  That's guaranteed to make your life more enjoyable.

We Are Going To Be Friends

Last night, I was driving around Omaha with my wife and two of our friends scouting out different locations for their engagement pictures.  We were going to be passing within a few blocks of the school where I teach, so I thought I'd show our friends where I spend each day molding the minds of the future.

(Do you ever get annoyed by annoying cliches like the one I just used about molding the minds of the future?  Yeah, I do, too.  I'm so annoyed with myself right now.)

As we pulled up to the school, I spotted two of my students from last year, one of their younger brothers, and a cousin walking along the sidewalk.  I honked my horn and waved.  Surprised to see their teacher on a Friday evening, they yelled my name and began racing over to our car.  I pulled into a parking space and jumped out to talk to them for a few minutes.

We went to give each other high fives, but I noticed some sort of red substance all of their hands and quickly pulled my hand away.  I basically pulled one of those "I'm baiting you into a high five but then I move my hand away and slide it down the back of my head because I'm too cool" high fives.  What was this red substance covering their fingers?

Flamin' Hot Cheetos seasoning.

I asked them where they came up with their large bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos.  With smiles spread across each of their faces, they told me one of them had found a basketball in the neighborhood and traded it to a friend straight up for the bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos.

I couldn't help but laugh and admire the savvy decision made by the boy who found the basketball in order to make the rest of the group happy.  He didn't necessarily make a huge sacrifice.  His fingers were just as red as any.  But he did take into account how the trade would affect his friends, and made his decision accordingly.

We should all be so fortunate as to have friends that look out for one another like the Flamin' Hot Cheetos boys.

What is something someone has done for you recently that let you know you matter to them?

Mistaken for Strangers

Ever been mistaken for someone far more daring and dangerous than you actually are?

I have.  Multiple times, in fact.

During my first year of teaching while reading a book about a boy who wanted to be a pirate, one of my girls was in awe of my ability to speak "pirate".  I didn't bother to tell her that it's not typically recognized as an actual language.  Or that I picked it up simply by reading what the author had written.  I wish I could have claimed to have learned to speak "pirate" while spending months on a pirate ship off the cost of Bora Bora with the one and only Captain Braid Beard.  But sadly, that never happened.  Internally, I was kicking myself for never having done something that dangerous.

For the longest time, that story topped the Times I Wished My Student's Perception Was Actually Reality List (TIWMSPWARL for short...or rather, for slightly less long).

Last week, a casual conversation took a turn that ultimately landed the top spot on the TIWMSPWARL (note to self: create simpler names for lists that only exist inside my head).

On Monday, I was walking in the hall when one of my students from last year came up to say hi.  I had seen her sitting on her porch with her mom as I drove by her house on the way home after school the previous Friday.  I had honked and waved at them, and they both waved back.   

So as we began to talk, I mentioned seeing her and her mom as I drove past their house on Friday.  At first, she smiled and said, "Oh yeah!  We saw you, too."  Then her face changed, and I could tell that she was confused about something.  She looked up at me and asked, "Were those real guns on your car?"

At first, I wasn't exactly sure what she meant, but then I quickly realized what she was referring to.  My "real guns" were actually just my bike rack.

As I explained to her what a bike rack is and why I have one on my car, I was kicking myself once again for being far less dangerous than I appeared.  This time, I was bummed out by the fact that I drive just an average Corolla and not the Batmobile.

Someday, maybe someday, I'll be as daring and dangerous as my students perceive me to be.

Gimme Some Motivation

Contrary to popular belief, the most important job a teacher has is not to help their students pass standardized tests.  I know, I know.  That may sound like a radical idea.  After all, the job security for teachers and principals is largely based on the performance of their students on standardized tests.  So it may seem a bit odd that I’m telling you that one of the most important factors that will get a teacher’s contract renewed (or not renewed) each year isn’t necessarily what the teacher needs to devote his focus to.

(By the way, it’s worth noting that I’m not completely against standardized tests.  There has to be some sort of way for comparing students & schools to determine who is being successful and who’s not.  In a perfect world, there wouldn’t be a need for tests.  Every student would thrive.  Every school would give Disneyland competition for the title of the Happiest Place On Earth.  However, given that students are all unique and no two schools are the same, there really isn’t a standardized test that is accurately going to assess every child.  In truth, standardized tests aren’t completely worthless.  If used correctly, the data gained from standardized tests can have an incredibly positive impact on improving teacher instruction.  Anyway, back to the point of this post…)

What should a teacher’s number one priority be?  Well, I’m glad you asked! 

A teacher’s priority numero uno is to instill a sense of hope into each and every child he interacts with.

I don’t care if we’re talking about a kid growing up in middle-class suburbia or one growing up in the ghetto getting by on food stamps.  Hope is essential for either one to experience success.

Hope is what every child needs, yet, unfortunately, too many children are living without any sense of hope that their life will be successful and fulfilling.

The causes for this are too numerous to list.  Growing up without a father or living in the seemingly never-ending cycle of poverty are two causes of this sense of hopeless that quickly come to mind.  If you don’t have a father to look up to and model what being successful is, what is there that will propel you to overcome this and become successful in your own right?  Likewise, if you’re born into poverty that has been passed down from generation to generation, what is there that’s going to make you feel like you’re going to be any different?

The answer is hope.

It’s not about teaching to the test so your students can pass.  It’s not about taking pity on the hopeless.

When it comes to hope, I don’t mean telling a student they can be anything they want to be as long as they’re willing to work really hard.  If I would have had a teacher tell me I could have been the NBA’s next dominant center as long as I spent enough time in the gym, I would have wound up severely depressed that all of my time and energy spent in the gym went completely to waste simply because my parents didn’t give me the right combination of genes to grow to be more than 6’2”.  I would have grown bitter towards my parents and would be holding a 7-foot 2-inch, 280-pound grudge against them to this very day.

There’s a term for that: false hope.

Last year, I had a student who as a second grader had yet to experience much success in school.  She was very young for the grade level.  She was one of the smallest kids in the school.  And she didn’t exactly get a lot of support at home.  Needless to say, she could be a handful.

For the better part of the first three quarters of the school year, she and I didn’t see eye to eye.  She was at school to be social and didn’t show much of an interest in learning.  Like I said, she hadn’t really been successful at school.  And who likes to spend 6 ½ hours a day doing something they haven’t been very good at?

One day I spent a few minutes talking with this girl about what she wanted to do when she grew up.  It took her a little bit of time before she opened up, but when she did, she said she wanted to work at Burger King or Taco Bell.  Upon hearing this, I was impressed.  To give you some idea of the aspirations of some of my students from last year:  more than one told me they didn’t want to do anything when they grow up.  So for this girl to say she wanted to work at Burger King or Taco Bell was at least admitting to having some sort of goal in life.

At that time, I could have applauded her for having a dream and leaving it at that.  However, I pushed her to dream a little bit bigger.  I asked her what she thought about potentially being the manager or owner of a Burger King instead of just working there.  As I said this, I could see her processing it and a smile spread across her face.  She said that she thought that’d be pretty cool and that she would give me free burgers if I came to her Burger King.

I’d like to say that everything magically changed for her at that point, that she became a model student, and that she passed every standardized test she took from that point on.  The reality is, certain areas of school are most likely always going to be a struggle for her and that she isn’t going to have a perfect record of behavior.  But she did improve academically and behaviorally throughout the fourth quarter.  She now has a dream that is attainable and a hope that she just might actually achieve it.

I want nothing more than for her to cling to the hope that she has a real opportunity to achieve her dream.  It is that hope that will ultimately lead her to be more successful in school.  And it is that hope that will help her see the relevance in doing her best in school and on standardized tests.

I hope to one day walk into my former student’s Burger King and score some free burgers.  And when I do, perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to reminisce about the conversation we had that gave her some hope for her future.  And when we finish, I’ll let her know how proud of her I am and refer to her just as she had referred to me in the days following our pivotal conversation, as “my homey”. 

Who is someone in your life that has encouraged you and given you hope?

Yellow

Today, a student asked if we could watch a 3D movie in class. He was kind enough to bring the movie and a pair of "3D glasses". Unfortunately, I had to tell him no. With only one pair of glasses, he would have been the only student who would have been able to watch the movie in yellow...uh, I mean, 3D.

Upon informing him of my decision, he responded with a phrase I've heard all too often throughout my teaching career, "That's not fair."