Two Sides to an Interview

Sitting in an interview can be an eye opening experience. As a prospective teacher I am on a mission to learn everything I can about your school, what you think of your students, their parents, your staff, your curriculum director, the common core and many other topics that will directly affect me if I come to work for you. Through observation and questions I can begin to determine what is most important to those in the administrative positions and whether or not it aligns with my own philosophy of education.  

If you ask me several questions dealing with the subject of “how do you handle trouble-making students”, I begin to assume you view “many” of your students as “trouble makers”. If you ask me several questions along the lines of “how do you respond to unhappy parents”, I begin to think there are lots of unhappy parents in your district. At that point I start wondering “why” parents are unhappy and “why” students are making trouble.

I am aware that every classroom comes fully equipped with one or more students that do not seem interested in learning but I believe it is my job to build a rapport so I can make learning interesting to them. When kids feel valued, they tend to add value to the learning process. If they think they “matter”, then things will start “mattering” to them.

As a prospective employee I want to hear questions about ‘teaching philosophies’, ‘differentiation’, and ‘guided reading’. I want to learn about your building and staff, the strengths of your curriculum and which areas your students need the most help. I am more interested to know how technology is used in your classrooms than how parent volunteers are screened and fingerprinted.

Please don’t tell me that I can be “flexible with my teaching” by spending more instruction time with the struggling students than with the higher ones. As a parent of a ‘higher one’ that offends me. I believe every child has learning needs regardless of what level they are assessed. A higher child needs to grow the same span as a struggling child. In short it is my job to grow every child, to encourage them to stretch and reach beyond where they think they can. I view my top student just as much of a learner as I view my most struggling student.

And finally, please understand I am not looking for “any” position. I want to shine. I want to inspire and engage kids. I want to make them think, not memorize, I want to make them problem solve, not work a formula. I want to challenge them to find different ways to the right answer.

While I appreciate every interview and every show of interest, I too, am conducting my own interview during our time. You’re looking at me, I’m looking at you. I want to find where I can make the biggest impact and shine the brightest. That may or may not be in your building or in this particular grade level, but when it’s the right place and the right time, we will both know it and it will be magic.

In memory of my mom

Today, April 26, marks 22 years since my mom died at the young age of 50. But yesterday marked the final time I actually had a conversation with her, as her last day on this earth was spent in a coma state for the most part. I remember that last day when she was awake and talking. I remember hugging her good-bye and my dad walking me and my then twenty month old daughter to the parking garage at the Cleveland Clinic.

I remember her last words to me, simple then, but profound now. "Baby be careful driving home, I love you and goodness sake will you please smile and be happy, you always look so sad"? I thought about what she said all the way home and was bothered that she would request me to smile and be happy. I wanted to scream, "you're dying, and I will never be happy again". Was she crazy? How could she even mutter the word, "happy".

All I wanted was for her to get better. I wanted her to hold me and be there to see my daughter grow up. I wanted Thanksgiving Dinners and Christmas Eves and birthdays. I wanted Sunday dinners, cookouts and Easter egg hunts. I wanted cancer to be defeated by some miraculous drug or new discovery.

I realized over the years that life is a collection of roles and that with each role we play a part. And even though we are the same player, the parts are all different. The tears I shed then and now are the tears of a child. Regardless of my age when I think about my mom or dad for that matter I am one-hundred percent a child, scared, sad and craving their arms. When I see my own children worried about something or unhappy, I am a mom, telling them  like she told me, "smile, be happy, it will be okay". I want more than anything for them to be happy even if things are a mess.

At the time I was baffled how my mom could for one second be concerned with my countenance and sadness when she was literally dying with each passing day. I would wonder, does she not know, does she not care, why does it matter to her right now if I'm happy or sad? The truth is she completely knew how sick she was. She saw it in the mirror, she saw it on the scales, in the faces of doctors, nurses and family members. But despite her situation and the fact that life was slipping away everyday, her top priority was still her kids. The week before she had reminded me three times from her hospital bed, to please make sure my younger sister had a cake the next day for her 21st birthday. I promised she would but again kept thinking, why? Why does a birthday matter when you have such bad cancer? Would my sister even want a cake? Would anyone care or think about her birthday? Well, my mom did and to her it was a moment to celebrate.

I know now that parents really can't help putting their children first even if they are facing uphill battles themselves. Two days before my dad died it was Déjà vu, as he struggled to breathe but said in short, quick words, "I'm worried about you, will you be okay? Read your Bible." I thought then that even though I would soon be without any parent at all, I had been so blessed and lucky to have the ones I had. Even in death they loved me, my sisters and brother so much. Our emotional state and well being was more important to them both than the disease ravishing their bodies.

I am grateful I had them as long as I did. I learned as much about love and life during their final hours as I did during their entire lifetime. I believe with all my heart I will see them again. I look at photos of them often, think about them daily and hope they know I am happy and okay.

THERE ARE NO GUARANTEES ESPECIALLY IN THIRD GRADE

According to Ben Franklin the only guarantee in this world is death and taxes, so I wonder how thrilled Ben would be to learn that the state of Ohio has created one more.

As most of us know, Ohio's Third Grade Reading Guarantee is a program that identifies students behind in reading from kindergarten through third grade and then provides help and support to make sure those students are on track for reading success by the end of third grade (unless they are not…because not everyone will be).

Unfortunately if a student cannot demonstrate that they are “on track” by passing the third grade reading OAA test they face repeating third grade the next year. There are a few exemptions, but this “guarantee”, guarantees a lot of retention statewide.

Naturally school districts are working hard to meet the demands the new law creates, teachers are concerned, parents are concerned and school administrators are also concerned.

But do you know who else is really wondering and worrying about being labeled “on track”? Well, I could give you a list of names.

A second grader said to me just last week, “Mrs. Webb, I am really worried about passing that reading test next year”. The sincerity in her voice and fear in her eyes told me that she realizes she’s not currently “on track”. Although she tries hard and receives lots of support from various sources in our building, she does lag behind. I am just not sure if she lags behind enough to be retained based on her ability to score 400 on her third grade reading OAA. Regardless, it’s a major worry in her young life.

My main concern in second grade was which third grade teacher I would have the next year. I also worried if my friends would be in the same classroom and if we would get to do gymnastic in phys. ed. class, I had seen the trampoline set up many times, but had never gotten to jump on it. In third grade I grew to love reading and writing, I enjoyed stories, poems and fables. I liked it when the teacher read “Charlotte’s Web” and “Stuart Little”, aloud every day after recess, I was excited about learning cursive and multiplication. I worried about being picked last in gym class, losing a library book and the bus driver forgetting to stop at my house. I know these worries sound childish…but I was a child. I did not worry about failing third grade. I didn’t worry about a test, a score or a label I may encounter as a result of a test or score.

As an educator it makes me sad enough to see colleagues and parents stress about one test score on one day, but seeing seven-year-old girls and boys being concerned just puts everything into a new perspective. While I understand the novel goal of the third grade guarantee, I am just not sure it is attainable. It is common knowledge that every individual possess different strengths and gifts and every individual also lacks different strengths and gifts.

I personally have no sense of direction…at all. I know the sun rises in the East and sets in the West and that is a huge help to me sometimes; especially on the I-270 outer belt around Columbus. If there had been a ‘directions’ proficiency test included with my driver’s examination I would not be licensed to drive a vehicle today.

As I looked into the face of the second grader worried about failing the third grade OAA, I realized this is more than a test score to her. This is about her ‘personally’. No child (or adult) wants to fail. No child (or adult) wants to be labeled or forced to repeat a year of anything based on the fact they are deemed non-proficient according to a test score. No child (or adult) wants that kind of pressure in the back of their mind every day. It isn’t healthy emotionally, physically or mentally.

Some kids are just not going to perform well on a test, maybe they do poorly because the test is timed, maybe they are stressed out and physically sick from worrying about it, maybe they just don’t work well under pressure, maybe they can’t read very well or comprehend what they have read.

There are no guarantees in life whether you are in third grade or the nursing home. It is impossible for all individuals to be at the same place intellectually at the same time. All kids can learn, but all kids cannot learn at the same pace. Asking them to all score at least 400 on one day on any test is unreasonable; and automatically retaining them for another year of third grade because they can’t is sad.

If legislators could spend a day in second or third grade and witness firsthand the anxiety and fear the kids deal with as a result of this “guarantee”, I guarantee you they would re-think things. Taxes and death…and now on track by third grade…wow. Maybe they can work on an ‘automatic employment guarantee’, next.

When Life Gives You Snow…Throw Snowballs!

     As I sat at the traffic light I noticed two, big, burly guys walking out of the Wendy’s Restaurant towards a pick-up truck. All of a sudden one of them scooped up a handful of snow and nailed the other guy somewhere between the lower jaw and neck. I was surprised but I LOVED IT! Within a few seconds these two guys went from thirty-five to ten-years-old, throwing snowballs, ducking behind the truck and sneaking around the side of the vehicle trying to take the other by surprise. The battle didn’t last long but it was priceless for those few seconds I watched.

     I have always believed the real key to staying young is not found in the expensive Estee Lauder creams and ointments that I occasionally purchase, but instead depends on an individual’s ability to ‘play’ and be ‘childish’ sometimes. My kids complain that when I get around my ‘high school friends’, we all become very “annoying” and act “silly”—what they don’t understand is that for those few minutes, we revert right back to being seventeen, and having those friends and that outlet is probably what’s kept me sane all these years.

     It is fun to play. Playing puts anyone in a better mood and reminds us that we do not have to be an adult ALL the time. Whether it’s a game of cards, Risk, Monopoly or a snowball fight in the middle of a parking lot; playing brings out the kid in anyone. Some of the happiest people I know are kids…so why not be one every once in a while?

     There have been many times I wanted to plow some unsuspecting soul with a snowball, but felt like it wouldn’t be mature or they might get mad at me, but today I did it and it was great. It was a perfectly packed, perfectly rounded, ice, cold ball of snow. The victim was my daughter’s boyfriend and the throw was truly amazing considering my non-athletic skills. It smacked him right in the side of the head and left him speechless and motionless at first, it was a surprised attack after all…but then as fate would have it, he regained his composure and got me back.

     In life everyone has roles that they must fulfill; roles such as wife, mom, dad, husband, employee, community member, consumer, club member and so forth. There is one role we should all add to our list and that is the role of ‘being a big kid’ sometimes. It will change your energy level, your outlook, your sense of humor and the way others look at you! Channel your inner kid and throw a snowball at someone but prepared…they will be shocked…but they will probably retaliate.

“Living Poor”

          There are many positive clichés and mottos parents use to inspire their children…we buy them little plaques that say things like “live big” and “make every moment count” or we give them cards that say, “live like this was your last day”. While these are all good nuggets of advice there is one bit of important knowledge most of us, including myself, have failed to pass on to our kids.

          “Living Poor” is a phrase my mom used and one that I learned to understand first-hand. I often think back to my childhood and compare it to the one my children have today. There are stark differences.

          For one, my family rarely ate a meal outside of our home and if we did it was ‘Burger Chef’ and my siblings and I would be ecstatic. My mother also shopped at a second hand store in our town known as ‘The Clothes Closet’. There were a few name brand items there and when she was lucky enough to run across a pair of Levis or Lee blue jeans that were too faded for her liking, she would pick up a pack of Ritz dye on her way home. The jeans always turned out a purplely color though and the name brand tag on the back would be purple as well. I remember having a friend at church who was an only child with a big heart. I would be so excited on those Sunday mornings when she would enter the church foyer toting a big bag of clothes she had outgrown. She would smile, set them aside, give me a wink and I would be unable to concentrate on a thing the pastor was saying after that. I couldn’t wait to get into that bag. All our clothes weren’t hand me downs though, from time to time we would get brand new things, but those occasions were usually limited to Christmas and Birthdays.

          When I was old enough to get a driver’s license my number one goal was to get a job. My first boss use to tease me that he could set his clock every Monday morning by the time I would be calling to ‘check on my application’. I knew I was bugging the poor guy to death but I had to have a job. I wanted things and I knew that working was the only way I’d ever get them.

          My first car was a Ford Pinto and cost $275. It was affectionately nicknamed the ‘putty wagon’ by my friends. The driver’s door did not open, the radiator leaked and there was a tooth broken off the flywheel. My dad gave me strict instructions on how to make it work.

          “You need to carry a couple gallons of water with you all the time,” he said. “Fill up the radiator before you go to work and before you leave work. Oh, and you’ll have to use this wrench to turn the flywheel like this (he demonstrated) so it will start.”

          That’s how you lived poor.

          Then he and mom sent me off without another thought.

          I remember once when I needed tires my best friend’s dad bought them for me. I hadn’t asked or even realized that mine were bald, he just noticed and did it because he cared. I’ll never forget him for that.

          Today my kids are clueless. They think eating out twice a day is normal and ‘free’ by the way they order the $5 dessert every time!

          My 18 year old has a very nice used Acura with all the trimmings including heated seats. If she needs tires, her dad buys them. If the roads are too snowy he drives her to school and picks her up. She thinks Hollister and American Eagle have ‘good deals’ and that Victoria’s Secret is the only place that sells bras. I’ve watched her spend a whole paycheck on a purse and consider a matching wallet that costs twice amount of the purse. She doesn’t understand why I “MAKE” her work when “all she needs is gas money and clothes and I can just buy them”! After all…“no one else in high school has to work”— (strange however I see many high school kids working all over town).

          I find myself some days secretly wishing I was her. She’s so lucky and doesn’t even know it (yet). I can’t imagine her pouring water into a leaky radiator or lifting the hood of her car to manually turn the flywheel (if cars still have flywheels), and honestly I wouldn’t want her to have to. But I would like to know she could if she had to.    So maybe I’m the lucky one…I know how to live poor and that’s a valuable piece of knowledge that’s hard to transfer to someone else. It almost has to come from actually ‘living’ that way.

          Looking back I wish I had taught her to ‘live poor’ just a little bit, instead of teaching her to, ‘live big’ so much! I can’t believe I bought into the ‘give your kids everything you didn’t have’ philosophy. It’s the things I didn’t have that made me the person I am today and I wouldn’t trade that for all the money on Wall Street, which incidentally could use a lesson in ‘living poor’ as well.