It wasn’t a question I anticipated. In truth, I don’t suppose that I’d ever really hear it. The emphasis being on the word “I”. I never thought that I, Kelly, would ever hear this question. Not because it’s a stupid question and yes, there are stupid questions. There are also ignorant questions. There are ridiculous questions. This one topped all three of those.

In the context of someone actually asking the question it must also be said that there really was no context. There was no reason for someone to ask this question because it wasn’t relevant to what we were discussing at the time. We meet, as teams, each week to discuss teaching and learning and part of the reason I’m there is to frame the learning for teachers. When I work with educators outside of my building it is sometimes in the role of consultant. For lack of a better term I guess I would say that I facilitate meetings. Each week I work with the Teaching and Learning team to determine the professional development for teachers so that we can stay abreast of scientifically-based research practices, introduce them to the teachers by providing examples and defining the expectations, and help their own learning to become skillful and proficient in teaching.

This question came out of nowhere.

Speaking to the group as a whole this teacher walked in our meeting and asked this seemingly arbitrary inquiry.

“What are we gonna do with all these pregnant girls?”

She sounded exasperated when she asked it, like she’d been irritated by it. Like she was weary of these pregnant girls. As if we’d had a rash of girls who had just come forward en masse to exclaim that they were pregnant.

When she asked it she was looking directly at me. AT ME. As if, because of my title or position, I was to answer this question for the entire group of teachers sitting together because I was leading the group and could offer some insight as to what we would “do” with all these pregnant girls.

“Other than, um, educate them with the free public education we offer?” I asked her.

“Well, there are just so many it seems. They can’t fit in my desks and…” she sighed and her voice trailed off as if I didn’t give her the answer she wanted. All the while she is talking I can feel my veins exploding and a twitch forming in the left side of my body and then I lost control of my bowels and my head just popped right off my shoulders and rolled onto the floor while my brain silently and slowed screamed, “WHAT. THE. HELL?”

Perhaps it wasn’t really the word “hell”, but you get my drift. It cut me off at the knees, this question. It struck right at my heart and the aim was true. Instantly, I was 15 years old and I got a glimpse of what teachers, when behind closed doors from students, said about me.

Oddly enough, I have the answer. I mean, I suppose I already gave it to her, but she didn’t like how I responded.

I know exactly what to “do” with these pregnant girls. How about we teach them? How about we educate them so well that we encourage them to go off to college with their babies? What about encouraging them to be responsible parents that can work and be productive citizens that contribute to society? Then, we could embolden and stimulate their knowledge and get them to further their education by getting a Master’s degree in education. Would that work? Is that okay with you? Because if they do really well and work hard at that then maybe, just maybe, they could work their way up and find themselves leading YOUR professional development.

That’s definitely the right answer.

There’s not much that stumps me in my job and I’ve embraced humility enough to know that I don’t always know the answers to the complicated messes that introduce themselves to me like a stranger at the grocery store. “Oh, hello. I’m the awkward beef cow tongue sitting in plastic wrap in the frozen meat section. What would you like to do to me?”

You know, that sounded way less disgustingly lurid and suggestive  in my head when I started writing this.

But there is something that comes up increasingly more often than I thought it would. Some students are comfortable enough with their homosexuality to talk to me about it. It’s usually in passing as we’re discussing other things or sometimes when they tell me who they’re bringing to the Prom or just about dating someone of the same sex as a general topic of conversation. But what I am never clear on is how much their parents know or what I am allowed to say to their families. Sometimes, I know about their sexuality before their parents and other times it’s as comfortable a subject matter as their algebra test scores or their AP History class.

When I’m unsure of is how to mention it to parents (if necessary). What do I say? How to I talk about it? What if they ask me about it?

What are your thoughts on this?

It was a whirlwind day and yet it was entirely typical of what happens at our high school. In most high schools, probably. I just thought it was worthwhile to put this day down as an official mark that this is what regularly happens.

First thing in the morning my secretary called me on the radio to tell me that I had a visitor. This could be anybody. Former students, current students, teachers in other buildings who are visiting and wanted to drop by to say hello. It was Janelle. Janelle graduated early this year so I never get to see her (or her growing belly) (which has completely shrunk, that little stinker). She brought her month old daughter and wanted to show me that she had all ten fingers and all ten toes. Of course, I said, “You know I’m going to hold her, right? And smell her? And kiss her? And then I’ll steal her.” She laughed and looked at me sideways. I’m always joking with her. She never takes me seriously but man, did I want to put that sweet baby in my purse and take her home.

While Janelle was there, Dakota walked in. He’s been gone from high school for almost two years now and when he left he was carrying around an extra 60 pounds, but he went into a military program, shaped up, got a job, and also has a new baby. When he left us he was a mess. He’s getting it all together now. He knows I’m proud of him so he keeps coming back for reinforcement. I’ll give it freely.

As I’m walking out of the office after visiting with them both I see Annie. She’s been my office assistant in the past and I never get to see her anymore. “What are you doing in here?” I ask. She tells me that she got kicked out of class for no reason. It’s always NO REASON to hear the students tell it. “There’s more to that story,” I say. “No, there’s not. She kicked me out for saying ‘crap’ so here I am.” This doesn’t sound like it’s going to end well and I can see that I will probably work for at least 20 minutes to get the full story out of her. “Come on, Annie. Just saying ‘crap’ doesn’t get you kicked out of class.”

I put my hands on my hips, look at my watch to indicate that I don’t have time for all this, and she caves.

“All I said was that this class was crap and she told me not to say that word and I’m like, what! It’s not a bad word! And she’s all, oh yeah it is, and I’m like fine, then crap crap crap crap crap.”

I turned on my heel and walked out of the office, sighing loudly to voice my displeasure at her silliness.

In the hallway, Drew stops me to ask if we can have a Jedi Day at school. “What for? What’s the purpose?” Drew tells me there’s no reason. He just likes Jedis. Drew is the best kind of student. He’s funny and always joking. I can’t imagine where he’s going with this. He says he wants to use Jedi moves on the teachers, too. “This is not the grade you’ll give me,” he joked. “See how awesome this could be? LET’S DO IT.”

I turn on my heels again and keep walking down the hallway, but I’m chuckling at him.

By lunchtime, I’ve written four letters of recommendations, visited six classrooms, dropped off an evaluation to a teacher, and loaned money to a student. I’ve also been roped into buying raffle tickets for some sporting events and one chicken dinner. This is why I’m always broke. While I’m in the lunchroom, I see a girl that I’d noticed earlier in the day and I wanted to tell her how much I liked her outfit. She has on green earrings. As I’m wandering around the cafeteria monitoring students I see her and saunter over to her lunch table. Her friends see me approach and get that nervous AN ADULT IS COMING THIS WAY look so I quicken my step and see that she’s texting on her cell phone (a no-no) so I smile wickedly and say, “Well, I was going to come over here and give you a compliment, but not now. Nu uhhh. Nooooo way.”

“Nooooooooooo. Please? Give me the compliment. What were you going to say? Please?”

“I was GOING to say that you’re just the perfect student and you do everything right, but not now.”

“Come ON. Tell me tell me tell me.”

I determine that she needs a compliment. I give it to her. Then she tells me she won’t be on her phone ever again. I ask what grades she’s getting in class. She says, “Oh, you must already know about that C- I’m getting in Chemistry. I’m working on it. I promise. It’ll be a B before the end of this quarter.”

After lunch I watch the coordinator of a Teen Parenting group walking upstairs with three girls. One of them, Elyse, has come to my attention recently because she’s normally a hall wanderer but I have taken an interest in her now that I notice her growing belly. Her records state that she’s missed upwards of 50 days of school this year but she’s managed to pass 4 out of her 7 classes. How does that happen? I shake my head at trying to come up with an answer to it.

Elyse and I connected last week when I casually asked her why she’s still here in high school because she doesn’t appear to want to be in school. Most of the time the profile for students like her (not the pregnant ones, just the apathetic ones) end up in an alternative program. Defiantly, she tells me that she is NOT an alternative kid.

“I don’t need to be frisked every morning before school. I just can’t seem to want to get to class.”

It broke my heart when she said that, so I confided in her that I was really pulling for her and would do what I could to get her the help she needed. There’s no way she can trust me enough yet, but the interest is there. The seed is planted. I’ll water it when I can.

Elyse and two other girls (the other girls are already parents, but are no longer pregnant) need to get passes back to class and since I’m heading in the direction of my office I offer to take them, get their passes, and send them on their merry ways. As I’m writing passes for them I say, “Boy, I wish I had this kind of program in high school where I was encouraged and taught to be a mom. Know what my counselor said to me?”

“What?” they all ask in unison.

“She told me I should probably go to cosmetology school since I made a “mistake” and would need to get a job and wouldn’t amount to anything.”

They all gasp. One of them pouted and cocked her head to the side. “Awwww,” she says. “That wasn’t nice.”

“I know. It’s ok. Guess how old my Mistake is now?”

“How old?” they all ask loudly. By this time, they’re excited by this conversation. I’ve got them hooked. They want to know how it all turns out, like watching the beginning part of a movie and wondering what the end brought.

“23, almost 24. And guess what else? I went to college WITH my kid and then when she grew up she went to college. Don’t lose sight of what you want, ladies. You can have it, but you have to work for it.”

I’m finishing up the passes that I’m writing for them and they’re desperately searching all the photos on my desk and the degrees and certificates I have plastered on the walls. That’s purposeful because students think that we’re all just magically here at work in education as if we didn’t do anything to get here. Whenever I’ve mentioned teaching English in the past they exclaim, “You used to TEACH?”

All my time could be spent talking to students and checking in with them and being there for them on an intermittent basis. It’s not all I do, but these stories can’t really be told by anyone who isn’t here to connect with them. These things don’t exhaust me all the time and I was, in fact, energized by my interactions with students. They might come back someday and bring their babies to me and show me their degrees and tell me what kinds of things they’re doing. They might go off and I’ll never see them again. There’s a lot of uncertainty in the waiting and a lot of hope, too. I don’t know the answers to what they’re dealing with now nor will I be able to fix anything. It is what it is and in the meantime, we all work, never knowing the outcome.

Crap crap crap crap crap.

Lots of the posts that begin in my head are driven by what I experience throughout the workday. Not long ago I thought I’d keep a log of things so that I could remember when I’m practicing writing later, but that didn’t last too long. What I learned was that I’m a quitter. Or, if you want to be super technical, I’m just too busy doing the actual work to write down what work I’m doing. Let’s just go with the latter because it makes me sound much better.  This time of year working in a school makes me more cynical than I’d like to represent. It screams I NEED A VACATION WHERE IT’S WARM AND THERE ARE TROPICAL, FRUITY DRINKS.

Lately, it makes me also think about how, if I ruled the World of Education, I’d create a wish list of what I’d like to see in schools. Most of it comes from my experience as a learner, not a teacher. I always wanted to learn in my way and when, on the rare occasion, I got to learn from teachers who taught me that way then I was the best kind of student. It’s best that I thank a great teacher right now: Mrs. Reisig from my 10th grade American Literature class. She knew the craft of teaching and hooked me in the most powerful way. Thank you, Mrs. Reisig. Here’s what I want from education:

Never sit down when teaching. It just doesn’t engage the average student.

Figure out ways to allow students to use the very medium to which they are accustomed: technology. Meet there where they’re at and don’t find ways to make them, as I’ve recently heard from an educator, “power down”.

Anticipate high expectations from all students.

Use critical thinking skills in the classroom. We all studied Bloom’s Taxonomy in undergrad for a reason.

Develop an atmosphere of reciprocity in learning.

Differentiate the learning that students have to master. I have a sneaking suspicion that there would be far less Alternative Schools if those students would have had differentiation in their classrooms in the first place.

Give every scientifically-based promising practice a chance. We had a speaker this year named Dr. Calvin Mackie whose words have haunted and encouraged me as an educator: “I’m not asking you to change your beliefs. I’m asking you to change your practices.”

Be the adult in every situation and give students a second chance when they misbehave. Don’t sink to their level.

Vary the activities within every lesson. Not every child learns the same way so you can’t teach in one manner all the time.

Life in the education world isn’t easy. If you’re not cut out for it then figure out how to be or else find a new profession.

Never work harder than your students in the learning portion of the lessons. Work hard at finding out what works.

Read research. Do your own action research. Keep data on your research to find out what works.

Evaluations should be from the bottom up: students evaluate teachers and teachers evaluate administrators. This isn’t a novel idea because I’ve seen it done with the Green Dot Schools when I did a visit in California last year.

Find a better way to grade. A lot of the grades I’ve seen students get over many years of education just are not fair and don’t represent what they know. Too often it represents how organized they are in keeping worksheets and doing homework.

No spoon feeding. If they can’t break down the text then show them how. And never use the term “dummy down” when talking about your craft. If you have to “dummy down” then I’m really worried about the instruction students are getting. I would hate to think that a teacher ever had to “dummy down” lessons for me thus lowering their expectations of my learning.

Give feedback every single day. Feedback, feedback, feedback. Students thrive on feedback.

Teach them how to do cooperative learning. Cooperate with them.

When you give a writing assignment, write with the students. They want to see you write and figure out the processes you use to write.

Don’t talk poorly about students. Never refer to them as a “bitch” or an “asshole” when you’re talking with other teachers. This one I know from experience when overhearing one of them refer to me as a “slut” after I got pregnant in high school. Yeah, that one has stung for a really long time.

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Last summer I was privileged to meet Liz Dwyer who writes the personal blog Los Angelista (whom my friend Erica turned me onto years ago and I quietly lurked and loved from afar) and who also has the World’s Most Incredible Hair. This is as yet, uncontested, but I suspect she’ll win an award for it someday. She linked to this fabulous idea about helping low income families help their children prepare for the SATs but it’s really the program called “I Need A Pencil” founded by a Harvard grad. It’s just got awesome written all over it and levels the playing field for kids who can’t afford to pay for all those SAT prep courses. The fact that Jason Shah is cool beyond words and has amazing, supportive parents just makes me want to cheer for him and this project all the more.

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Where education is concerned, what would you like to see in a perfect world?

Not long ago I shouted from the rooftops about a student who has just ripped open my chest, reached right into my heart, and grabbed ahold of my beating ticker. She is more than a thousand kinds of amazing. I get to have the luxury of complaining about my job, but I have a job so I know I should stop doing that. I also have the luxury (or curse? is it a curse?) of really enjoying some parts of my job. For instance, a former student stopped by yesterday to show me her new baby. She let me squeeze her bundle of joy and smell her and I kicked off my shoes in my office and got right down on the floor to enjoy this new life. To an outsider, it looked as if I’d lost my mind but this is what babies do to me. I’m extremely happy for her and I keep encouraging her to continue her education.

“I’m going to give you some advice,” I said. “Are you listening?”

She nodded and smiled a knowing smile that said You ALWAYS have advice.

“Sleep when the baby sleeps. Smell her and cuddle her and give her massages after her bath. Read to her every single day. Possibly sing to her. Can you sing? Do you have a decent voice? It doesn’t matter. Do it anyway. She’ll know she’s loved.”

I was a high school parent myself. By the time I graduated high school my daughter was three years old. (Don’t. I know what you want to ask me. The answer is I DON’T KNOW HOW I DID IT.) Why did no one  at my school ever give me this kind of advice? It doesn’t matter anymore because I learned it on my own and did it anyway. I probably talked to Mallory like she was an adult and not a baby which made sense to me at the time and explains why she’s always been a little adult even as a 1st grader.

My recent post was a direct result of me worrying about telling these stories about students and I think, after listening to the advice in the comments, that I’m over it. How will people ever know, I wonder, about the magnificent human beings we come in contact with if I don’t highlight these jewels of my work day?

There are these kids, these students, that just jump right off the page of life into every spare moment of my life. Lots of them. I have all these little notes stuck everywhere.

There’s the kid who says, “Good morning!” to me every day and nods his head ever so slightly as to resemble an Englishman heading to Sunday church. Cracks me up. I don’t know why.

There’s the kid who checks out my outfits every day and gives the “Yeah, I like” or the “Nah, it’s not workin’ for you” look. I tease her about giving me crap now.

There’s the kid who has a pronounced limp and a killer smile. He’s happy in life despite physical limitations.

There’s the kid I say hello to and on occasion he responds. Mostly, he ignores me because I know he’s just sad all the time. Twice now he’s reached right out to hug me. I don’t know what that’s about but he needs something.

There’s the kid who comes to visit my office daily who likes to harass me about putting him in the “hard classes”. (To which I just smugly respond, “YOU’RE WELCOME. YOU’LL THANK ME SOMEDAY.”)

There’s the kid who beckons me with her finger when I visit a classroom because she wants me to sit by her and help her understand the text. Even when she already understands the text.

There’s the kid who talks to me about her favorite coffee that she brings in her thermos every day.

Here is Clarissa’s story. For once, I’m not using a fake name because it’s a story published with her permission in the newspaper. It also happens to be a story of a friend, Tammy, who taught with me at a middle school ten years ago. My teaching experience has been a lucky one in that I’ve met some incredible educators who turn into friends for life. (Also? For some reason a lot of my teacher friends are named Tammy which is why I call them all by their last names to avoid confusion. It makes us all sound like a bunch of gym teachers.)

There are just these amazing kids I get to teach and guide. I’m listening to them. I hope you will, too. Don’t miss it.