Fake It ‘Til You Make It…If You Make It At All

They’re silent. At least they got that much out of this. You can’t talk during a test, plain and simple. Even the slightest sniffle or throat clearing will be treated with suspicion.

Some of them are looking back to the passages – maybe they’ll pull it out. Sure, I know no one expects good grades on this year’s tests. But maybe, just maybe, these kids will pull off a shocker.

Or…maybe they know “What Good Test Taking Looks Like,” so they’re turning back, putting pencil to chin in a thinking pose, and underlining.

But I see in their faces that nothing here makes sense. The words are too long and too many. The questions are too boring and too many.

But they try. They’re too young to realize that, while the test is hard for many their age, it’s even harder for them.

What are they learning from this experience? You gotta fake it ’til you make it.

But with tests like these determining who’s smart and who’s stupid, how could they ever make it?

Come Together

The play each class in my school is required to present is draining. There always seems to be something else that needs to be done. Every year, we wonder how we’re going to pull it off, and every year we marvel that we did.

This year’s play was extra special. In my two previous years teaching self-contained special ed, I sought out colleagues in the same position. My reasons were these: 1) two or three small classes combine to make a stageful of kids, so that’s good, and 2) birds of a feather have a propensity for flocking together.

When the play wrapped last year, I found myself thinking it was time for my birds to fly a little higher. So I reached out to my co-teaching colleagues across the hall and asked if they might consider our classes working together on the play this year. To my delight, they said yes.

Why did I seek them out? I like the idea of inclusion in a classroom, but even better is the idea of inclusion in a school. I thought it would be a rewarding experience for everyone involved if my kids had the chance to work with students with disabilities in a less restrictive environment as well as their general ed peers. Turns out I was right.

This play featured 42 students, three teachers, and two paraprofessionals. It was an amazing collaborative effort for me and my students. Here are some of my major takeaways:

• Originally, I asked my class who wanted to speak in the play and who didn’t. I thought back to my days in elementary school, when the shyest kids appeared on stage but didn’t speak or acted as grips, stagehands, and gophers. I wasn’t planning to push the point with the kids who didn’t want to speak, but my partners persuaded me to look at it differently. As I wrote the play, they said they wanted all of their kids to have at least one line – one chance to shine – and I realized I should want the same, even if it meant a push outside a student’s comfort zone. Rewriting the script to include everyone became a challenge I enjoyed. It meant changing the story, adding characters, and finding group speaking parts for the kids who really would have been mortified to have all eyes on them even if for only one word. The end result: everyone had a chance on the microphone and everyone was an important contributor to the play.

• This play brought out the best in kids who rarely have the chance to shine. It turns out that one of my students has been in my plays for three consecutive years now. I experienced great joy watching him grow from someone who, in first grade, just stood on stage and, in second, was removed from the play because he refused to practice and threw a punch when his space was violated. His growth? In third grade, not only did he practice with us every time, he danced, sang, smiled, and said his line with clarity and confidence.

• He wasn’t the biggest story. That distinction goes a boy who has been my major project for the year. Picture a boy screaming, crying, saying things that don’t make sense, rolling on the floor, hopping, and showing no inclination toward socialization or schoolwork. Picture a boy crying on stage during rehearsals because the music was too loud, the prospect too scary. No way he would ever sit for the play or participate for it, right? Now picture him smiling, dancing, singing his face off, and posing for pictures with his mom, friend, and class after the play ended. During the course of rehearsals, as my colleagues and I determined the stage was a bit overwhelming for him, we asked him if he could sit there and then come off stage to dance. Boy did he ever. He had a starring role as a dancer and showed more confidence than I can remember seeing from him all year. The untrained eye wouldn’t know he was “special”.

That brings me to my final point. My parents attended the play. My dad has time to do such things now that he’s retired from his dedicated service to the city. My mom is a retired District 75 principal (the severest disabilities). They both said you couldn’t tell the students without disabilities from the students with disabilities.

And that’s why I did this. It was an opportunity for my kids to be seen as kids and kids alone – never mind their low reading levels and other issues. To their credit, they had the administration smiling, the audience laughing, and their teachers beaming.

Kids are kids, no matter the label. Today my students made that point loud and clear.

How to Treat a Kid You Don’t Like

If you’re like me, you’re human. That means that as much as you profess to absolutely adore each and everyone of your students, realistically, you don’t. There are always kids that rub us the wrong way. No one should judge us for being human.

When we should be judged, however, is when we allow ourselves to single out the child we don’t like for particular scorn and humiliation.

Why does a young child deserve the ire of an adult who is trusted with his or her care? What message does this deliver to the child and the peers? The messages are clear: “You’re not worth my time,” “I don’t like you,” “You bother me,” “You make my day worse,” “You are a nuisance,” “You are not worthy of my kindness.”

Does this model appropriate interpersonal behavior? No. Does this create a low-stress, high-support environment? No. Does this help build self-esteem and motivation? No.

Does this allow the adult to unnecessarily exert an undue influence on the child? Yes. Does this ruin the child’s day? Yes. Does this make the child timid and fearful? Yes.

The only way to treat a child you don’t like is the same way you treat a child you do like: with love and respect. Children are children – developing, impressionable, fragile, and eager to please. Even if it hurts your face to smile at a child you don’t like, it’s necessary to do so.

Remind me again, why are we in this field?

Is it to nurture and help? Or is it to bully and squash?

Sadly, some people aren’t quite sure.

I’m Finished with “I’m Finished”

My intriguing mix of students this year includes a bunch of boys who feel it absolutely necessary to complete a task and then announce it to the class.

As such, throughout the first few months, nearly every task – from the mundane act of taking out a book to the serious work of completing a math test – has been punctuated by these boys with a loud, “I’m finished!*”

*Or, “I did it!” or “I’m done!”

To be frank, it’s annoying. I told them (maybe not in the most sensitive or kindhearted way) that it really wasn’t necessary to say “I’m finished!” every time they were finished. In fact, I eventually told them, “I don’t want to hear you say ‘I’m finished!’ anymore!!*” Yeah, it definitely got my goat.

**I said this while standing on a chair. I wasn’t sure how to make it any clearer.

The night of the day during which I climbed upon a chair to announce in my own way that I was finished with “I’m finished!,” I contacted my para. I told her this nonsense needed to stop. It was bothering me and in turn making me angry at the kids.

Of course, I knew they were doing it because they were excited to accomplish something properly and they wanted validation. But they weren’t understanding that calling out, “I’m finished!” all day long was not the way to go about things.

With this in mind, I asked my para to talk to each of the offenders and figure out some kind of secret signal among them. When they gave her the signal, it would be like saying, “I’m finished!” only it would be quiet and not interfere with the other students*.

***Or with dear old teacher’s sanity.

The next day, unbeknownst to me (wink, wink), my para did have a conversation with the boys. She told them she thought them calling out like that was bothering me, so that maybe they should just tell her when they’re finished. But instead of saying it, they should just make a checkmark in the air. (She told me the plan privately and said the kids were pumped about it. So was I).

As the day went on, I noticed a quieter room when tasks were completed. I pretended not to notice the “air checks,” but all the same I did remark, “Wow, I don’t hear anyone saying, ‘I’m finished!’ today. That’s great.”

It went on like that all day, until finally, one boy couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to tell me that it was a secret they had with their para that they were keeping from me, but that they all agreed on a signal to use instead of saying, “I’m finished!”

I feigned amazement. “You mean you’ve been keeping a secret from me all day?” They had, they said. “Hmm,” I said. “Wellllll, it is working, and it seems like you’re still saying you’re finished even if you’re not saying the words, so I think maybe you should keep doing it.” And so they did.

Last week, my quietest girl raised her hand to tell me something. When I went over to her, she said, “I’m finished.” And wouldn’t you know it, the formerly loudest boy, the leader of the “I’m finished!” movement, said, “No! You’re not supposed to say, ‘I’m finished!’”

When kids say it now though, it’s okay because it isn’t incessant. It’s only for the major tasks – like publishing a writing piece or indicating their ready for me to collect their tests. The verbal, “I’m finished!” has stopped, and so has the silent one.

Finally, we’re finished with “I’m finished!”

 

Don’t Fail Kids With First Impressions

“First impressions count,” or so they say. But should they?

In my career, I’ve encountered many types of children. They’ve been funny, studious, shy, noisy, sad, boisterous, unmotivated, driven, intelligent, average, overweight, generous…

Most of us are drawn to a particular type of person. If that person doesn’t fit our vision of an ideal individual, we may be less inclined to want to get to know them. In our heads, we will form a series of incontrovertible beliefs and convince ourselves that every last one of them is accurate.

I know I have made the mistake of assuming the worst of others based on my initial impressions. You probably have done the same, maybe of your colleagues or other peers.

The great fault is not in having first impressions. The mistake is holding onto those impressions and convincing yourself they’re right.

Have you done this with students? I have. There have been kids I’ve had – and even have now – that I made my mind up about before giving them enough of a chance. I’ve written them off as lazy, rude, or beyond help.

And I’ve never been right.

We need to be sure not to hold on to the first impressions kids give us. Even if it takes months to be revealed, there is always more than meets the eye. Every child wants to learn, be successful, feel proud and have others be proud. If we understand this, then we can work past our first impressions and work toward figuring out who the child really is, instead of assuming the worst.

When we give our students a chance to let us get to know them and show us who they really are, only then do they have their chance to shine and be valued. We need to let kids show us who they are before we decide.

Three Years for this Blog: Thank You

Today is the three year anniversary of my first (ridiculous and irrelevant) post on this blog. Over 400 posts later, it’s been quite an evolution.

I just want to thank you for all your support. Through this blog I have come to better define my role in the world of education.

That role is so much more than teaching 12 students with disabilities. It’s about standing up for what’s best for children, speaking out against institutional injustices, and sharing ideas and inspirations that may make some small or even significant impact on you.

Thanks for allowing me those opportunities. I wish you and your family the best in the new year.

Matt

–

My 10 Favorite Posts from 2012

What’s Cooking? Differentiation, That’s What! (January)

The Continuing Story of a Boy and His Paper Clips (February)

A Test Can’t Measure This (February)

You (March)

How the Grinch Stole Education (And Lost it Back!) (March)

The Kid I Never Sent Out (April)

Takeaways From This School Year (June)

Tips for Avoiding a Nightmare First Day (July)

The Report Card Wow Factor (October)

We Are Not the Villains (December)

 

 

Proper Perspective

Was anyone else just thrilled to see their students today? Given Friday’s events in Connecticut – both the sorrow and the heroism – I was particularly happy to see mine.

Although I was up in the middle of the night battling a nasty sore throat, I still bounded down the stairs to pick them up. I felt more relaxed than I thought I’d be. They seemed relieved to see me, too.

The day went smoothly. We spoke in softer tones. We seemed to be more patient with each other. We seemed to have everything put back in proper perspective.

We Are Not the Villains

It’s not okay when a child has to die. It’s not okay for innocents to be murdered.

And, now, for very crystal clear, solid reasons, it’s not okay to bash teachers.

I’ve often defended the teaching profession as the noblest of all, but so many people think teachers are selfish, lazy, apathetic union thugs.

It takes a certain level of cowardice to put down a teacher and their chosen profession.

The best teachers are pillars of society. They raise kids up and push them where they never thought they’d go. They devote their time and resources to impacting young peoples’ lives in ways they’ll never know. They encourage, inspire, console, love, and praise.

For most, teaching isn’t just a job. There are teachers so invested in their students that they have dreams about them. They think about them on the weekends. They buy them clothes and meals. They make sure the family has a Christmas tree when they can’t afford one.

And there are teachers so absolutely devoted to their children that they actually place themselves between an assassin and their students, unflinchingly accepting their own untimely and horrible fate so that little babies – with so much life, innocence, and potential – don’t have to.

Why must it take such a heinous, inconceivable event to make people rethink a teacher’s motivations? We don’t teach for summers off. We don’t teach for guaranteed sick days. We don’t teach for being home by 3:30 every day.

Teachers, above everything else, are human beings. We teach because we are good people who just want to leave an impact on the world.

None of us ever dreams of having to confront the same fate our colleagues at Sandy Hook did on Friday. We want our children to come to school with smiles, eager to learn. We want to lift them up when they’re down. We want to encourage them to take chances and to be proud of themselves.

We never want to see them become victim to lunacy. We want them to have all the best in life.

We are not the villains.

We are the heroes.

Victoria Soto was younger than me. She was a teacher. She died because the gunman must have been frustrated that her kids were “in gym” (though they were actually in the classroom hidden from his sight). He turned his weapon on her, and killed her. Victoria Soto died to save her students’ lives. Rather than let children be killed, she let herself be killed. Because of her, the mommies and daddies of those children got to see, hold, and speak to their children again.

Victoria Soto was a teacher, a hero, and an angel.

So, I defy you now to haphazardly lump all teachers together and call us, “selfish.” I defy you to say we don’t have kids’ best interests at heart. And I encourage you to step back and realize that we teachers – who want so much for our students, who advocate for them, who push them, who care for them – are not the problem.

If you want to find a silver lining to this very grey cloud, look no further than the heroism displayed by the teachers at Sandy Hook. And the next time you make a generalization about teachers, instead of saying, “Anyone can be a teacher,” say, “It takes a remarkable human being to be a teacher.”

Welcome to Your New Class

Teaching 12:1:1 special ed means having to be flexible with who is in one’s classroom. Aside from a steady stream of pull-out and push-in services, there is frequent movement across rosters for a variety of reasons. Just this year, I have moved one student into an inclusion class full-time, had another start attending math lessons in inclusion, had one switched out and switched back in, and had another one moved to another 12:1:1 with a different make up of students.

As often as kids seem to be going out of my class, it usually seems more are coming in. Last year, two came in. The year before, one came in. And today, for the first time all year, one came in.

Luckily, the transition was made simpler by the fact that this girl had spent a few days in my class for math already. She reported back to her other teacher that she felt comfortable and able to learn in my class, so she was certainly eager to join full time. When she arrived with her desk midway through the morning, I was just a touch surprised that a change was already happening, but we made space quickly and welcomed our new student.

Of course, she is learning our routines on the fly, which is difficult for her. I’ve got kids and support in the classroom who can help her with that, and in time she’ll pick everything up to the point that our procedures will be second nature.

It worked out that, at the end of the day, we had about 15 minutes left. I took the opportunity to do something fun with the class. Typically, it’s a great first day of school activity, but it makes sense to do it anytime a new student joins.

The premise: everyone sits around a large piece of paper, with their names in front of them, holding a marker. You go around the circle and each person says something about themselves, such as, “My favorite thing about school is lunch.” Everyone who agrees with the statement draws a line from their name to the speaker’s. In the end, you wind up with a web showing the ways everyone in the room is connected.

It’s always fun to listen to students react as the suspense is lifted as to what everyone will say. When one student said, “I like puppies,” a collective “Aww” arose and markers drew lines without haste. When my para said, “I love to read books,” an exciting “Ooooh!” rose from the collective voices and kids jockeyed for position to get their lines drawn.

And when I, speaking last and seated next to the new student, said, “I am so thrilled our new student is in our class!” everyone said, “OOOOOOH!” and drew their lines with wide smiles.

And who was the last to draw her line? Our new student, feeling like she belongs, even after only one day.

I Shaved My Head. What Do You Think?

A couple of weeks ago, I finally did something I had toyed with for a few years. I went to the barber and had him give me a buzz cut all the way down to a 1. That’s pretty short. It’s 1/8 of an inch. It was a scary and exciting experience sitting in that chair, but once the deed was done, I knew it was the right call. Even the previously hesitant barber had to admit my new look wasn’t all that bad.

One of the worrisome parts of lopping off your hair is wondering what kinds of reactions it will bring. Well, it turned out, family, friends, and colleagues all had nothing but love for the buzz. But what about my students?

When I saw them the first day with the buzz, the boy closest to me let his jaw drop to the floor, stood up, and pointed to my crown and said, “I LIKE THAT!” You little bucket filler, you. Throughout the day, kids smiled widely as they seemed to be saying and thinking, “I can’t believe he did that…Wow!” It was kind of fun to watch the reactions of students current and former.

Just when everyone had gotten used to the new look, I decided it was finally time to go all the way. So the day after Thanksgiving, I got out the shaving cream and razor, lathered up, and shaved it all off. I looked back in the mirror at my chrome dome and said, once more, “Yes, this was the right move.”

Again, I had to anticipate reactions. It turned out most people were far less shocked by the shave than they were the buzz. But it was the students who, by far, said the most interesting things.

When I picked up my students in the auditorium yesterday, I sat behind them quietly so they could have the surprise of my shiny head.

One spotted me and did a double-take. His eyes grew wide as he looked from my eyes to my head and back. He was flummoxed. He must have been wondering, “Am I really seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Finally, when he could summon the words, he said, “What…what did you do?” Not exactly a resounding affirmation of my smoothness, but the reaction is worth remembering.

I had a lot of, “Ohhhhhh!” when former students saw me. Others had nothing to say but showed their surprise in their not-so-discreet faces.

One student today, kind of out of the blue, as if he was first noticing a change on my skull, said, “Why did your hair stop growing?” Haha.

And then of course, there was my other student who, in the middle of a reading assessment, had to stop just so he could ask, “What happened to your hair?” I said, “What do you mean, ‘what happened?’ I shaved it off!” He thought about it for just a moment, and before I knew it, his hand was giving my head a pat just to see what it was like.

But, I think the best line came from one of last year’s students – the boy with the paper clips – who spotted me in the lunchroom today. Last week, when he saw the buzz cut, he said, “IS THAT YOU, MR. RAY? WOW.” This time, though, he was a bit more shocked although no less determined to ask me about the look.  I had to laugh when he questioned me, saying, “Hey! Mr. Ray! You got…YOU GOT NO HAIR?!?”

Ah, kids.