Dialogue in Family

I have been blessed with grandparents who have lived long, connected lives to their grandchildren. Recently the first of my grandparents passed away. Grandma Pearly lived in Florida for much of my life and while I loved her deeply, we didn't always get along. At times, I did not feel respected by her for who I am. I share the following story and accompanying details because one of the deepest lessons I learned from her came out of this struggle.

My hair was always too short for her. In middle and high school, the first thing she'd say to me when we talked on the phone was "Do you have a boyfriend?" (or at least that's how I remember it). She was annoyed with my baggy t-shirts often saying, "That should be ironed." Sometimes before I went to visit her in Florida, I would strategically go shopping looking for more "feminine" clothes (a tighter shirt, less baggy shorts). And even when I would wear these clothes -- I would hear the same comments. These comments wouldn't anger me -- they were just annoying. Once I came out as gay and had a girlfriend, I wondered when or if I would talk to her about this identity of mine. I remember thinking, "Did she know this about me all along and think she was going to change me with her comments? Or will she be relieved that I finally started dating? Or is she homophobic?"

One of my last visits with her in her Florida home I decided I'd come out to my 90+ year old grandma. It is a conversation I hold on to so dearly now.  "Grandma, there's someone I want you to know about," I said as I pulled out a picture of me with my girlfriend, at that time. "Nooo," she said shaking a bit. "I don't want to know." She didn't say this in a stern way. It sounded to me like she didn't want to know this truth about me. I continued anyway. "This is my girlfriend" and preceded to tell my grandma about her, what we did together. She asked me if I was sure I was gay and I said yes. Then she wanted to know if I just couldn't find a boy. I said I wasn't interested in men. She continued to search for clarity about why I "turned out this way." I asked her why she didn't want me to be gay. You can't have kids, was her reply. I dispelled that myth for her. She wanted to know if it was because I went to an all-women's college. I dispelled that myth for and I told her I came out in high school. She talked about the Holocaust and the discrimination I would face as someone who is gay. She talked about my liberal "hippie" parents. I said it wasn't about them. She shared some of her other fears with me. I can't even remember them all anymore. Our conversation remained calm--it was a quiet dialogue about stereotypes, differences, identities, generations. Almost an hour passed and the conversation ended with her telling me about another relative in our family that is gay and how supportive she was to this family member. And then she said, "Okay, Emma. Your grandfather and I used to invite my school principal over for dinner when I was a teacher. He used to bring his partner over." That's how it ended. For me, I said what I wanted to my grandma. I wanted her to know more about her granddaughter. And by the end, I saw her final comment as a way to say, "Emma it is okay that you are gay."

It wasn't perfect after that conversation. But after some gentle reminders from my dad to "ask Emma about her partner," she did (although often asking, "How is your friend?"). I would smile upon hearing this because to me it showed me that people can change.

Change is slow and requires that we be open to dialoguing with others -- sharing insecurities, questions, stories. We must share our vulnerabilities with others. Sometimes we can plan parts of the dialogue, as I had done. Sometimes dialogues come at unexpected moments, catch us off guard and we can respond with anger and hurt, as some moments had felt with my grandma. In the end, I am so honored and blessed to have had a grandma who at 90-something was willing to sit with her 20-something granddaughter and talk. I could be honest with what I needed and wanted from my grandma and say confidently, "I am not changing." And she could eventually hear this and say, "Okay and I love you."

In my last visit with her, I showed her some videos of my teaching. She was a teacher in New York City. It was a beautiful last visit that I will forever cherish, especially when she said with excitement, "You can wear pants as a teacher!" We ate some Jewish baked goods and Noodle Kugel. And without any prompts she asked me about my girlfriend. Change is possible at any age, indeed. 

Reflections from Elementary Educators

It has been challenging for me to find a way to reflect on the year -- in a way that encompasses the range of emotions and experiences I have had. The elementary residents came together and wrote small reflections on our year. Then we each selected one sentence, one phrase, and one word from our own writing to highlight from the year. The poem below has all of our voices and together, I think, showcases the incredible journey we took together. 

Reflections from Elementary Educators

This was one of the most challenging yet rewarding experiences of my life.
I never imagined the lessons I would learn from a class of ten year olds
As this year began, I didn't realize all the ways that learning with such dedicated, vibrant students and teachers would shape me. 
But at that moment, and in this one, this year was also about us – how we held one another up and learned to teach, together.
I learned more about myself than I could imagine.
This was a year I did almost everything I vowed never to do - yell at kids, teach from unfinished lesson plans, and tell myself that I wouldn't make a good teacher.
Call it a community, call it a family, me I call what we had a strong foundation for the success and support of each other as teachers and people and also the students we have served and have yet to meet.
“Those are your coworkers? That’s awesome!”
We share a bond of understanding and support - played out in hugs, in laughter and biting sarcasm, in detailed conversations about student work and lesson plans, in tears, in speaking the foreign language of "school" and "BTR", or just in the comfort of another person working late into the night after everyone else has gone home.
When I began this program I had no idea that Connie would not only be my literacy CTE [Clinical Teacher Educator] but also my therapist!
Teaching is the most challenging thing I've ever done. 
It's all about the kids.
The same kids that make us want to pull our hair out during our lessons could make us feel better after a horrible debrief.
My students quickly became my inspiration.
I am so glad to be done.
This year, I learned how teaching is public and personal.
After years of searching, I found exactly what I was looking for.
“Teachers should feel like they are doing a great job” this is advice that was given to me by one of my students.
I have never cried so much in my entire life.
We have laughed, cried, giggled, swore, hugged, worried and persevered, and somehow we have made it through. 


reaching an "ah-ha" moment
story time with Nancy and Liz
Boston into a home away from home
rubrics and data projects and binders and exhaustion
Change was inevitable
That's ableist
the never-ending sound of forward thinking minds
Let’s unpack that
a deep plunge into the struggles and the joys of life in a school
a community of dedicated, passionate, kind, supportive, generous and intelligent teachers
Appreciate the connectivity and constant laughter among elementary residentsfriends and collaborators
a teacher's dream - three snow days in a row!
Go to the power chair
respect for myself, my colleagues, and my students
pregnant lady
constant questions and unexpected assignments
makes me believe in something bigger, deeper
erase moments from my mind and from egnyte
after this year, BTR just let me go 



learning
laughter
13 months
disrespected 
Family
connections
Challenge
Hope
Resilience 
unexpected
community
Gateway
Growth
laughter
advocate
1st grade scholars
learners
done
resilience
family

(Apologies: I couldn't find a photo that has all the elementary residents)

First Grade

My kids are 6 and 7.

My kids work really hard to hear all the sounds in c-a-t. They work hard to rhyme cat with mat and not map. even though /t/ sounds a lot like /p/ when you’re just learning the language.

My kids like climbing on the stairs to gym or art or lunch like they are mountain lions. their hands reach far above them and their bodies slide all the way up. sometimes they’re like frogs jumping down 2 or 3 stairs. I always hope they don’t fall.

My kids moving their bodies makes stillness seem like a threat to their existence. they like stretching their uniform shirts…hiding their arms inside their shirts and pulling it over their knees. My kids cover their mouths when they talk. Do they not know that their words are magic? My kids tap pencils when I talk to them about their stories. My kids lean back in their chairs. I always hope they don’t fall. Sometimes they get really close to tipping. My kids wiggle, consistently. I think if there was a track in the classroom, they would run laps.

My kids count. They are learning that 100 is a big number and that means they can use 100 snap cubes to make a tower (well, after they count one by one to 100). Making towers are way cooler than writing 10+10=20. And they are just figuring out that 5=2+3 is the same as 2+3=5. How can just a simple equal sign and its placement be full of so many opportunities for learning?

My kids read. One kid learned the word “snowman” yesterday. She read the word once. Then she said, “Wait” as I walked away and read me it again. and again. Her face lit up. Today she found a book with snowman in the title.

My kids like reciting the poems in the morning. They learn to memorize them so quickly. They say them so loudly. I wonder why they feel the urge to scream some of the lines.

My kids like holding my hand, resting their heads in my lap, giving me hugs.

My kids make me laugh, tears fall down my face. Sometimes they don’t know why they make me laugh. They stare at me for a second and then they just start laughing.

My kids like telling us their birthdays. It doesn’t matter if it’s in December or May. They already have plans for what they’ll do on their birthday.

My kids want to be caught doing the right thing. Like when they’re helping a classmate and they look up to find a teacher. Their eyes saying, “Look! I’m being good.” 

When It's Okay To Teach

As someone who loves the rewards of facilitation and open dialogues, this week quickly taught me that direct teaching can be just as rewarding and at moments, more important than an open dialogue. I spent the first half of the week introducing wow words (or more descriptive language) that students could use in their writing. I had (what I thought!) an exciting interactive mini-unit on the use and practice of these words. While the lessons never failed miserably I was forced to think on my feet and often quickly change my original plans. At the beginning of some of the lessons I would ask open-ended questions to the students, which never seemed to guide the class to the purpose of the lesson. For example, during the first lesson where I had written out my weekend story with some “boring” words, I asked students, “What words do you think I used too much?” The students, eager to participate, replied with a list of words that although I had said them a number of times, were not the words I was focusing on for this lesson. In that moment, I changed my teaching style and said clearly, even underlining, the words that I used too much. By the final lesson I had a handful of sentences written on large poster paper where the class decided how to rewrite/replace the boring word (said, good, bad) in the sentence with a wow word. This was much more direct teaching than I had been previously comfortable with, but the students (and I) felt more organized and clear about the expectations and how to use the skill I was teaching them. I know there are times when a facilitation style of teaching is more useful for students or for the objective on a lesson, but recognizing that direct-teaching is actually an essential part of schooling was an important lesson for me to learn.

Parent-teacher conferences were held during the afternoon for three days. I sat in on a handful of these meetings observing how my teacher addresses parent concerns and maneuvers balancing her concerns with honoring the strengths of the child. Sometimes I wondered why concerns that the teacher has expressed to me throughout the day, were not addressed during the meeting. During the meeting with the parents of one of the ELL students, I wondered what the legal obligations of the school are to have translators for the parents. It was clear how much parents want to know what to do to help their son or daughter be successful when the parents of a student with some behavior and academic challenges had their meeting with the teacher.

When I first learned how teachers recognize (and memorize!) the strengths and weakness of each child, through formal and informal assessment, it quickly became one of the skills I was most afraid I would not be able to “do” as a teacher. Throughout my time in classrooms, it becomes clearer how much teachers can learn about their students. I know what to observe, how to observe, and the usefulness of jotting down a few notes about each child at the end of every few days. I know what questions to ask students when they are struggling with a topic or have quickly finished an assignment to assess their real understanding of the situation or problem. After only 3 or so weeks, I feel comfortable talking about the academic and social issues of each of the students in the classroom.