Let's Remember Who We Are Teaching...

Tomorrow, we end our second graduate course. And tomorrow, for two of my classes, after they complete their exams, I will say "Good-bye." These are students I have had for two years. Perhaps I should add here that they are no longer my students -- not because they have finished their work for my class -- but because, after having spent two years together, they are no longer my students. They're my kids. I know that, in this era, it may be the politically-incorrect thing to say. I don't care. It just may be that in this climate where we don't want to show others that we care about our students-- why? -- because it may be misconstrued, we need to do just that.
Recently, I found a YouTube video that underscores the powerful roles of teachers upon their students - how students can "Learn Helplessness." In a poem that I wrote for my students, I expressed my concern for comments I may have made that may have hurt I students I have taught. Who can say, after all, the impact words can have on another?
Many years ago, my grandmother died. At the time, I worked in a restaurant where I worked as a manager. I didn't attend the funeral. The owner was away, and I felt I had to work. It was my responsiblity. Ever since, every time I see that picture of my family at that funeral -- that is, of everyone except me -- I am reminded of what really matters in life: family. I vowed to myself never to let that mistake happen again.
And yet, few years ago, I was recognized as "Teacher-of-the-Year." I attended a lucheon with others who were recognized. I wondered who they were and what made them great teachers. I didn't know any of them, and didn't really care to. In the back of my mind, I thought of my kids, who were at the Activity Day picnic I would miss. Subsequently, I realized that the people I was spending my time with were meaningless to me -- not because they were not good people -- but because they were not important in my life. And the ones I should have been with, I wasn't. History, sadly, had repeated itself!
Tomorrow, I say "Good-bye" to kids I have had for two years. Tonight, I have more work that I can do for my graduate course. My work for this course, I feel, is inadequate. It does not meet my standards. That, however, does not define me. I can do better -- indeed, I know I will. Tomorrow, some of my kids will be leaving me. I need to get some rest.

As We Head for the FINISH!

Tuesday, June 7th.  It's 5:00 AM.  Toward the east the day brightens, nearly sunrise.  I love this time of year.  The days are getting longer and warmer as we near summer break.  And yet, with one week remaining in our second graduate course, I am aware of all I have yet to do.  Endless strings to pull together to stitch up the products I've been working on.  In education, we frequently hear the term "learning styles" bandied about.  What we hear less frequently is "working styles."  Over the years I have come to realize my working style: it's a mess that all seems to come together in the end.  Whether it's writing I produce or a lip-sync production with umpteen million kids for Competition Day at school, it always looks like a train wreck until it pulls into the station.  This is comforting to know since, six days away from the end, my work looks as if it will never end.  With all this technology, I envision making popcorn -- old-school style, where you'd have to wait for the oil to heat first, then the kernels of popcorn to reach that magic temperature, then "BANG" -- popcorn's there!  My creative process works similarly.  There's a gestation period where my ideas "hang out" before somehow taking shape and form.  Most of my best pieces of writing I've written overnight...and usually the night before they were due.  This was true of a eulogy I wrote for a colleague who passed away as well as a reflection I wrote on one of my students who died tragically.  Now 5:55 and there it is:  the sun!  Time to get ready for school, six days to go, time to go!