I kept staring at
them.
.all different.
.some broken.
.others
stained.
.a few had scars
showing years of experience.
.some pretty
damaged beyond repair.
.all sitting there
just waiting for my next move.
As I cut each of
those thirty pallets apart, I couldn’t help but continue to draw parallels to
kids whose path has crossed mine over eighteen years. Each had a story and none were more important
than others.
There were the
cracked, broken, seemingly “unsalvageable” boards - those kids who came from
broken, struggling homes – I kept wondering, almost obsessively, where that one
boy was – I worried about him each day after he left my classroom, seeming so
lost, but I wouldn’t give up hope, not even after all these years.
There were those
who were perfectly straight and narrow – the kids who knew exactly where they
were headed even in third grade. Nothing
shocking me about their drive, their plan for their future.
There were some
marked and scarred – the kids I found fascinating because they used those scars
and turned them to strength. Those
silent fighters who turned turmoil into triumph. Maybe I was most fascinated because they are
the ones I see in my own school experience.
As I dulled blade
after blade, the Hubs rolled his eyes and wasn’t thrilled in the least with my
latest adventure. Life with me is like
riding the Bullet train ...... on the OUTSIDE!!!! I like things interesting and
I don’t mind change. Him? Keep things
the same, no changes please. He couldn’t
see what I saw in those boards, couldn’t see my vision for the end product of
creating a “feature wall”. He just
waited - and I’m sure somewhere secretly hoped that just once, one of my crazy
plans would fail enough for me to quit coming up with the next one! He seems to forget there’s a driven, crazy
woman in the person he married!
After each board
was cut, I piled them neatly in the corner, waiting to bring each to its new
home. There’s something about the drone
of a Saws All – there’s so much time to think, to ponder, to create, to wonder.
I felt so connected to this project
because as I worked I went through dozens of names in my head, kids that were
mine, kids that I fought to help them to their potential. I knew I had a huge job to get each onto a
twenty foot long wall and make something beautiful. I was determined and fierce about this job. I knew I had to work carefully and change the
plan as I worked in order to get the most from every board – I became more
determined and passionate as I placed each board.
Section after section,
I stepped back to look carefully at what was forming; changing the plan as I
went. Some I needed to take off and
rework, while others needed a little nudging or bending to work themselves. Some were where they needed to be, some had
to be worked differently. And then it
hit me – this is more like education than I even realized. I had one job to do; cover that wall with
wood and have amazing things happen in the process to produce a beautiful end product. How I got there wasn’t the focus. I used a little skill and some talent, love
for art, a careful eye, and craft to get to the end product. Sometimes it was easier than others, sometimes
it got messy, but in the end there was something beautiful.
Isn’t that the job
we face each day? We walk into a room
filled with kids that carry some mark and it’s up to us to find the beauty and
prove they will succeed, no matter the standard, no matter the module or lesson
– KIDS are why we’re there. And just
like putting that wall together piece by piece, step by step, that’s what we do
for kids, we build them up and help them to see the worth and beauty in
themselves, to see themselves as lifelong learners.
We are given
different children, at different places, with different stories.
We are expected to
help them make progress no matter the place they’re at, the baggage they bring.
What scares me
about education right now is “sameness” or my current thorn: “similar”.
Similar scores
Similar experience
Similar books
Similar worksheets
Similar scripts
At what point does
this sameness become harmful rather than helpful?
At what point will
be able to respect who kids are and the stories that are theirs? Bring kids farther on their journeys while
honoring who they are and how they learn? Giving each a unique experience that will help them move further on their path to becoming lifelong learners.
I grew up in a
time where the way I learned wasn’t okay.
My story was pretty average; middle class “intact” family, two income
family, two siblings, a dog and a cat.
But that’s where
it ended.
School was hard
for me – I vividly remember getting in trouble for doing Math a certain way by
tapping on the numbers (that I should have made a fortune off of – known now as
Touch Math) and was made to feel like a fool while adding numbers by making
tens (hmmm, thanks in advance Singapore for sending me royalties). Drawing what I learned was something I did in
secret; I’d make up songs to remember things like the Preamble and
prepositions, but did all not chancing a teacher finding out.
Left brained
students were encouraged and did exceedingly well; they sat in their rows or
spots and listened intently, they crossed all their t’s and dotted each and
every i, they scored exceedingly well on standardized tests; it worked for them
because that’s the audience teachers taught to.
My right brain and
I were left floundering; believing that I wasn’t smart enough because I could
NOT sit there for hours on end and “just be quiet and listen” – I thought
things through and took them in so many directions, making my own connections, that
I missed facts in between.
I believed that I
was a dumb kid.
I believed that I
wasn’t good enough – to whom? I don’t know, but I was a kid and all I knew was
that the experience of school was painful.
I believed I was
irreparably damaged.....until I was strong enough to push through and not let
people hold me back. I’m so sorry to say that the best day of my own
school life was when I walked out of public education, well-earned diploma in
hand.
No one cared about
my story.
No one looked at
my scars, that school itself had caused, and saw strength and triumph, but only
damage and defeat. And I still see this
with my own kids; the “sameness” continues although we don’t want to see
it that way.
And that’s what
scares me now heading into a world of modules and sameness. The way I learned, the things I had to do to
make sense of my learning were just not okay within the parameters and script
my teacher was using. Whole groups and teacher droning just about caused me to lose my mind.
We need to move
carefully in this time of such quick change. As my great grandmother used to say – The more
things change, the more they stay the same.
I’m not the
same.
My kids are not
the same. Most, not even similar.
Each is unique,
each with a story to tell ...... and I feel passionate and responsible and driven to
keep pounding away and advocating for each of them.
There are too many
stories that have no voice but mine.
