#MeToo

#MeToo

     I just finished a non-fiction book (my reading choices are all over the place!) entitled “She Said” by Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey. The two authors are reporters for the Washington Post and won a Pulitzer Prize for breaking open the Harvey Weinstein case. If you will remember, he is the former Hollywood movie producer who was charged with using his power to sexually assault women over several decades. The authors of “She Said” interviewed his accusers, women who were afraid to come forward for fear of repercussions from Weinstein.

The agonizing that these women went through has prompted me to share my stories, in the hope that they will help someone else. Consider it facing my demons and sharing my trauma.  If this post can help someone else, then coming forward will have been worth it!

Story #1: College. For two years I lived on the same dorm floor, but different rooms, on the 13th floor of Abel Hall floor, at the University of Nebraska. I made some awesome friendships there! There were people coming and going all the time! Most of us left our doors open while we were studying so we didn't miss out on anything. It was the early '80's. One evening, I was sitting at my desk, studying when well known football player walked into my room. (He was higher than a kite!). Everyone knew him. He frequented our floor a lot. I said “Hi!” to him. He asked me why I wouldn't go out with him. I told him he'd never asked. He said, "It's because I'm black."At that point he shut my door and locked it. He threw me down on my roommate's bed. I told him that he needed to leave. That if I screamed, he would lose his football career. 

I firmly believe in guardian angels and as luck would have it, my next door neighbor was experimenting with some kind of drug and had passed out. Her roommate had called 9-1-1. So at about the time that I was thrown onto the bed, police and EMT's were on our floor. I said, again, “If I scream, you're done here! There are police right outside the door.” Praise the Lord, he left. If my neighbor hadn't OD'ed, the outcome could have been much, much different.

     The more I thought about it and talked to my close friends about it, I decided it needed to be reported. I reported him. About a week later, the Dean of Student Affairs (ironic name!) called me. She told me to lock my door and come back to the phone. My attacker had just left her office and there were sanctions placed on him. He was angry and headed my way. As I talked to her, I watched his car pull up in front of the dorm. He was met there by campus police and taken into custody by Lincoln Police. His scholarship was revoked. After leaving the university, he ended up a drug addict and went to prison.

Story #2: During my first marriage (Yes, I was married before) my then-husband punched me in the shoulder while I was holding my infant daughter. I went to a friend's apartment. She took pictures. The bruising went into my right breast, he hit me so hard. As soon as I could make arrangements, I flew back to Nebraska (We were living in California at the time). Because he made some lame-ass promises that I believed, after about three weeks, I went back (I know. Stupid!). About a year later, on one of the rare nights he was not fucking his way across Orange County, CA, (pardon the language) he wanted to have sex. I told him “No.” I didn't want any of his diseases. He threw me down on the bed and raped me, as our three year-old cried. Again, I left. I went to the Seattle area to visit my brother and sister-in-law. When I got home, there were sparkly panty hose in our daughter's bed. They were not her size. I told him it was one thing to endanger the health and safety of me, who should have common sense and be able to take care of myself. It's a whole new level when you endanger the health of your child. His words were: “You want me out? File.” So that's what I did.  He was served on our fifth wedding anniversary.  I moved all his stuff to the garage and changed the locks on the house. He could only get into the garage to get his stuff. After he moved his stuff, I sold the house and moved back to Nebraska. Long story short, without the gory details, he gave up his parental rights. My current husband adopted our daughter. We never have to see him again.

     Bottom line: Say something. You may give someone else the courage to leave an abusive situation and/or to come forward with their accusations. If you are or know someone else who is, in an abusive situation, get help and get out.

My 2020 "One Word": Blessed

I chose my word even before doing a couple of quizzes that lead you to suggestions for what your word could be and it came out the same, even after the quizzes, so I must be on the right track. This is my third year to choose “One Word” rather than doing the traditional New Year's Resolution. If you've never heard of this concept, here's how it works: Participants choose a word that they feel they want to focus on and/or drive their life for the ensuing calendar year. That word becomes your focus word.

When I first embraced the “One Word” concept, the word I chose was “Peace.” I wanted to be at peace in my personal life and my professional life. It seemed as if whenever I was struggling with something, this word would somehow appear to me in my reading, in a story, or in a conversation and I knew everything would be alright.

Last year, I chose the word “Strength.” As it turns out, at the time, I didn't know how badly I would need this word. While I chose it for a completely different reason, I still needed to lean heavily on strength for many reasons this past year.

This year, I am blessed! We have been married for 30 years, which in and of itself is a huge accomplishment! My parents have celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary (Who knew?!?! They say they did!). We have three amazingly successful children that we are immensely proud of. They have chosen life partners that we couldn't have chosen better for them if we'd tried. We have one incredible granddaughter who seems to excel at anything she puts her mind to.

On a professional level, I have rediscovered my “happy place” in the classroom after a rough year last year (Remember? I said I needed “strength” last year??). I am so thankful for two amazing classroom aides, a staff of caring adults, and an administration that is so supportive, at both the building and district levels.

So, you see, I am blessed! Let's do this, 2020!

Twitter

This is going to be a shameless plug for joining Twitter.

Readers! I can't explain how this has helped me grow as an educator! I attended a conference a couple of years ago and after yet another amazing session, I spoke with the moderator of that session, Kayla Dornfield. She gently pushed me to join Twitter and follow her for ideas from her session. As I bravely moved forward in this totally new arena, I gained more confidence to share my own ideas and thoughts. I joined “chats” that appealed to me and my teaching. I “followed” people that I felt had similar viewpoints. All I have to say is: “Holy crap!” I can't begin to tell you the opportunities and doors this has opened for me in my professional career!

To start with, I “tagged” my edu-hero, Jim Sporleder, in a tweet about asking my children for his book, “Trauma Informed Schools” for Christmas. Much to my shock and surprise, he sent me a private message, asking me for my address, telling me that he would send me a copy. Friends!! It's autographed!! WHAT?!?!

Next, in a chat I was participating in, Kenny Bosch and Jason Bretzmann were asking for stories to be submitted for a compilation they were looking at publishing. I submitted my story as to why I believe what I do about what educations should look like and why I teach the way I do. Y'all!! It was chosen for the book!! Now I am a published author! Mind blown!

Through Twitter, I have “met” so many amazing, encouraging people that I can only dream to meet in real life! It is my prayer that some day this will come true. Even when I feel I have had my worst day in the classroom, the Twitter chats reinforce the fact that I am doing the right thing and doing the best I can. I have grown as an educator because of all of the wonderful people in my PLN (Personal Learning Network).

If you want to test the Twitter waters, please reach out to me. I have some amazing chats for you to follow. I have reminders plugged into my phone. Do I participate in all of them every week? No. Do I go back, when I have time, and look at responses? Sometimes. If I'm not familiar with the topic for the chat, I might just “lurk,” follow, but not respond, to learn more. It's amazing PD and again, has helped me grow my teaching and my self-confidence to reach out to others with what works for me in my setting. Do it!! You have nothing to lose and everything to gain!

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

This post has been swirling around in my head for awhile, now. I know I might get some negative feedback from it. However, I feel it needs to be said. I have been reading so much about disillusionment in my professional, teachers leaving in droves, not just in Kansas, but across the country. Why? The is a huge culture shift going on in our nation. A change in the family dynamic. And while this is not necessarily true for me, personally, it remains a fact.

Let's talk about the treatment of teachers for a minute. Teachers, as a general rule, have the biggest hearts of any profession. They give their hearts and souls to the children day after day. Given, it's a chosen profession, just like everyone else's.

Here's the rub: In no other profession are those professionals treated the way teachers are. Teachers are now being asked to raise children for parents who are physically and emotionally unavailable. There are many households where both parents and children spend more time on a screen of some kind, rather than interacting with one another as a family. To add insult to injury, key teaching of soft skills, such as manners and personal interactions, are being lost on a whole generation of children. When you truly love children as much as teachers do, this is devastating to watch happen at an alarming rate.

Children are coming into classroom across the United States with no idea how to interact with others, and their behaviors show this. Kids who talk back to their teachers, even kids who hit, kick, and bite teachers. Kids who curse at their teachers. My question is this: When did this behavior become so commonplace? The answer is this: when hand-held technology became so readily accessible. When a two-income family became a necessity in order to make ends meet. Parents who come home, exhausted after along day of work, too tired to spend quality time with their children. Latch-key children, coming home to empty houses, being expected to fend for themselves until their parents get home.

Teachers, on the other hand are being asked to show up with a smile, day after day. To teach manners to children, as well as the academics. To deal with negative behaviors with no regard to their own emotional well-being. As another blogger put it, “Teaching is one of the most toxic professions I know of.” And when “Johnny” acts out in class and parents need to be contacted, who's at fault? You guessed it, the teachers. In no other profession, would a parent ever dream of talking to that person the way parents talk to teachers nowadays. None! Would parents ever dream about talking to their doctor the way they talk to teachers? Their banker? Their auto mechanic? The answer is “no!” Teachers have become the proverbial whipping boys for the faults and failings of the parents. It can't possibly be the parent's fault and, heaven forbid, the child is to blame.

Teaching is one of the most important professions. Truly, the most important. Everyone needs a teacher. Everyone has had teachers. Teachers are indispensable. No one would have gotten to where they are today without teachers. Why, then, is there such disrespect of teachers across the U.S.? Teachers are consistently undervalued and underpaid for the immense impact that they have on an entire generation.

There is no other profession where people put so much of their heart and soul into their job, putting their own time and resources into it because “there is no money in the budget.” For the tremendous impact teachers have, they are not paid accordingly. True, we all chose this profession. We don't do it for the money. We do it because we care about the kids! We should be respected for the simple fact that we have such big hearts and care about the future for the children we serve. Do I think most parents are trying? Absolutely! They are doing their best in this fast-paced world ( sans the amount of screen time). All I'm saying is respect the teachers of the children for caring, as well. Be on their team. They only want the best for your child.

I Cried Today...

 I Cried Today...

I cried today....

I cried because  a child lost control and I was unable to help that child.

I cried today because a child had to leave my classroom for that child's safety and the safety of the others in the class.

I cried because I don't believe in sending a child from the room. They are a part of our family and I feel that sending them out chips away at the connection.

I cried because I have such a young child dealing with such huge emotions.

I cried today because I felt helpless.

This is My "Why"

                                                                                                                            

This is Why I Do What I Do

September 19, 1998. A day I will always remember. The day my father's plane went down, just three miles short of the runway during the Vietnam War. I had just turned seven years old. I believe, with my whole heart and soul that this is when my teaching journey began.

You see, I was that trauma kid before it was even the educational initiative that it is now. And when we talk about teachers being trauma-sensitive, I was blessed to have a trauma-sensitive teacher before that was even a “thing.” Mrs. Maxine Moore, second grade teacher at Hawthorne Elementary School in Lincoln, Nebraska was that teacher for me.

After the “men in the 'official' Air Force car” came to our little duplex to give us the news, I refused to leave my mom. I would hide under the dining room table and cry. I didn't want to go to school. In my little seven year-old brain I thought that if I left my mom's side, she would die, too.

Enter Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Shuman, the guidance counselor. My mom would get me into the car...finally, and drive to the school. There, Mrs. Moore would greet me at the door; EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. She would take me to my classroom and give me odd jobs to do while she prepared for the day. I now know, being a teacher myself, that she could have easily done the things she gave me to do. She gave up her prep time for me in order to help me get back into the school routine and feel comfortable leaving my mom after my dad died. She instinctively knew what I needed. She was a rarity in an era when most teachers were very strict and by the book. She gave of herself for the safety and security of her students.

But the story doesn't end there! Mrs. Moore and I kept in touch, even after my mom remarried and we moved to the farm. My mom made sure that whenever we went to Lincoln, Mrs. Moore and I were able to see each other. Years later, when I made the decision to attend The University of Nebraska-Lincoln, it was the kindness and compassion of Mrs. Moore that drove me to choose the field of education. Mrs. Moore was now retired and still living in Lincoln. When I started college, she reached out to me and told me she would love for me to come to her home and talk about the things I was learning or to just get away from dorm life, if I needed a break. I even had Sunday dinners with her family.

You see, Mrs. Moore was a huge influencers in my life and still is today. As teachers, we may never know how far our influences will take our students. It is through the love and compassion of Mrs. Moore and many other countless amazing teachers I was blessed to know, that I am the teacher I am today. So, on the anniversary of my father's death, while I remember him with sadness and wondering how my life would have been different, I also remember, with profound gratitude, the compassion, kindness, and yes, love, of Mrs. Maxine Moore and I am forever grateful that she was there when I desperately needed her. I hope to be like her when I grow up!

Be a Voice, Not an Echo

     Have you ever thought that a statement might just be given to you for a purpose? That's what happened to me this morning. I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook while drinking a mug of chai tea and waiting for the dryer to finish when this statement, from six years ago, popped up on my news feed: “Be A Voice, Not An Echo.” It made me stop and think. So here goes. I'm being a voice.

     To say this past school year was rough would be a huge understatement. In the process of jumping through hoops for three sets of hoops, (district, building, and Head Start)  I lost myself, my focus, and my identity. Reflecting this summer has helped me see that and it breaks my heart.

First of all, I moved to a new school district. Learning the cultural norms of a new district is tough. Not knowing the ins and outs of the building and district is daunting for any new teacher, whether they are a veteran teacher or fresh from college. I knew no one and felt like I needed to show everyone that I was a good teacher and worthy colleague. This was only my perception.

     Secondly, and probably my biggest downfall personally, was that our school district was part of a collaborative agreement with Head Start. I have never, nor will ever, look at a child differently because of their socio-economic status, color of their skin, the family's religious preference, learning exceptionalities, or even their behavior. To me, all little people are the same and have, relatively, the same needs; to be loved and to explore and be curious. All kids are equal in that arena.

So back to this previous school year. Because Head Start is a federal program, they need to follow certain governmental procedures and policies. Understood. The struggle was that old adage: “It's always been done that way.” I had two classroom aides, that were paid by Head Start. I am paid by the school district. My aides were immersed in “The Head Start Way,” and could not, or chose not to, bend to my way of thinking about what's best for kids and thirty-four years of experience in Early Childhood Education. My aides were, in fact, telling me how I should run my classroom. Honestly, it got to the point where I would get out the Head Start manual and ask them to show me the policy.  Unless it was a governmental policy, I told my aides that we were doing it my way. This caused a huge division in our classroom. This was were I got lost. My whole mindset was changed. I went from thinking “This is what's best for kids,” to “Can I teach this without causing a conflict between myself and my aides?” I completely lost what was best for kids. I can see that now, a month after school is out. It has taken that long to unravel all of that in my mind.

     To the families of last year's students, I'm sorry! I did the best I could given the circumstances. I tried not to let it show with your sweet, precious, children. They are what kept me grounded. Please know that. To my team, my tribe; thank you for your undying support! I couldn't have made it without you! To building and district leadership; next year will be better. That is my promise to you. I will be better. My focus will be on what truly matters; the children. As for the coming year-watch out! I'm back and will be advocating for children with an unmatched love and fierceness!