Inside the Mind of an Educator

Blow the dust off your yearbook, and take a walk down memory lane with me. Take a look at all those shining faces filled with promise, potential and hope. I scan these images of my past and let the memories wash over me. I wonder how many of us imagined we would be where we are today. I cannot help but notice that there are many faces I have not seen since high school, and I do not know where they are or what they are doing with their lives. It is amazing how time flies and how easy it is to lose touch with those we spent everyday with for so many years. There are friends I never thought would become memories, but sadly I have lost touch with them. This is life of course, and we all grow up and move on eventually. Yet, as a teenager you dream big, and see life with a sort of hunger and fire we tend to lose as adults. We think we will never grow old, we are invincible and we will always have one another's back. I was privileged enough to attend a high school in a small tow...

I love lunch at school, but not for the same reasons I enjoyed it as a child. As a kid, who loved to eat, I could not wait until lunch because it meant a break from the monotony, something warm to fill my belly, and time to read my book.  However, now that I am a teacher I enjoy lunch because it gives me an opportunity to reach out to my kids, and to have conversations outside of the normal classroom environment. Some teachers do not want their lunch time interrupted, and this is completely understandable.  Honestly, there are days when I could really use some down time to "stew" in my office, void of any noise. Days when I would enjoy being able to block out the world for 30 minutes and read a book to relax. However, there never seems to be enough time to connect to my kids or their families, and lunch is a perfect opportunity to squeeze in those few extra relational minutes. Having time to meet with my students during lunch is not something I just decided to do one ...

The smell of clean hallways, new notebooks, and freshly sharpened pencils have always been  delightful aromas in my opinion. So, for me, the first day of school is one filled with lots of pleasing scents infused with promise and hope. I see a clean piece of paper as a blank piece of opportunity to share powerful thoughts. A freshly sharpened pencil is the tool that can inscribe a message into the future.  A clean locker is an area soon to be filled with personality not just empty Red Bull cans.  My classroom, freshly decorated, organized and scrubbed is a room waiting on it's new family. Yes, I love the first day of school! My first day 2012 Today as I was standing in the hallway, I was enjoying the buzz and excitement milling around me.  I watched students come pouring into the building from all directions. They were all dressed in their best, and some tried not to look too pressed and clean, but they all looked nice. Even though, they were wearing diffe...

The teenage population is highly unpredictable, and full of flair and colorful language to say the least. I believe my face turns beat red on a daily basis. I am embarrassed easily, but sometimes it is a small slip of the tongue that causes the most interesting moments. I learned the hard way that when a student uses a word that I do not understand, I pretend to know what it means, then go check www.urbandictionary.com . Never, and I mean never, ask the student what that term means. You may be getting much more information than you bargained for. Hence, I now understand the differences in the colors of showers. Please do not ask because I will not explain that reference, as it was mortifying the first time. There are a few things that have not changed in the minds of kids though. The terminology that still brings laughter  no matter the age of the students are any words that have to do with bodily functions, body parts, or noises that can be made with any body part. I cannot t...

I know the moment when my life changed forever. The details of the last few minutes of “normal” are etched in my memory, and after 23 years the images have not faded.  I was skipping with my classmates to “Skip to My Lou My Darling,” when the secretary came into my first grade classroom and asked me to follow her to the office. I still remember the somber look on her face, and how long the hallway seemed as she stoically escorted me to the front doors. I was scared, and I was trying to rack my brain for any inclination of what I could have done wrong to get sent to the office. I was a good kid, and never did anything “bad.” In-fact, I hardly ever talked, and had never had problems with anyone in school.  When I saw my aunt standing by the front doors, I sighed with relief and smiled.  However, whatever relief I felt at seeing her standing there was short lived because I could tell something was wrong. It was a long agonizing few minutes as she quietly def...

    Education is a word I have valued throughout my entire life. Not because my family has been the “Straight A Valedictorians,” but because this was something lacking in our lives.  My mother did not finish high school because she got pregnant with me, and my father dropped out his senior year with four months left to go. Therefore, even as a small child, I was taught to believe that education would be the one thing that could save you from a life like the one my parents faced.     The hardships, struggles and financial abyss caused daily worry lines in my parents’ faces.  My mother was responsible for caring for the house, and making the little money coming in, work to fill our stomachs.  Daddy worked many different jobs to help Mom with the responsibility of keeping us fed and clothed. He was a garbage man, maintenance worker for the city of Cabool, mowed lawns, cleaned city hall at night, and many other odd jobs that allowed us to survive...

Reading and writing are so important, and I know that without the ability to do both life is much harder.  However, while reading and responding to The Freedom Writer's Diary, I found a student's response so moving it made the whole world stop. My head was spinning, and I was reminded why I even became a teacher in the first place. The desire to teach was sparked when I was just a sad little first grader, struggling to survive heartbreak and tragedy. My father was killed in a train collision that year, and my heart was broken and fear had entered my world. I had an amazing first grade teacher, Mrs. Frederick, who got me through that horrible year of my life.  (I will publish the story of Mrs. Frederick this week as well so be looking for it!) So, this past week the students were reading about first impressions and the ideas we get in mind about a person. We were discussing the first impressions we get as children versus the impressions we build as prejudice enters our world...