You don't know?!

Day 15 of 31 at TWT!

"Do you know 'zelenka'?" My Ukrainian student blinks his blue eyes in his characteristic deadpan, almost-ornery way. His casually inquiring tone doesn't give me any clues about what he's asking. I work with him 1-on-1 for a period each day (and then another period where other students also join us), which gives our time together an unusually laid-back atmosphere, with more room than usual for random chitchat. From all our time together, I can guess that he wants to know if I'm familiar with either a video game or something Ukrainian, and this word sounds pretty Russian.

"Ummm... I know zeloni!" I grin sideways at him, remembering my attempts to learn colors in Russian while playing Uno with the Russian speakers at my morning school. "Is it something green?" 

"Not zeloni!" He grins back. "Zelenka!"

"Um, no..." I shrug. 

He pulls his hand up from under the table to show me the finger he scraped a couple days ago when he hit his hand against a table at home while playing VR (a story that made both of us cackle when he told me, despite the injury). 

It's a good thing I'm wearing a mask, because I can't keep my mouth from dropping open as wide as it can go. All the way down his hurt finger, EVERY. BIT. OF. OPEN. WOUND. IS. GREEN.

BRIGHT. GREEN.

SO, SO, SO GREEN.

GREEN, GREEN, GREEN, GREEN, GREEN.

My teacher-mom brain freaks out. Did he COLOR his OPEN WOUNDS with MARKER?!?!?! A 6th grader should know better than that!!! It's going to get all infected!!!!

"Y!!!!!! WHAT DID YOU...??????" I screech, leaning forward and slapping my hands against the kidney table. 

Those bright blue eyes fly open wide. His eyebrows arch and his blond hair flops as he sits up straight in an astonishment that matches my own. "You don't know Zelenka?!?!"

Our mutual astonishment hangs in the air for a moment. 

"It's medicine!" he proclaims, then repeats, his voice still rising with surprise, "You don't know?"

I lean forward to look at his finger more closely, and realize that, shockingly bright green color aside, whatever it is has stained his skin with a consistency similar to iodine. I vaguely think I remember that people put iodine on wounds, sometimes, maybe. "Nnnoo," I sputter. "I don't know this medicine!"

"It's help..." he pauses, then reaches for his Chromebook, pushes the dictation button on Google Translate, and rattles off an adept phrase in Russian. Google Translate spits out "when a wound is festering". 

"So when you are hurt, you put this green medicine on, and it helps your skin heal?" I rub my own finger where his is scraped up. My brain still feels like it wants to explode at the sight of such a brilliant green color on his injured finger. I smile. "I was right though, right? Zelenka, zeloni; it's green!" I'm very proud that I actually guess the meaning of a Russian word with one of the approximately 10 Russian words I've managed to learn this year.

"Yes! But... you don't know?!" He's incredulous that I've apparently been deprived of this medicine my entire life. 

"No!" I lean in. Is this shockingly green medicine truly that commonplace in Ukraine? Does it really work? I'm dying to know more. "How do you put it on? Does it squeeze from a tube or drip from a bottle?" I try to act out those actions. The way his skin is stained really reminds me of iodine, so I predict it comes from a bottle with a dropper, and I'm hoping he'll Google the package so my stunned brain can verify that this is, for real, an actual medicine. 

"It's bottle." He bows his head slightly to say "zelenka" into the Chromebook, copies the Russian text (he likes that way better than trying to use the Russian keyboard), and pastes the word into Google. The screen fills with images of little green bottles reminiscent of iodine bottles, just like I'd predicted.

He glances sideways at me, then repeats, "You don't know?" as if, when I saw the bottle, surely I'd recognize it. 

"No, I don't know this!" I giggle. "Thank you for teaching me!" 

He throws his head back in an uncharacteristically wide-mouthed laugh. 

We move on to practicing narrative elements with a picture book, but my mind flashes back to about a week ago, when he'd asked if I knew a different Russian word, Luntik, which turned out to be a beloved Russian children's tv show. Just like with zelenka, he'd Googled the name, found pictures of the main character (a very adorable pinkish creature), and been absolutely blown away that I'd never heard of it. 

When I get home, I tell Husband about that shockingly green substance, Google "zelenka medicine", and learn that it is truly a common remedy in that part of the world. 

One of my favorite things about teaching ELs is how much I learn from them about the world, and one of the most profound experiences of interacting with someone from another culture are moments like this, when we both realize that something we absolutely held as "normal" is not as universal as we'd thought: that for each of us, our everyday, regular "slices of life" are so much more unique than we realize.

I remember my host mom in Spain cooking EVERYthing (including, to my repeated dismay, our breakfast toast) in olive oil, and trying to tell me that peanut butter was unhealthy (after my roommate and I scoured our supermarket up and down, past rows of Nutella, before finally finding 1 small jar of peanut butter on the Mexican / international shelf). I remember a girl on our Universidad Complutense de Madrid intramural volleyball team (cheer: "¡Fiesta! ¡Sangria! ¡Historia y Geografía!") asking if cheerleaders were really real. 

It's easy to think about the BIG things that are different from country to country or region to region. But what about all those little moments you grew up internalizing as "normal"? Your typical snack. Your favorite childhood tv show. What your mom puts on your boo-boos. How your mom makes toast. 

Just imagine all the things you. don't. know. 

Going to Afghanistan

Day 29 of 31 at TWT! 

"I wanna go to Afghanistan again sometime!" Rainbow Girl bounces in her booster seat. 

It takes me a second. Has she heard us talking about Afghanistan and figured out that it's a place? Then it hits me. "Ohhh! You want to go visit the /family/ from Afghanistan again sometime?!"

"YEAH! And RUN AROUND!" She leans toward me, lifts her chin and scrunches her face into her biggest smile.

I grin, remembering watching her and Sweetie frolic with the Afghan kids in their apartment when we first visited over a month ago. In their typical fashion, Sweetie put her hand over her heart and said "Salam" as I'd taught her, then immediately started trying to engage her 6 year old counterpart in a mutually unintelligible conversation about the pictures they'd drawn for each other, while Rainbow Girl initially wanted to stay in my lap. (It didn't help that her 3 year old counterpart kept toddling into the other room and shyly peering around the corner, even more uncertain of new things and people than Rainbow sometimes is!) Knowing how much Rainbow loves helping Husband cook, I'd tried to get her interested in watching the mom craft handmade bolani in the kitchen. We peeked as she formed soft dough balls and tossed them like pizza dough, then folded a potato filling into them.

One of the teens grabbed a couple of toys from the closet for the little ones and Rainbow scrambled off my lap. Soon, there was so much running and giggling it seemed like there were 10 young kids instead of 5, delighting in the universal language of play, dancing, and laughter even though they couldn't say any words each other might understand. Uncharacteristically, Rainbow even let the oldest teen girl pick her up and hug her! Between a smattering of English words, gestures, photos on our phones, and Google Translate, the teens and adults all talked about how cute they were, which kids gravitate towards mom or dad, and what we like to do.

By the time we were saying "tascha kor" ('thank you') and miming that the girls needed to get to sleep, both Rainbow and Sweetie were already asking when we could play with them again. 

I'll never forget the way their 6 year old squealed when she caught sight of the playground equipment the first time we took them to a park. "YAY!!!!" she screeched from my backseat, and they all ran around again, climbing and sliding together, both 6 year olds ending up with arms around each other on the walk back to the cars. (The family does not have a car yet, so as registered refugee volunteers, a colleague and I drove everyone from their family who wanted to go to the park, while Husband drove our girls to meet us there.)

Sweetie playing with the Afghan girl who's her age

When I told Sweetie that the kids were finally able to enroll in school after finishing all their medical checks, she noted, "But won't that be so hard for them? They don't know English!" She's met some of my students before when I've taken her to school events, but she'd never really spent quality time interacting with newcomer kids until we met this Afghan family.

"That's why I teach English to students who speak other languages!" I smiled proudly. "They'll have a teacher like me to help them! In fact, some of my friends are their teachers!"

Just a few months ago, I was reading about refugees and wondering what I could do to help (especially now that I teach in a part of our district that doesn't really receive them). Now, thanks the opportunity to be part of the district's welcome team in conjunction with our local refugee resettlement agency, my family has gained a whole family of new friends. It's an experience I highly recommend! 

Classroom joy

Day 24 of 31 at TWT!

 "Teacher!" 5 minutes before the first bell rings, the Mexican twin boys from my 3rd period class burst into my room, springy curls flopping on their heads as each playfully tries to block the other from entering. "We're going to do something special today, right? It's our last day to see you before break!" 

I giggle and raise my eyebrows. "I thought we could play... Go Fish!"

"YEAH! GO FISH!!! That's special!!!" They jostle each other some more and scamper happily down the hallway. 

It's funny how classes develop their own personalities. Last time I was a teacher, the year that never really ended, I had a class that LOVED Bingo. Tough high school boys, constantly begging to play Bingo! They cracked me up. This year, my students enjoy Bingo well enough, but they love, love, love Go Fish! It doesn't matter how recently we've played; almost every time I see them, at least one student asks "Can we play Go Fish today?"

So when 3rd period starts, after we go through our beginning of class routines, I give them a choice. "Do you want to play 2 different games, or do you want to play Go Fish for a long time?" 

The Mexican boys nearly knock over their chairs. One flops himself over the table. "GO FISH!"

I glance at the quiet Chinese and Korean girls. "What do you think?"

"Go Fish!" they each quietly nod.

We head over to the round table, I deal out a set of emotions vocabulary cards I made from our recent unit featuring Dr. Marc Brackett's MoodMeter, and we start to play. "Let's start with the green set; since some of you want to relax over break, we'll practice our calm, good-feeling words first. Then we can play again with the yellow set since many of you are excited for break!" 

One boy is already stuffing cards up his sleeve. "We see you hiding those cards, R!" We all laugh. 

By the time it's her turn, the timid girl from Hong Kong's usually placid face transforms into one of her rare grins under her mask. "L, do you have..." she pauses a second for dramatic effect, "...serene?!" Her eyes twinkle as she asks one of the rambunctious boys for a card he'd just asked someone else for. 

"¡La racha empieza!" his brother yells out.

"Oh yeah, watch out, she's on a roll again!" I call in English to let the others in on the joke. Somehow, that girl almost always ends up hitting lucky streaks, usually several times a game. (We play that if you get the card you asked for, you get to ask again right away.)

More eyes twinkle. Cards come in and out of sleeves and hoodie pockets. Cards are jokingly withheld and then handed over at the last second. There's table pounding, smirking, shouting, shrieking, and bursts of laughter. 

This class playing with a sight words set in the fall.

There's also lots and lots of using English confidently! There are newcomers reading, listening to, and speaking words like "tranquil" (green round) and "ecstatic" (yellow round) with little hesitation. We might all stop for a particularly tricky work like "enthusiastic" and say it together before continuing the game, or I might quickly interject a reminder like "Remember, 'motivated' is when you're excited to work hard to reach a goal! It's pretty high on the MoodMeter!" 

Students in another class playing with the yellow feelings set.

We're having fun, learning, together.

Learning <=> Community <=> Joy. <3

The missing spark

Day 22 of 31 at TWT!

 "I will make her a new test!" The long-term sub hops quirkily and claps his hands together, eyes bright.

Inside my mask, my mouth is probably a funny combination of hanging open and stretching into a wide grin. He'd walked over to hover at my shoulder as I reviewed my student's practice quizzes with her, and I'd just asked what the real test would be like: would it have long matching sections with words like the one practice quiz, or might it have more pictures like the other?

"Oh wow, thank you, that would be amazing!" I sputter. I've been waiting all year for this to happen with several other colleagues, and just weeks after taking over the class, he's literally jumping to do it. As a sub.

"Yes, yes, I will make her her own test, with not so many words!" He scampers to his desk to grab a sticky note and scurries back to our table.

"Oh thank you so much! That will be wonderful! Some of these element/compound pictures with the little colored circles would be great, and you could also have a picture showing a container with an object inside, and arrows pointing to label the densities of the liquid and the object..." I have to make sure I'm not talking too fast in my excitement about his enthusiasm. I absolutely LOVE collaborating with colleagues to help them better meet their ELs' needs, and it has been harder at this new school than I'd hoped. "... if you make it in a Google Doc, share it with me and I can add some suggestions! Or I can check back in with you the next morning I'm here!" 

"Yes, I can do that! I will make it this weekend and share it with you! I will adjust to your notes! Then she can show her learning without so many words!" 

I lean into my student's ear. "Mr. R is going to make you a new test! It will have more pictures and not so many words. So don't worry!" I know she gets so anxious about tests. "We will work together to make it better for you!"

She nods as imperceptibly as ever, but I see a tiny glimmer of relief in her eyes. 

As the students file out of class, I go back up to his desk. "I really, really appreciate your enthusiasm for making a modified EL test! I'm so excited to work together to help her show her learning better!"

His smile is huge as he nods vigorously. "Yes! I have to! I have to differentiate!" 

I grin. "Yes, absolutely... but not everybody does." The discouragement of my hopes for the year washes through my mind. "Thank you so, so much for caring about our EL students!" I'm so grateful I could fly and cry at the same time.

When he sends me his draft over the weekend, it's even better than I expected. He used a couple other strategies that I would have recommended but hadn't even mentioned yet. I suggest a few wording simplifications and tell him what a great job he did, adding, "Could I use this as an example of an excellent modified test to show colleagues?" 

This could be the missing spark: a model of ownership, enthusiasm, and eagerness to adapt. I can't wait to get the ball rolling.

para Adam y todos los demás

Fridays!

I blog in Spanish on Fridays. If you don't read Spanish, feel free to copy this post's url into Google Translate and experience the magical imperfection of machine translation!

13 años. 7o grado. 

Aficionado de las películas de Disney / Pixar. 

Manos vacías, escuchando, obedeciendo.

Adam Toledo.

Muerto. Matado. Fusilado. Asesinado. 

13 años. Menor que mis estudiantes.

mis

estudiantes

jóvenes

guatemaltecos

salvadoreños

mexicanos

dominicanos

guineos

congoleses

árabes

y más...

morenos,

negros,

hermosos.

llenos del orgullo, el poder, y la sabiduría

de civilizaciones magníficas:

los maya, náhuatl, taíno,

mandinka, kongo,

asirios, kurdos, beréberes...

mis estudiantes

jóvenes

inteligentes, 

llenos de esperanza y sueños,

tristeza, desafíos, desesperación.

valientes, fuertes,

sensibles.

jactándose, pavoneándose, bromeando,

o encerrándose 

para proteger 

sus corazones,

sus emociones, esperanzas, y sueños. 

mis estudiantes

jóvenes

A veces, arrogantes.

A veces, derrotados. 

A veces, animados, alegres, 

tontos.

A veces, enojados, frustrados, 

desesperados.

A veces, toman decisiones sin pensar.

Se meten en líos. Se equivocan. Se distraen.

No consideran las consecuencias. No prestan atención. 

Pero también tienen ideas que cambiarán el mundo.

Aprenden, crecen, superan obstáculos.

mis estudiantes

jóvenes

¿Y qué van a hacer

si algún día, 

(si ya se fusilaron a un niño escuchando,

si ya se asesinaron a un muchacho obedeciendo,)

qué van a hacer

mis estudiantes multilingües

si un policía que no entienden

les pide hacer algo que no entienden

en un idioma que no entienden, 

o que les es difícil entender 

en un instante de terror?

¿Qué pueden hacer

si el policía sólo ve 

su piel?

¿Qué pueden hacer

si el policía 

no tarda 

apenas un segundo

en disparar?

¿Qué pasarán a sus sueños,

sus esperanzas, sus futuros,

si son asesinados 

en menos tiempo que tardan en traducir 

un pensamiento?

Songs in my head and heart

Day 2 of 31 at TWT!

"Hum a little, Marion!" That's what my mom has always said when she catches me humming unknowingly, since my great-grandmother apparently also hummed all the time. Husband loves to catch me at it, since he knows it means I'm happy, and now even my daughters have started to giggle when they point it out and realize I didn't know. I can't help it; there's always a song in my head, and they sometimes leak out, usually without me realizing it!

Almost anyone who has met me knows that I was a member of The Ohio State University Marching Band for five years, since that’s almost always the “interesting fact” I share about myself when I meet people. When I studied Spanish in school, I loved the songs my teachers shared with us so much that 20 years later, my phone still has a significant number of songs by Maná. Between those passions and my faith, my brain (and phone) are full of such a variety of songs that you never know if Jarabe de Palo, Chicago, Avicii, Kenny Chesney, or Hillsong will leak out!

For my first five years of teaching Spanish to elementary and middle school students, songs were an essential part of my lesson plans. When I sing "Vengan a Ver Mi Granja" to my baby girl in the rocking chair now, I'm always transported back to holding up labeled animal pictures in front of a classroom full of eager kids, reveling at their joy as they realized that animals don't "say" the same things in every language! And when my girls asked to "the fishy song" ("Los peces en el río") throughout December, I kept remembering the pride and joy on a young Latina student's face as she screeched out to the class, "We sing this at my church!!!"

Looking back on all that music, it’s surprising to realize that once I started teaching high school EL students, music abruptly disappeared from my classroom. It’s not that I meant to do away with it; it just fell away as I dramatically shifted my teaching from “learning a language is fun!” to “oh my goodness, these kids have to survive in biology class and pass graduation tests!” Suddenly, I was trying to implement reading and writing workshop, facilitate academic discussions, and inspire students to be more active learners with goal-setting and reflection techniques. I’d hear my world language colleagues using music down the hall and smile (while adding Lasso to my phone), but it didn’t seem to fit in with my teaching anymore. 

A few years ago, Christopher Lehman came to my district’s Literacy Conference and walked us through analyzing a song (I think it was “Roar” by Katy Perry) using close-reading techniques. I thought, “How cool, to use music like poetry!” and added the idea to my ever-percolating lesson bank, where it sat unused because… I didn’t know any pop songs? I was too overwhelmed to go on a search for the right songs? I was afraid I’d pick a song and the kids would hate it? I had plenty of poems I liked to use already? I got too busy with other things and mostly forgot?

Whatever the reason, music was mostly absent from my EL classroom until I had an epiphany while studying Zaretta Hammond's Culturally Responsive Teaching and the Brain. Song study became a powerful routine for my beginner ELs, and music filled our classroom for several months last year... until, of course, we all left our classroom, without knowing we'd never return.

In this long, strange year at home, music has become one of our family's definitive joys. Ever since we discovered that Laurie Berkner had started streaming live-from-her-living-room mini-concerts last March, we've treasured a daily half-hour routine of dancing and singing to our favorite songs on Facebook Live or YouTube. We've built playlists for when Laurie's not live, and both girls love picking out which songs we'll sing, dance, and snuggle along to every day. As soon as we finish our calendar routine, baby girl shrieks, "Laurie!" and any tension in the day flows away as we enjoy church songs, Spanish songs, Disney songs, Daniel Tiger songs, school songs, Christmas songs (yes, even after Three Kings' Day was over, don't judge!) and of course, Laurie favorites.

Riding their unicorns while singing along to "Candy Cane Jane"! <3

So when I started to seriously decide that yes, I could do the March Slice of Life Challenge this year, music floated its way into my brain. What if I tied a favorite song into each slice? It could be a powerful way to honor music's special place in my heart; after all, it would probably occupy an equal space to reading and writing in my heart map. Plus, connecting a song to a daily story could be both a challenge, a way to combat writer's block, and a new twist to help me get more excited to really try to write for a month, something I haven't done in several years. My heart jumps just thinking of all the songs I love that have stories to tell, and all the stories that I could connect to a song!
I'll consider the songs I mentioned & playlists I linked above as today's "song" (ok, it's a whole bunch of songs and I'm breaking this format before I've even started it, but it seems fitting for this intro post!), but I hope you'll enjoy my songs-with-stories and stories-with-songs over the next month!

Circle

March at TWT!

"I feel bad because no school. I feel boring in the home. I miss my teachers and friends at the school. And I feel a little scary because I don't want sick." K. tugs at her hijab as the rest of the circle nods.

"I feel good because I want to sleep in!" L laughs, as she often does in circle. "But I'm scared for my mom and dad." She switches to Spanish. My dad is all alone in Venezuela, and they don't have the tests there. And nobody in our family is with him."

Our circle gets quieter, that kind of deep, serious quiet that happens when people know they are connected through their inner feelings.

"But Miss Mitchell, what IS a virus? Where did this come from?" T. is in biology right now, but before he came here, he only had a couple of years of off-and-on schooling in rural Guatemala, as did several others in this class.

I feel inadequate trying to explain, especially as I try to echo myself in my second language. "Umm, it's some germs that can be passed between people, and they attack our bodies and make us sick..."

"In Guatemala, there are no tests and no money for medicine," T. looks down. "And they won't want people coming in, so I can't go back." I know he's worried about the little siblings he sends money to.

"I work at the front of my restaurant, and I'm scared! I talk to customers, clean the tables, and clean the dishes." Y. shakes his head. "I'm washing my hands all the time, but... what if someone comes in who has the virus?!"

"What about the people who work in stores?" I., brand new from Guatemala just two days ago, doesn't seem to be afraid of speaking up in his very first circle. "If the stores close, how will they get money? And how will people get what they need?"

"We went to the store this week, and everything was gone." L. jumps back in, even though it's not her turn, and that's ok, today. Anything is ok, today. "It reminded me of Venezuela. It wasn't a sickness, but when the economic crisis came, everybody bought everything, and nothing was left. It was just like this."

"It's not like America," B. jumps in. "That doesn't happen in America."

"My brother sells food, and the other night he was selling food, and a Chinese guy was too." Y.  has more to say. "They were both washing their hands between every batch and using gloves, but when they got to where they were taking the food, the owner threw everything from the Chinese guy right in the trash. Like a thousand dollars, right in the trash."

"I'm scared."

"I'm sad."

"I feel bad."

Around the circle. In English and Spanish.

"What's going to happen?"

I make sure everyone has said everything they want to say and close the circle. They head back to their seats, and I remind them how we'll connect over the next 3 weeks (although, in my head, I know it will probably be longer). I give them some time to explore the extra practice links I've provided and make sure everyone is set up for the tools we'll definitely be using.

I remind them that E+R=O, and talk about how this is one of those big events we can't control, but we can choose responses that will help us get the outcomes we want. I remind them how hard they've worked to learn English this year, how they all said that was one of their most important outcomes, how they don't want to lose the progress they've made. I bribe them with prizes when we return and finally see a few smiles, because I know that as hard as we might try to inspire ourselves by thinking of the outcomes we want, sometimes we all need a little extra boost.

I remind them that our school is working on a way to still provide food for students during these weeks, and tell them to message me if they need anything else, because there's an organization in our community that works to help families get what they need.

Our precious minutes are winding down, and their big eyes are looking at me like they don't want to walk out of our room. A Muslim girl from Kurdistan and a Catholic girl from Venezuela are holding hands, whispering how much they'll miss each other. They're scared and sad.

One of my toughest boys has walked out of class (and back in, of course) at least three times, and he keeps saying he's not coming back to school next year. The other is sprawled on the beanbag pillow, complaining that he's hungry and bragging about how he's not going to do any work over the break. They're scared and sad too.

The bell rings. I go to the door and offer each a hug or high five on the way out. When they think of our class and this day, I want them to remember how much I love them. I want them to remember that our class was a family.

Mostly, the girls give me tighter hugs than usual, and the boys opt for fist bumps. But Y., in line behind a girl, holds out his arms. I remember him trying to use the word "elect" in a sentence earlier this year, and writing "I elect Mrs. M to be my teacher next year." I remember overhearing him two days ago as he told our new student "Mrs. Mitchell is buena onda." I hug him, and his face blooms into his biggest grin. "I was scared," he laughs.

"It's ok," I tell him, and I hope it will be.

Stepping out of the past

Day 9 of 31 at TWT!

"I remember this room!" A cheerful voice from behind my shoulder pulls me out of responding to student work.

Spinning my chair around, I have to blink to make sure my eyes are really seeing what they thought they saw: I am greeted by an almost-ghost: one of my former students from nearly 6 years ago, my first year teaching ELLs. "Oh my gosh! How ARE you?!" His first name pops into my head almost instantly, but I don't want to mess up, and my brain is spinning excessively, so I hold off for a minute as I scan him to figure out what on earth he's doing here.

"I'm working as an interpreter now! I had a meeting here, and I figured I'd stop by!" Taller, skinnier, exuding more confidence and insight than I ever would have imagined back then... but that slightly ornery twinkle is still hiding in the corner of his eye.

I wasn't sure this kid would make it. He was so sweet, but would barely do any work. He failed the last quarter of my class that year, and you have to try pretty darn hard to fail my class. The next fall, I found out he'd moved out of state over the summer, and I figured that was it. Now, here he was, all grown up into a young man with an agency interpreter ID badge around his neck. Did he really make it through high school?

"So you're back around here? I remember you'd moved to Georgia, right? How do you like being back?"

He talks enthusiastically about his interpreter job, then explains that he's been back here for just a few months and just started working at a local restaurant with another of my former students. "She said you come there a lot, so I knew you were still here, and after my meeting, I thought I'd see if you were down here!"

"I'm so glad you stopped in, R.!" I slip in his name now to make sure he knows I remember. How do I gently find out what I really want to know? "So, are you taking classes or anything?"

He sighs. "I actually dropped out of high school down there. I made it to my junior year, but money was tight, and I had to choose between school and work... I chose work. Besides, I was failing. I didn't want to do any schoolwork." Yep, that's the kid I was worried about. "You know, here, I felt like I had teachers pushing me to keep going. But down there, nobody cared. If I wanted to just sit in class and sleep, that was my choice, they told me."

"I'm sorry, R." If he would have stayed here, would we have gotten him through? I'm trying to reconcile that struggling kid with the mature young man standing in front of me. "But you've obviously have made some good choices to get yourself to where you are now!"

"Everything was so expensive there! My brother and I were working two construction jobs, and there still wasn't enough at the end of the month. So I came back here, and now I have my own apartment, and I'm doing mostly medical interpreting. I'm trying to study these manuals with only a 10th-grade education. But I really like it. These people, their stories are always different. The reason they call is the same, but what led to their need is always something different!"

His brother... "That's great! I'm so proud of you! How is G., anyway?"

His smile disappears. "You're not going to like this..." he looks sideways. "He turned into a drug addict. He's got all these tattoos all over now. If you saw him, you wouldn't even recognize him."

I put my hand over my mouth. "Oh, R! I'm so sorry." Out of the two of them, I thought his brother was the one who'd end up being successful. He had his rough spots, but he seemed so much more driven.

"I'm the only one who came back. My mom and everyone else are still down there. It's hard, because I'm alone, but I'm getting along."

My heart is starting to shred itself. That chubby, ornery kid, all grown up by things too hard to bear, doing his very best in spite of it all. One of my colleagues is at the door, waiting to update me on a new student, so I have to say goodbye to this almost-ghost from a past that seems very long ago to me, but probably so much longer ago to him. "I'm so glad you stopped by. You should be so proud of everything you're doing. I'll see you at the restaurant sometime soon!"

The rest of the night, I keep remembering snippets that year: him asking if I liked "kids like [them]",  discovering that "reading a book is just like watching TV", joking and making our class more fun. Me diving into the world of ELL, shocked at how hard our students work just to get by, frustrated by just how daunting this job is, amazed at their resilience through unspeakable challenges, and trying to establish myself as a teacher of readers and writers. I've grown so much as a teacher since then, but some things never change: it's kids like him who are really teaching me.

Finding their voices

Day 4 of 31 at TWT! 

"So we can write about anything?" Gears are obviously turning in D.'s head as she stares at her blank heart map.

I grin. "Pretty much! Anything about your life or a topic that's important enough to you that it's part of your life!"

"What about a political topic? Like, there are wars some places that nobody cares about, like Venezuela and Palestine?"

I nod, knowing that even though she lived in Jordan for a longer time, Palestine is closest to her heart. "Of course! This is a chance for you to tell those stories and make your voices heard!"

This year, as my students started brainstorming ideas for the Slice of Life Challenge, I shared a few of my favorite quotes about writing, including this one from Neil Gaiman: "Tell your story. Don't try and tell the stories that other people can tell... But as quickly as you can, start telling the stories only you can tell -- because there will always be better writers than you, there will always be smarter writers than you, but you are the only you."

And wow, have they taken that to heart right away! Often, it takes awhile before anyone writes a truly courageous, serious post, and students are usually reluctant to publish publicly instead of just within our class.

Not this year! Not only do these students have stories truly only they can tell, they are not afraid to share them! S. has followed up her first poignant post about life in Syria (you know, the one that had me sobbing at my desk!) with a riveting cliff-hanger that makes me keep refreshing my feed to see if she's written another post yet. (She's actually drafting it as I write this, but I won't peek until she publishes it!) M. shared his family's memories of the dictatorship in Argentina. D. made her love for Palestine come alive in an alluring description of Jerusalem.

Sometimes it takes days or weeks to get some momentum going for this challenge. Some years, it honestly never really seems to take hold deeply at all, or only a few students really run with it. Many years, I'm excited if one or two students post on the weekends. This weekend, with only two school days of the challenge under their belts, 6 different students have written or drafted a total of 11 posts! The rising tide of student comments from earlier in the semester is still going strong, and a variety of colleagues have left heartfelt words of encouragement, too!

More than any other year, these students are finding their voices. And their voices are incredible.

S.'s reply to my comment on her 1st post... this is why I teach!

D.'s comment to S.'s 2nd post about the war in Syria

S.'s comment to M.'s post about the dictatorship in Argentina

Those who are shocked and incredulous about the Parkland students' gun-reform initiative must not have spent much time getting to know teenagers. Teenagers are resilient, hopeful, determined, and all-around amazing, especially once they realize the power of their own voices. I'm proud and honored to work with them every day, and I'm so excited to go to school tomorrow and encourage them to keep sharing their stories!

(If you'd like to leave comments for my students, please do so! Just don't be scared when they seem to disappear -- I just have to approve them!)

Turning point

Day 2 of 31 at TWT!

Oh yay, S. published a post AND she made it public! I scanned her title and hook, excitedly clicking to read the full post. Looks like a good one, too...

"Turning Point! / Life could change in minutes..." I scroll through her warm description of her childhood, relishing the opportunity to know this student more deeply.

Suddenly, I'm crying at my desk. I thought I knew what was coming. I know the things that my students have likely experienced when they come from a place like Syria. But it's one thing to imagine a vague possibility, based on news about faraway strangers, and quite another to read, in her own beautifully crafted words, what "my kid" has been through. "...all of these dream and plans disappeared when I heard this unforgettable sentence in news..." Whole messy tears spurt from my eyes, shoulders shaking, hands on my face. If someone walks by my room right now, they'll think I'm crazy. 

S. lights up our class every day with bright eyes, an always-ready smile, and such a voracious determination that I chose her to be one of my squad leaders after knowing her for only a few weeks. Taking that role to heart, she has consistently gone out of her way to help her group members, encourage them with caring comments, and let me know when she is concerned about someone, while still relentlessly challenging herself. For Valentine's Day, she had her squad surprise me with a card they had decorated by writing "I love you" in their languages.

S.'s Valentine's Day surprise.. she even sneaked it onto my desk in the middle of class! (If you're curious, the languages are Spanish, Arabic, Amazigh (Berber), and Hindi!)

This morning, her words had me wiping my eyes with hands that bear her Henna handiwork from Wednesday's Global Cafe.

Before even finishing my comment to her, I opened our staff Schoology group for sharing positive stories and began typing: "Everybody. Read this post!!!" I pasted in the link, posted, and returned to my half-written comment. "S, I'm literally crying at my desk right now..."

With that, my sluggish Friday morning was transformed into a day of pride. Whenever I got a chance, I eagerly refreshed our comment approval feed, hoping another staff member had left a comment. And again and again, they had. Compassionate, reflective, meaningful comments poured in, both from staff members who knew her and those who didn't:

"...You have a powerful voice and message..."
"... I am aware of the strife in Syria but your story makes it personal..."
"... Never forget the little girl in you... she is your heart and should be shared with the world every day..."
"Wow! This was an incredibly moving piece..."
"...You sound like a young lady of incredible courage, strength, and passion..."
"... I am now a better person because of what you shared!..."

Because of them, I got to start our blogging time in class by showcasing the connections and emotions that were brought about by S.'s powerful writing and courage in publishing her story publicly. I couldn't have designed a better "turning point" to get momentum going for the rest of March!

To top it all off, K. called me over near the end of class. "Mrs. M? I, um, just don't know how to comment on S.'s post! I mean..." Tears spilled over her eyelashes and down her face as she hurriedly tried to brush them away. "...I'm crying! I don't know what to say! It's so awful... I'm so sorry! I mean, it's not my fault, but I'm so sorry!"

"Say that, K. Tell her what she made you feel. Say exactly that."


(If you'd like to leave her a comment, don't worry when it seems to disappear -- it just has to be approved by me!)

Uniquely united

Day 1 of 31 at TWT!

"I'm not nervous anymore!" K. bounced up to me, her blonde ponytail swinging, all of the tension she'd been carrying an hour ago clearly washed away. "Do you know what the coolest thing I learned was? In Syria they have a food that's just like one we have in Albania, with even the same name!"

"Yeah, and in Egypt we have something that's just like what they have in Argentina!" M. chimed in.

After a class period practicing their mini-presentations with their squad groups, my students were all fired up for the main event: our school's annual "Global Cafe", featuring over a hundred student displays showcasing our diversity. American students research their family's heritage, but my ELLs particularly shine as they bring their cultures alive with unique pride. Hundreds of students and staff members voluntarily fill the cafeteria for two hours after school to learn, share, and celebrate each other.

Balancing everything from Libyan pasta to Venezuelan arroz con leche to Iraqi baklava on my clipboard, I float through a vibrant sea of color, music, flavor, and the sweet chatter of unbridled pride meeting genuine curiosity.

K. teaches me all about Albania!

"I just have to tell you..." a science teacher comes bounding up to me. "Your student from Argentina... I think his name is M... he just did an amazing job! He was so enthusiastic and informative!"

As I scarf down some sweets from Qatar to make room for alfajores from Argentina, M. shows me how he organized his display by geographic regions. 

"Mrs. M!" S. practically skips up to me with a smile so big it might stretch right off her face. "There was a girl, and I wrote her name on her hand! Can I do yours?"

I hold still while S, in traditional Syrian clothes, writes my last name in Arabic on my hand with Henna!

A. gives my daughter a card where he wrote her name in Arabic!

M, in traditional clothing, teaches my daughter and me about Egypt!

When we have the time and space to share our stories, our differences remind us how similar we all really are.

Raising their voices

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

"I read every one. So powerful!"
"These are amazing! Thanks for sharing!"
"I love these!" "These are beautiful!" "This is fantastic!"
"Very inspiring!" "What a great idea!"
"Thanks for doing this!"
"Their stories deserve to be heard!"

Each social media notification and email from a friend or colleagues is another balloon of hope and joy, gently lifting a little more until I'm ready to float away like the house in UP. When people see my students like I see them, they can't help but love them like I love them. Maybe, just maybe, the lawmakers I mailed their stories to will start to see them, and love them, too.

As soon as the President's immigration ban threw airports, homes, and families into chaos that Saturday night, my heart and brain started pounding. What could I do? My students would be upset. How could I honor their feelings? How could we make a difference? My mind drifted back to Inauguration Day, when my friends loved my students' quick reaction notes, and some encouraged me to send them to our legislators. That's what we could do! So much of this fear comes from ignorance. All that Saturday evening, I turned over ideas in my head for a template that would help my students teach lawmakers how hard it is to be an immigrant or refugee, and what amazing young people they really are. People need to understand how long it takes to prepare to come here and be approved, the severity of what many of them are fleeing, and the simple fact that these are innocent, sensitive, hardworking, incredible kids and families! That Sunday afternoon, as Husband kept Sweetie occupied with books and toys, I scrapped my original lesson plans for Monday and designed a one-page template that would help my students get to the heart of these important ideas.

I knew that if I framed it right, my kids would be excited to share their experiences, especially with a real chance to make a difference. Hope and power sparkled in their eyes as I explained that they should not write their names because we would really mail these to our lawmakers. Even so, I was astonished by how purposefully they spread out around the room and settled in to write, some with tear-filled eyes, so dedicated that they spent more than a class period and we had to continue on Tuesday.

When I began reading and compiling their responses, I found that, as well as I know my kids, there is always more to learn. And the more I learn, the more I love them:

You don't just decide you'll go to America and then go on Monday.
Responses ranged from a few months to 12 years!

"there are many gangs in El Salvador"

"India is not safe for girls."

"I can not study in schools because the school bombed."

"Every day people die. The people in my country now like monsters and the schools bad and no future."

"Arbil is better than other place in Iraq because if we go to the other places some people can kill us."

"That was so hard to live without dad."

"My dad has a kidney disease and he is come here to seek treatment."

"Hope to reduce my academic pressure... have a relaxed and happy school life and weekend" (from a Chinese student)

"Every day there was news about a thief who killed someone to steal something from that person. We felt that this could happen to us. People are starving."

"I was felt sad and scary living in Iraq and Syria because of the war. I can't go to school."

"distance my friends, so I can't see long time and I won't be able to school events with classmates."

"But that happened a lot of bad thing I suffered because we walked during the night and we had to cross a big river."

"...to finish our transactions was in Aman it was take 2 h to be in Aman at 7 a.m. We was do that for 10 years."

"We get interview and it is four interviews so it wait between the interviews years and years."

"because Trump became President and he want to kick us out of America that makes me mad and actually he ban the refugees for month so I was happy that my dad is coming, I don't see him for 6 years but now I don't gonna see him because of the bad rule from Trump!"

"happy because my life is preserved from the war / sad because I will miss my family in Iraq."

"I hope still living here because this country is wonderful."

Fear and hope, pain and happiness, education and family. Rugged determination, patience, wonder, and love. From China to Venezuela, the same dreams spread around my classroom.

All mailed off to our congressmen (local and federal offices) and President Trump!

Immigrants and refugees are not numbers. They are kids and families fighting for better lives, and they need our love to be stronger than our fear.

My students speak

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

"Best thing I've seen all day!" I grin as I read this comment from an old high school and college marching band friend. I've always looked up to her, and I admire her strength and conviction in so many ways. I feel proud that she loves my students' voices and empowered that, even though President Trump (despite his love for Twitter) will almost assuredly not read the notes we tweeted at him, other hearts and minds have been moved by them.

Scrolling through the list of "like" and "love" notifications, my heart swells at the variety of interactions: colleagues, band friends, college friends, cousins. People I see every day and people I haven't heard from in years. People I absolutely expected to love this post and others I would have pegged as staunch conservatives. But that's the thing, isn't it? This particular president has crossed lines that transcend political beliefs and cut straight through to fundamental human feelings, rights, and experiences.

The morning after the election, when I ran to my phone and tears sprung to my eyes at the sight of that horrific headline, I wasn't crying because I would have preferred a different political outcome. I was crying because I didn't know what I was going to say, two hours later, when I walked into my cozy classroom home to face the familiar sea of sweet, brown immigrant faces that I love spending all day with. I felt like my country was telling my amazing, brave, hardworking Muslim, Hispanic, and Asian kids that we didn't want them, that they weren't safe here, that we don't respect or value their incredible stories, that we were better off before they came.

So when I read about Teaching Tolerance's #StudentsSpeak campaign, I knew I needed to use this opportunity to capture my students' feelings and let their voices be heard. I knew it would be difficult to navigate all our emotions on Inauguration Day, and that this would be the perfect outlet. So on Friday, after we studied the inaugural traditions and talked about why America's peaceful transfer of power is so important to celebrate, I invited my students to write a quick note to President (cringe!) Trump.

And they bent their heads, and pulled up their translation apps, and wrote. And my eyes sprouted more tears as they handed me their notes, full of fear and hurt and hope.