Belief and bravery

Day 3 of 31 at TWT!

"Mrs. M, can you come read this?" H. is staring at a draft on his Chromebook.

"Sure, what's up? Is there a certain part you'd like me to look at?"

"Um..." He hesitantly waves his hand across the whole screen. "I just want you to see if it's ok to post..."

"What?! H?!" I grin incredulously. "Why?! I'm sure it's fine! You're an awesome writer!"

"Well, it's just different than most other things I've written, and I don't know... Maybe it's confusing or something..." His voice trails off.

I peek over his shoulder to scan the first few lines, smiling at the flow of his usual strong, creative voice. Imperfect grammar, as is often the case, but not to the point of distraction or interference with meaning. "You're a good writer. Go ahead and publish it!" I nudge his elbow with mine and circulate back to another part of the room.

Later, as we're transitioning to the next activity, I notice that his Chromebook is still open, with that draft still sitting there. "H! You still didn't publish that? Push that button!"

"I, um..."

His squad leader D. leans across the table, smoothing her hijab. "What's going on?"

"H. is having trouble convincing himself to publish his post."

"You're such a good writer!" she exclaims, eyes lighting up. "Before I knew you [we've only been in these squad groups this semester], when Mrs. M would have us leave comments, I'd always look for your posts first! I don't know why, I mean..." She takes a deep breath, as if momentarily realizing that this is not the kind of thing most high schoolers say to each other, but then plunges ahead. "Your writing is really fun to read!"

He shifts in his seat, then reaches toward his Chromebook. "Really?"

"See?!" I grin at him, then turn to D. with an overflowing heart. I can't believe she just said that! I love these kids, and I love what blogging does for our classroom community. "Thank you for those kind words, D. That was really nice of you."

I open my stance to address the whole class. "You guys don't need me to tell you that your writing is ok. Be brave! Put it out there!" But then I fix my eyes back on H. "But sometimes I'm scared to hit that publish button, too! I still have days that I have to sit and stare at the screen for awhile, take some deep breaths, and talk myself into pushing that button! It's a big deal, sharing your words with the world! But it's also really awesome."

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.

All my heart

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

Tonight
I was going to write about the Chinese New Year celebration we attended on campus yesterday
and how my daughter was completely enamored
with the friendly dancing lion
while the professors and students were completely enamored
with my daughter
in her silk dress my dad brought her from one of his many recent business trips to China

but just now
as Husband was helping her into her unicorn & rainbow pajama pants,
she suddenly spun around, declaring,
"I'm going to kiss you, Mommy!"

And she did,
leaning over to me with little arms outstretched:
"Mm-muh!"

And then
wrapping those wriggly arms around my head,
big blue eyes staring into mine,
she started running her spindly fingers through my hair.

"I like your hair, Mommy!"
Tiny fingers winding, weaving, and smoothing my frizzy flyaways.
"Your hair is nice!
"Your ponytail is soft, comfy, and sweet!"

Those deep blue pools again:
"I love you! I really love you!"

And now
that's all my heart
and brain
contain.

So you'll have to be content with just a picture
of the little blonde girl who loved a dancing Chinese lion yesterday.

Reflecting and reaching

Monday.

What did you just think of when you heard that word? Sluggishness? Reluctance? Trying to shake yourself out of a fog? Yeah, me too. Until I get to class.

Mondays in my classes, more than any other day, run like a well-oiled machine. Smooth, simple, with gears turning purposefully. Going somewhere.

Every Monday, our warm-up is the "idiom of the week". Idioms are everywhere (Seriously. Have you noticed? Tomorrow, pay attention to all the idiomatic phrases you hear and read, and then imagine not having grown up with them!), they're hard to figure out if you don't just know them, and they can be pretty silly and fun! (Today's was "to sling mud", and an astute student pointed out that it's a lot like "throwing shade" -- they might not know traditional idioms, but ELLs sure don't struggle to pick up slang!) It's a light, non-threatening way to start the week... and I always smile to see one of our past idioms find its way into a student's writing months later!

Every Monday, we also check in about our academic goals. For the past several years, we've used the WOOP framework to set a goal that we want to work on for about a month. Teaching students to proactively realize what obstacles are standing in their way and plan how to overcome those obstacles has been incredibly powerful. Now that we're also using R-factor concepts, the language of default actions vs. disciplined actions has fit in perfectly with this structure.

This student's current goal is about reading, but it just has to be some academic skill. We fill out the top half when setting a new goal, then one row on the bottom every Monday to check in over the next month.

I used to have students share their progress with a partner, but now that I've shifted my class to a "squad" unit format (posts on that coming soon, I promise!), they share with their whole squads, and the conversations are much more powerful. These check-ins only take a few minutes, but their impact is incredible. Students are leaning forward, nodding, reflecting, and encouraging each other as they honestly share about why they are struggling to meet their goals or how they were successful.

And every Monday, we time ourselves reading for exactly 15 minutes, noting our starting and ending page numbers. When the timer goes off, we enter those pages into our reading goals spreadsheets (template 1 / template 2) to set our page goals for the week (based on Penny Kittle's idea from Book Love) and do a little thinking about our reading. I do my own as a model, and it's fascinating to see how my reading speed changes between and even within books and how much more purposeful I am about my reading when I know I have a specific goal.

thinking boxes

page goal (light green & yellow boxes calculate automatically)

Fingers fly on clicking keys and flip gently through book pages in a settled, nearly-silent hum: purposeful, thoughtful, spinning the foundation for a new week of reading. I could sneak out of the classroom and I'm pretty sure almost everyone would just keep typing. On Thursday, we'll check back in to see what progress we've made, but for now, the invitation to push ourselves forward as readers stands open.

Too much routine can be boring, but on Mondays, our routines anchor us and drive us, using reflection, goals, and community to focus on what matters most: reaching toward our best selves, one week at a time.

Named and noticed

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

Head up. Shoulders back. I check my reflection in the tinted windows. Do I look like a runner? Come on, legs! Don't slow down.... Oh gosh. This is hard. Just keep going. Ok.... 1 lap. Focus on this 1 lap. Then another. 1 at a time... Head up. Breathe. Don't let form break down. Another window-reflection-check. Go, legs!... Oh gosh, look at that guy. He's like, a real runner. How many laps is he doing? I wish I could run like that... Last year, I was running a mile in under 9 minutes. When can I run a mile again? People must think I'm so out of shape, running these little bursts of laps with breaks, and my dumb fat belly... Nope. Stop. Look how strong I'm getting! I'm getting so much stronger!... Here we go. Eyes ahead. Head up. Come on.

Then, the sweet-settling cooldown walk: That was hard. Good-hard. Look at me. Sweat-pouring stretches and cool-gulping mouthfuls of water: Yep, just the right kind of good-hard for now. Bounding down the stairs: Way better than sitting at home. Adjusting the seat and pinning the right weight into place: I'm going to get there. Just keep pushing. Furrowed brows, steady weights swinging: Just keep going. Just a little more. Better every day.

"Are you a trained runner?" This gray-haired man's admiring tone jerks my brain out of its workout-sharp, so-clear-it's-almost-empty focus-void.

"Umm?" My eyes briefly dart around to see if he's talking to someone else. "No? Not really?" I ran middle-school track for two years, very slowly, awkwardly, and poorly? I have never excelled at anything athletic in my life, except marching band? I'm just a band girl?  

Clearly, my stammering, startled confusion takes him aback. "I'm not trying to be smart or anything, really! I was just watching how smooth you were running, and I thought, 'Wow, she has to be a trained runner!' You're one of the smoothest runners I've seen around here!"

"Oh! Wow! Um, thanks! I mean, my dad was a runner, and I kind of learned from him. I've been trying really hard! Thank you!"

And just like that, the remaining tendrils of doubt and discouragement release their hold on me. He noticed me, and thought I was doing a good job? He noticed so much that he had to come up and say something, when he doesn't even know me at all? He thinks I'm a real runner?! I feel like I just found out that I'm actually a superhero! 

I guess I could have told him that I was in the OSU Marching Band for 5 years, and that helped me develop an acute awareness of my posture and movements, coupled with the determination to relentlessly analyze my performance and find ways to improve. I could have told him that the R-Factor conversations my favorite new colleague has brought to our school have reinforced that old drive and analysis while also challenging me to examine my focus and self-talk to develop a more positive growth mindset.

Trained runner? No. Trained marcher and thinker? Definitely.

I could have also told him that I only started running seriously a year and a half ago, and that since then I've had to stop completely and start over, twice, due to the hardest personal tragedies I have ever gone through, within less than a year. I could have told him that the past three years have been the most challenging of my life, for way too many different reasons, and that even though the simple difficulty of running gives me power and clarity, I'm also tempted to quit almost every week.

"Runner?" Not if you mean a competitive athlete who's been running for years, which is what I'm tempted to think it means. Runner, as in a person who runs, just like a writer is a person who writes? Yeah, but it takes some work to make myself believe it.

But I didn't tell him any of that. I just smiled and savored his words all evening. And three days later, when I ran again. And every time I've run, over the past three weeks, ever since. I run, and now my brain says: Smooth! I look like a trained runner! Eyes ahead. Head up. Strong legs. Keep it up, Smooth Runner. 

Identity is powerful. Feedback is powerful. Specific, timely feedback that builds an identity is life-changing. And when it's a surprise, it goes straight to your heart with even more force.

How much better would our classrooms, our schools, our world be if we all acted a little more like random rec center guy? If we slowed down enough to notice each other? To figure out what's special and point it out? To honor what someone else is striving for by naming it? Let's search for opportunities to say, "Hey, I noticed your hard work. It was awesome because (specific observation). It made you look like a real (identity construct)."

This is what we all need to RISE.

Head up. Keep going. Better every day. 

My Brooks make me feel like a real runner, too! <3

A rising tide

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

"I get it! Now I'll leave comments! I read the comments they left me and I just..." With sparkling eyes, A. looks up from her blog and presses her hands over her heart.

"Seeeee? I tried to tell you!" I nudge her shoulder with my elbow. "But I know... it's hard to understand how powerful comments can be until you get a really meaningful comment, right? And it just gives you this incredible feeling... that's exactly what happened to me with my teacher blogging friends! This is what I've wanted for you guys!"

This little moment with A. is the culmination of several days of having my heart soar as I scrolled through the comment moderation feed on my class blog. Every year, I try to teach my students the power of commenting on others' writing. Every year, I dream of recreating for them the uplifting community of writers I experience every Tuesday through slicing. Every year, a few students buy in and craft some encouraging, thoughtful comments for others. But every year, the experience has fallen flat for most of them. Until this year.

A few weeks ago, I'd once again given a mini-lesson about how to construct a thoughtful comment. It was a darn good mini-lesson, complete with us working together as a class to craft a meaningful comment on one of the TWT author's OLW posts. Once again, I put up a chart on the SMARTboard of the components of a quality comment, with sentence starters, as I sent my students off to their Chromebooks. Once again, not enough kids put in enough effort to create a truly meaningful connection. Once again, their sighs and glazed eyes revealed that most of them viewed it as just another task to complete, and a rather onerous one at that. Once again, many of them scrolled through their classmates' OLW posts without commenting at all or left short, generic, superficial comments.

My muscles tensed as I circulated though the room with my laptop, approving the mostly-mediocre incoming comments and hurling gentle reminders over shoulders. "Remember to leave a thoughtful, 2-part comment!" "Don't forget to try out some of the sentence starters on the board!" "'I liked your writing. It was good.' is not a quality comment!" There was probably steam coming out of my ears by the end of that afternoon.

After class, I flopped into my desk chair, put my chin on my arms, and fumed. Why don't they ever get this?! It could be so awesome! Suddenly, I remembered a takeaway one of my colleagues had shared from Urban Meyer's book on coaching & leadership: "In the old days he got furious. Now, he gets curious: where did the breakdown occur?"

My mind cleared. Curious, not furious... Ok. This is a leadership breakdown. Ever since this particular colleague has brought Focus-3's R-Factor leadership training (the culture / leadership system OSU football uses) into our building, I've shifted to a new vision of my responsibilities as classroom leader. I knew I'd given them the skills they needed to write effective comments. They just weren't doing it. Ok. This is not a skill gap. This is a clarity-of-purpose gap. They weren't seeing the value, even though I'd tried to explain and model the power of commenting. Time to regroup.

The next day, I pulled my class into the meeting area with a blank page on the SMARTboard. With more than a little fire, asked them, "Why do you think I ask you to leave comments for other writers?" After 10 solid minutes of popcorn responses so fast I could barely scrawl them on the board, they'd hit everything I could have possibly wanted to lecture them on: Reading like writers to learn new writing strategies. Practicing good writing in their responses. Getting to know each other better. Building confidence and pride in their writing. Reflecting on the components of good writing... Everything. And they were ready to go.

I felt like we shouldn't have needed that conversation. We shouldn't have had to "waste time" backtracking to talk about why to leave comments when we'd done it several times this year. They should have known. But whether you "should have to" do something is another mindset shift my colleague has had me reflecting on. Regardless of what I thought should happen, there was some kind of disconnect between my vision and theirs, and that discussion transformed it. Maybe it was the days of foundation after break we'd just spent reflecting on first semester and setting goals, maybe they could see I was fired up, but I think the biggest difference was that they felt invested in creating the reasons themselves. 

And that day, enough of them got on board to turn the tide.

The next day, I pulled up some of the best comments and we analyzed them together, noticing the words and strategies that made them so powerful. My group leaders (more posts coming on that!) started really pushing themselves to make a difference in their comments to their group members. More momentum. 

Since then, it has been pure delight to scroll through that feed, clicking "approve" and getting goosebumps. Almost every comment has been crafted with specific, intentional thoughts to lift the writer and build a meaningful connection. 

And the more meaningful connections, the more reluctant writers like A. will see their power and RISE, wanting to pass that feeling on to others. Enough ripples make a wave. But the ripples start with me: curious, not furious.