Ready to Move On

It hit. I could feel it at the beginning of the month. I was certain of it by the end of last week. I had no doubt today. I am ready to move on.

I am done with winter.

Yes, today was a more mild weathered day, but in all honesty I need more than 40 degrees to warm up my toes and my heart. I need spring to come, for the new buds of life to take hold of the barren trees that line the roads I travel. I need spring to come, the sun to shine through the rain and send shimmers of light through my window. I need spring to come, for new life to break through the bleak brown world and make it gorgeously green.

Admittedly, the world is a beautiful place covered with the whiteness of snow and the perfection of frosted over glass, but in this season, life is asleep. No growth is possible.

And so I find myself in a place ready. Ready to move on. Move on to growth. To warmth. To spring. Even in this place of readiness, I find myself faltering, of not knowing what step to take next. Like a child blindfolded, trying in earnest to pin the tail on the donkey, I step with hesitation, and a goofy grin on my face, hoping that the world is not laughing at me. And if they do, I want to be the first to giggle at my folly. And I want to laugh the loudest, in hopes of drowning out the rest.

I'm ready. Ready to move on.
Spring come soon.

Write, or Fail.

I couldn't believe it. With 46 eyes staring at me, and 23 mouths set in straight lines, I couldn't believe that all but two of my kids had completed a writing assignment. 21 other students sat, looking back at me, wondering what I would do.

I couldn't believe it. The students had been busy working on the previous writing assignment, but they had also known that they were to keep writing in their writer's notebook. 30 pages were to be completed for the month of January. They had the option of taking it home over Christmas break. And yet, so many did not. Even my brightest of the bright, the ever responsible, had failed to write one measly page per day.

When one of my students approached me, to discuss why he only had 15 of the 30 done, and how he could try to weasel his way out of getting an F, I asked him when and where he could have taken five minutes to write.

"I couldn't, I was at my sister's basketball game last night!"

"And you couldn't have written in it for five minutes?"

"But then I would look like a dork, and that I actually like to write."

"Well then, it looks like you can either look like a dork, or fail."

I was so mad. I couldn't believe he actually pulled that line on me. I did calm myself down in that moment, and described to him how for the rest of his educational career, he's going to be faced with making the decision of choosing which he will value more: sports, or school. I also reminded him that if he continues to choose sports and blow off school, that it will catch up with him, as he will be unable to play if he does not work on keeping good grades.

My frustrations did not subside when it came time to address the issue with the rest of the class. Each time I asked whose responsibility it was to ensure their pages were completed, I would hear excuse after excuse.

"I have to chore when I get home!" - The common Amish boy excuse using the same phrasing.

"I was too busy after my basketball game!" - The common English boy excuse.

"I forgot my writer's notebook at home!" - The common everyone excuse.

And so my frustration grew and grew, until finally I realized that I had lectured them for a good half hour on responsibility, how they have five minutes to write a page each day, whether in school or out(!), and how even though it might be a novel concept to them, they might actually have to put forth some effort!

Thankfully for them and me, the recess bell rang. Having duty, I grabbed my coat and scarf and marched myself outside. Where, thanks to the -10 degree windchill, I cooled off.

For the rest of the day, even after I got home I was still frustrated. Frustrated with my kids and how they viewed nothing as their fault... and frustrated with myself for not being able to truly reach them. And so, lying in bed that night, I reflected on how I handled that situation. I come to the conclusion that they needed to hear what I had to say. It was their responsibility to get the assignment done, and they will have the positive or negative consequences depending on how responsible they were. However, I do not think that I was able to truly impact them through a 30 minute lecture.

The following day, at writing time, I sat with my kids on the floor in a great circle. And our writing prompt for our notebooks was to think of someone special. Someone who they appreciate. And they were to then describe that person and what they enjoyed so much about them. We wrote for 30 minutes. At the end, a few of the kids shared, and then I asked if I could share as well. The kids, always eager to hear what I have written, gave me permission, and I proceeded. I had written down each of their names, and went around the circle sharing how much I care and appreciate having them as my students.

Now whether this was wrong or not, I'm not sure. But it gave me the chance to let them know how greatly I care about them, even if I do lay into them for a half hour on responsibility. Even if I do assign homework. Even if I do get frustrated.

I viewed this as a time where I had to write, or I would fail. Fail at reaching them, and helping them see that growth in school is so vital to their development as a person. Fail at letting them know how deeply I care about making sure they succeed. Fail at being the kind of teacher I set out to be.

I had to write, or fail.