Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Or this from an old plan book I pulled from my drawer:
"Smart people do not have all the answers- they have the
willingness and the capability to find the answers. My job
is not to give them all the information they will ever need in
a lifetime. My job is to give them the vision, the hunger, and
the tools to acquire knowledge throughout their entire lifetime."
Of course, then there's Albert Einstein. He probably sums up
my whole vision...my entire belief system in this, tiny, nut shell:
"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability
to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."
PaulaWalla - Second Grade Teacher
I called them to the carpet and had them sit in a circle.
It'd been a weird day with all sorts of schedule changes and procedural
upheaval as the school rallied around the third, fourth, and fifth graders
taking state exams. I've got to give my kiddos credit, they handled it
better than I thought they would and even though it was obvious some of them
were a little rattled, we didn't just make it through the day without
incident... we made it through the day AND we learned stuff.
As they sat on our blue carpet, at 2:00 this afternoon, I told
them I wanted to share my favorite thing that happened during the day.
"Everyone was at their tables during guided reading jobs
and choices. I was talking to Angel about his book while I helped Derek
write his story. I'd asked Angel why he liked the book he read... 'Do you
like the pictures, is the story funny, or is it because of all the really cool
fish?' Angel wasn't sure but Derek said, 'I like the graphics!' and Kirklin
said, 'I don't like fish but I do like pistachios. I LOVE
pistachios! Pistachios are yummy.' "
You could see their eyes light up as I shared what I'd
remembered from a conversation we'd had so much earlier in the day. Then
I told them we'd go around the circle and everyone could share their own favorite
moment from our day. Answers ranged from playing with a best friend at
recess to the math problem I asked them to help me solve before lunch but the
one that I'll never forget was Derek's.
He pulled out the story we'd been working on, held it up just
below his chin, and said "This. This was my favorite thing
today." Then he stood up and walked across the circle.
Standing in front of me was a boy who, four months ago, told me 'I try not to
get discouraged because I can't do this stuff but it hurts...' and I could see
tears in the corner of his eyes as he reached out and hugged me.
Derek's an amazing little guy and I tell him that all the
time. He can't read but he's never let that stop him. Eight years
old and the alphabet is an obstacle he just can't seem to conquer... but wow,
he is so freaking amazing. Today I remember telling him how much I
enjoyed his stories - what a great writer he was.
Derek's the kind of kid that reminds me why I signed up for
this, why I'm still here. You know?
And now a small treat for you writers out there, Derek's story.
Now, how about ending this the way I do it with the kiddos?
Bye, I love ya, and I can't wait to see you tomorrow!
will probably be with colour
Yesterday, one of my students picked up a book on Van Gogh
and nestled herself into a corner. After reading a while, I saw her
digging through the spiral bins with an ink pen clamped between
her teeth. When she realized I was watching, she told me she
wanted to write down some of the "cool" stuff she was learning.
I laughed and told her I couldn't complain about that.
The day got away from me, the way most days generally do, and I never
made my way back to the studious girl that afternoon. As I picked up my
things and walked towards the door, I saw her spiral splayed open at her table.
Here's the first thing she'd written...
"You can't be at the pole and the equator at the same time. You must choose
your own line, as I hope to do, and it will probably be with colour."
Vincent Van Gogh ( 1853-1890)
It seems I'm not the only one reading Vincent's letters to his brother, Theo, at the
March 5, 2007
PaulaWalla's Second Grade Classroom
Our Class Motto: Never Give Up, Encourage Others, Do the Best You Can.
It wasn't even eight o'clock.
He came in, finished his morning math problems before the others
had unpacked, then unstacked the last of our little blue chairs. He stood
beside me as I wrote our schedule on the board and told me about his
weekend. Now that he's feeling better, his mom said he can play baseball
again. He smiled.
He told me he loved me.
I told him I loved him too.
Then, I think I said he ought to find his Magic Tree House book and read a
chapter or two. He said he would - just as soon as he was done. I looked
over from what I was doing to see the boy who loves pistachios cap a blue
In tiny letters across the bottom of my board, he'd written part
of our class motto.
He smiled a gap toothed grin as he shrugged, " I thought we
could use that down there today. Can we leave it?"
If I told you I'm through
would you believe me?
Where are the white flags?
I need a thousand white flags. No, I need thousands and thousands...
Thousands and thousands of white flags. I don't just want you to know
I'm done. I want everyone to know. Must I blanket the earth?
A good friend of mine called on Wednesday. She wanted advice
on something that had been troubling her for weeks - something pretty major.
She'd taken her little girl out of kindergarten at the beginning of February,
to homeschool her, and wanted to know what she should do next year.
She was torn over which grade to send her back to, first or second,
because M is a smart little cookie and she's older than the other kids in her class.
This is one of my better friends. I met her the year I became a second
grade teacher and her little boy was in my class. It was his first year in
public school, her first year sending all her little kiddos off to public school,
and my first year as a mommy. We've been through a lot together.
After listening to her for most of an hour and taking everything in, I told her I
didn't think it mattered where M goes. This was a life lesson both she and
M were meant to learn. My friend's lesson was one about control. That we
can't control everything - that we can't always fix it, no matter how much we
want to or wish we could.
M's lesson was one of self-acceptance and coping. She was going to be
M no matter where she was. It didn't matter if she was in first grade or fifth
grade, second grade or seventh. She's always going to be tall, she's always
going to have her beautiful curly hair, she'll always be smart and quick witted,
she'll even have the glasses, and people will love her and think she's cool. But
she's got to believe in herself before she'll see how much everyone else does.
My friend and I continued talking for a long time and we touched on all sorts of
things. Both of us felt better as hours passed and it got later. She said I'd helped
her see things in a brand new way, she thanked me for that.
I teach a night class on Thursday nights for parents who want to understand math
(more specifically - this new fangled math we teach now-a-days) and learn how
to help their children. The night class is part of an innovative plan in my school
district that is not only dedicated to teaching children, but also the continuing
education of teachers and parents.
Teachers in my school district receive ongoing training (to develop their own
mathematical skills) for four years and receive follow-up support all year long
regarding the curriculum. They've done this by empowering teachers as teachers.
Teachers become math leaders who guide other teachers. It creates an awesome
system of camadre, fellowship, and learning.
Thursday was the last class of this training session. As one of my favorite parents
picked up his things to leave, he thanked me. He said I was funny and made him
look forward to class, that he learned a lot and wished they'd do it again (hold more
A teacher emailed me last month.
She wanted to let me know she was in the middle of a math lesson going horribly
wrong when she remembered something I'd told her in a training. She did
whatever it was I'd said and everything came out hunky dory. She said she
Friday at three o'clock, every teacher in my elementary school received a letter
in their mailbox. The letter was our principal's way of telling us our teaching
assignments for next year. Usually, a teacher stays right where she is unless
she wants something new or the principal needs something and has been talking to
I got my letter just like everyone else.
I should've known what was going to be written on it. I've been telling people
I thought something was going to happen but they told me I was nuts so I
shrugged it off. I'm not a second grade teacher anymore.
The principal never asked me. She never brought it up in casual conversation.
She just decided I would do something else.
I don't want her excuses. I don't want her false praise. She's taking away the two things
I was holding on to right now, the two things I know I do well, the two things that
still make me smile after working a 15 hour day.
She's taking away second grade but she's also taking away the math.
and the last of who I knew I was
that may have only been the beginning after all.)
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