Finding Mrs. Warnecke

Mrs. Warnecke has always been a mythological creature to me. Since I haven't seen her in over 40 years, my mind surely has fluctuated between what may be reality and what may be memories of being six years old. But I do remember that I arrived in first grade to have a teacher who loved one little girl in the class, and it wasn't me. Mrs. Riley didn't try to hide the fact that blonde-haired, blue-eyed Shelia was her favorite. Shelia was my friend, too; we all loved her, and I loved to visit her house because she had all the Barbie stuff. And when I say all, I mean ALL! She had the Barbie car and the Barbie pool and the Barbie mansion. And the teacher loved her. She was the luckiest girl in the world!

Mrs. Riley wasn't mean or abusive to me, but I felt invisible in that room. When it became obvious that she had an errand to be run, I would slide to the edge of my desk and raise my hand as high as I could. But Shelia always went. Always.

One month into school, the principal came to tell us that some of us would be moved to another class. You would think that first graders may be somewhat anxious about that announcement, but I wasn't. It sounded like an adventure to me. Half of us were led to our new classroom, but we were surprised when he led us outside! We marched in a pretty little line out the door, around between the gym and main building, and down the steps, into a hole actually, that led to a basement door. As many times as I had walked by those steps, on the way to the gym to do the Hokey Pokey, I had never even known that a room existed down there. Suffice it to say that, as a teacher, I cannot imagine what the new teacher must have thought when the principal showed her the damp, dark place that would be her classroom. But as students, we were all giddy with excitement. We had been "chosen" to be in a new class, and we had left Mrs. Riley upstairs. (We also left Shelia there, but she and I continued to be best friends, and I played "Barbie" often at her house.)

What happened in the next few months in that classroom can only be described as MAGICAL. Our new teacher, Mrs. Barbara Warnecke, showed up with a big smile on her face, and she loved each of us unconditionally while teaching us to read from the Dick and Jane books. We thought the fact that we believed we saw beady little eyeballs staring at us from the closet when we hung up our coats made our classroom more exciting than any other room. We had pet rats! Also, that year, I wrote my first poem. It was entitled "Stars" and it wasn't even grammatically correct. But my new teacher loved it. She encouraged me so much that throughout the years I would continue to write little poems and trot my second and third grade little legs down to her classroom to let her read them. During those visits, she always treated me as if she didn't have a class of her own to teach, as if I were the most important student in the world.

She eventually moved away, as so many of our teachers did (living in Durham, most of our teachers were there while their husbands attended school at Duke University; we lost teachers after Duke's graduation every year) but we stayed in touch for awhile. Somehow I lost her in 1970. Today I found her again. And the years between seem like only a moment.

Let me begin by saying that I don't usually get too nervous about speaking in public. As a teacher, I speak "in public" daily, even if the audience is a room full of seventh graders. But on this morning, I was terrified! I was wide awake at 3:30 AM and I never got anywhere close to sleep after that. A car picked us up at 6:30, and I barely remember the ride to the Good Morning America studio. I felt so much pressure - I wanted to represent the teachers of North Carolina and the staff and students of Gravelly Hill Middle School well. I had heard that the Central Office of Orange County Schools would be gathered around a television as well as a fifth grade class at Belville Elementary School in Brunswick County. I had spoken to that class last week, and they have become my "adopted" class.

Once in the studio, I was met by Katie, the "live producer." (This role, as I understand it, is different from Brian the Producer's role - he actually came to my house to film and then he wrote and edited the piece.) Katie welcomed me and told me that I would be on national television making a plea for someone to come forward with the whereabouts of Mrs. Warnecke. In other words, they hadn't found her. But I was so nervous I could barely hear Katie speaking...I just followed her around like a little puppy. She took me to my dressing room, and we briefly discussed clothes; I actually changed from the suit I was wearing to another one with "more color" that Katie liked better. Next I passed Kate Snow, the GMA weekend anchor, as I walked to hair and makeup. Kate had huge rollers in her hair but was as beautiful as ever. After my hair and makeup were done, I felt like I didn't look like, well, me. But I was assured that I looked the way I needed to look for the lights on the set, and I was too stressed out to argue.

Katie, the "Live Producer," watches me get my hair and make up done.

Katie stayed with me almost non-stop and continually texted on her phone. I thought her friends must be up early! Later I would learn that she was "guarding" me to keep me from leaving the dressing room and that she was texting the other "live producer" who was with Mrs. Warnecke in another room. During this time I caught a quick glimpse of Sally Field who was on the show, too, but she was surrounded by people (body guards?) so she was difficult to see. And Lord knows I was too nervous to speak so it's probably a good thing I didn't try to talk to her. I'm sure I was so focused on little Cindy the first grader that I would've called her Gidget. I've always wanted to ask, "How is it possible that Gidget has osteoporosis?" But not today.

Next I was led to the studio and I walked right into Sam Champion who flashed the biggest smile at me, stuck out his hand to grab mine, and acted like he had known me forever. We made the turn to step in behind the cameras, and I think the biggest surprise was that there were so many people in the room. There was a studio audience there but also numerous crew members that took up a great deal of space. Katie kept pointing out places for my husband and me to stand; we ended up beside the table of chef Sarah Moulton who had prepared Back to School snacks on a long table in the studio.

Here's me just before my interview. It is possible that this is a picture of me being the most terrified I've ever been in my life...

I waited, shaking, and finally was pointed to a chair beside Chris Cuomo, the morning anchor. (Robin Roberts was originally to do the interview, but she had joined Diane Sawyer at the Republican National Convention.) Chris Cuomo was a complete gentleman, and he made me feel at ease immediately. Suddenly I felt more at peace; I think I knew that the worst was over - the waiting and anticipation! Chris began talking and I listened, in a surreal state, as he talked about my life. I glanced over at the monitor, afraid for the emotional surge that may come, and saw the picture of my elementary school that burned to the ground in 1991. I began fighting tears at that moment. Chris started talking to me - I don't remember a thing he said - but he diverted me from paying attention to the narrative that was on the teleprompter. I saw my sister talking on the monitor and then I saw my mother. I said to Chris, "There's my mama..." and I surely thought I would lose it then. But I held on and by the time he started talking to me again, I was okay. I said what I needed to say, without stammering too much, and then he told me that "someone" was going to help me find Mrs. Warnecke. I remember thinking, "If someone can help me find her, why can't they just go find her and tell her I'm looking for her?" Then I heard the studio audience begin to clap, and I knew she must be there!

Here we are waiting, and they're counting "five seconds to air, four, three..."

For the next few seconds, as the video footage is showing me gasp and run to hug her, I am no longer Cindi Rigsbee, Teacher of the Year. Instead I am Cindy Cole, first grader at Bragtown Elementary, and my emotions are no longer contained, even if all America is watching! To me, Mrs. Warnecke looked the very same, and I felt like it hadn't been forty years since I'd seen her. I was shocked to hear that when Brian called her house, she guessed the student looking for her was me. However, I was not surprised that she was funny and making jokes about hoping that this wasn't a show about a former student-turned-prisoner who wanted to blame her for ruining her life.

One thing I want to remember forever: during the piece and after - there were very few people in that room who weren't crying. From the studio audience to the crew to my big manly husband, there was barely a dry eye in the studio! And as I tried to manuever my way back to the dressing room to get my things, I was stopped repeatedly by folks from the editing room and other places in the building who were crying and wanting to tell me about their special teachers.

Next Dr. and Mrs. Warnecke and David and I had breakfast to catch up. It was so interesting to hear about my first grade year from my teacher's perspective. Most amazing, I think, is that this phenomenal teacher who made such an impact on me was only twenty-three years old that year! I asked her how she could possibly have been so nurturing when she didn't even have children of her own then. I said, "How is it that you were such a good teacher even though you were so young?" She answered, "I thought I wasn't. I was trying to teach reading out of those Dick and Jane books, and I thought I didn't know what I was doing."

Mrs. Warnecke...at least for this little girl, you did.

We exchanged contact information and hugged one last time. And now I hope to share with teachers something that we hear often but maybe forget to think about - the tremendous impact we have on the lives of children. I hope that my story of Mrs. Warnecke will be a reminder of the importance of our jobs and that we must understand that impact with every lesson we plan and every comment we make to a student. Someday we could be someone's Mrs. Warnecke. And what an enormous responsibilty.

We've had several celebrity sightings since our arrival in New York. Last night we got in a chaotic mass of paparazzi and turned to see Miley Cyrus on one side of us and Rhianna on the other. This morning David came face-to-face with Hilary Clinton while walking on Fifth Avenue. But the only celebrity I wanted to see was Mrs. Barbara Warnecke. To little Cindy Cole, she's a mythological rock star...

Our last stop in New York was a trip to the Disney store to buy gifts for our grandchildren. I looked up and saw a quote on the wall that summed up the past two days:

"It's just as I always dreamed it would be."

Yes, it was...

Saving D

I've written about D on here before. He's one of those students that you look at and know - there's something good in there. Maybe others can't see it, but it's there, and you may be the only one who can keep him from falling through the cracks that appear to be getting wider and wider the older he gets...

D came to me as a seventh grader the year that I missed the entire first week of school with a hateful kidney stone. By the time I started, the second week, the substitute gave me quite an earful about D. He had certainly made himself known that early in the year. As I got to know my students, I grew very attached to D. His big, goofy grin made me smile no matter how much trouble he could get himself into in other places. And he was in trouble OFTEN! Most of the time it would be something silly, like talking and not staying in his seat, but occasionally he would be kicked off the bus for mouthing off at the driver. When that would happen, D couldn't come to school. Although he was an inner city kid, the school sits out in a rural tobacco field. He didn't have a ride. Several times he missed school for ten consecutive days.

When I asked about his mother, he told me that she had just had a baby (that made five) and that she sometimes stole money from him for drugs. I asked if he could live with a grandparent. He told me that his grandmother stole money from his mother for drugs. Once he was suspended from the bus, and we were to go on a field trip to the zoo. I called D's mother and told her that I would pick him up and take him to school so he wouldn't miss the trip. When I got my breakfast that morning, I picked up one extra biscuit just in case he hadn't eaten. D got in the car, and I asked, "Did you eat breakfast?" He said he didn't because his mother was asleep and he didn't want to wake her. I gave him the biscuit and asked if he brought his lunch for the field trip, and he replied that "there was no food in the house." I gave him $10 to buy lunch and off we went. I've written about my problems with this type of parenting before. But it never gets any easier to understand.

After that year, I left that school but D kept in touch. One day back when I was teaching him, he grabbed my cell phone off of my desk and called his friend JoJo's number. When he got to JoJo's phone, he had my number on the caller ID. He wrote it down and has now had it for three years. Periodically he'll call me. This year he called me to tell me "Happy Mother's Day." Once he called to tell me that "they" had sent him to a group home. His reasons were vague, but one thing was clear - he was miserable.

Today I passed by the high school that D attends. I walked right in there and asked if they would let me see him. At the mention of his name, the four adults standing in the office turned and looked at me. The receptionist smiled, "Well, he's already been in the office today. I think he's in In School Suspension." I couldn't believe it - the sixth day of school! I was led out to the ISS trailer. I haven't seen D since June of 2006, but I'd know that boy anywhere! And when we walked in that trailer...well...I cannot even explain the way he looked when he saw me. It was a mixture of Christmas morning and Happy Birthday all rolled into one. And by the time he got to me, his eyes were moist and so were mine.

We sat a minute to talk (he was to be released to class in six minutes) and in that time he told me that he has "anger issues." I explained that in seventh grade he was only silly, not mad, and that I was concerned about that. I asked him what he's mad about. He told me he hates the group home, his mother went to jail but is now in a halfway house because she just had baby #7, his brother is in prison, and there's the issue about "T." There was a scuffle at the group home between D and T and when it was over, T complained that he couldn't breathe. D said he asked, "You alright, man?" and T said he was. A while later, he collapsed in the yard and never regained consciousness. A senior in college, ready to graduate in three weeks, T was working at the group home when he died. D told me that the invesigation is still continuing and that he hasn't been charged. "But they think I killed him," he said. There has been some discussion of meningitis, but the autopsy was inconclusive. Regardless, it's a big burden for D to bear.

The bell rang at this point, and I had to walk D to class (although it was a struggle to move after that news.) He hugged me at the classroom door and told me he loved me, and I fought tears all the way to the car. Once there, I drove in a crazy circle, losing my way home because I was so upset. Then the tears came. And I thought How are we letting this kid fail? What can I do to stop this madness so that D can make something of himself? Of course, I've said all the things to him that need to be said. And he's heard them all before. He hears them every day from someone.

The Fray has a song entitled "How to Save a Life." I'm listening carefully to these lyrics:

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you

There's another line - "drive until you lose the road" - I believe I did that. Now I need to get back on track...doing what has to be done to save D. If I don't do it, who will?

A Different World

I, of course, think that educators have the hardest job there is. The hours are long and seep over into time for family and time for rest. The stress is palpable - from the second the kids hit the building until the buses get them home - there is an "energy" in a school; I've often called it a "simmering pot." Will it erupt? Or can we effectively keep it just at the boiling point? So, yes, teaching is strenuous and stressful, but at the same time rewarding and wonderful. And I'm glad I've never done anything else! But yesterday I found out that there are other stressful jobs out there. And I was able to watch one in action.

Because of some exciting, and surprising, circumstances, I will be appearing on Good Morning America next week, one day after my 51st birthday. Yesterday the production crew pulled up in front of my house with so much equipment that my neighbor came out and asked, "Whatcha doin'? Making a movie?" It took over an hour to set up the camera, lights, screens, monitors, and other equipment that I can't name. Not only did they have to organize their stuff; they also organized mine - they were moving furniture while picking up pictures and plants to place "in the frame" of the shot. There were so many decisions about details - should this plant go here? Is there too much light coming in the window? My den was unrecognizable quickly, and here's what I couldn't believe: they changed the scenery for every interview.

The transformation begins in the den...

An overhead view of Lisa before the interview. (We weren't allowed in the room during the interviews.)

They interviewed my sister first. Then they moved things around and interviewed my mother. Next we changed rooms; my granddaughter Taylor and I made cookies in the kitchen for an "at home" kind of shot. Then they took time to move the entire set to the kitchen - it was my turn to interview. Next, after a few prop changes (moving things from my kitchen that haven't been moved in the fifteen years I've lived in the house), it was my daughter Kelli's turn. Last, we hopped in the car and rode to the site of my elementary school where we got some footage. Finally, we returned home at almost 3:00, having started the process at 9:30 AM! The crew was dripping with sweat (I was, too!) and no one had eaten except to nibble on some muffins and doughnuts I had out when they got there. These guys work hard!

Here I am goofing around for a shot on the monitor.

And there is stress involved. Every noise had to be dealt with. For example, I was surprised to find a set of keys in my refrigerator! I was enlightened to a common routine: they turn the refrigerator off so as not to hear the noise during the interview. They put their keys in the frig so they'll remember to turn it back on (they can't leave without their keys!) The producer also nicely asked my neighbors to postpone their yardwork and home improvement projects until we were done. Unfortunately, due to remnants of Tropical Storm Fay, everyone's grass had grown really high, and everyone needed to mow on a Saturday! But neighbors were happy to cooperate, and it was an exciting adventure.

The story? GMA is trying to reunite me with my first grade teacher (from 45 years ago!) I won't give away the story yet...I'll wait until it airs and then write again. But if you get the chance, watch on Friday morning, September 5th, so that you can see the results of a day's worth of work. The entire piece will probably take about ten minutes! But it was an exciting day for me and the girls in my family!

Here I am on the site of my elementary school (it burned to the ground in 1991) with GMA producer Brian O'Keefe. Last week he was at the Democratic National Convention and the week before that he was interviewing Christina Applegate. While we were filming he asked me to "stare pensively into space." He then told me about the time he asked Cheryl Crowe to do the same thing. Those types of conversations made this entire experience surreal!

This shot with me in a blue blouse reminds me that I changed clothes three times until they got the color they liked. I started with white, but that's a no-no. I changed to black (to look thinner, of course) but that doesn't work either (black sucks in all the light and pulls it away from the face.) I ended up with this blue one but really like my white blouse better!

Stay tuned for the story of my trip to New York. Will I see Mrs. Warnecke again? (I don't know - they say they haven't found her yet...) Watch if you can!

Dreams Do Come True..

Cindi and Lisa, around 1967 (Lisa's the cute one on the right.)

I have made no secret of the fact that I never planned to become a teacher. That epiphany hit me around my sophomore year of college. Up until that point I was busy trying to hone my cheerleading skills so that I could travel to Dallas and audition to wear a vest with fringe. My sister, though, now she's another story.

Lisa had one of those horrid first grade teachers that make children cry when they wake up in the morning; they don't want to go to school! Among other things, Lisa, an extremely left-handed left-hander, was made to write with her right hand - and was ridiculed when she tried otherwise. (She is now a fifty-year-old left-hander; the teacher did not win this one!) After many complaints for various reasons (I remember my mother heading to the school on more than one occasion to talk to the principal), Miss White left the building. Enter Miss Kilpatrick. She was so lovable that after a couple of years the principal married her. But she also had an impact on my sister: for more years than I can recall, Lisa has wanted to be a teacher.

While I was being scolded by my daddy for doing cheers in front of the one television set in the house, Lisa was lining up her baby dolls to play "Miss Kilpatrick." Whenever I decided to play, too, I was always Miss White, and the baby dolls hated me. It was clear that my sister would become a teacher long before I even had a clue as to my career aspirations.

But as fate would have it, Lisa didn't become a teacher; I did. Although she took course after course in early childhood education, it wasn't to be. Instead she married her high school sweetheart and delivered early, under very scary circumstances, my nephew Cole. Her life took a turn here, and she became the epitome of stay-at-home mom, although she was never at home. Her minivan had about 200,000 miles on it when she finally got rid of it last year, Cole's freshman year in college. Between his birth and college entrance, Lisa was soccer mom and school volunteer, fundraising and answering phones for thirteen years. There were some babies that weren't to be during that time, too...sad circumstances that are still very difficult for her to talk about.

But fast forward to a happier time. Lisa has started her new (and first) teaching job. She will be a preschool teacher in charge of a class of four-year-olds. I just hung up the phone after a conversation with her about the contents of a first day letter to parents. And last week we talked about curriculum. She said things like, "I just want to get on the floor with them and play and learn," and "They're just like sponges at this age. I want to teach them everything!"

They say when one door closes, another one opens. My classroom door is closed this year as I participate in my Teacher of the Year duties. But Lisa's is open. And just three months before her 50th birthday, "Miss Kilpatrick" will finally be in class.

Good luck, Lisa. I've spent my entire career thinking you should take my place. And now you are. Line up those dolls and have a blast! The best is yet to come...

Here we are before the North Carolina Teacher of the Year banquet. See...she's still cute!

And so it begins...

My favorite tiny person in the world is named Taylor. Taylorbug, as she's known to her family, has been a joy ever since she was delivered by my stepdaughter in March of 2006. Although I'm not biologically related to her, we have had a strong connection since those first few nights when I walked the floor with her so her parents could get some sleep. As she grew, it was apparent that she would be a mild tempered child, very easy-going and loving, and just entertaining to be around. At her first birthday party, she sat in the floor (she had not taken an interest in walking at the time) and looked around the room at other children like what are you doing? why are you loud? why are you running around? Taylor preferred always to sit quietly, take it all in, and watch the world around her...just happen.

Taylor's two now, and now, she is what's happening. Rarely still for long, she loves to play pretend - she'll take your order just like a trained waitress, she'll shop and use her imaginary debit card, and she'll march in a room and announce, "I have to check my email!"

Actually, Taylor's almost 2 1/2...which means one thing. She's about to start preschool. Her parents have prepared her for this new adventure in her life; basically they've been talking about it for several months. Back last Christmas, someone could ask, "Taylor, when are you going to big girl school?" She would politely answer, "In August." She would talk about how excited she was to go to school like her neighbor Haley. She would chatter about making new friends. I bought her a little tshirt that says, "What happens in preschool stays in preschool," and she was excited to wear it.

But last week, the wind changed direction a little bit. "Taylorbug," I said. "Are you ready for big girl school?"

"No," she answered. "I not going."

"Yes, you are," I said. "It's August. Time to go to school."

"No, I not going now," she answered. "I go in a little bit."

Since it seems that Taylor is now feeling some reservations about becoming a student, her mom has been pumping her up. One of her first ideas was to tell Taylor her new teacher's name - Nicole. That should be easy. Taylor has an Aunt Nicole. She calls her "NicNac."

Erin says, "Taylor, your new teacher's name is Miss Nicole." Taylor replies "NicNac!"

Hmmm. Erin tries again. "You can call her Miss Utley." Taylor responds, "Miss Ugly."

Oh my.

Nevertheless, my favorite little person will start her school life two weeks from today. She will never be the same. And neither will we.

Please take care of Taylorbug, Miss NicNac Ugly.

Nana's little girl is growing up...

Busted!

Oops, I think I may be in trouble. Well, at least I would be if I taught in Lamar County, Mississippi. According to an article entitled "Teacher-Student Web Friendships Restricted by Lamar School Board," teachers will no longer be allowed to have student "friends" on social websites like MySpace and Facebook.

So I guess it's time to fess up. I have accounts on both of those sites. I have all kinds of "friends" on those sites, and it is true - some of my friends are students. First, let's talk about the word "friend." Although social networks refer to online contacts as "friends," it doesn't necessarily mean that I go out to dinner with them. I have a MySpace friend in Oregon that I haven't seen face-to-face for twelve years. So to say that I am "friends" with my students is not the message that I'm trying to send. However, having said that, let me speak to the reasons why I am a member of these social networks and how it works with my students.

I joined MySpace a few years ago because someone had put up a fake page pretending to be my daughter. In order to get on the site and search around, I had to have a page of my own. Well, let's just say I signed up as quickly as I could to get on there and try to find out who was impersonating my child! (And so did a private investigator, a couple of law enforcement agencies, the Attorney General's office, and the National Football League.) Yes, someone was representing herself, on a MySpace page and reportedly during phone conversations, as my daughter who is a professional cheerleader. She had "stolen" pictures from an NFL webpage; her MySpace "friends" were talking to the imposter on the phone but trying to continue their conversations with my puzzled daughter at football games. So you can believe that I understand some of the problems connected to these sites.

However, since I had a page, I figured I may as well have fun with it. So I answered all of the "about me" questions, uploaded some pictures, and basically personalized it. I soon found that I enjoyed playing with it - it's a nice internet hobby and a fun way for me to communicate with my children who don't live at home any more. I also caught up with some of my former colleagues, some relatives I never get to see, and so on.

Soon one of my students found my page and did what's called a "friend request." It was a good student, one who wouldn't use this kind of situation in a negative way, so I clicked "accept." Days became months, and before I knew it, I had "friends" of all ages from all over the country. Students at school would look at me in disbelief - "YOU have a MySpace page?!" they would ask. Suddenly, I was cooler than the Monkees were when I was their age. I even began using MySpace entries while teaching writing as I described in an article I wrote for Teacher Magazine.

In addition, my participation with students on social websites has helped me stay connected to them and their interests, which of course enables me to be a better teacher. I'm afraid that once my own children left home, my finger was removed from the pulse of teenager music, fashion, and activities. Now all I have to do is click on a seventh grader's page, and I'm right back in the game!

I do have some rules for my interaction with students, and there are no exceptions. Here is a list of guidelines that I believe are imperative if teachers are to have a positive social networking experience:

1. I NEVER send out a request for a student to be my "friend." If they see my page, and send me a request, I first click on the student's page. If it doesn't appear to include profanity or anything else inappropriate, I merely click "accept."

2. I NEVER send a message to a student or post a comment that is unsolicited. And I rarely return a comment. If a student sends me, "How's your summer going?" I may write back, "Great! I hope you're having a great summer, too." If that student tries to continue the conversation, I don't reply. Kids are so busy sending messages to everyone; they eventually forget the last message, and the conversation ends. I don't believe it's appropriate to carry on long, drawn out online conversations with my students. A short "hello" is all that's necessary.

3. I WILL talk, in private, to a student if I happen to see something inappropriate on a page. I have had to have a couple of these conversations, and the students have been receptive. At the beginning of the last school year, I read some negative comments by several students about one of our new teachers. I was able to pull these students aside, at different intervals during the year, and talk about their posts. I believe I was able to effectively listen to their concerns while at the same time advocating for the new teacher. Again, I believe the fact that I have a page of my own helps me connect with my students in ways that are positive.

4. I WILL seek higher authority if I see anything illegal or dangerous. I once saw a student's profile picture - he was pointing a gun to his head. After I spoke with him about how horrified I was, I talked to the principal, who had a good relationship with the student. The principal asked him to take down the picture, and he contacted the boy's parents. For me, this rule is the same as the one I have for journal entries in my classroom. I tell students that what they write is entirely confidential unless they write about anything illegal or dangerous to themselves or anyone else. The same goes for anything I see on a webpage.

I do understand that students could get the wrong message if teachers are too "friendly" online. But for that matter, students could get the wrong message if a teacher is too "friendly" at school. This high tech environment is the world that our students are living in. A teacher wouldn't hesitate to sit down and write a handwritten note to a student. Could a handwritten letter contain an inappropriate message to a student? Absolutely. It is up to the individual teacher to be professional and appropriate whether the communication is written on paper or sent via the internet.

Unfortunately, if a teacher has bad intentions, a school board policy is not going to change that.

Expressions for Excellence in Education

I've always felt young, like I just got out of college. It hit me a few years ago when I delivered my daughter to "my" college campus, that it was now "her" college campus, and my days of celebrating basketball championships in the middle of the street there were probably over. And in a school, as the average birth year of the teaching staff begins to dip below the year I began teaching, it becomes apparent that I am what some would call an "experienced teacher." As the years continue, I realize that there are expressions that I use, over and over, when giving advice to beginning teachers. So here, in no particular order, are my "Expressions for Excellence in Education:"

1. Hit the floor running, and breathe when you leave.
I have always been one of the first teachers to pull into the parking lot in the mornings. I believe that getting to work a good twenty to thirty minutes before the "official" start time is necessary for me. First of all, it gives me time to think quietly about my day. Also, it alleviates the problem of standing in line at a copy machine or finding a jammed copy machine that was left blinking wildly by a teacher who didn't attempt to fix it. After the copies are made, the agenda and goals are on the board, and the room is ready, there's time for having nice morning adult conversations (there may not be another opportunity until after school) and time for student relationship building that can happen as students arrive into the building.

Let me say that I do understand that there are sometimes circumstances. The year my son was a senior in high school, I flew into the school parking lot on two wheels every morning just as the second hand on the office clock was announcing that I was late. But if I didn't stay at home until he was safely belted into his car to drive to school, he wouldn't go. Not that he was a rebellious kid; he just kept falling asleep - in the bathtub, on the breakfast table...basically he slept on any flat surface. He just admitted about a month ago, at the age of 24, that during his senior year he was always up half the night practicing his newly acquired skill of Instant Messaging. (Now he tells me!) So I do know that it may be difficult to get to the building early. However, the earlier, the better is my suggestion for starting the day off relaxed and ready.

I feel the same way about the end of the school day. I tell beginning teachers to beware of the 3:30 Club. The 3:30 Club is made up of teachers who walk to the bus parking lot (if they have bus duty) with their purses and bookbags on their shoulders. Here's the warning: if you get between them and the door at 3:30 (or whatever time school is out,) it's over. And for goodness sakes, don't risk your life walking across the faculty parking lot at that time!

I prefer to take my time in the afternoons, grade a few papers, look over some lesson plans, straighten up my classroom from the day's activities, and get it ready for the next day. Again, after school is a great time to catch up with colleagues; I believe we are the happiest in our jobs when we work with our best friends! We have to nurture those relationships. Also, I like to wander around the school in the afternoons to see what my students are up to. There's nothing better than grading a few papers outside on the bleachers on a warm fall day during football season. My students, who should be paying attention to their coaches, always wave wildly when they see me in those stands like they didn't just see me in class thirty minutes before! My goal every day is to leave ready for the morning. Of course, I usually think of something to add to my lesson at night while I'm at home, which is why I also like to arrive early.

The "breathe when you leave" part? That means that teachers need to take care of themselves and relax during their hours out of school. This doesn't mean they can't grade the occasional paper or do schoolwork. For me, it's very relaxing to do my lesson plans on Sunday afternoons. Turn on a little professional football, and plan the week! But this routine may not work for some teachers. I tell new teachers to figure out what works for them, but to make sure they take care of themselves; in other words, BREATHE.

2. Always remember, the show must go on.
I have always said that teaching is a performance. Standing in front of (or facilitating around) a classroom of kids of any age requires energy and enthusiasm. We don't work behind a computer screen at a desk all day so we can't just slump in our seats if we feel like it. There have been many days in my career when I have looked at the clock to see that it was time for my next group to come to me. I can't do it, I would think. But I would take a deep breath, put a smile on my face (it's okay if it's fake at first) and start slapping some fives when those kids entered the room. Pretty soon their energy level would match mine, my smile would be real, and we would go from there. I'm not saying that teachers can't ever be sick; instead, the idea is to prepare ourselves for the "audience" and be the best we can be when we're with them. Our students deserve no less.

3. Put on your cheerleading uniform.
Yes, we have to encourage and inspire. We know that. Some of our students come to us from dismal situations. I often wonder how some of them can even put one foot in front of the other to get to the bus stop. But they do, and while they're with me, I'm going to do what I can to make their school day the best it can be.

But I'm not only talking about students. We need to cheer each other on, too. Schools can be negative, toxic places. The job is stressful, and hopefully we aren't complaining to kids all day. So when teachers get together, there can be some "venting." That's when I put on my metaphorical cheerleading uniform and go at it. Don't worry - I don't act like Little Mary Sunshine. I do understand, and many times agree with, the stresses that are discussed in team rooms and school hallways. But I do try to listen to my colleagues and, hopefully, put a positive spin on things if I can.

Also, I feel strongly that it's important to be cheerleaders for our profession. I am weary from hearing "if you can't do...teach..." and other misrepresentations of what we do every day. We have to market ourselves as the professionals that we are. Some have the idea that teachers are still Charlie Brown's wa-wa-wa-ing lecturers, whacking kids with yard sticks if they misbehave. Instead, we are committed professionals who believe in purposeful instruction and who have our students' best interests at heart. Many of us hold advanced degrees and national certification. And as we speak to others, in the grocery store or by the neighborhood pool, we must embody that professionalism instead of feeding fuel to the negative fire that surrounds many of our neighborhood schools.

4. If you make them the enemy, you will lose.
The rest of this expression goes like this: there are more of them, and they have an audience. As a middle school teacher, this is one saying that I share with teachers often. Teaching cannot be an "us" and "them" situation. In the community of a school, we are all family, and when the students know this (and FEEL this,) they are much more likely to cooperate, be pleasant, and LEARN. If instead they are aware of the animosity a teacher feels toward them, they will push back, and it probably won't be pretty. Being in this thing together is much more productive and much less stressful. A student on your side can be the difference between loving your job and dreading getting up in the morning. Do what needs to be done to ensure they're on your side...by being on theirs.

5. Don't hide your light under a bushel.
I can't take credit for this one. I believe it was mentioned in the Bible in reference to the Sermon on the Mount. Also, it was mentioned by my Mama about once a week as I was growing up. Basically, it means "don't hide your talent." I share this one with new teachers as I encourage them to use their talents, maybe some that aren't always so obvious, to make their teaching experience more enjoyable. For example, I love to write poetry. I'm not a published poet, but I don't need to be. I have a captive audience every day! By sharing my poetry, and bits of my personal life, I'm able to connect to my students in a way that may be difficult otherwise. Other teachers use their athletic talents to inspire students; I've worked with two Ultimate Frisbee playing teachers (in two different schools) who have taught their students these skills while at the same time teaching teamwork and perseverance. One of my dearest teacher friends teaches math and clogging at the same time; if only she had been my math teacher!

Another way I hope new teachers will shine their lights is by marketing themselves as professionals. Each parent who has a child sitting in a classroom should know the credentials that got that teacher there - college degrees, honors and awards received, types of experiences (not necessarily years of experience but types - has the teacher worked with different grade levels before or taught other subjects?) I believe teachers should have a pamphlet ready to hand to classroom visitors that includes all the highlights of the teaching career. And don't forget that all important webpage. In this technological world, we should be marketing ourselves as professional educators for all the world (wide web) to see.

These are the expressions that I find myself saying to teachers over and over. There are others, shorter versions than these, that I throw out every now and again. "He IS the boss of you" is one I use when teachers are complaining about the principal's expectations. But that story is for another day. For now, I'll just continue to look back over the years I've been teaching and wonder when I stopped asking so many questions and somehow got so old that I started answering a few. And I'll continue to rejoice in the fact that my daughter has now graduated from my university. Basketball season is not that far away...