Sign of the Times

I ventured out recently to purchase a picture frame at a large chain that sells homegoods. I knew exactly what I wanted, and as soon as I made the turn into the frame section, I saw it from a distance. As I got closer, I realized that the frame I wanted, my frame, had several nicks and chips on it.

Not to worry - there were two additional frames, exactly like the first one, underneath a pile. I began moving items and uncovered yet another damaged frame. I was patient, though, knowing that the one at the bottom of the stack would be perfect and ready for purchase, hidden from damage down there at the bottom.

Wrong. The third frame did have less nicks on it, but the box surrounding it was ripped and barely hanging on to the very item it was meant to cover. I decided I could easily camouflage the tiny chipped places with a brown marker so I pushed the box back together in an effort to find the price. I was a bit distressed at the asking price but wasn't too worried: certainly the kind employees would offer a discount for damaged goods. I headed to the register.

Luckily, I was in a line that was being serviced by the store manager; this stroke of luck would eliminate another clerk's need to seek higher authority to approve the discount. I waited for several minutes until it was my turn. I explained my saga to the manager, including the fact that there were two other damaged frames back there on the shelf - surely he would want to remove them in an effort to present only the best for his customers.

He spoke politely, "I have to ask full price for this." I assumed he was kidding - or delirious - surely he didn't want $40.00 for a chipped picture frame in a dysfunctional box. He saw my surprise and continued, "We aren't allowed to offer discounts on damaged merchandise. It's a sign of the times."

After explaining, as nicely as possible, that I couldn't believe his company would want to represent themselves that way, I left with nothing to show for my visit except a wasted thirty minutes.

Later, I thought about the budget cuts that are occurring in school districts across the country. The proposal in my own state currently calls for the elimination of thousands of teaching positions while raising class size and shortening the school year. This is in addition to a salary cut that hit our pay checks last week...which, by the way, I felt okay about at the time. I didn't mind giving up .5% of my salary so that hundreds of teacher jobs could be saved; however, it was just after I came to terms with that news and justified it in my mind that I heard about the thousands of teachers and third grade teacher assistants that we are likely to lose in our state if this budget proposal goes through.

I thought about the "damaged goods" that we'll manufacture in schools - students who will leave us ill-prepared to be successful and with little hope for a bright future. What should I say to those students? Oh, I know...it's a sign of the times.

But unlike that picture frame, I can't put my students back on the shelf. We, as educators, have to remain committed to do the best we can with the resources we have available to us, even if the only resources we have are a passion for children and subject matter expertise. I can do it if I run out of paper and I can do it with more students in my classroom, especially if those of us left to do the work continue on with a purposeful effort to make a difference in the lives of children.

Meanwhile we will continue to be a voice for those children as we write our legislators and make our positions known (I'm happy to report that each representative that I have written has written me back. I do feel that they are listening.) In addition, in my state educators are wearing red on Wednesdays to symbolize that "education is bleeding."

But bleeding or not, we'll teach those children - however many sit in our classrooms - because the alternative is not an option.

It reminds me of an old song from the sixties - "Don't Give Up" by Petula Clark:

Don't give up; don't let it get you down.

Don't give up; don't think of leaving town.

Which, in turn, reminds me of a popular Petula Clark album with a catchy name...you guessed it -

Sign of the Times.

Innovations in Teaching

Mrs. Warnecke, my first grade teacher from forty-five years ago, sent me an old newspaper recently that included an article highlighting her classroom in my elementary school. The date immortalized on my hometown paper is February 28, 1965, and the reporter is eager to disclose one of the newest ideas in teaching, a strategy that exemplifies true innovation in the classroom:

"There's a relatively new activity in educational circles that is guaranteed to delight youngsters, amuse teachers, and horrify parents. Actually, everyone has participated in similar activities, but now it has a name - Show and Tell."

Show and Tell!

I can't believe that this activity was literally born in the sixties. I feel sure that cave-children were acting out the workings of the first wheel or the warmth of the first fire for their cave-teachers. But, no, Barbara W. Short, the "Women's Editor" for the "Women's News" of the Durham Morning Herald, reveals that this new technique is all the rage in schools of the sixties. And her article is chock full of examples.

One student talks about visiting a friend in the hospital and seeing him walk on "crunches." "When he walked, it went 'crunch, crunch, crunch,'" she said.

Another student shares that he hates school because "there ain't no tv."

Interestingly, the Show and Tell conversation turns to history and a heated discussion of Abraham Lincoln and which war occurred during his presidency.

"The first war," says one student. "No," adds another. "It was the second war." A little girl is sure that it was "the thirteenth war."

But the war "made us free" asserted another student.

"I'm not free. I'm six," reported a little blonde. Well, I'm glad we got that straight.

This article made me think about our current innovations in teaching and how we may read about them in forty-four years and think, as we do with Show and Tell, that we've always taught this way.

"There's this board and it looks just like a white board, but you can navigate it like a computer screen. Just touch it! It's amazing..."

"Your class can actually talk to a classroom in another country, just by logging on to your computer."

Will either of these innovations be the Show and Tell of the future? Probably not. It's just difficult to measure up to a classic.

And speaking of classic, the article refers to my teacher as "Mrs. Richard Warnecke." Evidently, back in the sixties, women didn't have their own names.

Mothers in the Middle

Today is Mother's Day. Although I am myself a mother of four, I always think of MY mother when I think of Mother's Day. Today I went to her house to deliver the yearly MDP (Mother's Day Plant) and as I left I gave her a big 'ol hug.

My mother is 81. She weighs 100 pounds in her heaviest winter clothes and has difficulty getting around - yesterday she tripped over the cane that is supposed to keep her from falling. So as I stood there and held onto my feeble mother today I was thinking about how much more attention she gets from me now that I'm older than she did back when she was really mothering me, those crazy adolescent years when she was responsible for everything I ate, everything I wore, and all transportation I needed to get me where I needed to go. I didn't appreciate her then like I do now. And now, of course, she's not taking me anywhere. I'm the one running the "elderly shuttle," as she calls it.

As I drove away, I thought of the mothers at the other end of the spectrum, too...new mothers. My stepdaughter came in today with a pricey purse in tow, surely not purchased by my three-year-old granddaughter, Taylor. And think of those young women who have newborns. They surely get gushed over when it's their "First Mother's Day."

But there's another group of mothers out there. Those Mothers in the Middle are suffering, and I see their pain. One reason I know so much about middle school motherhood is because I watched my own children turn from precious mommy lovers to evil mouth clicking demons when they went to middle school. Not only did I not know anything when my kids were teenagers, their friends' parents were awesome! I would hear, "But everybody's parents let them do more than you let me do!" And I would answer, "Well, I guess I just love my children more than other parents love theirs."

The real reason I know that middle school mothers are suffering is because I see it when they come to talk to me about their children. I hear it every year:

"He always made straight A's until middle school."

"She's never cared about boys until now, and I can't get her off the phone."

"He must be hanging around with bad kids. He's never used that language before." (I've always wondered who the bad kid's parents blame the behavior on.)

Some mothers come in for a conference and spend the entire time frantically explaining the child's behavior at home, detail-by-detail. I feel like they just need to be heard; surely they don't expect me to come home with them and start handing out expectations and rewards in an effort to turn around the behavior.

Some mothers argue and place blame on the teacher while others lament "I don't know what to do with him either. He's going to give me a nervous breakdown."

On this Mother's Day I'd like to tell all of you Mothers in the Middle - it will be okay. My children turned themselves around just as they began to experience a little freedom. A driver's license and a car can really boost a negative attitude (mainly because they want to keep those car keys.) And somewhere along the time my daughter went to college she called to tell me she sure missed all the things I used to do for her. (It was especially helpful that three of my children didn't have air conditioned dorm rooms. August in the South can sure make a kid homesick.)

Middle school is a tough time for kids - those are some very difficult years developmentally. If you don't believe it, think back on your own adolescent years.

Oops. I think I better go back and give my poor little mother another hug. And another MDP, too.

Are US Children Well-behaved?

I've met with some world travelers recently who say that children in other countries are undisciplined. I heard a story yesterday about children running around willy-nilly in Europe with no parent in sight to reprimand them. Some native Europeans recently told me that American children are perceived as very compliant and well-behaved to natives of other countries. They believe our children behave nicely, in school and at home.

I find this line of thinking difficult to understand, especially in light of how our children are depicted in the media. For example, several years ago, I would often see a popular fast food commercial where a child at dinner is about to dig into a bucket of chicken.

"Mom. I don't DO fried!" the child announced as the mother explained that this particular chicken was dipped in batter with secret ingredients and was therefore the best chicken ever fried.

I sat there watching that commerical and thought about what would have happened to me if I had made such an announcement to my own mother. I would have been dipped and fried myself.

Currently, another commercial has hit our air waves that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I've watched numerous times in the past couple of weeks as an adorable little girl gets sassy with her mother for serving her "minced fish."

She says, "What is this, minced? You feed me minced? You ever catch a minced fish?!" Her mother sweetly serves her the name brand of fish, saying, "Here you go, Honey," and the little girl snidely announces, "That's more like it!"

Are you kidding me? Are we allowing our children to talk to us like this in America? And if the answer is yes, then what are teachers supposed to do with those sassy children when they come to school? Answer to their every whim? Look the other way when they are blatently disrespectful?

Let's just say that parents aren't allowing this disrespect, and the media is misrepresenting the behavior of our children. Why are we supporting a media that puts those types of behaviors on television for our children to emulate? Teachers already deal with enough bad press as we are often depicted on movies and television shows as buffoons (think Ferris Bueller's Day Off.) Are we going to continue to let our children and grandchildren be influenced by such negative advertising?

I, for one, am not. I once wrote a letter to People magazine and then to a pharmaceutical company that sold medication for ADHD. The magazine ran an advertisement in 1998 that had a picture of a middle school aged boy with the word FREAK stamped on his forehead in inch high letters. In small print under the picture were the words "Why would anybody say that?" in tiny letters, certainly tiny enough to be considered "fine print."

I immediately wrote the company and explained that while I understood the concept behind the ad, I wondered how I would explain to my middle school son, who had been taking medication for ADHD since kindergarten, why a company would insinuate that someone would consider him a "freak." I certainly had never treated him like he was different. We had an issue to deal with, and we did. Plain and simple.

Thank goodness the editors of People magazine agreed with me and pulled the ad from the next issue. I received apologies from them and from the pharmaceutical company - the President wrote to tell me that "someone lost a job over this."

I now am on a mission to help folks in the media understand that they are encouraging our kids to think that being nasty is cool. And I'm starting with the fish folks. You can, too.

Write to:

Mrs. Paul's Consumer Affairs

P.O. BOX 91000

Allentown, PA

18109

or go to www.mrspauls.com

I, for one, will not be eating fish out of a box any time soon. Minced or otherwise.

Speaking Out for Teaching...

In my current job I travel the state and talk to people about teaching. My official title is "Teacher Ambassador." Occasionally, I have to arrive at my point of presentation the night before, usually because it's too far away for driving in the morning and then speaking to a group and pretending I have any brain cells firing. Such was the case this week when I drove toward a college campus three hours from my house. Knowing I had to be there at 8 AM, and knowing I didn't want to get up at 4 AM to do it, I drove there the afternoon before and had the pleasure of eating in a local restaurant near the campus.

Well, I guess I could call it pleasurable. I always feel a little odd, eating alone. On this night, I felt the need to tell the hostess, "Table for one. I'm traveling." Lord knows, she didn't give one hoot. But I felt I had to explain lest she consider me a loser. This particular restaurant was one of the Southern down home cooking variety, and I ordered beef stew, mashed potatoes, fried okra, and biscuits. By the time my sweet tea and biscuits came, I didn't give one hoot that I was sitting alone either. I settled in for the feast.

And then it happened. Just as I pierced the first hot, just-fried piece of okra with my fork, I witnessed this exchange between two women sitting at tables across the restaurant from each other:

"Hey, Louise! How ya doin'? How's Bobbie Lou?"

"Hey, Edna! I'm good! Bobbie Lou's a sophomore in college now. She's going into teaching. I tried to talk her out of it, but she feels drawn to it."

I don't know what happened just then, but when I came to my senses that piece of okra was on the floor two tables up the aisle. The lady at the table beside me looked at me like I was crazy, but all I had to offer was "oops."

Okay, so here I am, a Teacher of the Year for a state that has almost 100,000 teachers, and I feel that it's my responsibility to set Louise straight. I must stand up and make a speech, I thought. At the very least I need to pull up a chair, sidle up beside her, and explain THINGS.

But I was frozen. I was playing out the scenario in my head. I would just walk over, say "may we talk a minute?" and then sit down with a complete stranger. That seemed, well, weird. Would I introduce myself? Would I say "I'm the Teacher of the Year in this state" and then she would say, "So what?"

I kept telling myself that these people came out for a nice dinner and probably didn't anticipate sharing it with a complete stranger. But that didn't help. I still felt the urge to go do my teacher-ly duty...I was just about to push my chair back...and then I stopped in my tracks. What stopped me was that I was dressed for traveling, and I was looking pretty grungy. I didn't want to represent my state's teachers that way. I was afraid I'd give her ammunition - "Well, honey, you can't even afford good clothes." Hmmm... So Louise never found out why it's a good thing Bobbie Lou is going to be a teacher. But now she'll know...if only she'll read these words:

Five Reasons Bobbie Lou Will Be Happy As A Teacher

1. Okay, let's talk about the money. I'm pretty sure that was your first line of fire when it came to encouraging Bobbie Lou to pursue another profession. And I get it. Of course, teachers should be paid more. And so should law enforcement officers, and firefighters, and soldiers. And as long as celebrities and professional athletes are being paid obscene salaries, and CEO's are getting bonuses that are more than I'll make in a lifetime, I will argue that our society has things a little mixed up. But the point, Louise, is that Bobbie Lou will be fine. Don't forget in order to even compare a teacher's salary to the rest of the world you need to add two extra months - most salaries you hear about are based on a ten month salary schedule. And there are opportunities for more money in the summer - there's summer school and consultant work available for teachers who may tutor or present workshops. Oh, I do get it, Louise. But I can tell you that I've survived fine on my salary. I even did okay as a single parent for nine years. I don't own a yacht and I don't travel to fancy destinations. But I do okay. And all the money in the world can't give me what I get back (see #2).

2. I know it's cliche to even talk about "making a difference." But are there any other professionals who shape the future of the world like teachers do? Is there any other profession with such a hold on the social inequities and injustices we see in our communities? And besides your parents, who in fact made you who you are today, Louise? I suspect it was a teacher. Wouldn't it be amazing if Bobbie Lou could be that person for someone? Or for many someone's?

3. Being a teacher means working in buildings full of laughter. Not only is the soundtrack of a teacher's life full of childlike laughter but also includes the sounds of chorus concerts and football game cheers...all the things you loved in school yourself, Louise. Bobbie Lou will be able to participate in the real-life version of High School Musical and The Cat in the Hat. She'll witness first love and first heartbreak and children trying to determine who they are and who they will be. Her life will be full of stories that will entertain her entire family, including you, for generations to come.

4. Bobbie Lou will work side by side with friends for life. Being elbow to elbow in the trenches with committed educators who feel the same way about kids is a job satisfaction that many can never experience. If you're skeptical, just go visit a faculty meeting in a school. You'll feel the air of "we did it - we made it through one more day together for these kids." You'll want to be a part of it yourself. I always tell teachers that one of the best parts of teaching is working with our best friends. Something about planning lessons together, hanging out around a copy machine and working through the stresses of teaching together, and listening to each other's teacher stories makes a group bond. You'll be glad Bobbie Lou has such a strong support system at work.

5. And last, Bobbie Lou will pull from many areas of expertise to teach her students. But she also will pull from the lessons that she learned from her first teacher - you. She will model all of the morals and values that you taught her, from kindness to empathy to love for other human beings. In a way, Louise, that makes you a teacher, too.

Louise, I hope you'll reconsider and support Bobbie Lou's decision to be a teacher. There is, of course, no finer profession.

Age is Just a Number...

My daughter is 28 today. This is exciting because she's in the prime of her life, working hard on her doctorate while interning at a local hospital with kids who have cancer. On a brighter note, she's a dancer for an NFL football team, and she works at a dance studio with little girls who would like to dance professionally someday, too. She just returned from a cruise to the Bahamas and lives happily in a metropolitan city with her nervous dog, Chance, and crazy cat, Lil Mama. She lives a charmed life.

Chance

Lil Mama looks cute here, but she's a WILDcat!

But our discussion yesterday about her upcoming birthday led me to some troubling thoughts - Am I actually old enough to have a 28 year old child? How did this happen? I can't be much older than 25 myself. And goodness knows, she was just born. I've just caught up on my sleep after the all-nighters I had to pull with that child! And I'm still worn out from the dance rehearsals and recitals - all those auditoriums where I sat and graded papers, while she danced in her little tutus, are fresh in my memory. My daughter's high school graduation, and college one, for that matter, were mere days ago. So celebrating her 28th birthday seems anachronistic, out of order in our usual chronological life.

But it's okay because I'm certainly not old enough to have an adult child. Numerous times recently, while out shopping with my three-year-old granddaughter (my stepdaughter's beautiful child), someone will say something like "Tell Mommy to buy you this candy" or "You must look like your daddy with your blonde hair and blue eyes because you don't look like Mommy." Sometimes I correct them - "I am Nana" - and sometimes I don't. Maybe it's okay that they think I'm in my twenties.

As a teacher, it's routine for my students to think I'm much older than I am. I remember thinking all of my elementary school teachers were in their 60's. And when I had the opportunity to be reunited with my first grade teacher Mrs. Warnecke after 45 years, my first thought when I saw her was "she's my age now." She had only been 23 years old when she taught me. So the years have squeezed together a little, and we're closer to the same age now than we were then.

The ultimate compliment came yesterday, though. I was working at my school, which I do every two weeks while I'm out of the classroom serving as a Teacher Ambassador for my state. Every time I'm there, it's difficult to get down the hall because of seventh and eighth graders hugging me, yelling my name, and trying to quickly catch me up on their lives. The sixth graders don't really know me, though. I've tried to talk to them as much as I can on my brief visits, but the truth is that I'm a stranger to them. And that hurts.

At least it did until yesterday. I was standing in the hallway talking to some teachers and my principal. We were laughing and sharing stories when my principal said something really funny. The three of us teachers were laughing until we were crying as we noticed Ms. Walton's class coming down the hall on their way back from lunch. I looked at her and said, "Our principal is stupid!" and continued laughing. Of course I meant "stupid" in only an endearing and figurative way. We wiped our tears and went on about our business.

Well, tonight my friend Ms. Walton called me to tell me what transpired after that chance meeting in the hallway. She said that after the class walked into the room and got settled, a student raised his hand and said to her, "Ms. Walton, that eighth grader is going to get in trouble for calling the principal stupid."

Eighth grader. I'm an eighth grader! Yee Haw!

Now it's clear. It's impossible for me to have a 28-year-old child.

Thank you, sixth grader. I hope I teach you next year when I return to my school. You will definitely be my favorite student.

And happy birthday to my impossibly grown-up daughter. It's been an amazing, albeit too quick, 28 years!

The Numbers Game

I was a good math student when I was in elementary school. I had no problem with addition and subtraction, and I made straight A's in multiplication; old Mrs. Kelly who kept losing her glasses (we were too scared to tell her they were on top of her head) made us memorize the times tables. It wasn't until I got to junior high that math became a problem.

In seventh grade, Mrs. Sigmon could never say my name correctly so I slid down in my seat, trying to be invisible, so she wouldn't call on me. In eighth grade I had an algebra teacher who was married to a member of a local motorcycle gang. Mrs. Lawson came to school bruised and bleeding on many days; there were rumors about her husband's abusive behavior. And although she was sweet and really tried to help me, I could only concentrate on the bruises on her hands when she'd point to my paper.

Before long sporting events and boys received more of my attention than math, and I found myself slipping in that subject area. Luckily, I was an avid reader and writer so I didn't give up on school altogether. I just gave up on anything related to numbers. As an adult, I struggle still. I can't remember a phone number from the phone book to the phone unless I repeat it...555-1234, 555-1234, 555-1234...

That's why I'm having a hard time wrapping myself around the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act signed into law by President Obama last month. Every article I read sounds like this to me: "a gazillion million dollars will go to this, but of that gazillion million, a trillion billion must be set aside for that, and two dollars will be charged to every homeowner who has a dog with a spotted tongue, but homeowners with cats that have more than eight whiskers will be paid a stipend of one dollar per whisker over the allotted eight."

Seriously. I wake up in the morning, and it's on the news - numbers, numbers, numbers. Every email I open continues the counting. Here's what I read this morning:

Already $2 billion in the red, the state faces a $3 billion shortfall next fiscal year.

And this afternoon:

The Governor may finally be thinking about raising new revenue to address next year's $4 billion shortfall.

Wait. How did the "shortfall" gain a billion dollars from this morning until this afternoon? Did we spend a billion dollars during the day today? Or is it only one billion? I mean do we take the $3 billion mentioned first and add the "already $2 billion?" But doesn't that make $5 billion and not $4 billion? I'm so confused.

Here's what I'm not confused about: we are in the middle of a critical economic crisis, and of course it's affecting our schools. I'm saddened to hear stories about after-school programs ending and teacher assistants losing their jobs. But I do know this: teachers will rise above any budget shortfalls, economic downturns, or billion dollar deficits thrown at them and continue to educate our nation's children every single day until the "recovery" is here.

I sincerely believe that I can take my students outside and teach them using a blade of grass if I have to...and that's free. I've heard it over and over the past few months - "with crisis comes opportunity." I believe teachers will grasp the opportunity to educate children with the same sense of urgency we've always had. Teachers are innovative and creative, and it's going to take more than a shortfall of a gazillion million dollars to knock us down.

Why? Because the alternative is not an option. We cannot refuse to educate the children of America while the adults of this country try to straighten things out. Also, it's those very children who will grow up and be the adults who make sure this doesn't happen again. And because of that, we must work to teach them what they need to know to be able to grow up and do their jobs effectively.

Most likely our students are going to need a great deal of instruction on numbers.

Maybe I can sit in on a class...