Summer Edition: Lessons of Sharing in Week 3

I’ve spent a fair share of this week driving to Orkney Springs, about 40 minutes northwest of Harrisonburg. I would so much rather drive to the beach, but I’ve actually done this drive to the mountains four times within one week to visit my husband who is working up there and to take Katie to camp. The drive is 2 hours and 43 minutes to be exact. At least that's my record so far. (I have four more trips to make up there this summer). There are more than a dozen Taco Bell restaurants from Mechanicsville to Orkney Springs in case you are wondering.

     For those of you going to JMU, there is one at both exits surrounding the campus exit. You are good to go...or maybe you're not. It all depends on your perspective. I have done this trip so much that I have started to know where the roads curve once you get off of the highway and when Jack will start to feel carsick. I’ve listened to everything from the Beatles to Fleetwood Mac to Garth Brooks to the Eagles to Michael Jackson to Khalid to Imagine Dragons to the Rent soundtrack to even Radio Disney and Kids Bop (the most painful of the listening). I’ve consumed plenty of unsweet tea to keep me awake and opened the sunroof to let the wind finger my hair. And I’ve done all of this by myself. I’ve been alone with my thoughts for over ten hours of driving this week. To most, this would be divine. Yet, what I’ve learned most from making the trip to the mountains so much this week is that life--so much of it--is meant to be shared. Yes, my children have been in the car with me, but somehow the ride is not the same when your front seat is empty and your kids are in the back seat having a two and a half hour rock--paper--scissors war as well as playing a game called calclulator that from what I've observed from the rearview mirror does involve some kind of math on their fingers. Sharing is necessary for our survival and function as human beings. We should never go at everything alone.

Most kids learn to share at an early age. Some, I suppose, are better than others. I remember watching my own kids learn this ritual. Katie, the middle child, was always the best at sharing. Perhaps it was because she was evenly placed in the middle by age and forced to do it more than the others. Perhaps it is due to her empathy; even as a baby, she cried when she saw other kids crying. Regardless, most would agree that sharing is learned at a young age. Yet, somehow, I feel like we lose this concept as we grow older. This week, this seemed to be a common theme throughout my experiences. Let me explain.

I just finished a book called, The Innovator’s Mindset that I read for a professional development workshop.

In the book, George Couros (@gcourous) writes, “Sharing should not be the exception in education but the rule” (178). When I attended the professional development book discussion on this book where about ten educators, administrators, and school counselors discussed the book. the sharing of ideas for me was inspirational. 

     I started to think a lot about this over the course of the week. When I first started teaching, a few teachers handed me some worksheets they used in their classrooms, but no one ever asked me what I was doing in mine. Did they not trust me enough to think that my ideas were valuable? Was I just the naive new teacher who had different ideas that they did not want to consider in their own classrooms? I was never a teacher of worksheets; my own educational experience included too many of them. I tucked a lot of what those teachers gave me away, thinking I may use them at some point, but they never resurfaced. It was nothing against my new colleagues; I had my own ideas to try. So that’s what I set out to do. At the time I began teaching, I was required to teach structural grammar. Instead of teaching the grammar through basic textbook exercises the way my colleagues did, though, I brought in song lyrics. We underlined prepositional phrases in the Beatles’ “Let it Be,” (Yes, I made them listen to the Beatles, too) and identified common and proper nouns in Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” My students began to bring in their own song lyrics. They were recognizing grammatical patterns in their own music. While most of the other tenth graders just lugged their textbooks to class and painfully completed exercise after exercise, my students began to enjoy grammar. They came into class asking what song I brought in that day. Some days it was a stellar classic rock selection; other days it was something contemporary on the radio. 

     Yet, I don’t tell you this story to demonstrate that I was a teacher who was forward thinking or who even had a great idea. Actually, this lesson totally failed, and here’s why: I never shared it. No one ever experienced the magic my students saw in grammar because I was too scared to share it with my colleagues who had years and years of experience on me. I was insecure and thought they would laugh at the idea of using music to teach grammar or talk about me in the lounge. Somehow, the success of this lesson got lost because I didn’t share it, because I didn’t spread the idea. Sharing was something I learned at the mere age of four and somehow, as an adult, I had failed.

Nineteen years of teaching later, I believe in the sharing of ideas. I’ve given teachers--new and veteran--whole unit plans that took me hours to create. One time, an administrator saw me teach a lesson and said, “You must have gotten that from the teacher down the hall. I saw her do that activity last week.” Ironically, the teacher down the hall got that activity from me. Initially, I was possessive over my work. Yet, I’ve realized something important: What would happen if we all share our ideas? And not just in the classroom, but in life? Think of the change we could make. We don't need to take ownership or possession of our ideas all of the time; rather, let's take the time to spread them.

This week I really thought about this concept. After finishing Couros’ book, I tweeted about the book, and he immediately responded to my tweet, asking if I would write him a book review on Amazon. Here is the review I wrote: The Innovator's Mindset Review . Along with Couros’ like of my tweet, 59 other people liked it and 8 retweeted it, most people I have never met. Twitter is a way to share our ideas. Maybe you all know this and do this already, but there are so many thoughts inside my head that I never have the courage to tweet. I realized that this week. I agonize over my Meme Monday post every Sunday night for all of you. Yet, imagine what kind of audience I could inspire if I wasn’t so afraid to share my ideas. How many people could I reach?

This past year when I was inspired by all of you to begin my 1% movement, I changed my biography on Twitter to read “What would your life look like if you lived 1% better than the day before?” It’s subtle, but I’ve already had people ask me about it. Every time I do, I share what we did in class together. In the past, I would have been scared to share an idea, to start a "movement," to cultivate a plan. I like this change.

      I've seen this idea of sharing in so many other instances of this week. I'll be honest and tell you that my Fourth of July didn't really feel like a holiday. I went to my mother-in-law's house with my kids, but without my husband, it just seemed incomplete. There were fireworks and hamburgers on the grill, and I watched my kids eat ice cream cones with chocolate dripping down their faces, yet it didn't seem right without my entire family there. My brother-in-law religiously sets off fireworks every July 4th. He's a Henrico firefighter and always takes great pride in taking the proper precautions to set off and put out the fireworks. It's his thing and has become a tradition. As we stood around and watched them, I turned around and looked over the fence at the neighbor's house. There they stood on their deck, watching our fireworks display. It was a pretty cool shared experience. They were slightly embarrassed to be looking on when our eyes met, and I just waved and told them I was glad they got to share the "show" with us.

     

Probably the lowest moment of my week was spent from 3:00 p.m. until 1 a.m. at a swim meet on Wednesday. For the past two summers, I have served as the chair of my children's swim team in Ashcreek. It is not a job for the weak; I probably worked as many hours managing the team as I do teaching. I have reveled in my "freedom" this year, as my tenure is over. However, while one of the current chairs was away this past Wednesday, I agreed to assume the role of chair at the meet. Typically that is not a terrible position; you just have to set up and clean up the meet and make sure everyone is happy. There's manual labor involved, and a lot of people pleasing. Believe it or not, I can do both pretty easily. I was fine on Wednesday until the rain set in. By the end of the meet, I was mopping rain off of the clubhouse floor and completely drenched. I was still smiling, but inside was extremely grumpy and resentful.

As I cleaned up in the pouring rain and mopped in solitude while some others stood around talking, I suddenly glanced over at my kids' four coaches sitting on the ground, soaking wet, towels around their shoulders. They hadn't eaten dinner and were sharing some pasta salad. They were laughing and joking around and looked up at me, offering me some of their communal dinner. It made me stop and readjust my attitude and realize that those four young people dedicate so much time to my kids. They shared in an experience by making the best of it. If they could do that, I could too. I never ate their pasta salad, but I did join in their laughter. It made getting to 1:15 a.m. not so bad.

Finally, I received a phone call by the end of the week from Mrs. Wendy Edelman. I am used to this call. Last summer, she interrupted me on the beach to tell me our IB results. It was a welcomed interruption. While I would have loved to be on the beach this year when she called, the interruption was still welcomed. Every year I get excited to see the successes of our students. I think about the two years of work, the countless papers, study sessions, group chats, moments of jubilation and frustration--sometimes even in the same block. I think about the commentaries and the seminars and the prescribed titles and the IAs and the annotations and the essays, yes the essays. I think about what I have a chance to do every single year. And I know I am lucky to share this experience not only with my students but with my colleagues. I remember the first year Mrs. Edelman and I taught together, and she called me with our English scores. "You did a great job teaching these kids to write," I told her. "Your scores are fantastic!" She stopped me and reminded me that these were OUR scores. WE worked together to do this. While I certainly am grateful that Mrs. Edelman does bat clean-up when it comes to IB English instruction, I also know that we are a team. Those scores are a combination of junior and senior year. They are a shared experience. We share in your joys, your successes, your frustrations. We plan ideas and our curriculum together, and together, we certainly are proud of you, so very proud.

Life is meant for sharing. That's what I've gotten out of this week. I think about this as I remember the very first blog I wrote. I was so scared to hit the publish button. What if no one reads my words? What if what I have to say is not worth sharing? That first blog was read by 125 people! My latest blogs reached close to 250 views. It’s not because I’ve gotten better at writing them or even that I am a good writer in the first place. I’m actually still scared to press the “publish” button most of the time. It’s because I have realized that everyone has something important to share. So this is my challenge to you this week. Share a part of yourself you would not usually share with someone else. Maybe it’s an idea, a story, a kind gesture, or even a meal at Taco Bell (know that wouldn't be my top choice, but for those of you who have fought me on this all year, this one's suggested with you in mind!). Maybe those early lessons of sharing are the ones we need to return to in our adult lives. Life is not a solo ride no matter how many hours you spend in the car passing Taco Bell signs and listening to an eclectic collection of music all the while glancing in your rearview mirror to be sure your kids aren't killing each other. It's meant to be shared. I challenge you to be brave enough to share an idea, a thought, a perspective with someone this week. And more importantly, consider sharing with me what happens when you do. I look forward to hearing from you!