One Rewteet At A Time: How a Promposal to Zendaya and Twenty Hashbrowns Inspired Me This Month

       I can't stop thinking about what happened to one of my students recently. I don't often single out students in my blog, but I received this student's permission before writing this one. Since he's already famous (at least in the world of Twitter), I'll reference him by name--Harry. Harry tweeted an image of a conversation between him and actor/singer Zendaya, where she claimed to say that she would go with him to prom if his tweet got 100,000 retweets. Zendaya realized Harry photoshopped the screenshot, and commented on the tweet, stating that it was photoshopped but that he did get her attention. Meanwhile, Harry successfully garnered 100,000 retweets.

  An article was even written about it, mentioning Harry by name, concluding with the sentence, "Better luck next time, Harry!" While I am not condoning photoshopping other people's images (Although, Zendaya, if my blog magically happens to reach you, you have to admit, he is creative), what happened in this one instance taught me a lesson about the power of social media.   We have the power to make positive changes in our school and in our world. Within hours, Harry had 100,000 retweets. What if we could make changes using social media as the vehicle to do so as quickly as Harry got 100,000 retweets? Social media is one of the most powerful weapons we have to combat racism, to demonstrate equality, to fight for what is right. Yet, it also can suffocate us, bullying us to our lowest possible dimensions. So often we use it as a vehicle to complain or show our false realities or even to bring others down. We need to use social media for good. The choices we make can have lasting impressions; we need to be the heroes in our own stories.

     That last sentence--we need to be the heroes in our own stories--I lifted from a student's writing. I guess you could say I "photoshopped" it. This past week, I found myself in Dr. Dave Coogan's English class at Virginia Commonwealth University. The class is comprised of VCU students and criminals who chose to "write their way out" of their crimes by taking Dr. Coogan's class instead of serving jail time. I was curious as to how Dr. Coogan teaches the class, I read his book Writing Our Way Out, and asked if I could observe. He graciously agreed, and there I sat outside the circle, listening to his students read excerpts from their memoirs. One student ended his by stating, "That's how I became the hero in my own story." I was so moved by that line that I wrote it down in my notebook, wondering what life would be like if we all were the heroes of our own stories.

     As I began to think more about this idea of being my own hero and how Harry inspired me to use social media for good, I found this idea surfacing everywhere. While driving in the car with my daughter Maggie, she asked me, "Do you know what superpower I want? I want to be able to fill things up. When my wallet is empty, I'd fill it with money." I sighed. Why are my kids always fixed on money? Before I could utter a word, Maggie continued, "Or when someone's heart is empty, I'd fill it with love." I sat in the driver's seat stunned by those words. At twelve, she knew how to be the hero in her own story.

     And I guess that's the thing we need to remember. We have the power to write our own stories. My only connection to Zendaya besides Harry's tweet was seeing her in the movie The Greatest Showman. I left that movie inspired. And if you look at the words Zendaya sings in that movie: "It's up to you. / It's up to me. / No one can say what we get to be. / Why don't we rewrite the stars?" there's a message in there for us to start to take control of what happens to us. While there are always going to be things out of our control, what if we found just one thing and changed it for the better?

     Seniors in TOK, you have culminated your CAS (Creativity, Activity, Service) requirement by consructing and presenting websites of your service projects and activities that you have been working on for the past 18 months. This is an impressive body of work when you look at it in its entirety. You have impacted many through such service projects as Sportable and book drives and supporting causes like Child's Play and Rise Against Hunger. You have been the heroes in your own stories.

     Juniors, I've also witnessed your powerful legacies in many ways. Your English coursework has gotten harder, yet you haven't let that stop you from succeeding. You've learned how to write a literary commentary in English and a prescribed title in TOK. These writing assignments are no easy feats, yet you have taken them on and shown me your desire to improve.

Several of you jumped at the opportunity to ride the bus with one of our special needs students in our class when we went on a field trip to the VMFA so he didn't have to ride alone. You came with me to cheer on many special needs athletes in the Big Feet Meet this month.

One day, one of you arrived late to class and dumped two greasy bags of fast food from Chick-fil-A and McDonald's on the table. I stopped teaching to ask what all of that was as 20 hashbrowns spilled out of the bag. Your kind act of bringing breakfast in for the entire class has spurred other classmates to continue to bring breakfast for each other on subsequent days. You are filling each other up (both literally and figuratively). You are the heroes in your own stories.

     As I watched the 20 hashbrowns spill out of the bag that day and as I marvelled at Harry's 100,000 retweets and listened to Dr. Coogan's students write about their crimes and thought about my daughter's desire to fill others with love, I began to consider my legacy. What do I need to change in my life? Where can I make a difference? What kind of cape will I choose to wear? In thinking about this, I've decided to take action in how my story is written. Stay tuned as I unveil my plan on Twitter at some point soon to demonstrate the power of social media. I'm not sure if I can get to 100,000 retweets like Harry did, but I'm determined to try.

     My message is simple for this month. Be the hero in your own story. Don't worry about being someone else's hero.  So what will your cape look like? How hard will you work? Will you give up or choose to persevere? Will you push through or as you often say "grind" through the reading or studying or assignments or essays to get them done? Will you do all you can as you begin the "season" of IB testing? Will you fill people up by supporting them?   What kinds of choices will you make? We have about thirty more days left of school. Seniors, you have less than 50 days until you graduate high school. You have the choice in the way you write your story.

So, my wonderful students, just like Harry requested of his Twitter followers, make it happen. Make good choices. Rewrite the stars. Be the hero of your own stories.

Zendaya, if you ever happen to stumble upon this blog, thanks for helping this teacher see the power and potential we can have as human beings. You may not be attending a prom in the small town of Mechanicsville (the date is May 19th, by the way) even though Harry gave you quite the creative promposal, but you've helped prove that one person can be the hero of his or her own story.

And Harry, you don't need "better luck next time." Like all of my students, you are leaving your legacy and changing the world...one retweet at a time. And that, my fellow readers, is enough to inspire me.

Objects in the Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

 Objects in mirror are closer than they appear. Somehow I find that statement--one that is etched on the passenger side mirror on every car in the US--the perfect metaphor for my life right now. I often don't realize what others are saying or the important things in my life, and yet, they quite often are right under my nose, waiting for me to peer down and notice them. Sometimes the choice is in front of me, much closer than it appears.  Like the phrase, which may cause someone to misjudge the distance between his vehicle and another car, we often misjudge the impact of others on our lives until we come near collison. As a teacher, I recently have come close to colliding. Yes, I have learned to judge my surroundings carefully and be precarious of those around me. Yet, the distance I seem to have placed between myself and the objects behind me (my students) is closer than I thought. Allow me to explain.

       This distance is in the voices of every young person in our nation who spoke at a rally against gun violence recently. It's in every sign a young person held. It's in kids standing up for what they believe is right. And it's right here in the four walls of my classroom, Room 211. My students' voices, their beliefs, their ideas are closer and louder than we, adults, realize. Objects in our mirrors are closer than they appear.

     This metaphor surfaced with the most recent assignment I gave my English classes--a mock trial after reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. In my nineteen years of teaching, I've conducted many mock trials. It's always been a favorite lesson for students because there's some real world application--especially for those aspiring attorneys who like to argue. I have always had control and order over the trial by serving as the judge. No one could mess with Judge Pace. I even have been known to order the bailiff to throw an unruly member of the court out of the courtroom from time to time. I held the gavel; I delivered the sentence. Even last year when my student teacher did a mock trial as the culminating activity for her In Cold Blood  unit, I was the judge. So when I introduced the idea of the mock trial to my classes, suggesting that we would put Victor Frankenstein on trial, one of the first questions one student asked was "Who gets to be the judge?" I started to respond with "I do," but I didn't say a word. You see, a few days prior to this conversation, Dr. MIchael Gill, Hanover County Public School Superintendent, published his montly blog post that encouraged teachers to allow students to have voice and choice in the classroom. I've always prided myself on asking students to evaluate an activity or give me feedback and even have designed papers and projects where they have significant choice, but never have I given up the title role of judge or "teacher" for that matter. After all, I went to graduate school and have a teaching license and get paid the "big" bucks; I should be in control, driving the car, right? 

   This past month, I realized how incredibly wrong that idea is; I became a mere passenger in my classroom. The attorneys decided Victor's charges, the order they would call their witnesses, and what legal jargon they would use to try to hoodwink the other side. The jury deliberated--some classes taking far longer than others to come to a consensus. The bailiff swore in each witness on the holy book of Frankenstein. The court reporters took photographs of the trial and documented everything in newspaper articles. The court recorder typed the entire trial as it was unfolding just in case we needed to go back to what was stated. And a student wore my black graduation robe and held the gavel to have full command of the classroom....I mean, courtroom. That left me to....well, watch. I had no role in my classroom except that of a mere spectator. And it probably was the most fun that I've had in 19 years of teaching. One version of Victor Frankenstein came donned in a lab coat and goggles, pleading insanity. Another monster was so lonely he cried. Attorneys were passionate, questioning and sometimes even leading the witnesses. Not one student in the room looked bored, unethused, or pained. A 200 year-old book came to life in a way that was inspiring, and I was a mere bystander in my own classroom.

The Attorneys

Court Reporters

Witnesses

The Judges and Jury

 

And Me, as a Mere Spectator (Photo Credit: Kathryn Super)

      In a similar vein, my senior Theory of Knowledge students were discussing what we would be doing after Spring Break, as they are finished with the curriculum, including all IB assessments. They voted to teach the class some kind of new knowledge and the theory behind that knowledge. Students started to ask me about their ideas. "So, I could teach yoga?" Of course. "We could learn sign language?" Absolutely. "Can I teach you to play Mario Kart, Mrs. Pace?" Sigh. While that last one might not be the kind of teaching I had in mind and may need some guidance, I am going to relinquish control and allow the seniors to teach. Again, I will be a mere spectator in my classroom. More than likely, I will learn something, and it won't be because I am front and center in my classroom. And perhaps my Mario Kart skills will now be able to compete with those of my son!

  I went home the day of those mock trials and realized how much classrooms have changed. In the nineteen years I've been in the classroom, the role of the teacher is far different than it used to be. As students. you need a voice in the classroom. Had I been the one to maintain order of that court, the trial may have had a different outcome and your voices may have been suppressed. Yet, I heard your voices that day, and I want to tell you I am listening. The world is listening to you right now. Quite frankly, I never will stop listening. You have the power to change the world for the better. You already have changed my classroom.

     One of my favorite poems is Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night." In the poem, Thomas encourages us to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." It so often reminds me of the students I teach and those I have taught.

May you continue to be bold.  Don't go softly; take risks in life. Maybe this final nine weeks is the time you take that risk, express your ideas, challenge yourself. May you continue to rage and let your voices be heard. May you shout your ideas to the world so that everyone can hear them. Don't be afraid to stand up for what you believe is right. Your generation is not the passive one who is going to let everything happen; you're going to make things happen. I've been talking to people of my generation and those older for years that we need to listen to this new generation--our future. After all, your voices are far closer in the mirror than they appear.  Thank you, my students, for helping me recognize that I need to continue to give you more of a voice in my classroom, even if that means I have to give up the coveted role as judge or play Mario Kart. Keep on driving and speaking and expressing your voices. I'm watching you from my mirror, and I now recognize what's closer in my mirror is hope--hope for the future.