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!

Summer Edition: The Surprises of Week 2

I am not easily surprised. When I turned 16, I planned my own surprise party. I addressed the invitations, planned out all of the food and what the cake would look like--chocolate cupcakes, actually, with green icing (my favorite color). I addressed the invitations (because evites and email didn’t exist), put a stamp on each envelope, and gave them to my mom who secretly slipped a note in each envelope saying that my party would actually be a week before the date of the invitation, and it was a surprise. On the day of my “surprise” party, my friend Norika stopped to talk to me before heading home from school. “Are you going to the dance tonight?” I asked her, referring to the school dance that evening.

“No,” she said, “but I hope you have a great birthday!” She then gasped and looked at me guiltily, knowing she had made a mistake in wishing me a happy birthday a week early. I looked at her strangely and headed home.I quickly changed my clothes and headed down the stairs to head over to the neighbor's house to babysit. “You’re wearing that?” my mother asked, referencing the jeans and sweatshirt I had changed into after school. Why did my mom care so much about my wardrobe? As I was babysitting that afternoon, I realized that I was headed home into my own birthday party I had planned. I had somehow put all of the pieces together to figure out the surprise. I, of course, acted surprised, and to this day my parents still do not know I figured it out.

I feel like I’ve been this way regarding surprises all of my life. I did not know the gender of my son when I was pregnant with him. Minutes before Jack was born, my husband (who did find out the gender ahead of time and kept it from me) announced loudly in the delivery room, “He’s almost here!” Again, the surprise was ruined--just minutes before Jack was born.

I have many more stories of such moments, and they all end the same way with me not being surprised. So, on Monday when my husband told me there was a surprise for me, I had no idea what it could possibly be. He drove me to the clubhouse at Ashcreek and outside stood Michael Patrick, Margaret Hill, and a brand new car. It was a moment that anyone would have been amazed by, but what took my breath away even more was what happened when the doors of that clubhouse opened and out poured students, friends, family, colleagues. People had taken time out of their day just to see this moment for me. I truly was in complete and utter shock. Most of you who know me well, know I hate to be the center of attention, so this moment goes down as one of the most overwhelming ones for me as well. Yet, it is one I will always remember. Later someone there told me he was surprised I didn’t cry. (Most people do know me well, especially those of you who witnessed my emotions at Atlee’s recent graduation). I can tell you I did cry when I got home and had the chance to catch my breath. It truly is a moment I will never forget.

The car from Michael Patrick of Patrick Buick GMC and the Hanover Education Foundation is an extremely generous gift. I don’t think I’ve ever been given a gift of this caliber, and the experience is still so surreal, but it’s not the car that I want to talk about but the people who showed up and were there, those who wrote me wishing they could have been there, and Mr. Michael Patrick and Mrs. Margaret Hill. I realized on Monday that there are some pretty amazing people in my life. To my colleagues, thank you for supporting me in my career every single day. I am grateful to have administrators who support me no matter what risk I take in the classroom and colleagues who I can share my joys with as well as my teaching struggles.

To my students, thank you for showing up--for showing up Monday, for showing up to class. I don’t mean physically showing up (you were required to do that, after all) but showing up with your sense of humor or your willingness to dominate a debate or excel in writing an essay. I mean your willingness to always be fully present. I mean the way you gave up an hour of your summer day to be there for me this week. I mean the way you thought to return. I think I've told many of you this before, but the hardest part about being a teacher is having to say goodbye to students and wondering if you'll ever cross paths with them again. So, when all of you came out of those doors, and stood in front of me, it was the ultimate surprise. I know it had only been less than two weeks since graduation, but the idea of you returning is one I always will cherish. I know you can't make any promises to return to room 211 to tell me what is happening in your lives, but know that if you do, I will be genuinely thrilled to see you there. I've run into former students in random places--in taking my exam for my National Board, at my husband's cousin's wedding, in the delivery room of Katie's birth...yet nothing beats the moment when a student chooses to return. So, thank you for coming out and returning this past Monday.

To Mr. Patrick and Mrs. Hill, thank you for your generosity--a generosity that everyone should emulate. Later that afternoon I walked into the showroom of Patrick Buick GMC, and Mr. Patrick led me into his office. On the wall behind his desk were eight frames--each donning the picture of one of his children. “I have eight children,” he told me.

“Eight?” I said in amazement.

“Yes. I apologize for not getting this car to you sooner. I was in China for a good portion of the spring adopting my daughter.” Mr. Patrick pointed to a picture of a girl on the wall. She makes number 8. Four of Mr. Patrick’s children are his biological children; four are adopted from China. Two of those girls have special needs. I realized in that moment what an incredibly generous man was standing in front of me. As he stood there apologizing for being “late” in gifting me a car, I stood there in awe of how much this man truly gets what’s most important in life. I started to tell him about our 1% movement and the importance of living 1% better (because you've inspired me to spread that movement everywhere I go), but I couldn’t get the words out without getting emotional so I stopped. Mr. Patrick is the epitome of this idea as is the Hanover Education Foundation under the direction of Mrs. Margaret Hill who made Monday possible. Mrs. Hill works tirelessly with local businesses to support teachers in Hanover County. I am an awe of her work and her constant generosity.

The rest of this week was somehow filled with surprises. For the girl who is rarely surprised, I got to the end not knowing what to expect next. Here are some of my other little surprises this week:

1. Sometimes we are so attached to our way of life that we almost miss an opportunity: I drove to the mountains near Harrisonburg this week to visit my husband who is working at a camp about 30 minutes past Harrisonburg and take Jack to camp up there. I am not a mountain girl by any stretch of the imagination despite the fact that I did get engaged climbing the same mountains I was visiting. I would rather put my toes in the sand and gaze out at the beautiful line the ocean creates at the horizon. I am a better person with a book, a beach chair and kids building a sandcastle by my side. That being said, I immersed myself in the natural beauty of the mountains this week. I somehow appreciated them more, and that surprised even me.

          A view from the car                                              Running in the mountains

2. Same Kids, Different Ages: This week I worked Vacation Bible School at my church. I have worked VBS for the past eight summers, most of the time, running the preschool program. I was teaching the three and four year-olds, and one of them stopped me in mid sentence and asked, “Do you know that I don’t like bananas?” The story I was telling had NOTHING to do with bananas. And I realized these three and four year-olds are not much different from all of you. Yes, you have different ages and maturity levels (for the most part….just kidding!) and yes, you have different interests, but both groups have a way of getting me off track when I’m teaching. You just ask different questions, but it’s the same course of action that occurs upon asking your question. I’m distracted and want to answer it and then realize we are so far away from what I initially set out to talk about in class. This similarity in teaching experience surprised me a bit, but at the same time it showed me that the age doesn’t matter in who I teach; I am a teacher because I love interacting with young people.

Me and some of my 4 year-old monkey friends.

So, yes, this week was full of surprises...from my VBS experience to the new appreciation I now have for the mountains, I have surprised myself. I was surprised with a brand new car that sure does beat my dented 2006 mini van with 175,000 miles on it! Yet, what surprised me most of all this week is how I'm surrounded in life by people who care--whether that be the generosity of a local businessman, the kindness of those who work tirelessly for the Hanover Education Foundation, the compassion of my friends and family and colleagues, and the true faith my students have in me demonstrated by how they showed up on Monday. AHS graduate Timmy Shields had it right in his valedictory speech when he encouraged the Class of 2017 to surround themselves with the right people. I realized this week the right people always show up; they are always there. To all of the right people in my life: thank you for raising me up to stand on mountains and for surprising even me this week.

Summer Edition: What I've Learned In Week 1

The First Week of Summer: Lessons Learned

It’s been a week since summer started. I pride myself on being a lifetime learner, and I am trying to continue to write and reflect as I tried to do this school year. My goal this summer is to write weekly to recap what I’ve learned, what amazed me, what made me think, what made me grow, and what made me shrink. Some lessons are big; some simple. Regardless, as human beings we should constantly be willing to change and grow and thrive in our environments. I may not constantly be thriving this past week; honestly, it seems more like surviving. Regardless, I’m keeping my head above water, and this is what I’ve learned with one week of summer under my belt:

1. Accept my limitations. I played cornhole twice this week--once at a graduation party and the second time at a cookout at my neighbor’s house. Both times, I scored only one point for my team. Both times, people laughed at my cornhole “skills.” Honestly, I thought it was the heat that kept making the bag stick in my hand in my release. I tried to place blame on the position I was in; I didn’t like having to cross over to the left side of my body. Yet, when it comes down to it, I just am not good at cornhole unless you want a good laugh. I actually laughed a lot playing, which is another good lesson. You've got to be able to laugh at yourself in life sometimes. I also learned this week that I can’t place blame on anything; sometimes, I’m just not good at things, and that’s okay.

2. Grass Cutting. I’m the only adult living in my house for the next four weeks of summer. My husband is slightly north of Harrisonburg directing a sports camp there and won’t be home until July 15th. I don't love this situation, but I'm figuring it out. I’m okay doing my usual household duties, but I’ve assumed his as well, one being cutting the grass. I’ve cut the grass numerous times before this. Sometimes, I try to surprise my husband by getting it done when I know he has a lot on his plate. In a conversation this week, my dad was trying to convince me to find a teenager to pay while my husband is gone, but I’ve found grass cutting almost therapeutic. It’s given me time to think, to appreciate my backyard that my kids tend to tear up with their soccer balls and lacrosse sticks. And it’s made me realize that sometimes it’s good to step out of our traditional roles and try something new. My grass cutting is no work of art, but it’s provided time to think and for me a sense of pride in terms of what I am capable of doing.

3. Innovation. I started reading a book called The Innovator’s Mindset by George Couros for a professional development session I will be attending in two weeks. It’s all about creating a culture of creativity in the classroom. I know this might make me a bit of a nerd to read a book about teaching, but the only way I know I can improve is to open my eyes to new ideas, and this book is providing me with some really fresh ways to teach. There has been one quote in particular that has stood out in my reading: “Change is an opportunity to do something amazing.” As teachers, many of us remain stagnant in the way we teach. This book is definitely opening my mind to how I can change to improve my classroom teaching--to hopefully do something amazing!

4. It’s all about perspective. We lost power this past Tuesday for about 5 hours. I sat in my living room without a single flashlight. My husband took all of our flashlights with him to camp. As I sat in candlelight annoyed that there was no power to listen to music, that my phone was dying a quick death, and my house was way too quiet, I heard peals of laughter upstairs. I went up and saw Katie and Jack had built a fort. It had multiple “rooms” and they had “provisions” (a.k.a. Golfiish, pretzels, and popcorn) and were ready for the night. I realized in that moment that sometimes it’s all about perspective. While I was frustrated that I was without flashlights and power, my kids created their own hotel--one in which they did sleep in all night.

5. I’m not smarter than a second grader. I learned how to deactivate a Facebook account this week. I somehow discovered on Jack’s Kindle that he had a Facebook account. How does a second grader even know how to set that up? Fortunately, he had no “friends” nor did he have a single post. He did have 9 notifications, though. This is the child people tell me will be running our country one day if not the world. Either that or he will achieve his current dream of being a comedian. Regardless, I did not find this situation funny.

6. Slow down. I actually consider myself a pretty patient person, but this week, I’ve noticed a lot of people around me are not. I was asked to work the electronic scoreboard at Jack’s baseball game this week. I knew nothing about operating such equipment, but I figured it out by trial and error. At one point in the game, a man from the other team started yelling at me to change the inning; I somehow had gotten behind. The yelling threw me off, quite honestly. I also timed a swim meet this week and noticed that same impatience from kids wanting to know their time, in coaches, and even in parents cheering their kids on the sidelines. We seem to put so much pressure on everyone to be perfect. Sometimes I think we need to just slow down.

7. The New Taco Bell. I have found a restaurant I despise more than Taco Bell, believe it or not. On Thursday, Maggie celebrated her 12th birthday. She was allowed to choose where we ate dinner. I gave her no options (mistake #1). She chose Golden Corral (mistake #2). That now ranks as a restaurant establishment that is worse than eating at Taco Bell. In fact, I would eat at Taco Bell once a week for the summer before ever setting foot in a Golden Corral again. The idea of a buffet of fried food and people returning to that buffet three and four times with piles of food on their plates is just not appealing to me. I did meet a few people there, though, because I was at the buffet so much helping my kids. One man turned to me and asked, “Where do you put it?” I realized that he was referencing the four times I had been to the buffet--none of which were for myself but for my three kids. Believe it or not, I’d eat that taco in a Dorito shell at Taco Bell again in a heartbeat!

8. 1%. The movement lives on. A friend of mine posted recently on Facebook, soliciting donations for kids going to Camp Hope as a "Be the Good" project. She was looking for used clothes and new underwear and socks for the kids attending the camp. I usually contribute to causes when I see them come up, but this time I acted immediately. My kids and I went shopping and picked out things for Camp Hope and dropped them off at her house. I later received a text thanking me and how much she is inspired by what’s gone on in my classroom. I smiled at this thought, knowing it’s the power for the 1% movement. Thank you for that. Every time I find the opportunity, I think of you all and how much good you accomplished this year. I think about being 1% better. These are the things that have helped me thrive, especially when life throws me the curveballs it does.

9. Musical Research. I learned what the song “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd actually is about missed opportunities and how sometimes our horizons are limited. It depressed me, honestly. I had no idea the song was so deep; I really thought it was about a simple relationship like so many songs are. It was not an intentional educational experience, but it made me start listening to the lyrics of music that has been ingrained in my repertoire for years. And then I started analyzing the music my kids listen to on a regular basis. While Maggie will listen to a variety, Katie and Jack only really like pop--particularly the stuff that’s on the radio. I've realized there’s not really deep, poetic lyrics on the radio anymore. This might make me sound “old,” and whiny, but I’m okay with that. I stand by this fact as much as I stand by the Beatles as a great band. If you can prove me wrong, I’d love to hear some music I should listen to.

10. Voices. I have learned I miss your voices. I told you I would cry at graduation, and I did. In case you didn't notice, I was smiling through those tears, though. There is an emptiness that I feel, and it started that night in knowing that I had to say goodbye to my students.

I’ve received some emails, some messages on Remind and Twitter, some notes, some texts, but I miss the voices of my students. Social media is not the same as hearing what you’re thinking. Although, I did receive two Beatles-inspired photos from you at various places where you were visiting and was so excited that the places you were visiting had such strong Beatles influences:

Summer is great, and I need to spend time with my kids and recharge my battery, but I do miss you and know I will continue to do so. Let me know how your summer is going when you get a chance and it gets underway.

And stay tuned for week 2 of what I've learned in summer next week….

The Great Love Affair

     It is the story of a great love affair. Sometimes she had profound things to say. Often, he made her laugh. She gave her all to the relationship even when he seemed not to care. Their love was timeless. Every day she approached the relationship with fresh ideas, with a quick wit, yet holding on for dear life. While on long runs, she thought about how she could inspire him. She affectionately wrote letters and emails and even kept a blog about their relationship. It goes without saying that the love she had was simple and beautiful. Sometimes she stayed up late at night just to think about him--what she could do better? How could she continue to love him? It was not love at first sight; she doesn't believe in that. Yet, the love that was built over time is one that she did not want to come to an end. She's wanted this love since she was a child. Sometimes the love was not always reciprocated. They didn't see eye to eye. He got frustrated; she was overwhelmed. He didn't always listen to what she was saying; she sometimes did not understand him. Sometimes he gave her far more than she ever thought he was capable of giving. There was give and take in the relationship, and he accepted her for her flaws--her lack of confidence from time to time, her rules following ways, her love of the Beatles and hatred of Taco Bell and emojis. And she accepted his flaws--his procrastination, his desire to sometimes take the easy route and how he sometimes doesn't capitalize the letter "I" in his writing. Instead, they only grew to see what's beautiful about the other. The flaws were overlooked. And so saying goodbye will be hard. And that will happen this week. There will still be other love affairs; she will move on, but she will always remember.

       If you haven't figured it out by now, I am the one in love. This great love affair I reference above is the way I metaphorically (because what English teacher doesn't use at least one metaphor when writing?) write about my love of teaching all of you. Yes, as odd as it sounds, teaching is one of my true loves in life. I have a passion for teaching that is unlike anything I have ever experienced. And so, every year when I have to say goodbye to my students, it's hard because I feel like a piece of  my heart is broken and unable to be sealed back together.  I will learn to pick up the pieces when you graduate or leave my classroom. Yet, know that I will never be the same. I never am. The great love affair will go on, but it changes and morphs into something else every year I start teaching again.

      So, today, I want to tell you exactly what I've been in love with...

1. I love the way I can inspire. As a teacher, I can change attitudes and ideas. I can not only teach my content but teach values to make students better and make myself better. Last week, I received a letter from a student I never taught at Atlee. I have met this student only once, yet she wrote me a two-paged single spaced letter, stating how much she admires my 1% movement and ideas I spread about kindness. She had heard of these ideas from all of you (Thank you for spreading them). It made me realize the profound impact we can have, and quite frankly, this was a lesson I needed to learn more than anything this year.

2. I love that in teaching, every day is different. I never know what you will say, what kind of mood you will be in. There are definite distractions...water bottle flips and fidget spinners...yet, you make every day unique. Likewise, I can teach the same books year after year and still love what I do because every interpretation of a book is different. Last year, I spent nearly half of the year defending Stanley's heterosexuality in A Streetcar Named Desire. This year, I found myself defending the plot structure of Chronicle of a Death Foretold and how that novel is far better than you think. Every day is different.

3. I love that I can see growth in who you are as people and in your knowledge. I remember when many of you entered room 211 as freshmen. You had no idea about literary analysis. You were not used to speaking in public and working regularly in groups. Seminars were a novel idea to you. Fast forward to junior and senior year, and you've returned as mature young people who have changed for the better.

                                                                           

                             

4. I love your compassion. You are dedicated and committed. You are the captains of the teams you play on, the officers of the clubs you affiliate with, and the planners, the dreamers, the fighters. You are passionate for everyone and everything. You create websites for a 4 year-old boy battling cancer and pack over 3500 meals for those in need. Your compassion runs long, far, and deep.

 Rise Against Hunger Service Project

Caleb looking at his website we made for the first time.

5. I love teaching you due to your sense of humor. You make me laugh on a regular basis. Whether that be making fun of my Pace puns, my nuances and inconsistencies (I'll call my hatred for Taco Bell an inconsistency), you have a way about you that makes simple stuff funny. In doing so, you've taught me to slow down sometimes and remember to laugh.

6. I love teaching you because you enable me to be myself in the classroom. You help me grow as a teacher instead of putting me down. I've become better because of you.

     You see, ultimately, this love I have is unconditional. I long for the day when I can close my door to 211 and have anywhere from 13 to 21 faces staring at me again, ready to learn, ready to laugh, ready for whatever class brings us that day. If I could do it all over again, I would never have wished a single day away.  Over the past few days, I've been reading college essays written by the juniors. One student wrote the following, which seemed rather fitting for this blog: "We are not here to worry about our purpose or fear the unavoidable fate of death. We are here to simply find a passion and do what we love." In reading that--wise words written by a seventeen year-old--, I couldn't help but be reminded of the students I teach and why I do what I do--because I truly love it.

     So, yes, teaching has been a great love affair for me. I could quote the romantic comedy Jerry Maquire and state, "You had me at hello." From the minute you entered 211, I was excited to teach you. I could quote the famous film Casablanca and state "Here's looking at you, kid," as I genuinely have adored you being a part of room 211. I could quote the movie Hitch, in saying, "Life is not the amount of breaths you take; it's the moments that take your breath away." There have been so many moments in my classroom that have taken my breath away. Thank you for those.

     Some of you walked out of my classroom for the last time and will be seniors at Atlee next year. I will see you, but not on a regular basis. Others will walk down the aisles of the Siegel Center and across the stage to graduate on Saturday. I will be there with my ample supply of tissues and smile despite the tears that will probably stream down my face. It will feel like a break up, but it's not. I know that. For, in order for me to continue this great love affair with teaching, we have to say goodbye so that new students can enter my classroom for me to love and inspire and help grow. My passion would become stale otherwise. Writing this blog has helped me see this.  While it's hard to see you go, I know if I want to grow as a teacher and if you want to grow as individuals, we need to say goodbye.

     I'll close with something Steve Jobs wrote in his autobiography that really inspired me. Here's what he said: "Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle."  Always remember that in teaching all of you, I never ever settled. I don't feel qualified to give you advice on life. After all, I'm still trying to figure out this thing called "life" myself. Yet, if I was to give you one piece of advice, it would be simply that: Find your passion. Don't ever, ever settle.

Goodbye, my wonderful students, and thank you for everything!
                                                                                        -Mrs. Pace

College Life

   This blog is co-authored by several former students I reached out to help me write it. Thank you for taking the time to share your college experience. I also dedicate this one to my five college friends, (Karen, Kelly, Megan, Melissa, and Sarah) who have been an important part of my life since we met during freshman year of college 24 years ago. 

      I attended my twenty year college reunion at the University of Richmond this past weekend. I have five friends I keep in touch with regularly from college. One lives in Minnesota, one in California, one in Connecticuit, one in Pennsylvania, and one in Virginia. We hadn't been together in years. Believe it or not, we talk daily on a group message....or at least they do. I chime in when I can and always read what they are up to for the day. (Some of us have a job teaching teenagers that does not afford being on a phone much during the day). Regardless, we've kept in touch and know what's happening in each other's lives on a daily basis. So when I saw all five of them on Friday night, I started to cry. You see, Seniors, you're not the only ones I cry over. "Are you crying?" one of them said. "Kelly, why are you crying?" I was overcome with emotion at that moment, though, because I genuinely care about these people in my life, and it seemed so amazing to see them all in person. They were there for me when I was on my own for the first time. All of us have been friends since freshman year of college....1993....before any of you were even born. We stayed friends twenty years after we graduated through careers, weddings, disappointments, children. We stood in the Greek Theatre at the University of Richmond that night at an event for multiple graduating classes at UR. There were some older ladies proudly displaying the badge that they had graduated 40 years ago. All of them had white hair and were swaying to the music and laughing. I couldn't help but think that would be us twenty more years from now. I hope it is.

     This blog is dedicated to offering you some college advice. I understand that I went to college 20 years ago, but there is some college advice that transcends generations. I bet those ladies with the white hair swaying to the music at their 40 year college reunion would offer the same advice. So, here goes...

      Juniors, we have been reading college essay after college essay. You are about to submit your first essays for me to read this week. I want to remind you that you have something important to say. Everyone has a story to tell. Find your story. Even if you don't think it's the most interesting story, find an interesting way in. Your college essay is your fingerprint. You can only know so much about you through a transcript and a list of your activities. Your essay tells who you are. I know who you are. You are great people. You have high aspirations. You're funny. Sometimes, your unpopular opinons make me smile. You do amazing things like get the opportunity to attend summer language academies and perform in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Show the admissions officers who you are--who you really are. Take the time this summer to work on your college applications. Senior year is hectic. Figure out who will write your letters of recommendation. Ask them early. And most importantly, don't stress. You may not get into the top school of your choice. I didn't. But I also would never know the people in that photograph above had I not.

     Seniors, I still am not ready to see you go off to college, but I know you are more than ready. I know some of you are scared. You haven't told me that, but I know. I know many of you want new opportunities. You want to explore passions that interest you. Here's the best advice I can give you to alleviate your fears, to help you explore your passions: Be yourself. In fact, be the best version of yourself. If you're afraid, that's okay. I was petrified to be on my own when I went away to college, but I knew at the same time, I was ready. I didn't know a soul when I went to UR. The people I met I would never trade as friends. Find your passions in college. I became a leader in college. I never thought I had leadership potential until those four years. Those four years shaped me into who I am. College is a time for you to find what YOU are interested in doing. It's a time to get to know yourself and who you are even more than you do now.

     I admit, I don't have all of the knowledge when it comes to college advice. So, I reached out to some graduates from the Class of 2016 for help with this one. Here is what they had to say:

Numa Rehmani:

• It has been much easier than the IBDP so far. My IB teachers prepared me so well.
• So. Much. Free. Time. Use it wisely! (To take naps, of course).
• Make smart choices and don't feel pressured to do anything. Your college experience doesn't have to be what you see on TV! It's whatever you want it to be. 
• Smile at strangers and try to meet new people every day. Broaden your horizons.
• If you were a part of any club/team/group that involved physical acitivity and you won't be in something like that in collge, watch out. The freshman 15 is rea.
• Give your parents a call frequently. They will miss you. They already miss you.

Riley Redd:

• Don't be afraid to be yourself. You'll make friends who will appreciate you for who you are.
• Be friedns with your freshman hall. My hall is basically a family and is the best support system.
• Join clubs! From Greek life to honor societies to fun clubs that focus on a hobby--do anything and everything you think could make your college experience the best it can be.

Sterling Saunders:

• College is not perfect. There will be super fun times and super awful times. Don't worry if you don't love all parts of it at first.
• Also don't worry if you're not 100% adjusted at first. It's a big change, and everyone has to adjust on their own time table. No one comes to college 100% adjusted for life away from home.
• Go to class. Seriously. Even if yuo don't pay attention the whole time, going to class is way better than not going. You're at least listening to the material, so it helps you learn it. It also helps you stay on top of your workload. If you do the readings/assignments and learn as you go, you won't have to cram or rush to finish things at the very end. Also, sometimes professors don't include all of their lectures in the slides, so you might miss out on some stuff if you don't go.
• Don't be afraid of professors. Going to office hours can be super helpful. Most professors love what they're teaching, so they love to talk to students about it. They will be happy that you came in and asked a question.
• Take interesting classes even if you don't need them. It's nice to have a class that is a break from your major or that makes you think in a different way than your other classes.

Tristan Amatruda:

• Be very VERY thankful that you have teachers that go so slowly and thoroughly through material. I know it is boring (usually), but your comprehension level will be through the roof. And you will never realize the value of studying/doing homework for practice until your first collegiate math test.
• Atlee, as I'm sure the IB program has proven to you, is a very competitive school. Grades on the latest bio test, GPA, and silly things don't have the slightest effect on your future can seem "make or break" (to use the parlance of our times). In college, unless you're doing pre-med, nobody cares. Everyone is smart, so don't waste your time trying to prove yourself. It honestly is such a relief to be in an environment where people actually take classes because they are interested to learn. So look forward to taking classes that you are curious about and not just the ones that you think you should take.
• Here is a sobering truth: In college you probably won't be in the top 10 in the class. But you also won't be anywhere near the bottom either. Let this simple fact take the pressure off. You are here to learn. You will get a great degree and have a great future. Sometimes it is best to put down the pencil, make some connections, and soak in the experience.

       Whether you are headed to college in a year or a few short months, it is a change but it is an experience that will make you grow and help you become who you are in your adult lives. Tweny years ago, I took a road trip in college with four of my friends. We drove a gold mini van to Florida. It was a trip that I always will remember. These people helped shape me into who I am and accepted me for that person. This iconic picture is all I have left of the memory of that trip. 

            

Ironically, when my friend from California showed up this weekend and her Uber driver was transporting her in a gold mini van, we had to recreate the picture: 

There are many moments in life that can't be recreated. The irony that this one could just shows how life may have aged us; we have families and careers and bills and responsibilities but we still have each other. We didn't need to stand in front of a gold mini van to see that. We have known it all along. And college was what brought us together.

     

     Seniors, I know I've jokingly asked if you have to go away to college. We have a good thing going in room 211; I adore teaching you. Yet, as you've painted those bricks in my classroom and have started to sign them, 

I realize that you need to have an experience like mine. You need your own pictures in front of gold mini vans...or whatever background of your choice. You need to broaden your minds, make new friends, grow more independently, creatively. You need a different perspective outside of room 211.  I'm excited to see what you do in college. (Just please promise to keep in touch with me to tell me about it). And twenty years later when you're at that college reunion, I hope you feel the sense of fulfillment in life that I have because of the people who were part of that college experience.