This Month's Sales Report: What's Most Important in Education

     "I should be in sales," I say jokingly.

      I often find myself uttering that statement to people I don't know when they ask me what I do for a living. As an English teacher, I sell books every day to students who have no desire to read them. The job is far from easy. Do you know how difficult it is to get my students to like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein or get them to read "for fun?" I'm realistic to know that some of you would say that I didn't succeed at either of those things this year nor any of the twenty years I've been in the classroom. When I first became a teacher, I thought that you, my students, would hang on to my every word. I thought you would come to class having read every book and be inspired by the assignments I asked you to write. But just because I enjoy being at school and haven't left it since my kindergarten journey began in 1980, (that's 37 first days of school, by the way) doesn't mean you, my clients, are enthralled by my English class.

     Years ago, I took it personally when I found out students didn't read what I assigned. That moment could have put an end to my sales career. In twenty years of teaching, I will be the first to admit my sales reports are not always glowing. I don't receive a monthly bonus for the books I do get you to read, but I continue to sell books because it's what I love to do. As students, you have become my clients and have challenged me in the best possible way every single day. Many of you want to take the shortest route to learning and earning that A. You live in a world that forces you to be driven by social media, where you abbreviate even the abbreviations, speak in memes I don't understand, and have phrases that read like a foreign language to me. You find it more convenient to write in terms of 140 characters as opposed to full blown literary analysis essays. My sales job of making English relevant and enjoyable is challenging when it's far more economical for you to watch the movie or read Spark Notes. Many in society would claim you, my teenage clients, are lazy, addicted to taking selfies, have no idea what REAL music is, and are self-absorbed. But you are growing up in a world that is so much more incredibly difficult than the teenage world in which I grew up. You have to decipher between real and fake news as massive amounts of information lie at your fingertips. You take the most challenging courses, complete hours of community service, play 2.5 sports along with 27 other activities, do hours of homework all to hopefully get into the "right" college. You have so many more pressures placed upon you by the same society who wants to call you lazy and self-absorbed.

     So if you happen to find yourself living in a world where you experience that pressure, I want to remind you of something today. I want to remind all of those adults who are quick to criticize teenagers of something to day as well. And if you can choose to listen to one lesson of mine, this is the lesson I want you to hear: Your grades are important. Working hard is important. Being involved is important. But so is being kind and compassionate. So is making a difference in the lives of others.

     This past month in my Theory of Knowledge class, Mrs. Leise and I challenged you to the Kindness Games--an opportunity to perform an act of kindness for a group at Atlee. I had no real expectations of how the assignment would go. Honestly, I thought you would perform your act, and we would continue with class, but this one activity stopped me in my tracks. Juniors created such projects as hosting a field day for the intellectually disabled students, honoring the music department with chocolate and notes of kindness, bringing the librarians a basket of treats, honoring Atlee's administrators, serving breakfast for the special education teachers, cleaning lab equipment for the science teachers, talking to a group of sophomores about IB classes, showing admiration to the PE teachers with a special video, and surprising the school counselors. Some of the senior projects included serving lunch for the cafeteria staff, writing notes of encouragement to the English Language Learners, making cultural desserts for the foreign language teachers, leaving notes of thanks for the maintenance staff, stocking the IB office with mints and other supplies for IB exams, baking cookies for your teachers, delivering bags of thank you notes to the history teachers, and giving dry erase markers to some of the members of the math department.

What happened when you did those acts of kindness on the day of the Kindness Games was a moment as a teacher I will never forget. You put genuine thought into your project, and in doing so, you surprised many people. You even made some cry. 

     We narrowed down the field to the final four and then to two final projects. We were honored to have Tamara Letter, a true ambassador of kindness who recently published her kindness journey in a book entitled A Passion for Kindness, as the judge for the final round of the competition.

Tamara Letter and her inspiring book, A Passion for Kindness

The winner of our Kindness Games was a group of juniors who presented a basket with specific, meaningful things to each administrator at Atlee. Dr. Wheeler received Carolina blue cupcakes and Dr. Pepper. Mr. Just received a football. Mrs. Campbell received a box of yellow items to radiate happiness, and Mrs. Allen received a donation in her name to the Special Olympics, an organization close to her heart. To see the video of the Kindness Games Champions' project, click this link.

2019 Kindness Day Champions

     As a teacher watching all of this unfold, I was blown away by the fact that you would come up with such meaningful projects. My only instructions were to perform and record an act of kindness. Mrs. Leise and I gave you no other guidance; there were no mini lessons or models to follow. Yet, I was the one who learned, perhaps, the biggest lesson. You might not want to read all of the books nor may you be enthralled by my every word, but you showed seventeen different groups on Atlee's campus that you are far from the self-absorbed, phone-loving teenagers that people set you out to be. You showed me how far kindness can go in a world that unfortunately stresses the value of intelligence and success over being kind.

     One of my first parent/teacher conferences as a parent proved to me an unfortunate event is happening in our education system. The teacher and I made small talk for a few minutes, and then she got down to business. She talked about my daughter's grades. My daughter did not have an A in everything that quarter, and the teacher sheepishly explained why, thinking that's why I was there. I wanted to know something far more important. "What kind of person is she?" I asked the teacher. The teacher stared at me blankly for a few minutes before responding. In the silence, I clarified my question. "Is she kind to other students? Does she make a difference in your classroom?" The teacher answered my question and then told me she never had a parent ask a question like that in her years of teaching; everyone always focused on the grade or the learning, not the soft skills like compassion and kindness. I guess I think this is where we've gone wrong in education. Success should not be measured by a GPA alone or how many activities you can manage to add before your resume topples over. Success should be the measure of the kind of person you become. When I first started teaching, I used to be a teacher who cared far more about the numbers--the grades in the grade book. I didn't see the bigger picture--what my students had learned and how they had grown.

     I realize now that no matter how much the world might seem to be about something else, kindness and compassion are what change it for the better. Of course, I'm still not going to give up on my sales job. Next year's students will read Frankenstein, and I will try my hardest to make a book written in the 1800's interesting and relevant. And I'm sure my sales report will come up short. Regardless, I will continue to acknowledge the world we live in is drastically different from the world in which I grew up. I will continue to remember that I am teaching students who will be in careers that don't even exist yet. (That concept is mind blowing to me sometimes). But I also will continue to teach kindness and be inspired by the teenagers I teach. Even when the world lets me down by misunderstanding them, I will remember these seventeen acts of kindness, smile, and be proud that my sales job introduced me to these clients.

The Big Dance in Room 211

     I have always liked learning about the origins of words and ideas, so as basketball season comes to an end, I did a little research recently on the term "the Big Dance." In 1977, Marquette's basketball coach, Al McGuire, wore a bright blue suit to many of the games. A reporter asked him if he would wear that same suit during the NCAA tournament. "Absolutely. You gotta wear the blue blazer when you go to the big dance," he said. That year, Marquette won the NCAA championship, and the term "the Big Dance" somehow stuck.  I don't know much about Al McGuire, but I know he was extremely forward in his thinking. And I like the way he thought in metaphors.

Al McGuire winning the 1977 basketball championship

 

The 1977 Marquette NCAA Championship Team

     Continuing with this dance metaphor, I've seen leaders in all different capacities in my life, particularly on the dance floor. I'll never forget the dance I had with my dad on my wedding day. As the music started, he led me onto the dance floor and quietly began to talk to me. He told me stories from every stage of my life, arriving at the present day when the song ended. I laughed and smiled and cried as he talked. It's a moment I will never forget. How lucky I was to have him as a dance partner in that moment.

My dad and I on my wedding day

In my four decades on this Earth, I've had my fair share of dance partners. Some stepped on my toes. Others let me lead inadvertently. Some were incredibly graceful and handsome while others were not so polite. Some danced the funky chicken and other nine-year old sons I know have taught me how to do the Fortnite dance known as Orange Justice (I still need to practice that one according to the nine year-old). The older I get, the more I realize the value of finding good dance partners--finding people to lead me in the right direction, people who know my story and are willing to help me live it sometimes by leading and sometimes by following, people who are forward in their thinking like Al McGuire, innovative.

     As a teacher, I often feel like I am leading the dance. I'd like to feel like it's a dance with sophisticated moves, but recently, I feel like I've gone from being a steady dance partner to one who can barely get the rhythm down for the cupid shuffle. You see, this year, my classroom has drastically changed. At the end of last year, the Hanover Education Foundation awarded me a grant of $15,000 to model a classroom of the future. Eight whiteboard tables, 15 iPads, 24 laptops, and a portable green screen later, my room was physically transformed. Every time I turn the key and open the door to Room 211, I am in awe of what it looks like, and more importantly, I am forever grateful to the Hanover Education Foundation and their local business partners for making this a reality for me. I had a vision for what I wanted to do with this technology and newly renovated room, but I had no idea that I wouldn't necessarily be leading the dance.

     You see, it hasn't been the technology or the innovative, collaborative space that has revolutionized my classroom. You, my students have done that this year. You have taken the dry erase tables as a means to collaborate with each other. You have planned all sorts of projects on those tables; they've become a community space.

My favorite moments of the year were when you sat down together as a class to have a family dinner (B2, this picture still makes me smile)

B2 Family Dinner

and the notes of positivity you leave one another in between classes.

       We've done some innovative projects using the iPads and green screen, including TOK class having an on-line pen pal program with first graders from Pearson's Corner Elementary School.  In Al McGuire fashion, the term green screen has somehow become a verb in Room 211. "Mrs. Pace, can we green screen this?" one of you asked me one day. It somehow stuck.

The daily use of technology in class has been a breath of fresh air but also petrifying at the same time. You see, a huge learning curve has come with this classroom. I've taken risks as a teacher I might not have taken had I not been granted this opportunity. Quite often I have felt like I was leading you in an off beat dance instead of a graceful waltz. And many times, I've had to give up as the lead dance partner, and you, my students, have become the leaders in this classroom. The perfect example is the mock trial we most recently had where we put Victor Frankenstein on trial. I was a mere spectator, and the class was completely run by you, my students.  You did everything from report on the trial, to swear in the witnesses, to serve as the judge.

My hope for you is to keep leading. Keep dancing.

      My senior TOK students have made portfolios of their CAS experiences in the form of websites. Each is an innovative look at their creativity, activity, and service over the past eighteen months. You are true leaders in this. Because of you, there are sports programs with more cleats than they know what to do with and a homeless shelter filled with blankets and a new floor. Because of you, over $3000 was raised for the special needs community. Because of you children in hospitals will have a better stay. Because of you, less affluent areas in the city of Richmond now know how to swim and have the equipment to do so. Because of you, blood drives were organized and young girls grew due to your gymnastics expertise. Because of you, I have seen what true leadership is. Please keep leading your generation in your own big dance. Your ideas and leadership are so necessary.

     In the twenty years I've been in the classroom, I've come to find that teaching can be hard and messy and a much more complicated dance than anticipated. Room 211 certainly doesn't look like a traditional classroom anymore. I may not always be leading the pack, but that's okay. Teachers can learn just as much as their students. When I got into teaching over twenty years ago, never did I think that my students would have anything to teach me. How wrong I was; I'm learning every day, and my students are leading the way on the dance floor.

     To my students, I'll leave you with this: we have nine weeks left together. Continue to find good dance partners; find people in life to lead you in the right direction. When given the choice, I hope you continue to lead. I hope you continue to explore innovative ideas like Al McGuire did wearing that bright blue suit many years ago when he coined the term "the Big Dance." And most importantly, I hope you always continue to dance.

Revising the One Giant Selfie Called Life

     If I can be honest with you, I am really bad at taking selfies. Truthfully, my short arms aren't meant for taking them. I've  watched people with long arms effortlessly take selfies without even thinking about it. Quite frankly, taking selfies stresses me out. As soon as I position the camera at the right angle, put my thumb on the button, I have no idea where to look. As a result, my smile seems forced as does the shift in my eyes, slightly turned away from the camera. And so, usually I take an entire series of images just to get one that satisfies me. Of course, this hasn't stopped me from taking selfies. If you look at the framed pictures in my classroom, there are plenty of them. Last year after prom, a few students even posted on Twitter that our selfie improved over time. Needless to say, taking a selfie definitely is a work in progress for me.

     Obviously, I didn't grow up in a generation of selfies. In fact, you just took one photo of a moment and hoped for the best. One of my favorite pictures of my childhood is this photo I took with my dad, who happens to turn 70 this week. I don't remember the moment because I was really young, but I still can feel the joy. The photo isn't perfect; ironically, I'm still not looking at the camera. Had it been a selfie or had my parents had a smart phone, they definitely would have taken another.  

      In this generation of selfie taking and capturing a photo for every moment of our lives--including what we eat for dinner--there's far more revising that can happen. I watched a group of teenagers take a selfie recently, taking the picture four times before they were satisfied by the way everyone looked. I remember my first selfie. It was for my son's fifth birthday party--a ninja party with about a dozen 5 year-old boys (my true act of bravery as a mom and the last birthday party I hosted at my house). As I said earlier, my short arms aren't built for selfies, so I had a hard time getting both of us in the shot. I'm not quite looking at the camera either, but Jack is, well, being Jack.  Needless to say, we took several, resulting in his over-exaggerated expression.

If you think about it,  life is one giant selfie that we constantly revise. We can change our life story by tilting the camera in a slightly different angle. Suddenly our memories alter as does the way we think.  We may not always be looking at the camera, and sometimes our arms fall short of capturing everything we want, but we constantly keep revising.

     Recently, I listened to a colleague being interviewed by a student for a project. She discussed her favorite part of teaching writing as being the revision process because no piece of writing is ever finished. I couldn't agree more, and that got me to thinking about how life is this way, too--we are constantly revising our lives, constantly taking another selfie at a better angle. We are never finished, as there's always room to change and grow.

     In my first few years of teaching,  I was trying to help my students  appreciate poetry by having them write their own original poetry. On the day the poems were due, students were to share what they had written. One of my students who had very few inhibitions when it came to speaking in the classroom, instantaneously raised her hand to read her poem. She stood up at her desk, and began, “The title of my poem is ‘Topless.’”  I automatically stopped her and refused to let her read the poem, assuming that the material in that poem was inappropriate. She was angry and tried to explain, but I wouldn’t let her say a word. I knew her to be somewhat of a class clown. There was no way I was going to allow her to have the stage in my classroom or the last word.

I later read her poem and discovered that poem called “Topless” was about her convertible. And it was a beautiful poem. I definitely made a mistake that day by refusing to let her read that poem. So, the next day, I told the class that we had one more poem to hear. I embraced my mistake and learned to be a little more trusting of my students and that perhaps I need to know a little bit more about them as people before I am so quick to judge. I think back to this "selfie" and the way I revised it often in my teaching. My mistake humbles me and grounds me still to this day. It made me aware of the fact that in teaching, I constantly need to revise my lesson plan or my attitude or my way of thinking to meet the needs of my students. It made me aware that it's okay to make mistakes and also important to step back and evaluate what needs to be changed.

         This past month you read books about racism in IB English. The books were meant to be a "break" in the action of challenging IB literature.  In giving you that break, I also gave you the opportunity to revise history. I asked you to present a video of how we can combat racism in today's society. What I got was some of the best video projects I have seen in twenty years in the classroom. Nic Stone, the author of Dear Martin, one of the books we read, even tweeted "Watch all of these." These videos enabled you to think about a way to revise life--to evaluate what's wrong in this world and explore possibilities of how to change it. And I am certain you definitely will change it.

 That is what I encourage you to think about this month--ways you can revise life to make it better. Seniors, while you might be thrilled about this, I'm saddened by the fact that we only have 32 more classes together. What do you want to change about yourself in those remaining classes before you graduate? What revisions will you make? Maybe it means befriending someone who you've lost touch with since ninth grade. Maybe it means revising your evaporating work ethic. Maybe you'll relax a little more to enjoy the last parts of high school instead of wishing it away and racing to that graduation date. Whatever it is, think about how you can revise the parts of life that need change.

     Two years ago, I asked the thirty seniors I was teaching to live 1% better than the day before. I told them they would be 37 times better if they lived that way for a year. Later that night emails flooded my inbox with comments such as...

"I know this was just a classroom activity, but I do feel like my outlook has changed. Continue your movement, even when it seems easy to quit."

I have continued this movement of trying to improve myself by 1% every single day and convincing students to do the same. It's not always easy for me, but if it was, it wouldn't be meaningful, would it? This month on the two-year anniversary of my 1% movement, I asked you to write anonymous compliments to anyone in the school. Over the past two weeks with the help of some of you, I have been delivering these compliments. As I deliver them, more students write them. It's an unending cycle of positivity that originated due to the actions and desires of change and revision.

     This weekend, I watched the film A Star is Born. I fell in love with this movie and was drawn to the music and the idea of making changes to improve our lives. In one of the songs,"Maybe It's Time," Bradley Cooper's character Jackson sings, "Maybe it's time to let the old ways die / It takes a lot to change your plans / And a train to change your mind."

  Maybe it's time to change the angle--focus differently. Change is not easy, but can be extremely gratifying. Unlike the photograph I took when I was a child with my dad, we have the chance to continuously revise our lives. We have the chance to learn from our mistakes. Maybe it's time. Maybe it's time to change our focus--to find a way to be 1% better than the day before. Maybe it's time to revise what we don't like about our lives. Maybe it's time to take another selfie. I know for me, I will keep revising, keep stretching my arms as I take that selfie and hoping that in at least one shot, I'll be looking at the camera.

  

Little Matchmaker, Big Commitment: Taking Me Seriously

     

     There are times in my teaching career when I've realized I've done more than just teach. I often serve as a counselor and a parent and a coach and cheerleader all in one. I've even been a police officer of sorts, a comedian, and an actor. Yet, one of the roles I never expected to play was a matchmaker.

     In 2013, not knowing their personalities at the start of the year, I assigned seats to the students in my IB English class randomly. At some point during that year, two of my students who sat across from each other started dating. They didn't know each other prior to my class, but having to sit across from one another forced them to meet. They dated for two years in high school. When they graduated from Atlee, I jokingly said I wanted an invitation to their wedding when that happens. "If it hadn't been for the fact that I sat you two across from each other, you might never have started dating," I said jokingly.

They laughed but promised they would.

They took me seriously.

     This past week I received a save the date invitation in the mail to their wedding. When I opened it, I couldn't help but smile. I haven't seen these two young people much since they've graduated from Atlee let alone from Virginia Tech. I was so honored as I held that invitation in my hand and opened my calendar to, in fact, save the date.

     This moment got me to thinking about the the importance of commitment and promises. How committed am I to what matters most in life? How many promises do I make that I don't fulfill? Are my words just shallow and empty promises or do I sincerely mean what I say? These two former students clearly stood by their word. I am invited to their wedding, and I am going to show up proud to have been their teacher back when their relationship began, back when I served as their matchmaker.

     This month I want you to think about the idea of commitment. Most recently, I have been stuck in a very small room listening to Individual Oral Commentaries. I have heard more about Langston Hughes than I probably need to hear at this point in my life and thought very carefully about how I would redecorate the room I heard these commentaries in during the hours I spent there. I need about a gallon of paint and some black and white photographs, but I digress. This assessment is not an easy one. I know. I tried it several years ago just to see what it was like to be in your shoes. I floundered--a lot. Spending about 29 hours listening to these oral commentaries most recently, I began to think about the commitment you all gave to such an assessment. Most of you started barely being able to speak for 1-2 minutes when we began practicing for this assessment, and most of you ended with far more knowledge about poetry and Langston Hughes, many speaking for 7-8 minutes about a 20-line poem. A moment like that showed true commitment to your learning. Needless to say, I am proud.

You took me seriously.

Students practicing for the IOC

Students teaching the class poetry for the IOC

                                                      A selfie with the student who completed the final IOC

      And my seniors, you most recently turned in your extended essays, an 18-month endeavor of 4,000 words. Along with it, you sacrificed blood, sweat, tears, and more than likely some nights where sleep was lacking. I remember when we began these papers last fall--with your passion projects. Somehow you converted something you were interested in to a research paper of 4,000 words. You showed commitment in your research and your writing. You didn't phone it in when it could have been easy to do so.

You took me seriously.

     Quite honestly, that's a huge part of what life is all about--not being able to talk for 8 minutes about a 20-line poem or being able to write a 4,000 research paper--but genuinely committing yourself to the people, ideas, and things that are most important. I've been thinking about my role as a teacher--and one as a comedian, actor, counselor, and even matchmaker. Regardless of what hat I am wearing at a particular moment, my role is to be committed to my students. I will not give up on you even when you don't read the books or when senioritis (which is a made up disease, by the way) happens to reach its peak. If you don't understand something, I will find a way for you to understand. If you need someone to listen to why you're frustrated, I will lend an ear. If you want to write better, I will help you find your words.

I will take you seriously.

       In 1993 when I graduated high school, Sting released a beautiful song about relationships called "Fields of Gold." There's a few lines in there that stand out: "I never made promises lightly / And there have been some that I've broken / But I swear in the days still left / We'll walk in fields of gold." While the song technically is about relationships, the lines remind me of the idea of commitment in other areas of my life--of promise and taking things seriously. And they speak to me about my job as a teacher and your role as a student--to show commitment and promise even when it would be easier to phone it in, even when it is difficult.

     Next September I will see the commitment of two of my former students on their wedding day. I will more than likely reminisce about teaching them and be proud of how they ended up together. And I will think about the importance of commitment, of the roles I play as a teacher, of promises and how grateful I am that these two young people who are beginning their life together took me seriously.

 

Find the good. Be the good.

      I'm constantly asking my kids what they want to be when they grow up. Their answers have varied from Katie wanting to be a rock star when she was in kindergarten to both girls currently wanting to teach. (I wonder who is influencing that decision). When my son Jack announced at the dinner table recently one night that he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up, my interest peaked. Often he is the kid who gives me very little details about his nine year-old life. "What did you do at school today?" I frequently ask only to hear responses like "stuff" and "things."

     "What do you want to be?" I asked. I couldn't help but smile eagerly.

     After an eye roll that only a nine year-old can give, he replied, "When I grow up, I want to be a man."

     Frustrated, I replied, "But that's not something to be. You already are a man."

     "No. I'm just a boy. But I want to be a man. A good man," he said.

     I usually advise students to shy away from adjectives like "good" when they want to use them in their writing. It's a pretty nondescript way of saying what so many other words can say much better. Yet somehow that adjective tied to what Jack wanted to be--a good man--was perfect. He couldn't have described it better in that moment.

      Last year at this time, I reflected on the idea to choose a word to uphold for the new year. I chose resolution and decided to define my life by living a life of resolution--to commit myself fully to people, ideas, experiences. This year my son has inspired me to choose the word good. This year I've decided to find the good and be the good others want to see in this world. Good--perhaps the most nondescript, boring word I could choose--has inspired me to make some changes in the way I do things in ways that I anticipate will be far from boring.

      For one, I want to surround myself with good people. A student I taught two years ago encouraged me to do this in his valedictory speech. He wrote, "That is my hope for us. That we find those people who are who we hope to be--who value what we want to value. I hope that we choose our future friends not based off of popularity or convenience, but because they challenge us to be better people." I had the privilege of editing this speech before he delivered it, and I wrote down this idea two years ago when I read it. The idea of surrounding ourselves with people we want to be seems so simple yet is not something I see we always do. We want to be the popular kid or the successful kid. We're worried about if the choices we make will get us into the right college and how these choices will impact our GPA. Even adults want to find acceptance in this world more often than not. But do we think about how this will genuinely make us better? How it will make us good?

The next thing I resolve to do in the new year is find the good in situations. Last month, I came into school on a Monday utterly exhausted from my weekend. I tried to pack in too much. As a result, my essays weren't all graded, and I didn't feel like I was ready for the day. A student walked into my classroom and asked how my weekend was. "Just too short," I replied, barely looking up from what I was doing.

"Don't worry," she said, "We get another one in six days."

What an amazing perspective that completely changed the way I attacked the day. Instead of complaining that we were back at school and it was only Monday, this student had it all figured out--she found the good in the situation.

Finally, this year I want to commit to a life of doing good. I had the recent experience to watch this in my students in Theory of Knowledge. As supervisor of the CAS (Creativity, Activity, Service) component of IB, I facilitate monthly service projects. This past December, we raised over $700 for the Head Start preschool students at Henry Clay Elementary School. We shopped together to buy items on these children's wish list. Our trip to Walmart that Sunday was exactly as I pictured it: you all were rushing around to grant the wishes of kids you didn't even know and loading the cart full of happiness. Amid the foam sword fighting, bicycle riding down the aisles, and laughing at the looks some of the patrons gave me, I stood proud of what you did--of what we did.

We spent the next day wrapping 56 gifts--some of us learned how to wrap a present for the first time. And then we took a field trip to visit our new four year-old friends.

When we arrived at Henry Clay, I honestly had no idea what to expect. It's not every day that I see my own students interacting with young children. It took all of about 5 minutes for me to turn around and realize that this was one of the best things I have ever been a part of as a teacher. I watched you sit with these young people in your laps, laughing and smiling. I watched two of you stand up and dance with one of the kids, and many threw around tissue paper, letting the eyes of the children light up as they tried to catch it falling in the air. About halfway through the morning, one of the preschool teachers took me aside and pointed to a boy who she had never seen smile and laugh like he was that day. You helped these kids shoot baskets and feed their new dolls.You played hide and seek and got into an epic superhero battle. You brought them so much joy.

While those kids may not remember this moment years from now, I am certain you will remember the impact you can have on others for a long time to come. I know it's going to take a long time for me to forget the important lesson of doing good I learned from all of you in that moment.

I often relate what I'm thinking to song lyrics, and this time, I'm going a little out of my comfort zone in referencing Southern classic rock lyrics of Lynyrd Skynyrd. Before they graduate, I always ask my seniors I teach to tell me their favorite song. Each year there is always at least one student who chooses "Simple Man." It's a song I always have been familiar with but never really paid attention to its lyrics: "Be a simple kind of man. Oh be something you love."

Maybe my son picked the perfect occupation when he told me he wanted to be a good man when he grows up. And maybe that's all that I want for my new year as well--Surround myself with good people. Find the good. Do good. Always.