What's your name, man?

Alex. Today I have the joy of introducing you to Alex. This one has taken me some time to put together. It will probably be too long but there is no possible way to truly describe him in one post. So I will do my best to give you an overview.

I met Alex when he was in 7th grade. He was funny, brilliant, charismatic and confident. He was friends with everyone, not confined to any one particular group as so many middle schoolers are, and this extended to students and adults alike. He knew how to talk to people, he had a great sense of humor and he had the gentle confidence to back it up (he still does). This actually made him hard for me to read…sometimes it still does. Kids like this intimidate me more than any other type of kid. I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to pretend that no kid intimidates me but that simply isn’t true. Give me a “troubled” kid and I’m in my wheelhouse. Give me a confident, funny, social butterfly and I’m not always totally sure what to do. But I liked Alex right away. There’s no way not to. As the year progressed I started to realize his interest in history. He would ask insightful questions, participate and be really engaged. Having him in my class made my job so much more fun.

One day I went to watch Alex in a drama performance. When I showed up, the lady who took my ticket said, “You’re Ms. Laird!” I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad…”Yes? I am…” “You are the reason my son wants to be a history teacher!” I was caught off guard…this was news to me. I inquired and learned that Alex had apparently decided this was what he wanted to do now. And his parents seemed to attribute some of that to me. I really had no idea he even liked my class that much so I was humbled to be any part of this. That day I sparked a friendship with Alex’s parents. They were incredibly gracious, encouraging, supportive and absolutely hilarious. I immediately understood Alex on a different level. He was being loved, supported and parented beautifully. His confidence made sense to me now. Alex’s parents have since become cherished friends. My life is better for having this whole family in it.

From about that point on, Alex became my buddy. Some days he’d hang out with his friends, listening to music, playing basketball or throwing paper airplanes at people. On several summer days he showed up with friends to help me pack and move classrooms, totally voluntarily. And other days he would sit and chat with me in the middle of my crowded classroom…about the history lesson I’d taught that day, about basketball, about music…about life. I honestly treasured every conversation.

Alex was in 8th grade with me last year when the whole world shut down. I knew I would see him again because, like I mentioned, I’m friends with the family now. But I also knew our time to have those chats wouldn’t be the same. I wasn’t sure whether this would bother him at all or if he’d even notice, but I knew I would. He’s just one of those special kids who comes along and changes your world for the better. The kind who give you hope that the world might be okay after all.

Alex is a freshman now and he’s absolutely thriving in high school…no surprise there. He is still the same funny, brilliant, sarcastic, confident kid I met in 7th grade. He is still fairly guarded and stoic when he wants to be. He is still insightful, kind-hearted, considerate and deep thinking. And I don’t think I could possibly be more proud of him. Students rarely stick with the careers they think they want to do in middle school so I have no idea what he will decide to do with his life. Maybe he’ll teach history? He’d be the absolute best. Maybe he’ll be a pro sports trainer? Maybe a marine biologist? His possibilities are endless. But what I can say with 100% confidence is that whatever he decides to do, he will make the world around him a better place. His positive impact will have a ripple effect. And I will be honored to have been a part of his life.

So there you have it…some insight into one of the mysteriously confident ones. The funny, bright, social butterfly who is really just a normal kid who has been loved really well and is still trying to figure himself out…just like all the rest of us. The kid who gives us hope that the next generation is going to be okay. This is Alex. And I wish you all the joy of knowing him.

- KL

Wash your hands…

It has been nearly 1 year since my classroom has been full of students. 1 year. For many of these months I taught from my empty house. I thought that was hard. Then we started working in our classrooms again. The empty classroom is much harder than the empty home. I can still hear the echos of laughter, see visions of dance parties and simulations, even remember the feel of the tears that would often land on my shoulder. And I miss every minute of it. I miss every snarky remark, every tested boundary and every disengaged face I had to try and win over. I miss all the seemingly mundane tasks. I miss staff meetings. I miss it all. I didn’t know I was taking it for granted. I thought I was appreciating every day. And in many ways I was. But having something ripped away always makes you appreciate it more. It’s so hard right now. This job is overwhelming and exhausting. It’s new every day. It’s like being a first year teacher with a new assignment every month. But without the joy of the kids, who are the reason we do this job, coming into our classes each day. Some days it is so overwhelming I feel like I can’t breathe. I question why I’m even still doing this. What else I could be doing that would be more impactful. That just wouldn’t be this. But then 8:05 hits. I put on some music and open up my google classroom. 8:10am hits and students start showing up on the screen. 80-90-% will not be faces. They will be colorful circles with a letter in the middle. Most students don’t want to have their cameras on. I don’t fight them on it. I don’t know what might be behind that screen that they don’t want all their peers to see. But I know that they are there. And in that moment, that’s enough. I put on a big smile. I dance around to make them laugh. I do what I can to make it feel like everything is okay. I teach to the best of my ability with all these limitations. I try desperately to make the content accessible and fun and engaging and rigorous and everything else it’s supposed to be. But mostly I try to make them smile or laugh. I try to help them see that there is still good. That we are still together. That everything is going to be okay. And I pray. I pray that they are okay. I pray that they know someone cares. I pray that they don’t give up. And I pray that someday, very soon, I will see their wonderful faces (masked, of course) walking through my classroom door. I dream of the moment I will be able to air hug them and hear their voices shout our class “I Am Somebody” statement. I dream of talking to them at their desks. Of being able to have meaningful conversations. Of being able to make posters and do simulations and teach the way I’m meant to. I pray I’ll be strong enough to help them through that transition. I pray I’ll be strong enough to hold on until then.  And at the end of the day, I thank God that I have a job. I thank Him that I’m still here. And I thank Him for every face and every circle with a letter in it. For every life behind those screens. And for allowing me to be a teacher. Even now. Especially now. 

The art of saying goodbye...

3/23/2020
I have been working on this one for a while. The timing of actually being able to release it into this blog seems only too appropriate now. This one isn’t about any student in particular…it is about all of them. And about me. This one is personal in both a beautiful and somewhat painful way. So here we go…the art of saying goodbye.

I am currently in my 5th year teaching. It has been a roller coaster. The best kind of roller coaster. Every summer I prepare…anxiously awaiting the first day of school. The first time I see my kids for the year. Some of them I’ve had the previous year but there’s something about the first day of school that makes things feel both new and familiar at the same time. It is so exciting. I love every second of it. We’re home. That is truly what it feels like to me and I know it feels like that for many of them as well. Home. Our classes become families…big dysfunctional families…but families all the same.

Each school year is unique. Each class has its own nuances. They’re never the same. That’s part of what I love about my job. But there are some things you can count on. Someone (or many someones sometimes) will be a little more challenging than the rest. I always love those kids. I get them. Some of them will love coming to class, some will be apprehensive, some will pretend they hate it even when we know they actually want to be there. For many kids, school is their safe space. It is consistent and reliable when their lives outside of school are often the opposite. We will have fun. We will laugh…a LOT. We may cry. We will do many projects, videos, chats, check ins, circle times. We will learn. Whatever the circumstances, through it all, we really do create little families in our class. By the end of the year we all love each other…we have bonded…it is another home.

Eventually though, each school year must come to an end. The closer it gets the more you can feel it in the air. A mix of excitement, nerves, joy and sadness. The 8th graders, in particular, are both excited and nervous for high school (whether or not they’ll admit it). But also full of joy for summer starting and sadness to say goodbye. There it is. That word. Goodbye. A weird one for me. My life has been full of a seemingly endless flow of hellos and goodbyes. Probable more than the average person. And that is okay. But there is something about “goodbye” at the end of the year that holds more weight. Lots of promises will be made. We’ll stay friends in high school. We’ll come back and visit you all the time, Ms. Laird. We’ll never forget about you. We’ll always be a family, even when we’re all in high school. We’ll say hi in the hallways. We’ll never forget. Some of these promises will be kept. Most won’t. And that is okay. You see, the hard part of saying goodbye at the end of the year is knowing I won’t see most of them again and that is okay. That in some ways it is better if they don’t come visit “all the time” because they need to find their place in the next step on their adventures. Of course, I will ALWAYS love seeing their faces when they do come to visit. I will love hearing their stories. I will feel honored every time one of them asks me to sign a recommendation…be it for a high school class, a first job, a college application, a lease when they are adults (yes, I’ve done that for the kids I student taught). But regardless of those things, these kids are moving on. And I am staying in middle school. Preparing my classroom and my heart to nurture a new group of students. To create more families. To start all over again.

This is my job. To help nurture and develop whole students who are ready to move on to the next step in life. And it makes these goodbyes bittersweet. Sad because I will miss them. Every one of them has a piece of my heart so I feel it when they leave. But mostly joy…and pride. Because if they are moving on and making it on this next step of the journey, then I have done my job. I want to see them succeed. I want to see them continue to grow. And I do hope they will update me every now and then but no matter what, I will always be a proud “mama” cheering them on from here. Getting ready to pour into the next group and start the cycle all over again. This is being a teacher. And it is a beautiful thing.

* Update
My initial plan was to end there. And to post this now, before the school year ends, so it wouldn’t be so sad. But then came this virus. Goodbye seems to almost have been taken from us at this point. I hope and pray we will get even a week together at the end of the school year so that we all have some closure. But it is possible we won’t. Here’s hoping. Love to all. Stay safe and healthy! And wash your hands :)

- KL

All that glitters is gold...

Glitter. I was never a “girlie” girl…whatever that even means anymore. I didn’t like to wear dresses. I’d have a tantrum if you tried to put a bow in my hair. And don’t even get me STARTED on glitter. No way! I liked shorts and t-shirts and baseball caps. Whatever was comfortable. Most days I was covered in dirt, chasing lizards or playing baseball with the boys. Now days, however, show me glitter and you will see a beaming smile on my face. Not because I am any more likely to wear glittery things but because glitter has become a symbol that represents one of the brightest, kindest, most joy filled students I’ve ever known. She has, indeed, been asked to be called by this name. So today it is my deep joy to introduce you to Glitter.

Glitter is an extraordinary student. One who stands out without even trying. She is hilarious, kind, talented, brilliant, charismatic and, when needed, just the slightest bit sassy. She is an actress, singer, athlete and scholar. She is wonderful. During Glitter’s 7th grade year we were designing masks in my class. The assignment was to design a mask with symbols that represented the person making it. I gave examples…colors, animals, shapes, etc. Glitter raised her hand enthusiastically. Yes? “Ms. Laird! Can glitter be a symbol?!?” She was bursting with excitement. The whole class laughed. Not AT her but because it was so very her. “For you?” I answered. “Absolutely!” Honestly, if you had to pick a symbol to describe her there really is no better symbol. Well that one comment, as you can imagine, stuck. Not just for the rest of 7th grade but for all of 8th as well. It became her nickname and calling card. She started 8th grade by entering my classroom throwing glitter in the air and she left my class for the last time as my student at the end of 8th grade by making a grand glitter exit.

However, as with any story (and any person for that matter) there is much more to her. I will keep it a bit vague because anyone who knows her and reads this post will know exactly who I am talking about. But I want to acknowledge the rest of this amazing girl. Glitter thinks deeply about life. She is not always the peppy, outgoing, person she seems to be. She struggles with internal problems, as we all do. For a long time she kept them hidden. Fighting to keep up the persona we all knew. But there came a time where Glitter dropped her guard…with me anyway. And it was a gift. Beyond the enthusiasm and humor there was an even deeper beauty. A diamond. Forged by trial. Shining brightly through it all. She is strong. She has overcome so many things. She has demonstrated courage and perseverance many will not have the opportunity to see. Even when our end of the year trip was taken from her due to a freak accident, she carried on with a smile and a message for the world to keep on going. She carries on, bringing joy, laughter and light to the world around her.

In my years of teaching Glitter, and knowing her through her family since, I have learned a tremendous amount. I have been encouraged by her persistence and optimism even in the face of challenges. I have been inspired by her willingness to open up about difficult things in her life and fight to overcome them. And I have received joy from watching her bright smile and kindness towards others. I have learned to love Glitter (and, consequently, actual glitter) because it IS a symbol. A symbol of so many beautiful things. And a reminder of the beauty, strength, wonder and enthusiasm that live within us all.

Wishing you all the glitter.

- KL

Will you remember me?

My very first post was about the phrase “_______ was here.”  In it I described the phenomena of students writing their names followed by “was here” on my board and what that meant. This post is similar but more specific. I am going to introduce you to another one of my kids. For our purposes, we will call her Cass.

I will admit right off the bat that Cass is a hard one for me to read. At first glance, she appears confident, strong, well liked, and sure of herself. She is kind. She notices people…especially people that might otherwise be overlooked. She doesn’t come across as dramatic or overly sensitive, as some middle school kids do, but rather seems cool-headed and calm. 

Early in the year Cass asked me a question that caught me a little off guard. “Do you remember all of your students?” My answer was simple. “Yes I do.” I do. Maybe it is because I have only been teaching for four years. I suppose it will get more difficult at some point. But for now, at least, I do. I remember my kids. How could I not? My answer did not satisfy Cass. “But do you remember ALL of your students? Even the shy, quiet ones. Like Amy or Jessica (made those names up).” She asked, looking in the direction of some especially quiet students in our class. “Will you remember them?” Her questioned were steeped with speculation. She clearly did not think I would remember. I answered again, “Yes. I will remember them. I remember my kids…even the quiet ones. I like them. They are interesting. I will remember them. I will remember you all.” She looked at me skeptically and walked away. This single encounter with Cass has not left my mind since it happened. It was so out of the blue and so different from any question a student had ever asked me. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that Cass wasn’t just asking me if I would remember those quieter kids but was asking if I would remember her. It wasn’t really “Will you remember them?” But rather, “Will you remember me?” And maybe even, “Please remember us.”

So many students, and people for that matter, feel overlooked. Forgotten. Unnoticed. They want to be seen…heard….remembered. Most of us feel this way at some point but would never come right out and say it. My kids, on the other hand, are less inhibited. They will ask. Will you remember? Do you notice me? Do you know me? They may not ask it that directly, but they ask. As teachers we have the difficult task of not only teaching our students but showing them we care. It isn’t always easy to do this, but it is absolutely worth it. I watch their faces and body language as they walk into my classroom each day and try to determine how they are doing. Are they happy? Stressed? Having a hard day? Can I help? How can I help? A compliment…a look of acknowledgement…a high five? I notice. And I do the best I can to show them I care, while simultaneously doing my best to teach them history.

Cass is starting to be a little easier for me to read. She cares about people. She is really funny. She is creative. She is dedicated. She goes out of her way to make people feel cared about and included. She is multifaceted. She is brilliant. She is strong. And I think she wants to know that she will be remembered. And I can assure you (and her) that she will. I will not ever forget her. I consider it an honor to know Cass. An honor to be her teacher and a part of her life, at least for this year.

In the movie Freedom Writers there is a quote from the Miep Gies character that sums this all up. After telling the kids that they are heroes she utters a few powerful words…”Your faces are engraved in my heart.” That is it. The truth. These “kids” of mine are engraved in my heart. Including Cass.

• KL

Sage Pt 2

Early on I wrote about Sage (the one who loves camels) and tonight I've decided to give you an update on her...(see Sage and camels for the original post).

I have now known, and taught, Sage for almost two full years. As we near the end of my time here with her I am reflecting on my first thoughts and realizing that they were accurate but incomplete. I was right that there was more to her than she was showing but the more I got to know her, the more I learned just how special she truly is. She is certainly strong, opinionated, and witty. She doesn’t just accept things as truth, she searches and decides what she believes for herself and that makes her convictions strong. But Sage is more than her convictions. She is more than her talent and wit. She is more than her intelligence. Sage is a genuinely wonderful person. She loves and cares deeply. She takes care of the people who are important to her. She adds beauty and depth to the world through her writing, her dancing, and her general perspective. She inspires me still. I work hard to be the type of teacher she deserves. I love Sage genuinely. I can hardly wait to see the good things she will do with her life. I believe she is a student I will still know when she is grown up and I am old. I’ll know her still and be every bit as proud of her then as I am now.

For me, knowing Sage has been a deep honor. It has, at times, taken courage...because she is very strong. But I am grateful that I stuck with it. That I did not allow her facade to deter me. Because the real Sage...the one she is starting to really let people see...is more than worth the effort it took to get there.

As I said the first time I wrote about Sage, middle school kids, like all of us, are complex. They try to show you one thing but desperately want you to see something else entirely. They are strong, they are funny, they are capable, and they are worth it. Sage is going to change the world for the better. I hope that as she continues to grow she keeps questioning, challenging, and seeking truth. I hope she doesn’t ever let anyone snuff that fire out.

Flower

One of the great joys of teaching is having the privilege to watch students blossom in front of your eyes. To watch their eyes light up when they find something they are passionate about, often for the first time. To see education come to life. To watch a shy, quiet, student find their voice. Or a loud and opinionated student learn when silence is more appropriate. We watch confidence develop as students struggle to find themselves in the awkwardness that is middle school. We watch first “loves” and heartaches. We watch friendships face trials and sometimes fall apart, all the while knowing they will most likely find their way back to each other. We watch students who are “failing” academically suddenly decide to take charge and turn things around. We cry as we watch those students promote and, if we’re really lucky, eventually graduate. We are around these students so much that we have a unique perspective into their lives. And, as I said, it is a joy. It is also an honor and an invaluable responsibility. Over the past two years I have had the opportunity to watch some of  these patterns unfold in the life of a truly remarkable student. She asked if her name could be Flower...I think that is more than appropriate.

Flower is a beautiful human. She is kind, respectful, funny, and strong. She is absolutely brilliant and she does not even realize that yet. She is athletic, artistic, and talented in so many ways. She is a good and loyal friend and a dedicated student. These characteristics have all been present in Flower since I met her two years ago. She has always been a cut above. However, one thing has changed dramatically in her life and I could not be more proud. Flower has learned to stand up for, and believe in, herself. When I met her, Flower’s kindness and loyalty sometimes lead her to stifle her true self in order to appease her peers. I could see it wasn’t what she wanted, but she felt it was what she needed to do at the time. I wondered why, as I always do, and also wondered if and when this would change in her life.  I made a decision early on that I would be there for her when it did.

Here’s what I learned about Flower’s life...While I see all of the brilliant and positive things about Flower, some people in her life sometimes do not. Or at least do not express it well if they do. Which is probably the case for all of us but that can be hard for a kid her age. I know Flower feels she cannot measure up. In my eyes she stands out above all the rest. I think this background of having to prove herself in order to be accepted is what caused her to seek approval in friendships (that and the fact that every middle schooler wants acceptance). So what changed?

Well...Flower did. She blossomed this year (no pun intended) and totally came into her own. She is owning all of her amazing attributes, expressing herself, standing up for herself...she is being her own person and it is absolutely amazing! Every time I see her I am filled with pride. Flower is starting to see herself the way I see her. She is still the same sweet, caring, funny, brilliant, and beautiful person, but now she knows that she can be loved because of who she is. She does not have to conform, she just has to let her true self be known. And it is an honor to know her. Truly.

As she leaves our school and moves on to high school I am completely convinced Flower will be successful. She will thrive. She will learn and grow. She will spread light and kindness. She will continue to learn who she is and use that knowledge to help people. She will face trials but they will make her stronger. She will have victories and they will bring her (and me) joy. And she will always have a home here.

- KL

Introducing Eve

I haven’t posted in a long time. Teaching gets busy and sometimes I don’t think I really have anything to say. But as the year wraps up it is time to talk again. This year has been different. I was told this class was “difficult” to put it kindly. I like the “difficult” kids. They are usually just misunderstood. Most of these kids just need some love and some structure. They need the boundaries but they have to be given with kindness. If you are too hard on them you lose them and they give it right back to you. Today I will introduce you to one such student. A “difficult” kid who I happen to love. For our purposes, her name is Eve.

Eve is a complex girl. She is strong, intelligent, creative, and funny. She is also sometimes cruel, inappropriate, and disrespectful. That second set of adjectives are a defense. At some point in her life she learned not to trust people. She learned that it is better to keep them away, by any means necessary, than to trust. As a result she developed this tough exterior and has developed quite a reputation to go with it. When I learned Eve would be in my class I knew about her reputation and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I try to give all kids a clean slate in my class, so I treated her accordingly. Within two weeks of school starting she was proving her reputation. She didn’t respect me or her classmates but worse, she didn’t respect herself. I kept a level head with her and she continued to press on...trying to show her every day that I cared. One day she took things too far and had to be sent out. I was angry, I won’t lie, but I knew I had to be careful in my approach. Her other teachers just yell and send her away...I couldn’t do that. I wanted to win this one over, so my response here was critical. When I talked to Eve outside I asked her if she understood why I’d sent her out. She stared at me. I explained that not only was her behavior highly inappropriate, it was disruptive to the class as a whole. She gave a weak, “Okay, sorry.” That  “sorry” would do for now. I pushed further. “Eve” I asked, “You portray yourself in a very specific way but I don’t think that is who you are. Is that who you are?” She stared at me...sizing me up...trying to figure me out...deciding if she could trust me. “Is this who you really are, Eve?” The stare softened. “No.” I asked her why she chose to portray herself in this way and she explained that this is what everyone thinks of her and the way everyone treats her so she might as well give them what they want. My heart broke. This girl was so young and she’d already given up but in this moment she was allowing me to see a glimpse of who she really is. She had given me some trust...I had to be careful. I looked at Eve and told her who I saw. I told her that she is smart, creative, strong, and beautiful. I told her she was too strong and independent to let other people decide who she would be. I told her that if she wanted to, she could change and let people see the real Eve...an Eve she could be proud of. She stared at me with tears in her eyes. “Why do you care?” The question, which I’ve heard so many times, broke my heart again. “Because I see you, Eve. I care about you and you deserve it.” Then, to my great surprise, she hugged me, thanked me, and asked if she could be allowed to go back into my class. This all happened about a month and a half into school.

After this first real encounter with Eve, everything changed in my class. She started paying attention, participating, even volunteered to debate (and absolutely crushed it). She started greeting me every day when she walked in and saying goodbye when she left. She would even tell other students to be quiet if they were being disruptive. Other students started asking me what was going on. How did I get Eve to behave in my class when she is so bad in all the others? My answer was always the same...I cared.

As this school year comes to a close, Eve has an A in my class...which she has had all year. She has changed so much. She is more confident and willing to share her intellect, rather than her inappropriateness. When I assigned our final project she had the option to work in a group or alone. She chose to work alone. The assignment was to reflect on the year and pull out the life lessons we’ve learned from studying and from being in our class together. She made a story book. I was anxious to hear what she had written. Presentation day came and Eve was eager to share her story. So what lessons did she learn?  You can get farther by being respectful than you can by being disrespectful and rude. I am somebody. I can do something good with my life. People matter. We are all somebody. As I listened to Eve read her story tears welled up in my eyes. This girl. This strong, capable, valuable, girl was finally beginning to see what I’d seen all along. She was, and is, starting to see her value. This one blew me away. This one touched my heart in a way that changed me. This girl will go so far and I can hardly wait to see what she does.

I will never forget Eve.

• KL

Sage and camels...

I'm going to tell you about one of my students. For our purposes we'll call her Sage. Sage is a highly intelligent girl. She is sharp, witty, highly opinionated, at times brash, and one of my favorite students to teach. Some of her teachers don't appreciate her (which is totally fair, by the way) but I just love her desire to ask questions and challenge things she doesn't understand. Also she loves history, so that helps. I don't find her disrespectful in any way. She simply likes to question and challenge because she loves learning. Sage is not exactly...warm...though. She prides herself on not crying at things that make her classmates cry. She likes being perceived as strong, independent, and self-sufficient. I, however, see cracks in her armor. I see moments when she cares...moments when she lets her guard down even for a moment. Sage is complex. Students like her challenge me to be a better teacher each day. To be a teacher who lives up to their standards.

Now that you have some background on Sage, I'll tell you a funny story. One day I was introducing my students to the geography and climate of West Africa (please try to contain your excitement). We were discussing the plant and animal life in each climate area when I began to explain why camels are well suited for the desert and how they helped with trade. Suddenly, Sage burst out, "Wait...can camels run!?!" I explained that yes, camels can indeed run. "But I've never SEEN a camel run..." she said. Some kid across the room called out, "I have!! They show it in Tomb Raider!!!" I got the class back under control and continued with the lesson. Eventually I showed them a video about modern day salt mining and how little has changed over the centuries (again, please contain your excitement). The video shows camels running. As soon as that happened, Sage gasped loudly, grabbed her face, shouted "they DO run!!!!!" and started crying! This usually tough, no-nonsense, girl in tears because she saw a camel run. I, of course, proceeded to pull up videos of camels running in slow motion...baby camels running...you name it. I've never seen her so happy.

Middle school kids, like all of us, are complex. They try to show you one thing, but desperately want you to see something else entirely. They are strong, they are funny, and they are capable. At the moment, Sage wants to go into the medical field (though those desires can change rapidly). If she does, she will probably save thousands of lives. If she is in that field I hope she constantly questions and challenges to be sure she has the right answers. I hope she doesn't let anyone snuff that fire out.

I love my job :)

- KL

Paper Clips

A friend of mine teaches at my school. Her son is one of my students. Early in the year I was standing at a desk and there was a paper clip sitting on it. I picked it up and gave it to him. This started a tradition of sorts (don't ask me why). Almost every day I'd give him a paper clip. Basketball season started with a tournament. I gave him a paper clip the first day of the tournament, like always, and that day he put it in his shoe when he played. They crushed the other team. Somewhere in the chaos after the game, he lost that paper clip. The next day (a Saturday) I got a text from my friend asking if I'd bring a paper clip to the game :) Her son put it in his shoe and they won that game...with his buzzer beater shot. When the game ended he ran over, pointed at me, and said, "paper clip". I don't give him one every day anymore, but I definitely give him one every game day.

As the weeks went on, other students started hearing about the paper clip thing and suddenly they became a thing (I told you, middle schoolers ARE a little quirky). Paper clips for good luck in sports. Paper clips for good luck on tests. Paper clips to cheer kids up. Even paper clips to help kids with difficult home lives remember that someone cares. Paper clips on necklaces...on backpack zippers...you name it.  It was funny to watch happen and also pretty endearing. However, the coolest thing hadn't happened yet.

One day the original paper clip kid (Cody) came up to me during class and the following interaction ensued.

Cody: Is it Thursday?

me: yes

Cody: Can I have a paper clip?

*I handed him a paper clip...slightly confused because he didn't have a game that day*

*he took the paper clip and then handed it back to me*

Cody: There you go.

me: *smiled and thanked him as I realized what had just happened*

What exactly happened, you ask? HE was giving ME a paper clip because I had a game that day! You see, I coach. That day my girls had a home game. He was returning the paper clip tradition to me. And, by the way, we won. When the game was over he walked over to me, pointed, and said, "paper clip".

A lot of people think middle school kids are selfish and/or unaware. That they are only capable of caring about themselves. This is not the case. These kids care. They are observant. And they want people to be happy. The paper clip is just a small, inconsequential, thing. But that day he showed me he'd learned the lesson of giving back. It wasn't just about him winning games on crazy buzzer beater shots (though those moments are pretty awesome). It was about being part of a community and learning that the success of the people you care about is just as rewarding as your own personal success. He got it. He gave back. What would the world be like if more adults got this concept too?

Like I said before, the future is bright. We just have to be willing to see it.

Wishing you all the paper clips ;)

- KL

You are here...

I am a middle school teacher.

That statement is generally met with one of two reactions. The, “How crazy do you have to be to do that job?” face, or the, “We should really throw you a parade, oh hero of society!” response. Neither is deserved. Two years ago I would have given anyone the same reaction. Had you informed me then that I would be doing this job I would have, at best, laughed in your face. Now I realize I have the best job in the world. So what changed? How did I go from being repulsed by the idea of teaching middle school to being thankful every day for the opportunity? The answer is simple…I met them.

Middle school kids have a stigma attached to them. They are dramatic, hormonal, disrespectful, loud, and a number of other negatively perceived adjectives, right? Who would want to teach them? Who would choose to spend the majority of their waking hours with these irrational humans? The thing is, like many misunderstood groups, these kids do not deserve this stigma they cannot seem to escape. Are they dramatic and hormonal? Sometimes. Disrespectful? Occasionally. Loud? Always! Okay, most of the time. Do they deserve to be defined by those adjectives? Not at all. My students are amazing. They are bright, creative, energetic, and kind. They are loyal and strong. They welcome my ridiculous simulations, projects, and opportunities to act out historic events, with open arms. They ask for advice and actually listen to the answer. They listen. Even when you don’t think they are. They are trying to figure out who they are and where they fit in society. And, sadly, they know what you think of them. Or what the general population thinks anyway. They know. And because they know, they often choose to make themselves fit those stereotypes. However, given the opportunity, they will show you the best of themselves. Their beauty. Their creative thought. Their insecurities. Their plans for the future. Their desire to make the world better. You just have to be willing to listen.

I allow students to write on my white board. Most of the time my board is filled with little cartoons or notes about how “cool” I am (I am not now, nor have I EVER been, “cool” by the way) or how much they love me. It is sweet and always makes my day. However, you will also find something else scrawled between their drawings and notes. It is all over the place. Sometimes in tiny print, sometimes large and circled so that nobody can miss it, “ (insert name) was here.”  Sarah was here. Rachel was here. Cade was here. Dillon was here. It’s everywhere. They were here. When I first saw this I didn’t understand it. You’re here. Okay I get it. You’re here, he’s here, she’s here, we’re all here. I see you. You’re standing right in front of me. But that’s just it. They are trying to figure out who they are and where they fit, but they feel like nobody really sees them. They feel trapped by stigma and stereotypes, and weighed down by their own insecurity. They are kids trying to become adults. They’re stuck in that awkward middle stage. And they just want someone to see them, to listen to them, and to care. They don’t want to be alone and they don’t want to be forgotten. They were here. They ARE here.

I am writing this blog to tell you their stories. To introduce them to you, if you will. And to give you a small glimpse into the life of a middle school teacher. Some of the stories will make you laugh, some will make you cry, others will break your heart and possibly make you want to adopt them all (maybe that’s just me?). My hope is that it will help you see them, know they are here, and have some hope for our future. I see it every day, and it is bright.

So, without further ado, I introduce to you my kids. And in case any of you are my students who happened to have stumbled across this blog, be sure of two things…

            1. I’m changing everyone’s names so this will be anonymous, don’t worry.

            2. I see you. You are here.

-       KL