Tag: teacher

Imagine A World Without AIDS

Posted on December 1, 2012 by

www.iusy.org
When I was hired for my first teaching job, I had no idea that the man who recruited me had AIDS.  It was the early 1990s, and AIDS wasn’t mainstream.  It was a secret.
He didn’t look sick.  He didn’t act like he was dying.
He never told us.
He just disappeared from work one year.
We didn’t know what was wrong.  We wondered why he was gone for so long.
And one day when he came back to visit, we figured it out.
And then he died.
Thank you, Steve, for taking a risk with me.  I was young, eager, and enthusiastic.  You gave me a chance.
I think you’d be proud of the teacher I’ve become.
I’ve never forgotten you, or your infectious laugh, or your love of the strange-but-contagiously-addictive middle school human.
Thank you.  I wish you were here.
http://www.projectconcern.org/

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Glimmers of Hope

Posted on November 12, 2012 by

“If you keep on doing what you’ve always done, you’ll keep on getting what you’ve always got.”

I always share this quote with my eighth and ninth grade students at the beginning of each school year.  In August, they’re filled with promise, with messages of hope and faith from their parents, and confidence that this will be their year.  That change will happen.

Progress grades after four weeks usually show improvement.  They can commit to change, and are seeing results.  They are starting to feel good.  Their parents are proud.

Four more weeks go by.   Tests, projects, essays, and life start to blur their focus.  They’re not getting enough sleep, and it’s hard to see the end of the quarter.  October is a hard month.

Eight weeks later, when quarter grades come out, their little balloons burst.  Some have slipped back into old habits.  Their calendars are sparse, their backpacks stuffed with paper, unfinished assignments, and smelly gym clothes. parents have begun to nag, panic, and in desperation, sometimes blame the teachers.

It’s my job to pick up the pieces.  Rebuild their shattered hopes, and cheer them towards the finish line.  You can do it!  Look at your progress in the long run!  You’ve come so far!  Don’t let that one test/paper/homework/detention slow you down!

I often wonder what really holds kids back.  Is it the fear of success?  Are they more comfortable in that middle place of a “C” or “D” grade, when they’re still passing but no one puts too much pressure on them to be ‘perfect’?  Is it a lack of trust that what teachers and adults are suggesting will really work?  Or maybe it’s all a natural developmental phase; kids trying things their way, regrouping, and trying again?

Is school really getting that much harder?  Or are we just approaching it differently?  Are the stakes raised for kids, families, teachers, and colleges?  What exactly are we expecting from our children?

Finding a balance for teachers and parents is tricky.  We want to hold up high expectations, knowing that they have ‘potential’.  We want them to strive to do better, work harder, and get into a ‘good’ college.  We hire help – economics tutors, SAT prep, math courses, and whatever we can do to say we’ve done our best.

I always come back to the kid, and that intangible, unteachable asset that seems to mark those that make it through the bumps, hurdles, and hard times of middle school: intrinsic motivation.  I saw it during my trip to Indonesia last summer – those kids wanted nothing more than to learn English and make it to the U.S. for college.  They understood, “No Pain, No Gain” like many of my students cannot.  They couldn’t afford tutors-they just had to work hard.

The bottom line is, the kid has to want it.  They need to have a supportive base, caring people who will encourage and not accept responsibility for their actions.  They need to have people who are firm, consistent, and unconditionally love them.  They need to celebrate the small victories and regroup after the defeats.  They need to see the glimmers of hope for their future – to see who and what they can be when, diploma in hand, they walk into adulthood.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Full Circle

Posted on September 17, 2012 by

The pathway looks just as it did 40 years ago when I first rode to his office.  Tiny aggregate stones cemented along juniper prickly bushes, apartment parking lots on either side.  Only the legs moving the pedals had changed; a bit older, yet still the memories flash  back to Icees and Pay n Save nail polish.

It still smells the same, too.  That dental kind of tart, sterile and oddly comforting smell.  The waiting room, updated, yet still the same configuration as always.  The receptionist smiles as welcomingly as if decades haven’t passed.

I stretch back in the chair, searching for the familiar 70’s wooden signs warning me to floss and keep a clean smile.  The poster high overhead has been replaced, I notice.

“Ooh, I’ve never seen that before,” chimes the technician, a familiar face, yet only within the last decade.  Not something I want to hear, even though she claims there is good news along with the bad.

But I dodn’t panic.  I sink deeper, breathe, and know he will take care of me, just like he always has.  She steps out, and I overhear her telling him I’ll need an afternoon appointment – because I’m a teacher.  He hasn’t checked on me yet, so I fill her in.  “He’s the only dentist I’ve ever seen.  In my whole life.  We were neighbors when I was little.  And I even taught his son,” I inform her.

“You wouldn’t believe how many people say that.  The only dentist part, I mean,” she replies with a smile.  “It’s amazing.  Four generations, even.  People just keep coming back, bringing their families, their kids.”

I smile to myself.  Of course I believe it.  Well, maybe not the four generations part.  His icy white hair may hint at his age just a bit, but certainly not four generations.

When he enters I’m back in elementary school again.  Not many people can call me by my childhood nickname, but I wouldn’t have anything else right now.  He asks about my dad.  “Isn’t he getting to retirement age?” His eyes twinkle as he speaks.

“Are you kidding?  He can’t retire yet- he’s just a young guy,” I tease back, knowing he’s remembering those days when his kids and I used to kick-the-can down Mulberry Lane.

“And anyways,” I continue.  “He keeps getting too many clients who want him.  They like the experienced guys.”  No kidding here.

As he chuckles in agreement, my body folds into the chair and we begin.  It’s just like it’s always been.  I have no idea what’s really going on inside my mouth, but I’m ok with that.  For a type-A teacher like myself, that’s an uncomfortable feeling.  But strangely, it’s ok right now.

It’s never rushed, never wrong, there is never a misstep.  His skill doesn’t change with years.  He knows just how to make me feel at ease.  “Just sit back, kid,” he commands.  I haven’t been called that for a very long time.

When he’s done, he steps back and looks me in the eye.  All seriousness.  

“I can’t thank you enough for teaching my grandson.  He’s amazing.  He’s planning for college, creating amazing projects.  He’s learning to fly a plane,” he boasts in only the way a grandfather can.  “Thank you.”

My numb mouth cannot keep up with my brain, and I smile in thanks as he walks out of the room.

Biking home, I’m still in elementary school.  It’s all too familiar right now – just a bit farther and I’ll be back home.  Nothing much has changed in 40 years.

But as I enter my adult home, just a few blocks away, my brain and mouth collide.  Thank you, Dr. Spore, I whisper to the empty room.  Thank you.  

I’ve come full circle.


free image courtesy of FreeDigitalImages.net

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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When I Stop Talking

Posted on September 5, 2012 by

I’ve always been a pretty quiet person.  I love the silence of the morning, the quiet only punctuated by the cawing of crows heading east towards the fields, the spurt of the coffee maker, and the rhythmic splat of the sprinkler as it sprinkles my garden before the sun comes up.

I love the quiet of reading books snuggled under a soft down comforter, the scratch of my pen on journal paper, and the hiss of the candle welcoming me into the daylight.

I never much enjoy talking on the phone, talking in groups or talking at parties.  I think it’s odd that I chose a job where talking consumes so much of my day.  I’ve been told that my teacher-talk is like a kindergarten teacher, explicitly outlining each step of a lesson and highlighting expectations.  I explain  that teaching middle school is just like teaching kindergarten.  When I stop talking, they notice.

I enjoy talking with my children the most.  The times when we’re driving in the car and they see something that reminds them of a story from school, or when I need to explain something very serious, or when we just giggle together are my absolute favorite.  The way they talk as teens is so different from when they were little – in many ways, it seems like the stakes are much higher now.  They need me to listen more now than ever.  There is a shift going on – a time to carefully choose my words, softly encouraging them to listen.

When my children talk to me, they share little bits of their soul.  Sometimes those bits are broken-off shards, sharp, piercing and painful.  Other times they are soft, pillowy bits of fluff that slip from their mouth and bounce around the room.

Sometimes when they talk it is hard to hear them – especially when their words tumble out at warp speed, piling on top of each other like wooden blocks poised to crash to the ground.  We stop, pause, and take our turns at being heard.

Their words matter to me.  When I listen to their young voices I hear my hope for their future.  I hear their curiosity about the world, and their questioning human morality.  When I listen to their words I see their children speaking, years from now, asking for their wisdom.  I hear their minds whirr as they process what they see and who they have heard.  I hear myself in their words.

I know the quiet is coming soon.  They will be gone, moving into their lives and exploring the world more quickly than I would like.  They will use their voices to share, teach, and understand.  They will deepen and stretch and take in so much more than I can imagine, more than I could ever tell them.  I will hunger for those car rides and late night conversations when I had their attention, when I could teach them what I thought they should know.  And when those days come,  I will drop everything for their phone call, eager to hear their voice, desperate to listen for my words coming through their soul. 

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Touchdown Confirmed: First Day of School Complete

Posted on August 23, 2012 by

Day one of the school year was pretty decent – my job is to build up my students who think they are less than, cannot make it, or don’t see where they will fit into the world.

So I showed them a video of the Mars Curiosity landing.

Touchdown confirmed.

Everyone heard about this a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t until I read Brene Brown’s post and saw the video clip that I realized how perfectly it fit into my first day of school message.  I don’t like to spend that day pouring over rules, syllabi and other boring stuff-I like to teach straight away.

I think at first my students thought I was crazy – perfectly fine with me.  And then they got it.

Failure is not an option.

Touchdown confirmed.

Day 2 awaits.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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