When my school district received a waiver to open the school for hybrid learning, I was filled with excitement and dread. The stats about how children fare with the Coronavirus gave me hope that my students would be okay, but without a guarantee of their safety, I worried. Then came the step of creating a “Covid Classroom” bereft of books and toys – no sensory corner for anxious minds, no makerspace, no dramatic play center . . . instead socially distances work stations demarcated by plexiglass barriers. I was so sad as I was convinced that no joy could be found in such a dismal place. At the same time, there were parents and children anxious for a chance to GO to school in person – and children I knew would benefit. Worry and guilt for my worry were leading me too much of the time. Then just days before Thanksgiving break and less than two weeks before they were set to arrive, it was cancelled. The numbers were too high in our district, including the number of infected children. Instead of breathing out a sigh of relief, I was torn once again.

Our district had previously been granted a waiver to bring small cohorts of children onto campus, and that option was used to support our children in special education programs and offer ELD support. The opportunity to bring children onto campus still existed, and I could set the parameters myself. Ultimately, I invited students whose families had opted for hybrid learning and who were at risk to come to school for an hour each day for extra support. I was still sad about the bleak landscape of my classroom, but it didn’t seem so bad when I knew they were only coming for a short time. This schedule allowed me to continue to meet with the rest of students as usual and not disrupt what they were accustomed to. I prepared myself as best I could for an unknown situation.

So here it comes – the good news. I learned immediately that neither the painting easel and fluffy chairs, the blocks and trucks, not even the playground was the most important thing for making school safe, loving and fun. It was me and my choices all along: how I greeted them (even without hugs or high-fives), the activities we could still do together and the feeling of community that makes school wonderful. The hour goes so fast, and the children are not anxious to leave. They want to stay longer because “We love this place!”. They are happy to see each other and confirm “You, like Pokemon, right?!?” They can collaborate and communicate through plexiglass, “Matthew, you have too many. Take one away to make six.” “Oh, thanks!”

Are. there awkward moments when I have to dodge a hug or use a pointer instead of my own hand to direct a child’s attention to something they are working on? Yep. That is a bummer. But what would be more of a bummer would be if my struggling learners did not know that school was a wonderful place that they could learn and grow in with a caring teacher whose eyes lit up when she saw their face and celebrated each accomplishment, no matter how small. So until I am told to stop because the numbers of infected people in the community continues to climb, I will be there with my little band of masked learners. We will search for the good and continue to grow together.

It has been a challenging few years personally as I have been on a journey of losing my mother to dementia while searching for my authentic self. It has been a surprise to me to learn that so much of my self-identity was borrowed from how my mother perceived me. I am working to unclench her vision of me and what I “ought to do” from my unfolding vision of myself. I think it is natural to come to this moment fresh out of my graduate program with new ideas and uncovered passions. But I feel stuck somehow. Perhaps it is because so much of my life is in-between.

My mother is lost to me yet still alive. I am getting ready to return to the classroom with half my students, half the day in a scenario that is new and uncertain. I know that I have ideas and skills to offer, yet there are no hands to receive them. I feel a bit shaken by these things and am forced to choose between bravery and fear to step forward. But like most of you, I am tired and weary from struggle and loss.

I had a moment in church this morning – a feeling of conviction. Not because I was being preached at, but because I was offered this blessing:

May God give you the grace to never sell yourself short; Grace to risk something big for something good; and Grace to remember the world is now too dangerous for anything but the truth and too small for anything but love.

So what does one do to crawl out of the in-between into what simply is? I am not sure, but I suspect it is by reaching up and grabbing onto even the tiniest hold with assurance that I have the strength to maintain my grip and let go of my other hand so it too can reach for something I cannot see but have the faith to know is there.

It has been over a year since my last post – and what a year! Personally, I have been on a rollercoaster as my mom’s dementia progressed and a new home had to be found. I am submitting my final products for my M.Ed. program and interviewing for a new position. Not to mention we are almost a year into a global pandemic. So much, right?

In the course of all of these things, I have sat down to update my blog numerous times, and I have a long list of drafts to show for it. Somehow I lost my confidence in voice along the way, but I am finding it again. I don’t know if this is the place where I will share it or not. I have the ideas and beginning research for a podcast in the works, but that topic will be very specific. So much is unknown about the world and my own self right now.

I have discovered that I can reach remotely and fall in love with my students just as I always have. I have learned that relationships matter more, not less, when teaching through a screen. I have learned that one of the ways I can impact social change is by deepening my understanding of my students, their family cultures and their preferred learning styles.

In this time I have also learned that my biggest obstacle to greatness is myself and the demands I put on myself to be perfect. I can never live up to the ideal that was established long ago, and letting go of that has been painful and freeing at the same time.

I believe all of these learnings are going to help me be a better teacher and a better leader. i am more open and more willing to vulnerable and admit when I don’t know or understand. My hope is that it will help those around me feel free to do the same.

As I turn in my final assignments and complete this portion of my academic journey, I am going to spend a lot of time reflecting on where I have been and the possibilities of where i can go next. I hope you come along with me.

“I think we’ve valued competence to the extent in education that it’s placed limits on what we’re able to accomplish.” -David Guerin

@DavidGuerin Blog

I read David’s blog post with “yes!” playing through my mind again and again. I began reflecting on why the shift to creativity, meaning breaking out of rote instruction and inserting your “gifts and strengths”, is so challenging for many teachers when teachers are such creative people. I believe it comes down to two fundamentally human things: conditioning and fear. Afterall, aren’t those two factors the catalyst for so much human behavior in general?

A few years ago, the now retired superintendent of my school district, David McLaughlin, had “Get Out of Jail Free” cards printed and distributed to every teacher in the district. He asked teachers to take risks in their classrooms without fear. Mr. McLaughlin wanted teachers do try things that may not work – because maybe they would! Maybe they would be the catalyst for innovation in the classroom. His intentions were to clip our wings and open our cages of compliance. He may have removed the fear of risking jobs or status, but removing the fear of failing our students is a much more profound task.

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I think that no matter how many times we hear the phrase “fail forward”, it isn’t going to inspire the well-conditioned and fearful to break out. It is not because teachers are afraid of failing themselves; they afraid of failing their students in the ways that are measured immediately. That is due to the years of conditioning to teach to the test. The battle scars are deep and not just for teachers whose class never had the highest scores – heck, they have the least to lose. It is the teachers who were “successful” and had their names announced and were cheered at faculty meetings. These teachers have their identity to lose. They risk losing their ability to know if they are a “good teacher” – or NOT. What do we model and reinforce so that teachers can take a risk that isn’t just theirs to take but their students’ as well? How do we celebrate creativity when the risk of losing the feeling of competence is so great? What do we give or demonstrate to show the fearful that their skill will embed itself in their creativity and that their students will be just fine?

Evidence is stacking up to show they will be more than fine. They will be ready for what lies ahead and less fearful to find new ways to demonstrate that. If you have discovered the key to this cage, please pass it around to the educators around you. We can soar as we are meant to – in a flock.

It was one of those mornings when I am awoken from a dream by my own tears. it is a sign that once agIn, I am carrying my students not just in my heart but in my head and psyche. The student who brought me to tears is not “mine” any longer. Its been two years since that was officially true. We know, however, that they are always ours.

This is the student who asked me why I was breaking up our “family” at the end of the year.  I didn’t know why then, and I am even more uncertain now. She lives on the precipice, this young woman. She is twelve and looks sixteen. Her parents were deported four years ago, along with most of her siblings who were not born here. She lives with an aunt and uncle and one sister.  She is brilliant. She is inspiring. She is at risk of failing, of becoming a statistic on the wrong side of the equation. And I feel helpless.

I catch only glimpses of her now. When I saw her briefly yesterday and had a moment to look her squarely in the face, I asked her the usual, innocuous-sounding question, “How are you?” She knew better than to give me a trite reply. She knew I was asking for real. “Mostly good,” was her reply.  I knew better than to be satisfied with that. “What is good and was the bad?” was my follow-up.  She answered as I suspected she might, “Grades still good, but I am getting in a lot of trouble.” I looked harder at her, my eyes asking the next question. “My friends.” So I ask, “Are these friends who will support you and encourage you on your path to law school or try to keep you from your goals?”  “They will keep me from my goals.”  At that moment our time for catching up was over. I hugged her tight and told her, “I am coming for you.”  She smiled at me and replied, “Okay, Mrs. Gyore.” I had promised her I would be relentless, and I have not been as constant in her life as I know I should be. It’s that thing that dogs teachers – time.

So I go back to her question, which was specifically “Why did you turn us into a family if you were only going to break us apart?” It was a punch in the gut at the moment, and now it just haunts me.  Why DO we do that? Does every school do that – mix students up year after year instead of building on the community that has been established? What is the pedagogy behind that? What would happen if we kept students together as much as possible, and their teachers worked as team from Kindergarten throughout elementary school? What could we affect if we were accountable to these students througout their time with us?

This would be especially challenging where I teach. Our transiency rate is very high, but has lowered over the past two years. However, I would argue that re-thinking how we view articultion is even more important, not less, in this scenario.  I just wonder, if there were six or seven teachers working as a team to ensure the success of our students and they had the stability of this tight community, what could we do? What if classes were created to meet the needs of students instead of teachers? I think its time for a “pinks and blues” burning party. What do you think?