Sunday, June 29, 2014

the day the teacher dressed up as a banana


I got caught cheating on a General Science chapter test in 9th grade.  I went to the Principal’s office and my parents were called.  At home, my folks questioned why I had cheated and I told them that my teacher didn’t care about my learning or even if I attended to class.  I told them that I had no idea what was happening despite daily attendance and the notes I meticulously scribed from each lesson.  Not to mention that he could talk about the minutiae of a cellular reproduction but couldn't connect with a kid to save his life.  My parents seemed to understand my dilemma and didn’t punish me.  They said I should do what it took to make it through the class even if it I meant that I merely survived it.

Sitting in the high school gallows that afternoon shed light on a particular path I chose to walk as I marched into "collegelandia."  The system of education had nothing to do with learning, with integrity, or collaboration.  It was about working the system so you didn’t get worked.  And so I did just that and did so very well.

Academically, I have received numerous awards of excellence, outstanding GPAs, and full ride scholarships.  But not because I understood or could practice the “material.” I could play the hearts of teachers - teachers who were rarely acknowledged or appreciated as masters of anything.  I realized that I could get the best grade in the class by simply being a friendly face to a figurehead that desperately needed a smile from the crowd. 

During my undergrad work at a popular university in Washington State, I received a 96% on a critical final exam in a 350 level class though the majority of what I wrote in 6 or 7 pages was inaccurate garbage.  I penned paragraphs of wild make-believe across the short answer and essay portions of the exam but I believe it was because I looked the professor, who happened to be an audacious French-Canadian male, directly in the eye each day with a particular sparkle that he so foolishly granted me such success in his course.  He obviously didn’t read a single word I wrote but saw I had applied myself in an academic fashion to the task and knew my name and face from class. 

Education was an extrinsic game of faking it and receiving accolades for my charmed performances.  It was when I graduated with my BA from The Evergreen State College that I realized I might not actually be able to act this way off the academic stage and in the “real world.”  It was a truly terrifying moment.  I listened to a lot of Jimmy Buffet, which added insult to injury.  I was miserable, insecure and out of total desperation accepted a menial job at the local newspaper so that my friends and family would see me utilizing my degree in the working world.  I actually engaged very diligently in the tasks of my new job as the Newspaper In Education Coordinator at first.  I worked out of a tiny cubicle in the basement and spent long days trying to build connections between the newspaper and schools in subscribing districts.  No one noticed my drive and certainly no one commended my efforts.  I came home every night exhausted and unraveled.  I reminded myself of the dozens of teachers I had just bamboozled in my undergrad work.  I, too, was in need of a smiling face and a little recognition.

After completing a big marketing project for the newspaper to which no one acknowledged, I got flaming pissed.  I said, fuck this.  I started exercising at the YMCA during work hours and even grabbed a beer on the clock without remorse or even concern.  I felt empowered again.  Punk rock even.  And suddenly everyone started noticing me.  My boss began giving me positive comments on the work I actually wasn’t doing any more.  It seemed the more I screwed off, the more everyone cheered.  It was confusing and by all means reinforcing of my bad behavior.  On my last day, (I had to quit before I was figured out), they threw me a catered party.  I remember feeling sick eating the food and felt a deep sense of relief that this chapter of mockery had ended. 

But alas, I had a degree and no job so without much depth of thought packed up and moved to Reno to start fresh.  At the time, 2004, the economy in “the biggest little city” was growing exponentially.  Californians were buying up land like Cinnabuns on a Sunday.  Schools were being built to house all the incoming kids and there were certified teaching jobs for anyone with a BA in freaking anything.  Sold.  I took a gig in a slum called Stead just north of Reno.  An old WW2 air force base, Stead had a smelly garbage dump, some single-wide track homes, and an elementary school called Desert Heights.  I worked in the Life Skills Classroom for 4th-6th graders with a full spectrum of special needs.  Autism, fetal alcohol, mental retardation, Down’s syndrome, severe behavior issues to name a few.  Having never spent an hour with anyone, adult or child, grappling with any of these challenges and having no training in how to support children with special needs or even how to care for their physical demands - seizures, diapering/toileting, feeding, non-verbal communication - I came home from the first day and said to myself, what in the bloody hell was I thinking?

I remember drinking most of a terrible bottle of wine that night trying to devise a plan of how the heck I was going to keep everyone alive including myself, let alone, how I was actually going to be able teach anyone anything.  Near the end of the bottle it hit me: that the kids held all the answers I needed.  So I went to school with a bit of a head ache the next morning determined to sit with every kid and hear from each one of them what they wanted and needed from me.  Now mind you, some of the kids in my class were non-verbal or only spoke in single word responses but I made sure to engage with every student and to create a way for everyone to respond.  When I explained to the class that I would be asking each of them what he or she needed from me to thrive, immediately every student was attentive and excited.  And as I sat with each of them one by one throughout the day, I was amazed that I was able to understand so clearly what was expressed despite the many barriers. We were truly communicating heart to heart and I found a newfound sense of calm, which replaced the overwhelming fear of failing them.

I took notes throughout the day on the board and then as a class we created a chart called, “What I Need From Ms. A.”  One child, who was diagnosed with both Down’s syndrome and mental retardation, gave me a giant hug as her response.  So every day I made sure to give her a big bear hug hello and an equally joyful hug goodbye to start and end her time in class.  Another child with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome said he needed 3 sharp pencils on his desk at all times.  So I sharpened 50 or so pencils and made sure he had access to them throughout the day.  The students asked me what I needed from them before the end of class that day.  I was stunned and I couldn’t respond because no one had ever asked me that in a classroom or professionally.  I was brutally speechless and told them I would think that night and let them know the next day.  I went home and walked along the Truckee River for hours grappling with how I would respond and with the feeling of not knowing what I needed. 

The next morning, I started class by reviewing everyone’s needs and then I added my own to the list: "Miss Julia wants to share something she is thankful for each day and needs to laugh with her class at least once every day."  I felt like in that moment, I dropped into the class as me.  It was actually that simple.  Everyone could see the chart and over time, I noticed kids attending to and supporting each other’s needs.  And they attended to my needs.  Kids would bring in funny stories and jokes and we would have a comedy corner each day where we would just laugh together.  I made sure to share what I was thankful for and I found it a useful tool that did help me to move past moments of feeling overwhelmed.  The Needs List was a beautiful exercise that built on itself throughout the year and we grew to treasure each other’s needs.  I found that when everyone, including the teacher herself, had his or her needs identified and acknowledged, a sense of real freedom, safety, and love developed amongst a very diverse group of people. 

I spent my time in class deeply loving all 14 of those kids as my own.  The only time I won gambling in my life was that year in Reno, playing the Wheel of Fortune slot machine at the Silver Legacy Casino the night before Thanksgiving.  I looked her in the rainbow flashing eyes and said, I need to win money so each of my kids can have Santa Claus this year.  Every child in my classroom believed in Santa, yet under half had ever received a present from the elf himself.  As I pulled that lever, I muttered my promises – and went up a hundred dollars immediately off one dollar.  Before 5 minutes had passed, I was up to nearly $450 – the amount I was holding as what I needed to buy everyone a Santa gift.  I cashed out and celebrated.  Working with everyone’s parents, I went to the toy store, bought, wrapped, and made every parent pinky swear to me that his or her child would receive the gift on Christmas morning from Santa.  This was a true test in trust as some of my kiddos parents weren’t exactly folks who had earned such privileges.  But I had faith.  And when we returned from Winter Break, it was so joyfully confirmed that Santa had successfully made it to everyone’s house.  It was an incredible moment for me as a woman who deeply believes in facilitating magic and as a teacher who wanted all her kids to feel special that Christmas morning.

Such connection with and affection for these brilliant children in Stead inspired me to return to higher education with a passion to learn more techniques and tools for supporting the learning and lives of children, especially those facing real physical and emotional challenges.  I applied a few months before that school year ended in Stead, to The Evergreen State College’s Master in Teaching program and was accepted.  I knew this return to schooling would look and feel nothing like what I had experienced prior.  I wanted to learn more than I wanted to be rewarded.  I wanted to be the raw and real me in class as I had been in Stead, rather than the smiling student formerly known as Julia.  I had no idea how I would do this because I never had in academia.  But I went to Olympia and showed up to the MIT Orientation week scared completely shitless and ready for something I had never experienced.