Sunday Scribblings......Lost

The voice on the other end of the phone had me thinking about life on Prospect Hill. Distance was surely measured in years; however, I could tell that the childhood bond, in some small way, connected our disconnected lives. It had been close to 40 years in the making that separated that time from now, yet, amidst the “catching up”, it was that one idea we kept revisiting: growing up in a small northeastern town in that pocket of the world that I have always known as the “Northeast Kingdom”.

In that pocket of the world where living was simplistic, not simple; where there was no fine line between a kid and a grown-up; and when you went out the door after supper, you returned safely after dark. It is in these memories, those bonds of friendship past, and the new friendships developed through the years that make our moments matter.

And in the years between then and now whether it is a phone call unexpected or a cup of coffee with a friend, what I continue to return to are not those lost moments measured in degrees, but the stories shared and the ones still yet to come-until next time…..Teach

Traveling north on the silver star.....

I traveled by train north on the Silver Star in the early morning of January 17, 2009. There were others sitting with me, and though strangers, our pilgrimage was much the same. Onward we traveled through small towns and large ones: Southern Pines, Cary, Raleigh, Rocky Mount, Petersburg, Richmond, and Alexandria until we stopped on the tracks laid at Union Station. And on this same day, traveling south would be another man, far from ordinary, who we bestowed, the title of our next President: all hopeful that he would do extraordinary things.

And in the days that followed, others from all over the country and the world converged to be personal witnesses to this time in history. There was energy in the air throughout my days there, and though I had been to this city numerous times this was somehow different. And through my personal lens, it was in this difference that we embraced, collectively creating the beginnings of a new America where this possibility of inclusiveness was close at hand.

Everywhere we went, the back stories of individuals from Boston, San Antonio, and Chicago; Memphis, San Francisco and Tuskegee; Seattle, Little Rock and Charlotte breathed. We breathed deeply the individual reasons that brought us there in the first place; we breathed in the cold air of our collective history and, in silence, we possibly forgave our past injustices. We breathed and breathed some more, experiencing the joy alongside millions of others knowing that this marked the beginning, not the end.

And if, on the morning of January 20, 2009, in a city where millions converged from the United States Capitol well past the shadow of the Washington Monument is but a sign of times to come. Where kindness, thoughtfulness and optimism prevailed; then, I am hopeful that each one of us, will collectively pay it forward in our daily lives and in the work that still needs to be done.

I am fully aware that I am putting Barack Obama up on the highest pedestal. I know that he is just a man. I know there will be moments that he will disappoint; moments where disagreement, tension and conflict will arise. However I also know that if hope is what we long for, if change is what we seek; then I choose to walk alongside such a man in creating a positive vision of tomorrow.

In the wake of the new day, in front of the house on Capitol Hill, Phil and I stood alone underneath the streetlight waving to the 44th President of the United States as the Presidential entourage passed by on their way to Union Station. Though I have know way of knowing, I have to believe that Barack and Michelle waved back.

Leaving Union Station, I travel once again by train on the Silver Star in the late afternoon of January 22, 2009. There are others traveling with me, and no longer strangers the pilgrimage somehow changed us. Onward we traveled through small towns and large ones: Alexandria, Richmond, Petersburg, Rocky Mount, Raleigh, Cary, and Southern Pines until we reached the tiny town of Hamlet. And I, stepping off the train, stood still until the train moved slowly south, waving to these once upon a time strangers and the words of Barack Obama, our 44th President of these United States echoed through the silence of this Carolina night:

'Let it be told to the future world that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive, that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet it.'

“America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words; with hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come; let it be said by our children’s children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon…..

With your eyes fixed on the horizon, look forward to possibility and continue seeking those spirit lines in your field of dreams. Until next time......Teach.

Tell me more......

In the work that I do, I get to spend spontaneous moments watching the art of teaching unfold, and then, I write about these moments. As with the previous posting, this visit wasn’t planned. It caught me by surprise when visiting a school seeing Karen doing what she does best: working alongside teachers. I am in awe every time I have the opportunity to observe her teaching. I think it has to do with her attention to intention; I think it has to do with the fact that she knows the right time to step back and quietly wait, then, at the right moment she is able to provide renewed direction; and finally, I think it has to do with the fact that she is a learner herself and in her demonstrations of what is possible allows others to “try it on” before they, too, pay it forward.

Gathering the children on the floor in front of her she quietly waits until all are sitting on the carpet. When she leans forward in her chair slightly, I believe it is intentional because Karen has learned that this seemingly simple gesture lets them know that what they have to say is important.

Today they will be problem solvers: those independent thinkers puzzling through on their own, a word problem that is displayed on the poster board. From the onset, Karen creates a space where thinking is at the core of her teaching. Instead of feeding them the answers, she nurtures the soul by posing questions that will let them discover for themselves the path that needs to be taken. The language Karen uses defines her as a teacher. She is one who seeks to understand: “Tell me more.” “What are we trying to find out?” or “If you don’t know, turn to your neighbor and ask.”

These questions are intentional and based on what the children tell her. Through the lens that Karen views the world, the destination reached isn’t the most important part of the journey. It is in the steps taken along the way that allows for possibility.

Using her internal road map, Karen scaffolds her teaching around every bend in the road. This is based on the social aspect of learning that she values, creating frames of action that permit children to interact with their neighbor, to share with the group questions and surprises, or, if necessary, one-by-one, to stay behind on the carpet for a little while for further clarification.

And when the moment ends, I slowly move out the door, and turning one last time I whisper……tell me more-until next time…..Teach.

Spirit lines often overlooked.....

A feeling of joy happens every time I have entered her classroom and it’s not the fact that this is her namesake, though, some of you may claim that our names dictate the way in which we view the world. If you are a believer then this truly would be the case.

In this classroom thinking is valued in a way not often seen. It is in the way that Joy interacts with her children that sets her apart. The way in which the language used lets each of her children know that first, they are loved; second, that she expects much; and finally, the teaching that unfolds is based on what her children tell her.

Joy doesn’t tell her children what or how to think, instead, through the demonstrations of her own thought process and the way in which she phrases the questions asked informs her teaching and possible next steps.

Five minutes into my visit, Joy sits on the edge of her seat leaning closer to the students and says, “Tell me more.” This simple gesture of moving closer provides a sense of warmth that resonates throughout the room. A silent agreement that says, “All voices are heard in this space.”

Another student when asked to share her thinking in solving a problem blurted, “I got it wrong.” Joy’s response back was, “That is ok. I want to know what you were thinking along the way.” The child then lifted her thinking from the pages of her life.

The “spirit lines” often overlooked came to life that Thursday morning: “I want to know what you were thinking along the way”

Tell me-until next time…..Teach.

Sailing to distant shores.....

The turns in the road dictates the direction one takes in life and no matter what the wishes of others seems to be; ultimately the decision is ours to make. As I work alongside teachers and academic coaches, I must remember that my charge is to facilitate a stroll to the water’s edge, then, my responsibility rests in demonstrating “the tools of possibility” that are available. When constructive and informed decisions are made, individuals within schools are better equipped in potentially deciding for themselves which distant shore to sail.

In my interactions with others within schools, I am reminded of my own beginnings and I remember those who held my hand as I strolled down to the water’s edge. It was Esther, who was the first to give me feedback. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear; however, it was what I needed to hear in order to grow as a classroom teacher. It was Esther who walked alongside me for awhile as she demonstrated “these tools of possibility”. And when the bend in the road pointed in two directions, it was Esther who let go of my hand. And I, not knowing which road to take, turned around as she waved me on. I stumbled until next in line came Barbara who reached out her hand as well and side by side, we continued along the path.

Back then, I was given an opportunity, that taste of possibility to re-invent for myself all that lay ahead in my adventures to distant shores. So on this day, I leave you, my readers, with three gifts:

The first one is to slow down. I want you to know that in this race the journey along the way is important as well and sometimes, when we are focused on the brand new sneakers on our feet; the pavement below the rubber; or the tape right before the finish line we lose sight of our purpose. Then, possibility and opportunity pass us by and we don’t get to see with brand new eyes.

The second gift that I want to give you is one of time. I want you to know that the winners aren’t always the ones through the tape first. With that in mind, my gift to you is to take fleeting moments of time to hear the wind whistle on your back, to look up and see the soaring eagles fly in circles in the sky: to stop to breathe along the way to wander off the path for a time to sit on a rock and listen to the sound the river makes.

And the third gift I want to give you is the will to finish. Yes, we will find ourselves at the threshold of the finish line, and instead of racing with all your breath, my gift is for you to create those moments in your life that take your breath away. So remember in life and the work that is yet to be done, when you go out into the world: slow down, give yourself time and most of all have to will to finish.....until next time-Teach

When you're ready, I'll be waiting.....

In the book, I’m in Charge of Celebrations. by Bryd Baylor, she talks about creating celebrations. It begins like this…..

“Sometimes people ask me, ‘aren’t you lonely out there with just desert around you?’ I guess they mean the bear grass and the yuccas and the cactus and the rocks. I guess they mean the deep ravines and the hawk nests in the cliffs and the coyote trails that wind across the hills. ‘Lonely?’ I can’t help laughing when they ask me that. I always look at them…..surprised. And I say. ‘How can I be lonely?’ I’m in charge of celebrations. Sometimes they don’t believe me but it’s true. I am. I put myself in charge. I choose my own.”

Though I discovered this book twenty one years ago when I was just beginning my journey as a teacher, still today, I find myself returning to its pages time and time again.

Once upon a time like my friend Karen, at an age she is now, I, too, ventured far from the place I called home. At the time, I was fortunate to learn alongside a diverse group of first graders who lived in the middle of the desert. It was one of those experiences that I carry with me.

One morning at the beginning of the school year, we ventured out into the desert which was our playground. In each of our hands was a sacred stone, a gift from the earth. We formed a circle amidst the cactus and the yucca. Then, we spent the morning telling stories to one another: those small moments that mattered. As each story unfolded the keeper of the stone placed it in the center forming a smaller circle to our own. When all these stones placed concentrically were returned to the earth, we joined hands and thanked each other. A celebration of sorts and as Byrd so simply put: “I put myself in charge. I choose my own.”

A Cree storyteller once said that…..
"…..stories are beings. You invite them to live with you. They’ll teach you what they know in return for being a good host. When they’re ready to move on, they’ll let you know. Then you pass them on to someone else."

Where are the stories in your life? When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting…..until next time-Teach

Shadow sketches of a life: my life.....

Sometimes a photograph placed in ones hand sparks a memory long ago forgotten and over the miles and miles of roads that I have traveled, an image resonates that can’t be freed until it is written on the page. A photograph contained within a scrapbook is one of many artifacts of a life created by a mother who gathered these treasures for all of her children.

Across the street on Prospect Hill, a white house stood next to a big red barn. And inside that white house eighteen of us posed in the back room of Mrs. Coffey’s home at the age of five. Interestingly enough, I remember all but two. A by-product of what happens when you live your kid-life in the same northern town.

The white house next to be big red barn is where we went to “school” and though the details of this time are shadow sketches, there are glimpses of what I know to be true.

In that same room where the photograph was taken, right before you entered the enclosed back porch was “the bright red chair”. Now that was something special, or it was believed to be at the time. It was the place of honor and Patty, Mitchell, Dean, Laurie, Nancy and Dolores; Keith, Randy Margaret and Karen; John, Paul, Lauren, Jane, Rhonda and Theresa wanted to be sitting there.

I’m sure I had my chance.

Some things never change. In my house, I, too, have a favorite chair that I sit in to write the shadow sketches of a life: my life. What about you? .....until next time-Teach.