Be happy with him, dadgummit!

One thing I try not to be is one of those "helicopter parents." I don't hover over my children. I actually try to keep a pretty reasonable distance most of the time. I like watching them interact with each other as well as other people. I want them to learn people skills and conflict resolution and all that good stuff. Most of the time, it's just fun to see how much they've changed in just a brief period of time. How Sadie responds when Jackson says, "C'mere Sadie" or "No, Sadie" or "You stay right here Sadie." (Yes, he treats his sister much like a family pet in training. But it's cute. She likes it. Trust me.) How Jackson loves being involved in EVERY conversation and activity in our house..."Where are we going?" ..."What are you thinking about?" ..."It's okay momma. It was just a accident."


But when Jackson interacts with kids his age, there is one thing that I have a hard time keeping my distance with. It isn't when the kids don't share. He's not great at sharing either. Or when they get rowdy and accidentally hurt him. He's not especially rowdy, but he's a boy and accidents DO happen. The thing that really hurts my heart more than anything else is when someone stomps out his joy.

I'm not talking about when he doesn't get his way and he pouts. I'm talking about that childhood joy that sometimes just comes bubbling out of him. He has this light in his eyes that he just can't help but share. An excitement. Pure joy. But just as soon as he lets that light shine on someone else--and they don't react accordingly--the brightness dims just a little. Then a little more. And then it's replaced with disappointment, or even worse, hurt.

When I see that look, it takes every bit of restraint I have to keep from wrapping him up in my arms, while at the same time yelling at the offender, "Say something NICE to him! Acknowledge him! Be happy with him, dadgummit!"... But I know Jackson would look at me like I was a freak, and it wouldn't solve the problem. He has to learn to be happy regardless of the world around him. Fortunately (for me at least), he recovers quickly. I really believe he feels sorry for them and thinks if they aren't as happy as he is, something must be really, really wrong with them.

All the same, I do try to let him know that I hear him...I'm excited with him...all the while, I'm trying to telepathically tell him that people don't mean to be insensitive. Sometimes people are just stupid.

I'm sure that's the one bit of wisdom he'll choose to share with his teacher someday.

A Love Letter...Pass It On

About a month ago, I had the privilege of attending a training seminar for a new writing program. It was truly one of the best experiences I've ever had as a teacher. On the last day we were learning how to teach descriptive writing, and in order to help us see the effectiveness of the program, our instructor had us write a descriptive paper ourselves. The example she used was a description she'd written about her high school math teacher. She told us how he literally changed her life (She went from a D student to the top of her class, and eventually became a math teacher herself. Now she's writing training manuals and tours the country inspiring people like me). She also said that by the time she wrote her story, the teacher described had passed away. She suggested we think of someone in our life and write a similar story about that person, then send it to him or her. I thought that was a fabulous idea.


While at the training, I struggled with whom to write about, as did other people around me. I chose not to write about family, because I feel/hope/pray I do a decent job telling them how much they mean to me. I eventually settled on a teacher. I wrote a decent sketch, but ultimately felt unsatisfied with my effort. Something was missing, but I couldn't put my finger on what exactly that something was.


A couple of days ago, it hit me. The reason I was struggling to write a story about my favorite teacher was because I didn't really ever have a favorite teacher...not just one, anyway. I will be the first to admit that my educational experience was blessed. I had an incredibly positive twelve and a half years. I don't owe that to just one person. One teacher didn't alter my entire life; instead, that number is somewhere closer to forty...and I figure if the internet--and this blog--is good for anything at all, it should be good for letting some amazing people know how great they really are.


To Mrs. Linda Bolin--You were my first "favorite teacher." I remember feeling really smart for the first time in your class, and at the same time learning how to say, "I'm wrong." You always called us "people," rather than "kids" or "children"...and the fact that you never talked down to us stuck with me. I also remember wishing "A" students could fail, because I really didn't want to leave your class.


To Mrs. Love--Time has erased your first name in my memory, but the truth is I would've never been able to call you anything but Mrs. Love, because you actually scared the crap out of me for a good part of the year. That being said, once I got over that fear, I realized you were an amazing math teacher who made me a better math student. I loved having board races with math facts, and I loved winning even more because pleasing you was huge in my seven year old brain.


To Mrs. Glenda Thompson--You were the kind of teacher that even back then was a vanishing breed. You expected excellence from every single student in your class. In my mind, I believed you always got it. I remember putting all our assignments in a "notebook" at the end of each grading period, complete with decorated cover sheet and table of contents. I remember putting a lot of work into that, especially considering how disorganized I was. However, I had no idea the work such notebooks put upon you until I tried to do it for a few years with my own students.


To Mrs. Eulene Sherbert--I loved every single minute of your language arts class. You let us be creative and original. I created poetry, comic strips, and skits that I remember to this day in your class. You allowed us to have fun without being out of control. I have used many projects and presentations that I did with my own students. You also gave me the only licks I ever received in school...I deserved more.


To Mrs. Atkins...Before my fifth grade year started, my dad told me that almost every member of our family had you for a teacher at one point or another. In my pre-pubescent brain that meant you were older than old. Really, really old. And probably no fun. I've never been more wrong. I loved your math class, and I learned so much. In fourth grade, math was my worst subject and I left for the summer thinking I was mathematically challenged. You restored my confidence when you helped everything "click" in my brain. I also loved being the alternate for your UIL Number Sense team...I wasn't as quick or as accurate as the other three kids on there, but I LOVED learning all the little tricks you taught us to solve the problems.


To Mrs. Glenda Darragh...You were my second "favorite" teacher. I still have the little note you wrote to me after I wrote one to you. As a teacher now, I realize how special little notes like that are, but you taught me how special it is to be the student receiving a reply, and I try to do that for my students now. Mrs. Atkins sent me to you with a love for math, and you continued to encourage that. I will be honest, though, and say I remember almost nothing academic from your class. I'm sure that was because you made it so easy to learn, and NOT because I didn't always pay attention. What I remember was that you were kind and fair. All the time.


To Mr. Kelly Cole...You were one of the first male teachers I ever had. You, too, scared the poo out of me. But I respected your knowledge of science and the way you ran your classroom. I learned to be organized and neat in my work. I also loved your laugh, and once you got your bluff in on us, you laughed a lot.


To Mr. Barry Morrison...Oh man, I could write a book about you! When you stepped in front of us on the first day of sixth grade band, you were practically a legend. We'd heard about you from the high schoolers. What they failed to mention to us was that you expected us to be, well, good. And prepared. And willing to practice. You didn't put up with nonsense, but where any other teacher would've been crucified for being so tough on us, we wanted to live up to your expectations...and you rewarded us when we did. By the end, I developed a love for music and a desire for excellence that stayed with me throughout high school. I believed you were the coolest person on our campus. You were one of the first teachers I felt comfortable enough with to carry on a conversation with and even joke around with. When you left for bigger and better things, I went into mourning for a time. My dramatic 12 year-old-self sat in my room and listened to Dan Fogelberg's "The Leader of the Band." Cheesy (and probably a little frightening), I know. But that's how huge the impact you made was for me. You didn't treat us like annoying 12 year olds...instead, you made us feel like musicians capable of excellence in all things. I try to take that lesson with me to work every day now.


To Coach Ted Mitchell...Having you for math in seventh grade and ninth grade was one of the biggest blessings of my life. I know I've told you this personally before, but I will happily shout from the rooftops that you were the best math teacher I ever had...and I had some of the best! Learning from you never felt like work. I will always remember how you would say, "Now, I have to put this in words my simple brain can understand." I always knew your simple brain wasn't simple at all, but my simple brain sure appreciated the way you worked things out! Everything I was able to learn in high school math bridged from the way you made algebra "click" for me, and if you could've been my professor for every math class I would've needed to take in college, I'd be teaching math today. Oh well. I feel incredibly lucky to have had the privilege to work with you for a few years, but our entire district is incredibly lucky to have you on our board now. You have a special place in my heart.

To Mrs. Judy Giles...You were and are truly the diva of all things English. I loved having you as my teacher in eighth grade. I especially loved how you let us think we were in control of what went on in your classroom (I know now that you are a master at letting your students think they're in control, when really they're just doing what you wanted them to do in the first place). After teaching with you for almost seven years, I fully appreciate the gift you have for teaching...and the secret love you have for it (and when I retire before you do, I'm going to say, "I told you so!").

To Mrs. Patsy Lewis... Thank you for taking a silly little girl who was completely arrogant about her teeny tiny amount of writing ability and turning her into an honest to goodness writer. I will never forget you, because you were the first person who ever said to me, "This is a really creative and interesting piece of writing, but you didn't follow directions...60"...and I will NEVER forget for as long as I live the first news story I ever turned in to you. When I got it back, I fully believed you'd pricked your finger and bled all over it. I tell my students about you every year, because it was you that made me a better writer. You taught me that the first draft is never the best draft...revise, revise, revise! You were so much fun, which probably explains why half my senior year was spent in your office (digging through your drawer to find the Reisens!). I loved having you as a teacher for four years. You taught me what I needed to know so that I could write what I wanted to write.

To Mr. K...I could write your whole name, but I would butcher the spelling on the last name, and anyone who went to VHS in the 90's will know who you are. In all my years of public education, you are the only science teacher who made me like science. I wasn't all that good at it, but I liked it. The Saturdays spent at UIL meets competing in science were also nerdy fun to me (but I'm really glad that I found the writing events...I really stunk at the science one!). Thank you for being one of those teachers who was totally absorbed in what you taught. Thank you for letting your students see that passion. Thank you for all the quirky catch phrases. To this day, I still catch myself saying, "Okay, one more time for the west coast..." and "Let's get HOT!" Thank you for making science fun.

To Mrs. Gloria Phillips... You are a legendary English teacher. Everything I ever learned about writing a research paper I learned from you. In high school, I laughed when my sister would say your research paper would be the hardest paper I ever had to write. In college, I realized how right she was. I wrote at least 25 research papers in college, and not one came close to the degree of difficulty of yours--and I made A's on all but one (a very unfortunate paper-in-mud-puddle incident contributed a great deal to the C I received on that one...that, and me not reading the novel I supposedly researched...funny how that works.). Thank you preparing me for that road. And thank you for sharing your birthday with me!

To Mr. Terry Waters...Everything I learned in math beyond Algebra I, I learned from you. I learned BASIC computer programming from you (wow, that came in handy! ha!). I think the thing I liked the most about your class was the consistency...I always knew what to expect, what you expected, and how it was all going to work out. But as consistent as your class was, it was still fun to me. I know I let you down a little when I didn't take trig and calculus my senior year, but, really, Mr. Waters, did I really need calculus in the real non-brain surgeon or mechanical engineer world? No? That's what I thought. In all seriousness, though, the moment I most want to thank you for occurred many years after I left your class. In a very, very dark time in my life, when I'd abandoned my friends and everything else familiar to me, you showed up at my door. You sat on the back porch swing and listened to me. I honestly don't remember much about the conversation, except one question you asked me: "What does God say about this?"...and I remember my answer: "I didn't ask." Well, Mr. Waters, I never told you this, and it didn't happen immediately, but I DID finally ask. When that finally happened, it turns out He had a pretty great plan in store. Thank you for reminding me where I came from, and where I needed to return.

To Mr. Mike Hill...He was the kind of man that makes a good principal. Kind and fair, but with a sense of right and wrong...and a good sense of humor. I was very lucky to have him as my high school principal. At the time, I would laugh every Friday when announcements would begin, because you always knew they would end with..."and don't forget church as you go through your weekend." Now I know how rare that kind of leadership is, and how blessed we were to have him.

And last, but certainly, most definitely not least...

To Mr. Kenneth Griffin...When I was in elementary school, one of my dreams was to be in the Van High School Mighty Vandal Band. It seemed to me that all the cool kids were in band. By the time I got to fifth grade and finally began the journey to my dream come true, I was hooked. That first year, I wasn't very good...but thankfully you put me out of my clarinet playing misery and moved me to the bass clarinet...and everything just clicked. The best moments I had in high school happened because of band. My best friends were in band...we were family. You taught us to be disciplined on the field and off. You taught every single person on the field to be a leader. You taught us that it was entirely possible to have fun and still have class. You held us to a higher standard...so much so that we thought "good," or "acceptable" were dirty words..."superior" was all that mattered. It's hard to explain to someone now what it meant to be a part of your band...but those who were there don't need it explained. Ex-"bandies" (or even just witnesses) still sit in the stands on Friday nights, and every once in a while you'll hear, "What would Mr. Griffin think?" or "I miss the Griff Exit." or "Mr. Griffin wouldn't have done that." I know there are good, even great, directors out there, but you were the best. Thank you.

...Now, if you're still reading, stop. Go write one of your own.