Diffusing, Deflating, Denying The Bully.

Lessons Learned…

The Gift

I was hired to fill a long-term substitute teaching position in a fourth grade classroom just months after my December college graduation.  Young, eager, optimistic, all appropriate and helpful attributes for a new incoming sub, nicely complimented my satchel stuffed with freshly acquired scholarly educational theories, philosophies, and cutting edge fail-safe strategies designed and promised to reach all and teach all. With squared-shoulder confidence and change-the-world spirit, I entered that classroom and encountered reality. Reality always somehow seems to smack of a bit of disappointment.  People can frequently behave so disappointingly human regardless of their ages. Human nature depicts endless layers of self and emanating from this myopic vantage point can be a fairly insidious disregard for others.  Somewhere between taking lunch count that first day and starting our new novel, the leaning-toward-the-toxic classroom cliques magically appeared with great clarity and unapologetically. This group. That group. The power group. The Loner. Just one loner.  She steered clear of the fray, kept her eyes down, and tried to fly under the radar. They “let” her do so to a certain extent, that is to say, after “they” snipped and cut enough to make sure she knew that her radar flying was by their permission. Power. The lust for power starts young, but where exactly does it originate? I sincerely want to know that.  It’s poison, of that I am certain. To the oblivious or insecure teacher, it will run rampant and dominate your classroom in extremely covert, though devastating ways. It is the root of bullying. And bullying is at the root of a pain that can be so excruciating, so consuming, so silent that it completely debilitates in its rendering of powerlessness. Who bestows this power? Who perpetuates it? Do we all? I was just a young long-term sub walking into a classroom with its established and accepted climate, but my eyes, as those of one who understood the wrath of a bully, remained fixed upon the loner.  I would help her in quiet, unassuming ways. An encouraging word in passing.  An affirming smile.  A “random” opportunity to teacher-assist on an errand to the office.  An extra superlative word written on a corrected assignment. Continual, covert building up day after day after day after day.  The bullies, the exclusive cliques, the power seekers were not given voice other than to participate according to my directions. We were one class. We would learn to care for each other and recognize that each one brings gifts and stories that are unique and worthy of being celebrated. Not one more than another, but each one. On  my last day with the fourth graders, the loner, who no longer was one, brought me a gift that she, her mother, and grandmother had made.  It was a stunningly beautiful beaded necklace strung in the Native American tradition of their family and their tribe. She simply said, “Thank you for noticing me.”  Her simple message did more to inform my teaching than all of the stuffing in my satchel.

The honesty of a child.

Lessons Learned

The Honesty Of A Child

It was a winter day and a bitterly cold one at that. Germs, viruses, and all sorts of sick bugs were swirling through the hallways of our school and every other school and mall and grocery store far and near. Although cough drops, tissues, diligent hand washing, lots of water and extra vitamin C were the order of each day, despite our collective best efforts to ward off the germ attack, we were indeed stricken. Substitute teachers were fearlessly answering the 6AM phone calls and keeping very busy in the classrooms of teachers whose tired immune systems fell victim to virulent bugs ruthlessly on the rampage. Hanging on to health with extra early bedtimes, UnderArmour as every day wear, lots of hot tea with honey, and some good cold weather genes from the Swedish side of the family, I was feeling very thankful. Then the cold sore appeared. There is nothing discrete about a cold sore, and no matter how carefully or artfully one tries to conceal its presence, to not notice a cold sore is to simply be polite at best.  The Emperor’s New Clothes comes to mind as we attempt to ignore someone’s cold sore. We cast our eyes in another direction, continue our conversations, and tiptoe around the elephant in the living room or on our face.  I thought the concealer covered by two shades of cleverly applied lipstick had done the trick and apparently my four consecutive classes of older students felt the same way, but then came the kindergartners. Kindergartners are just plain honest. They suffer from no need for political correctness nor do they weigh their words to manipulate toward their agendas, they simply see something and then say something, unfiltered. Beautiful really, their honesty, which delightfully narrates life as it flashes before them.  They came into class, sat in their places, and immediately a hand shot up which was completely typical as kindergartners are always full of stories of pets, or teeth, or new shoes, or any lovely random but important topic in the moment.  Yes, Ryan, do you have something to share? What is that thing on your face? There it was. The truthful question. No malice or humiliation intended at all. Something wasn’t right and his inquisitive heart desired an answer. It’s a cold sore. Oh, do you get that when you have a cold? Maybe. Does it hurt? Not really. Okay.  And then we were on to our next task.  Curiosity satisfied. When do we lose that? When do we learn to become so very careful and calculated with our words that we forego ever really saying what we mean or truly expressing how we feel? And why? Sometimes honesty may sting for a moment, but then it’s done and the air is cleared.  Children have this right, but then somewhere along the way they learn to artfully conceal; we all do. We all become the townsfolk who line the street as the emperor begins his walk.  If you were the emperor would you appreciate the honesty of the child?

The Back Story Of The Song "L-O-V-E"

Lessons Learned…

The UW Madison University Hospital School

In the midst of IV’s, hospital gowns, doctors, nurses, therapists, and colorful artwork on the walls, there was a school right there in that enormous pediatric unit. Student-patients came faithfully to the hospital  classroom every chance they had because keeping up with homework kept each one thinking forward to the glorious reunion with friends and teachers and coaches in the hometown schools they each longed for.  Having health and strength to attend school and participate each day in every part of school was indeed the hopeful dream of these student- patients.  A hopeful dream not recognized at all as such by those students who have never had to study and learn in the hospital school.  It’s so easy to take for granted things that are easy and good and ours, but things can change as the wind blows. Change, expected or unexpected, often serves to bring perspective.  These dear, brave student-patients longed for school. One particular day, I was asked to do bedside tutoring with a student-patient who wouldn’t come to the school; everything hurt and everything was wrong.  She didn’t want to talk, so we just sat that day and for the next few, as well. Homework was pointless, she asserted. Okay. Interested in singing? I ventured the suggestion without making eye contact. Stupid. Too loud. Silent sitting resumed. The next day, I offered, singing in sign language because it wouldn’t make any noise. With a combination of incredulity and hilarity and contempt, our first eye contact occurred. What? Come on, it will be fun, and I wrote this song for you. L-O-V-E, love is special, a song just for her. It worked. She loved it. We learned it and continued to sing it silently on my every visit to her room. When she got tired of singing it, she let me help her with homework.  Eventually, she agreed to come to the hospital school only to help me teach her song to the other student-patients. She thought it would make them happy and she was pretty certain I couldn’t teach it as well as she could. She was absolutely right.

She taught me about courage and honesty and perspective and connection and love and joy even in the pain. My song for her is one I have shared every Valentine’s Day since then with the students in my own classroom. Should you desire to share this song with your children, grandchildren, or students, LOVE can be found at my Teachers Pay Teachers Store, called "Arts Infusion Collaborative," for which there is a link on the top right side of my blog. Blessings to you and Happy Valentine's Day!

What to do with six more weeks of winter weather...

Lessons Learned

On The Toboggan

Out the back door of our home in the country was a gigantic hill covered with trees, bushes, and berries of various sorts, and wandering circuitously through them all were paths, some secret and some not as secret. These paths were the routes to countless adventures upon which the children, grandchildren, Labrador Retrievers, and other friends would meanderingly rove throughout all four very distinct seasons of the year. But one particular path contained no winds or bends; it was stick straight. It was the fastest way to the bottom of the hill, and it was the winter season’s path of choice among the crowd of adventurers. It was the toboggan run, this path that was carved straight down through the trees. Upon this path, upon the toboggan, the riding team could quickly gain enough speed to send the forested world whizzing past in a white and chilly blur of excitement. With dogs frolicking and barking, pig-tails and snow wildly flying, raucous laughter rippling among the woods, and several evel knievel cousin toboggan drivers taking turns at the helm, time danced away on the wintery breeze for these rosy-cheeked adventurers on the back of the toboggan. Once through the trees that hugged the steep, straight path, the toboggan would burst out full-steam into the vast open field that rolled in gentle downward waves across twenty acres.  Hanging on to each other  fiercely yet hilariously with woolen-mitted hands, carefully keeping all appendages tucked safely and streamliningly onboard, the esprit-de-corps riders enthusiastically chased the previous riders’ path hoping beyond hope to exceed their distance record. Then together, with all woolly hands on the rope, the rider team, knee deep or more in snow, would lug the beloved toboggan back to the hilltop for another greatly anticipated run by another anxiously awaiting rider team.  Over and over and over and over again we learned to play, to share, to help, to be on a team, to love the outdoors, to take turns and be glad for each other, to drive, to ride, and that laughter and cousins and winter are another perfect recipe for awesomeness.

Self-Esteem...

Lessons Learned

Self-Esteem

Self-esteem, most simply said, refers to how one feels about one’s self. Inside. Do you feel valued? Do you feel affirmed in the unique gifts you possess? Have you been encouraged? Do you feel empowered to exercise your gifts and humbly share what you’ve been given? Positive self-esteem should lead one to a genuine confidence and security, clad in humility, which propels one to try new things, learn new things, and be willing to tackle a challenge. Classrooms, homes, and workplaces should be absolutely filled with behaviors and interactions that lead to this. There’s a contentedness and a quiet strength that emanate from true positive self-esteem; a peace deep down inside. It feels wonderful because it’s right. It costs nothing but the price of caring.  Mistakenly, however, we have come to view overly inflated egos and arrogance as positive self-esteem, and this couldn’t be further from the truth.  Swollen egos and showboat arrogance come from a shallow and insecure place that covers itself in the glory of the spotlight, the deafening roar of the applause, and struts pompously around energized by a regular diet of superlative after superlative after superlative. In this false “awesomeness” everyone clamors for a piece of you because of what you do or what you have or anything else external to whom you really deeply are inside. Everyone clamors for the image of you because by being close to you others can ride on the wave of your very important image and feel very important, too.  But it’s empty. It’s not substantive. And when you are no longer the best, when you are no longer the star, you will be discarded, passed over and forgotten by the fickle wave-riders and camera flashers.  Empty. Hollow. Broken. Sad. The end result of the joy ride of huge egos and shameless arrogance is the antithesis of a positive self-esteem. You have not been valued, you have been used. True, real and right positive self-esteem development values the uniqueness of you, gently challenges you to develop your gifts to chase your dreams, courageously holds you accountable to continuously aspiring without compromising or settling, and quietly speaks affirmation to your heart through meaningful words that encourage who you are which in turn inspire you to become all that you can be.  To truly foster positive self-esteem development in someone, you must know that individual well, be willing to invest time, and deeply care about what matters to him or her.  With a positive self-esteem, a child, or anyone for that matter, can and will soar.

We Need Each Other...

Lessons Learned

Each Other

A block party. In northern Illinois January. With wind chills registering in the forty below zero range for a few weeks in a row, we hadn’t seen the sweet face of a neighbor in a number of days. Layered up in insulated underwear, flannels, lined jeans, and wooly socks we remained holed up indoors awaiting a break in the unrelenting polar vortex or something of the sort. We were most assuredly safe and warm, which in and of itself was indeed a blessing, although quite completely disconnected, insulated, isolated really, from the world out there even next door; kind of lonely.  Then came the phone call which was an invitation to a neighborhood block party; a lifeline. With snow to our knees and scarves around our faces, we excitedly trudged through the elements carrying our dish-to-pass to the home of the block party planners. The glowing warmth inside pulled each and every neighbor right into the happily boisterous block party. Glorious interactions from serious to hilarious and everything in between, catching up on life, and watching the fireplace fire sparkling in everyone’s eyes, it was a critical and delightful evening of re-connecting. We need each other. We do better and feel better and everything better when we exist in community. A smile shared is a double blessing.  Laughter shared makes the heart joyful. Tears shared makes the burden a bit lighter. A meal shared builds community, builds connection, builds a bridge. A block party in January? Absolutely yes!

Winter's Peace...

Lessons Learned

Peace

It is winter in the Midwest.  Temperatures during the past week have hovered in the sub-zero range with wind chills dipping near thirty below. The snow is deep and has been swept into impassable drifts along both highways and country roads. The whistling wind sneaks into homes through unseen cracks supremely taxing even the heartiest of furnaces and demanding multiple layers of woolen sweaters and fleecy blankets for all inhabitants. It is winter in the Midwest. Rosy cheeks, piping hot homemade soup, and fireplaces a’blaze are the order of the day, and we smile for each delicate, unique snowflake that lands gently on a tongue.  Although the wintry conditions are certainly extreme and undeniably dangerous, there is a stillness and a peace and a wonder-filled beauty about the snow.  It’s a sparkling, chilly blanket that frosts the landscape like a fluffy dollop of butter cream frosting atop a scrumptious cupcake.  To stand outside in the snow, to walk in it, to traverse it in snowshoes or skis is to understand the stillness of it, which without the experience of it is completely indescribable. The chaos and cacophony of life at its outrageously presto pace, in its constant stereophonic dissonance, with its hyper-stimulation of lights, colors, and images can indeed numb the senses with all of its uber-overdoneness.  How can we be still? How can our children understand peace? How can we learn to quiet our hearts and rest our souls? Beneath a blanket of snow, the earth sleeps for an entire season, animals hibernate, and farmers move indoors and rest their fields.  In the stillness of the winter, the stars in the night sky seem to twinkle with greater intensity, the creaking and humming sounds of the forest are seemingly amplified, and if far enough north, the glory of the northern lights dancing across the heavens in surreal technicolor splendor is beyond breath-taking. In stillness there is infinite room for creativity and imaginative pensivity because those things that crowd and clutter our lives and bring much noise are delightfully absent. When there is stillness or peace around, it feels somehow easier to find a quiet place within. As we warm our hands during the coldness of this winter, may we be reminded to also quiet our hearts, for in the quietness, in the stillness, in the peace there is a longed for and much needed joy, comfort, rest, and restoration.