Pursuing Context: reflections

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My Biggest Failure as a Teacher

I can’t be that teacher to every student.

It took me a while to learn that. It’s easy to buy into the Hollywood super teacher mentality. It’s alluring and sexy. It’s exciting and makes for a great screen play. It’s also complete fiction.

I had my biggest failure as a teacher this year. It wasn’t failing to get my report cards done on time. Although I’ve done that. It wasn’t losing a kid on a field trip. Although I’ve done that too. It wasn’t setting off the school alarm and having a subsequent conversation with disctrict security. Again, I’ve been there. It wasn’t even forgeting to put a kid’s picture in the school yearbook. Guilty again.

This time was a biggie.

The Arrival

He came to my classroom a month after school started. His indifferent face told me to keep away. I wasn’t used to such stoicism in a young kid, but I tried to be inviting and excited. I’ve learned there’s always a story behind the story.

I took his mumbling and lack of eye contact as shyness. He seldom wanted to join group activities or participate in class discussions. He seemed to be a bit of a recluse.

I would talk to him, pat him on the shoulder, and joke with him. I tried anything I could think of to encourage him. No effect. No response. I began to worry and knew this was a young person who was in need of help.

I kept at it for days, weeks, and months. I was stressing over him. My desire was only to get through to him. Sadly, he was becoming more hostile toward me. Little did I know the bricks he used to build his wall were laid in place long before his late start to 4th grade.

The Buildup

I went easy on him for the first two months he was in my room. Something was obviously going on at home. He didn’t need any extra stress from me. But the encouragement got tiresome after a while. And I hated that.

I had many a talk about him with my partner teacher. She’s down to earth, funny in the best of sarcastic ways, and a great teacher. She also had a pretty good rapport with this student.

“It’s because you’re a dude. Don’t take it personally. You know his home life,” she said. She was right. His eleven-year-old eyes had seen things that should never have been seen. My heart broke for him. But I was determined to get through to him. And I did get through to him, but not in the way I wanted.

I started to get tough. I was going to start laying down the law. Thoughts began swirling in my head: I was too soft. He didn’t respect me. He needed a strong male presence in his life. If he wasn’t going to talk to Mr. Nice Guy, maybe he would respect the Tough Guy Teacher.

So instead of pulling, I pushed. I pushed hard. And he pushed right back. Things got worse the harder I pushed. I was determined to reach him, though. Unfortunately, the opposite happened.

The Fallout

I completely lost my cool with him one frustrating spring afternoon. Our state tests loomed closer. The talkative class and my lack of sleep got the best of me. I pointed and yelled at him. I used sarcasm to shame him in front of the class.

Was he misbehaving? Definitely. Did he need a consequence? Probably. Did I handle the situation appropriately? Not even close.

What was his reaction to my adult hissy fit? He laughed at me. He looked straight at me, put the back of his hand in front of his mouth, and laughed.

That was one of my lowest moments as a teacher. At that instant I realized that he had won. I turned a connection into a conflict and lost disgracefully.

I wish I could tell you that we had an emotional heart-to-heart in the hallway that repaired our fractured relationship. I wish I could tell you that he began respecting me for the rest of the year. I wish I could tell you that he finished the year with a bang. But I can’t.

The Realization

I distinctly remember one night in late May. I tossed and turned in bed. I was on the brink of tears worrying about him and what his summer was going to be like. I can’t remember another time feeling so helpless about a student.

I wasn’t that teacher for him. And that has to be okay, because that’s the way teaching goes sometimes. We pour until we are empty. We burn until we are ashes.

I have to cling to the hope that, although he was my biggest failure, I still helped him in some way. I pray he’ll find a teacher out there who will truly make a difference in his life.

7 Present Participles You Simply Can’t Live Without

- Healing not healed
- Fixing not fixed
- Breaking not broken
- Learning not learned
- Walking not walked
- Finishing not finished
- Living not lived

I’m not a finished product. God is continuing and continually working on me and in me. Each day, each hour, each moment. It’s a chance and an opportunity. It’s one that I fail more often than succeed. But there’s always hope.

One day all of us will be past tense. But today, I’m living.

She Smelled of Feet

She smelled of feet. A perfectly normal five year old otherwise. She just smelled like feet. I would go on to realize that many kids had a distinct odor. Sometimes nice like fruity shampoo or laundry detergent. Sometimes not like ashtrays or feet.

It was her shoes. Or rather, her sockless feet inside of her shoes that produced the smell. They were a flat, brown situation with a single velcro strap. In my naiveté, I wondered why her parents just didn’t buy her more shoes. Like I said, a sweet girl otherwise.

There was a natural curiosity about her that only a kindergartener possesses. Constant questions were all part of a normal day. A child’s eyes see things that adult eyes cannot. Children haven’t yet been spoiled by the can’ts and doesn’ts.

There was an underlying sadness behind her tentative smiles. It was like the sun struggling to come around from behind an ominous cloud. I wouldn’t put my finger on it until much later in the year.

She came to my class several weeks after school started. I was young enough in my teaching career to be frustrated by her arrival. The class and I had already gotten our routines and procedures down. Things were clicking. The thought of having to train a new student was annoying.

“Did she miss anything?” her mom asked. No, lady. We’ve been staring at clouds for the last month. I haven’t been teaching anything to anyone yet. She didn’t miss a thing.

“We’ll get her caught up and where she neesd to be,” I assured the mom. It turned out that this girl was going to get me caught up to where I needed to be as a teacher.

In February of that school year, the mom told me that she was going to be pulling her daughter out of school for a week. Oh, great. Just what she needs. She’s already behind. Let’s get her even further behind the rest of the class. Doesn’t this mom know I have lessons to teach and material to cover? Some nerve…

My Turn

A week later the girl returned. The mom walked her down to class that morning. The mom told me that they had to return to their home town for some court proceedings. The mom told me that the girl, my late-to-enroll student, her daughter, had been abused by her ex-husband.

Oh. Every ounce of arrogance I had been accumulating vaporized in seconds. How could I have been such a pompous ass?

That encounter has shaped my teaching ever since. I am so thankful it happend early in my teaching. I think about it often when I meet students and parents as they come to my classroom. We never quite know their full story.

Students and families have to be our priority. I teach students, not subjects. It has to be about the students, because there is always a story behind the story. I just have to remember I have the opportunity to help write a better ending.

Hearts and Seasons

“Can you be happy and sad at the same time, Mr. Stortz?”

The last day of school is almost here. It’s become routine for me. But it hasn’t become any easier.

I’ve given so much of myself to my students over the last nine months. I’ve laughed with them. I’ve cried with them. I’ve celebrated with them, and I’ve lost my patience with them. Day in; day out. Week after week for almost an entire year. Then it lurches to a sudden and grinding halt.

Seasons

As teachers, kids come and go in our lives like a revolving door. I’m about to finish my tenth year in education, so the door has been revolving for a while.

I’ve had the honor to teach about 300 students. Some come and and go like an easy breeze across a sandy beach. Some I miss. Some not as much. Some kids are quiet, and I don’t get to know them as well.

Others sink their hooks in deeply. Those are kids we’ll never forget. Those are the kids that not only enter our lives for a season, but touch our hearts for a lifetime. I’ve had a handful of students like that. I was fortunate to have one this year.

”I don’t really like to read, Mr. Stortz.”

That was one of the first conversations I had with her. Most kids don’t say things like that, and definitely not the kids that actually don’t like reading. Those kids tend to keep quiet and try to stay undetected. Telling me she didn’t like to read was like announcing a challenge. I interpreted it as “Help me find a book I’ll love!” I knew right away she was going to be something special.

She and I found several great books over the year. I got to hear her say “I love this book!” many times. Seeing her joyful turnaround was one of the best rewards I could receive.

She went from being below grade level in reading to being a full grade level above by the end of the year. She made the most growth of any student I had. But it’s not really about her reading skills.

Hearts

So much of teaching is about the relationships we forge with our students. That’s what I’m passionate about. Great teaching happens in the context of great relationships.

She is an amazing girl. Her infectious smile brought joy to my heart each day. She was a rock of responsibility. I could always count on her. Her kind heart and wonderful attitude were felt by everyone in class. She was the eye of the storm on the toughest days.

She is smart, creative, and funny. Any teacher will be blessed to have her next year. She helped me be not only a better teacher, but a better person.

I received a handmade card from her today. It absolutely melted my heart. As I read over her words, I realized just how much I was going to miss her.

”Can you come to 5th grade with us, Mr. Stortz?”

The bittersweet taste of the last day of school hangs heavily in the air. There’s excitement on some faces. But teary eyes betray the smiles of more than a few.

The music of this year is fading. The laughter is turning into echoes, and the voices are growing distant. I’ll close the blinds and turn off the lights one last time. And I’ll count myself blessed for being able to teach and learn from this very special girl.

Although she will only be in my life for a season, she has touched my heart for a lifetime.

Why Depression Sucks

Man, depression sucks. Believe me, I should know. It’s something I struggle with every day.

It’s something I’ve been struggling with since high school, but I was too chicken to confront it. Too chicken until recently.

The Wide Road

I’ve been a wear-your-emotions-on-your-sleeve kind of guy for as long as I can remember. I went through wild mood swings in high school. My mom and friends probably chalked it up to being a brooding, hormonal teenager. College was much the same. I’d be okay for a few weeks, then I’d get really down on myself and life. I lost enough weight during one spell to have some people worry about me.

In the back of my mind I just kept thinking I would get better. All I needed was to pray more, or be stronger, or smarter. My bootstraps needed pulling, and I was the one to do it.

Enter adulthood. Same ol’ me. Same ol’ temperment. But way more stress.

Moving. A new teaching career. Kids. Managing a home. Kids. Working on my marriage. Teaching. Kids. It was wearing me down to a nub. I’d sort of handle things for a while, then dip low. I would withdrawl, yell, scream, stop talking to people, sleep too much or not enough, or generally just become numb to it all.

I hate that I put my family and loved ones through that. And that’s exactly how the cycle begins.

The Carousel

Depression is a disturbing carousel of pain, sadness, and guilt. I would get down. Really down. Then I would start to feel bad for being down and unable to bring myself out of it. That would lead to guilt. That guilt would compound the sadness into an ever increasing downward spiral. I didn’t want to kill myself, but I felt fine if I were to die.

I would get to the point where I hated myself. I already struggle with confidence and self-worth anyway. It seemed I was increasingly more miserable than not. That’s an awful place to be. Especailly as a classroom teacher and a father of four.

The stress and guilt were weighing on me. Things were getting worse. I knew thoughts of pulling into oncoming traffic weren’t right. I was determinded to try even harder to will myself through this, though.

But I became more and more inward facing. The harder I tried, the worse it got. My wife lovingly asked me if I needed to go stay with my mom for a while to get some space. That’s when I knew something had to change.

The Narrow Road

My wife suggested that I go see a professional. It took me over a year to work up the courage to do that. I didn’t want to admit defeat. I didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t hack it at life. I didn’t want to admit that there was something wrong with me.

I took a simple online survey. It wasn’t what I wanted to see, but it was what I needed to see. I was depressed. Severely depressed at that.

I finally went to see a doctor. Sitting in the uncomfortable faux-leather chair of the waiting room, I expected to feel nervous. That emotion didn’t disappoint. But there was another unwelcomed visitor- shame. I was not expecting to feel so much shame. I felt shame because this was one more thing I couldn’t do right. I was defeated.

Chemistry, Not Character

The doctor was pleasant enough. He diagnosed me with depression and prescribed some medicine. I continued to see him for almost a year. The medicine helped. I was hoping to talk to him more, but he didn’t seem like that kind of doctor. He was pleasant, but not exactly personable.

At the urging of a friend I switched doctors. This new doctor was phenomenal. He listened to me. He asked questions and answered all of mine. He explained depression to me. We talked about the stigma of mental illness. He helped me see that my depression wasn’t totally something I caused. It was some faulty wiring in my brain among other things.

He told me that if someone had a physical illness that we would give them medicine. So, if someone had a mental illness, why wouldn’t we give them medicine too? I’m no more capable of thinking my way to a cure for depression than someone with the flu can think themselves healthy.

* * *

I’m better today. I’m not perfect or the best. Just better. I’m learning to cut myself some slack and not shoulder so much guilt. It’s a process, but I think it’s working.

If you or anyone you know is suffering from depression, please, please urge them to get professional help. Make the call for them, or ask someone to make it for you.

Set your fears and ego aside and get some help. Life is too short to spend it that way. Our God has given men and women the intelligence and know-how to help those struggling with this. Remember, depression is a flaw in chemistry, not character.

Crispy But Not Burned

I remember pacing the aisles of my favorite used bookstore a few years ago. Somehow I always end up in the education section.

Amidst the old books smells, I found a book called Not Quite Burned Out But Crispy Around the Edges. It was a funny book, and the name has always stuck with me.

Not quite burned out but crispy around the edges is exactly how I’ve been feeling this year. The feelings of burn-out are pressing in on me like a collapsing tent. And I hate it. This isn’t me. I feel the dirge of overwhelmingness is about to crescendo in heartbreak. I don’t want to lose myself in the process of teaching.

I have to get out of this rut and get back to the heart of what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.

On Purpose, For a Purpose

God brings you every student on purpose, for His purpose.

I try to make this my prayer during the days before each school year starts. Frustration has been getting the better of me lately. I've been slipping with it.

Teaching is not just a 9-5 gig for me. It's an extension of who I am. It taps into my very core as a person. On my best days, I truly feel I'm doing the work God has put before me. I need to remember it on my worst days too.

I don't believe in coincidences. The sovereign God of the universe isn't going to leave something as important as a class roster up to chance. My students are with me this year for a reason. Each one of those kids that crosses my classroom doorway is there on purpose for a purpose.

It's time I start acting like it again.

The Awesomesauce of a Week Off

The last few days of class have been heavy. I mean heav-y. Anyone could see from the body language alone that a break is due. The weariness and fatigue have been almost palpible.

I am so glad we have an entire week off for Thanksgiving break. There is just something about having a whole week break. It’s a time for physical rest, but also some mental and emotional recharging.

I know me. I know it will take a good three days to unwind. I don’t even want to thnk about school or students for those threee whole days. I’ll take some time to reflect after that. Reflecton is vital to the teaching process. It is so easy for me to get tunnel vision in the day-to-day trenches of classroom lessons. This is such a great time look back at the last few months and recalibrate.

The simple questions I’ll be churning on my mental rotisserie grill are:

What’s working?
What’s not working?

Just about everything I’ll need to stop or start will come from those two questions. But for now, it’s time relax.

A Gas Station Sandwich

I was happily enjoying my gas station sandwich during my 20 minute lunch. I like to call them power lunches when I bring in outside food- even if it’s from a gas station. It just makes me feel better about life.

My team was chatting with a substitute at our table. After relaying a story about his visit to a Comic-Con, he asked me what I did for fun. I had to stop and think about that for a minute. Actually, I didn’t answer him for long enough that he answered for me. “You mean you don’t do anything for fun?” I joked with him and asked if laundry and driving my kids around counted. Humor is my default defense mechanism when I’m uncomfortable.

I don’t know what it is about me, but I am a magnet for unsolicited advice. I get it constantly from all sorts of people. He told me that I had better find something to do for fun, or I was going to burn out big time.

The truth is, I have a very hard time making time for anything resembling a hobby or social life. I play my drums once or twice a year. I pick up my guitar every so often. I tried moderating #4thchat for a while. Once upon a time I even updated this blog (kinda) regularly. I guess I watch movies in between breaking up my childrens’ fights and take an exorbitant amount of time to read short novels. That sorta counts. Right?

I don’t want to burn out, but I don’t know how to take the time to enjoy much for myself. My wife, my four young children, and this teaching gig are already more than I can handle. All I wanted to do was eat my gas station sandwich in peace. I just don’t know…

The Rhythm of Teaching

I love the rhythm of teaching. It's actually one of my favorite things about school. It has a motion and movement like a well composed song. There's a natural give and take that I know I wouldn't find in other professions.

My school district is very traditional with its schedule. We begin in late August and finish in early June. We're off on all the usual holidays. We get a week off in the fall around Thanksgiving and two weeks off for Christm-, I mean, winter break. Then there's the spring holidays to make a few three-day weekends. The ebb and flow is lovely.

Then, of course, the controversial summer break. I know it's archaic and based off an agricultural planning calendar that isn't nearly as relevant. But, it's all I know. My entire life as a student and teacher has been with a summer break. I look forward to it as much as the kids do. And, I'm a better teacher for it.

There's a rejuvenation and a renewal that comes with that kind of break. I wish the summer slump didn't happen. I wish so bad it didn't. In a better world, all the kids would keep reading, keep writing, and keep learning. I know there's a drop off because of the summer, and that's a shame, because no two week break can really compare to the magic that happens over two months away.

My favorite thing is all the stuff I forget. I forget how hard and challenging teaching is. I forget how exhausted I am at the end of a week. I forget about difficult kids and challenging parents. I forget about all the bogus paperwork and secretarial minutiae that I have to shovel out of my way. I forget about everything I dislike about being a teacher. I forget about it just long enough to remember how much I love it. I come back in August with a perspective that I couldn't get otherwise. I have a feeling most students do to.

The rhythm of teaching is a beautiful thing. It's about to crescendo in a few short weeks. Can you hear it?

Sugar Crashes and Moments of Clarity

The sugar rush fades. The roar dies down. The crafts and papers are gathered. The last few lingering students cross the doorway. On their way out, they smile. Many tell me to enjoy the break, and there are more than enough shouts of "Merry Christmas" to last me well into next week.

Then they're gone. And suddenly, after the most energetic day of the school year, there's the empty room and me. I slump down low in my rolly-chair. Scanning the empty room, I can still feel the thick weight of this week. It's just exhausting. My eight years of experience tell me to brace hard. But this week still hits me like a freight train anyway.

The letdown. After cramming so much into a week- poof, just like that, it's over. Then, in the quiet, a thought starts to bubble to the surface. A precious moment of clarity. The stillness and emptiness remind me of just how much I still enjoy this. The testing, the accountability, the paperwork, the tutoring, the documentation, the stress. It's almost more than I can bear at times. But then I have moments like this.

I'm not thinking of Scantrons or No. 2 pencils. I'm not thinking about how to integrate our new writing textbook or assigning report card grades. I'm remembering how I got my rear handed to me today by one of my GT students in a chess game. I'm remembering jamming on guitars with a ten-year-old kid who's cooler than I am. I played a hilarious game with an amazing girl that involves trying to narrate every second of your life out loud. I finished reading a wonderful book to my precious class. I took goofy pictures of them while they made gingerbread houses. And I laughed today. A lot.

The simple fact is, I love teaching children. Their smiles, and wonder, and curiosity satisfy something deep within my heart. I just need days like this to remind me.

The Day the Parents Conferred

It's a mixed bag. It always has been and always will be. Parent-teacher conferences never cease to amaze me with the variety of conversational depth and spice.

I plan the sign-up and get the student work ready. I scratch out an agenda and get the classroom cozy. And then real life happens, and things rarely go as I planned. Younger sibblings mess up the room, parents cry, I grab the wrong notebook, somebody shows up late. Sometimes some parents surprise you with lunch, or tell you how much their daughter loves your class, or retell a conversation about how excited their son was about a book we read. A mixed bag.

Some discussions end disappointingly. Parents don't have all the answers, and I certainly don't have all the answers. Although I have some expertise [gag] in elementary education, I am far from an expert on a particular child. I see them for a few hours a day in one particular context. I don't know a child's ins and outs like a parent does. Shame on me for even assuming. I truly wish I could help more.

I usually end the day feeling exhasuted and a little disappointed. Disappointed mostly in myself. I get hung up on all of the things I could and should be doing. Sometimes I end up frustrated about my perceived lack of dedication to my job. I so often dwell on weaknesses and struggles, instead of the strengths and triumphs. Our educational culture can be deadly like that.

Those are the times I have to take a step back and get a hold of myself. I'd pretty much do anything for my students. But, I can't do everything. It's so cliché, but I'm not Superman. No teacher is. I'm not going to catch everyone. I'm not going to inspire everyone. I'm not going to get every student to 100% all the time. I have to stop holding myself to these inscrutably high standards. It's toxic. And arrogant.

Lord, help me to understand that I can't do it all. I can only give what I can to each student every day. That has to be enough. It just has to.

“I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And that which I can do, by the grace of God, I will do.” –Dwight L. Moody

It's About Who We Teach

There is no magic bullet for education. There is no enchanted cure-all or one-stop shop that's going to fix most of the ills in our schools today.

That's not to say we shouldn't try. We have a great responsibility as educators and parents. We have an obligation to grow and learn and fail and try and grow and learn and fail some more. We should use all the best tools available to help our students as much as possible.

But no computer software is ever going to save education. No new framework or model will ever truly revolutionize our schools. No language arts program is ever going to fix the way all kids learn to read. We're never going to figure it all out.

Because the thing is, education is not what's really broken. It's the people who are broken. And there's always going to be people. That's why it can never be as much about how we teach or what we teach. It has to be about who we teach.

A Palpable Closure

Rituals are important. I need more of them.

The last days of school are pouring over with emotions. Joy pervades the perpetual ten-year-old in me. I know that glint of summer in my students' eyes. I have it too. I stifle the feelings of regret. The idealistic teacher in me is forever wishing I did more. Failures stick out more right now than successes. Anxiety creeps in here and there as I think about my to-do list. There's so many things to do before I leave for summer break. Then, of course, there is the sadness.

I love my students. It's always a little hard to see them go. We've shared our lives together for almost ten months. I don't do well with change. I know some students don't either. I feel their pain. It's a big deal to unhook and shift into summertime. This is where rituals come in.

The Writing in the Journals

We journaled in class. A lot. Every morning without fail for the last two weeks of school, in fact. I'm a big believer in journal writing. There is something so cleansing and purifying about it. I fought to keep our schedule as predictable as possible. Sure, we had some unexpected things pop up for the last week, but we always journaled. I challenged the students to write at least a full page every day. It was probably the only thing we did daily. It was our anchor in many ways.

The Passing Out of the Sticks

I've just completed my seventh year of teaching. One of the things I do every year is make a cup of popsicle sticks with each of my students' names on them. It's old -school for sure, but comforting. As I pass the sticks out to the students, they're always amazed. "You mean we really get to keep them?" The ritual of the passing out the sticks is when I realize that it's going to be over soon. It's symbolic in many ways. The sticks are mine all year. They are my tool and under my control. They are my students. Now it's time to let that go; to let them go. Passing out the sticks is a metaphor for release. I've taught them all year that they are responsible for their own learning. Now it's their turn.

The Breaking Down of the Room

The students always get to help me break down the room. I save this for the next-to-the-last day of school. There is furniture to label, shelves to clean, and books to organize. The room has been our shared space. It's the silent partner in our learning community and now it’s time to shut down shop.

The Class Meeting

We save our final class meeting for the last day. We all reminisce about our best times of the year. There are usually tears. Sometimes the kids cry too.

The Taking Down of the Papers

The last ritual might be the most meaningful for me. I save the cabinet doors in my room for all of the notes and pictures that students make for me. It's another one of those things I've done every year. It's an instant pick me up to see all those loving pieces of paper. They stay up all year, and they are the very last things I take down. I have a special spot in my filing cabinet where I keep most of them. I take them all down, one at a time, making sure to fold back the pieces of Scotch tape before they go into my file. The stickiness of the tape gives me hope that many of the things I've talked about will stick with my students. I always play a song while I'm taking down the papers. We listen to lots of music. I teach with it, we write with it, we relax with it. There is usually a song that resonates with me during the year. This lovely song was my soundtrack for the taking down of the papers this time. I look at each paper and think of the face behind the it. These students are no longer mine. But, they never really were to begin with.

This is closure. Palpable closure.

What I've Been Thinking

Yep. Still here. Still teaching. Still thinking. Still writing- just not publishing much. A post from Brian Barry (@Nunavut_Teacher) got me thinking enough to write this post. I came across a great quote the other day:

Writing has nothing to do with publishing. Nothing. People get totally confused about that. You write because you have to – you write because you can’t not write. The rest is show-business. I can’t state that too strongly. Just write – worry about the rest of it later, if you worry at all. What matters is what happens to you while you’re writing the story, the poem, the play. The rest is show-business.
— Peter S. Beagle

So, yeah. It's a very busy time of year, but I'm writing and I'm thinking. I'm thinking about being grateful that I have a job next year. I'm thinking about gamifying education and motivation. I'm thinking about how the last day of school is the most important day of the year. I'm thinking about my own procrastination and reluctance to change as summer break approaches. I'm thinking about all of the things I didn't do this year that I swore I would back in August.

I'm thinking about what defines success and failure. I'm thinking about the state test scores that we finally go back. I'm thinking about the student who cried in confidence when she found out she failed. I'm thinking about the student who cried when she got a commended performance because she couldn't wait to tell her dad.

I'm thinking about all of this and I'm thinking about how I fit into it.

I'm thinking...

Stripped Learning

Cue the Imperial Death March…

Testing day. It’s finally here. For the last week, my class has been going through labor pains as we prepare for the inevitable day of our state writing test.

We are in our room this morning, but it’s different. The whiteboard is blank, The SMART Board and computers are off. Our learning artifacts on the walls have all been removed or covered by dull butcher paper. The fluorescent lights are fully on. The desks are all in rows facing the front. It’s still our classroom, but it’s different. It’s been stripped. Not only physically stripped, but stripped of its dignity.

Why the formality? Why the radical transformation? This environment is not how I teach the students, so why must it be how I assess them?

I caught myself a few times lately saying things like, “When this is over, we can get back to real writing.” The state test is, unfortunately, real. It’s just not authentic. It’s easy to forget the difference.

* * *

I paced the room, both anxious and confident, as I actively monitored the students. I knew many of them were fighting the feeling of being trapped and constrained, just like I was. Some students sped through, and others took their time. But, in the end, I’m not completely sure it mattered. The hour hand took six trips around the clock, and it was all over. The fear, anxiety, and tears came to a close.

Each of my students will now get a number- one number assigned to their learning. This number is assigned from one day out of their lives. It reduces their learning down to a quantifiable digit. This number strips their learning. It strips it of context and authenticity. Their learning is stripped of its significance. There’s a word- significance. Where does that fit into bubble sheets and scripted prompts?

In our race to the top, there’s pressure to quantify as much as possible, whether that number represents significance or not. But, we must never forget that there is a face behind that number. It’s a face of significance.

I'm Not Superman, But I Might Be Batman

I recently won Teacher of the Year at my school. This post is the second in a series of essays I'm writing for the state candidate application form.

Describe your contributions and accomplishments in education:

I'm a guy and I teach in an elementary school. That's not a common combination. I've been told a few times from parents at school that men don't belong in an elementary classroom. I strongly disagree.

I try to be a strong male role model for my students. I contribute a certain strength to many students who otherwise don't have a positive male influence. I bring a different perspective and a different relationship to the classroom for my students.

In addition to my love of books, I also bring my passions for music and technology. I play the guitar and drums for my students and for the school. I bring new websites and technology ideas into my classroom. I believe it is vital that students see their teacher's passions and interests.

My most significant accomplishments as a teacher are the lasting relationships that I've formed with so many of my students. Learning most strongly happens in the context of relationships. My first year of teaching was a kindergarten class in 2004. Those students are now in middle school, and I am so happy that I still communicate with many of them about their lives and learning.

I know I don't need super powers to make contributions and have accomplishments in teaching. I just need to show up with skill, determination, and passion. I need to do the best I can with what I have. Many in education are waiting for Superman, but why isn't anyone waiting for Batman?

Batman doesn't have super powers. He can't fly faster than a speeding bullet or leap over tall buildings in a single bound. He's just a guy doing the best he can with what he has. He has skill, determination, and passion. I'm certainly not Superman, but I might be Batman.

Photo Credit: Joe Crawford (artlung)

"It Just Hurts." -The Pain Kids Hide

"There's a dog on the playground, Mr. Stortz!" Several frantic girls were screaming and rushed over to me at recess today. This usually happens a few times a year. I looked around and didn't see anything. The girls pointed to the other end of the soccer field where a man was letting kids pet his dog through the bars of our black iron fence. This was definitely a no -no.

As I walked over to put a stop to this unauthorized dog petting, a soccer ball whizzed by the back of my head. I had forgotten how lively the soccer field could be. The man had already walked off by the time I reached the scene. I cautioned the students about petting strange dogs and reminded them to be safe.

I began walking back to my area when I heard the tiny yelp of ten year old girl. I turned around to see one of my students hunched over and rubbing her shin. She had just been pelted with a soccer ball. I asked her if she was all right. She winced, but assured me that she fine. She's a tough girl. I'm sure it hurt, but I knew she would be okay.

Fast -forward ten minutes. My patrol took me towards the side doors of the school. I walked past one of the squared brick columns and found the girl who had been hit by the soccer ball earlier. She was sitting with her back against the rough brick, arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting on her knees. Her eyes were red and a little puffy.

I asked if she was okay. She sniffed and gave me a few short nods. A little girl in tears is practically my Bat -Signal for shifting into dad mode. I looked at her again and asked if she was sure. Tears began flowing as she mumbled, "It just hurts." She could no longer hide the pain. Immediately, I knelt down and rubbed her shoulder. I asked if she would show me her leg. It seemed fine. I assured her that things would be all right; just to give it a little time.

* * *

I thought about those words today- "It just hurts." I wonder how many students in my class are hurting? Not from soccer balls, but from much deeper pain. How many children are going through divorce, hunger, abuse, neglect, or bullying? How many kids are hurting and trying to hide it? How many students are trying to be tough and not show their pain?

That pain is where I need to begin with some students. What can I do? Where can I help? I don't want them to hurt, and I certainly don't want them to be hurting and hide it.

"It just hurts."

Maybe learning when to use a comma before a conjunction isn't so important.

Photo credit: Rachel Ford James

Don't You Love It When They Come Back?

One of my favorite things is when former students come back to see me. I love when they come and find me during their inside recess, or come to ask me questions when they are working on a project. I even like it when they stop me for a 30 second conversation in the hall.

Most of the students I've taught are still at the same school with me, so I get the luxury of seeing some of them frequently. A girl I taught last year, whom I absolutely adore, stopped by during my planning period. She needed some help making a video for her math class. I took 20 minutes out of my day and had a blast filming a fraction commercial with her. It was an unexpected surprise that totally made my day.

In my short time as a teacher, I seldom find that students come back to me because they are excited about the things I taught them. In fact, I've never had a student come back and tell me "Hey Mr. Stortz, thanks for showing me how adverbial phrases relate to dependent clauses!" Most are rarely impressed at my knowledge of books, or my abilities with a computer. Many do not remember the famous quotes I recite or the lessons I lay out. They don't remember my disheveled desk, or that my lesson plans are not impeccable.

What they do remember is the way that I treated them. The more I teach, the more I am convinced that the most valuable gift I can give to my students is not an education. It is not motivation, success, or even inspiration. The most valuable gift I can give to them is love and acceptance as a human being.

I like to think that my students come back because they know that I love and accept them as people. Learning flourishes in the context of love and acceptance. As soon as I stop loving, I stop teaching.

I hope they never stop coming back.

I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

-Maya Angelou

What I Made Today

I made some kids laugh today. My voice can get kind of high -pitched and silly when I imitate fictional teachers from "back when I was in school." I guess 10 year olds think I'm funny. I don't know what that says about me or my humor.

I made some kids believe me today, even though I lied. I told them that they were a little too old to be making farting noises in the cafeteria. But, the truth is, they're not. I still make farting noises. And I still think it's funny. I had to turn my face so I wouldn't laugh when I was talking to them.

I made some kids wonder today. We talked about holidays and traditions in other parts of the world. It's hard for a 4th grader to think about that kind of stuff. Some kids researched answers for genuine questions they had about other cultures.

I made a kid cry today. She forged her mom's signature on a permission slip in the most forced, grown -up looking cursive she could come up with. About three excuses in, she finally broke down in tears and told me what she really did. I gave her a hug and told her I was not mad, just disappointed.

It was a typical day of making for me. I make lots of things for my students everyday. I can make kids laugh or cry. I can make them question and wonder. I can make them feel shame or pride. On my best days, I can make them feel like like they are capable of doing anything they can imagine. But, the one thing I can never make for them is their own learning. Despite my role as a teacher, I can never make learning for anyone. It's one of the great paradoxes of teaching.

Learning is making on a personal level. Learning has to be made from within. And that kind of making is always up to them.