our esSAy

At the end of this school year, this blog child of our school is nearing five years old.  It could go to kindergarten next year. That’s 252-some published posts as of this blog blast.   It was born on August 19, 2019, and I don’t have favorites, but it is my favorite.  It is the one work-related task that I have ZERO resentment spending entire weekends on.  Sometimes I am not sure if it is more therapy for me or professional growth for our community, but why can’t it be both at the same time? 

Do you know that I have a doc in my notes app on my phone entitled “blog ideas” that I routinely grab up when something occurs to me at 2am, in the shower, while on a run, or after a meeting/class? It’s like a constantly running backdrop turning around in my head: what needs more time, attention, and reflection? Or simply . . . I have GOT to share this funny story!”

No one has ever officially asked me to do this blog.  It has never shown up on my professional goals from my supervisor.  I have noticed some well-meaning folks will ask what our reader/share stats are with the underlying tone that if they aren’t high enough, the work is not worth doing.  Most of the time I send out the email blast and receive radio silence from the folks I work with most.  That’s okay though, because I almost always get at least one message from someone in our community about a particular post.  That’s okay, because I know we are all so busy and that many posts is a whole lot of words to read.  That’s okay, because writing and reading and wordy-confessionals are not everyone’s things.  

So why spend this much time and energy on something mostly only I care about?  Well for one, working with a small group of faculty on these every few months is one of my favorite ways to connect with others.  This year in particular I’ve seen our TEAM folks shine their particular shine.  Hannah has kept up with this incredible column about what kids ACTUALLY are thinking in “If only you knew.”  Matt has contributed regular posts about un-grading with realism and pragmatic voice.  Taylor has highlighted the amazing things she sees in her colleagues’ ECC classrooms.  Jessica has predictably produced joyful, creative meanderings both through art and stories of teaching/living.  

(So it’s not just about me and my diary-like posts.  Thank God for that.)

But I was going on a run a month or so ago, still listening to Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird by audio and I was stunned at how well she captured my seemingly ineffable obsession with this thing. Here’s what she brought to the surface for me:

1.  It’s not about “being published” or “being read” or “going viral.”  It’s about the process of writing a thing.

 I just try to warn people who hope to get published that publication is not all that it is cracked up to be. But writing is. Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do — the actual act of writing — turns out to be the best part. It’s like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be its own reward. (Lamott, Bird by Bird)

2. Telling the truth with words about our experiences is a crucial mode of self-discovery.

Good writing is about telling the truth. We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are . . . Hope, as Chesterton said, is the power of being cheerful in circumstances that we know to be desperate. Writing [and teaching/learning, Julie asserts] can be a pretty desperate endeavor, because it is about some of our deepest needs: our need to be visible, to be heard, our need to make sense of our lives, to wake up and grow and belong. (Lamott, Bird by Bird)

3. Teaching/learning can be weirdly isolating.  Writing a blog or reading a blog gives us as avenue to feel less alone. 

Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship. (Lamott, Bird by Bird)

4. Perfect writing is so far from the point. (Wonder why my posts are so stream-of-consciousness and not professionally edited/revised, besides the fact that I don’t have the time to manage it?) 

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. . . Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up, but clutter and mess show us that life is being lived.  Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground.  You can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip.  Tidiness suggests that something is as good as it’s going to get.  Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation, while writing needs to breathe and move. . .  What people somehow (inadvertently, I’m sure) forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here — and, by extension, what we’re supposed to be writing. (Lamott, Bird by Bird)

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We are not all writers by nature at this school, thank goodness. We bring a host of different ways of making sense of our jobs and our lives. What fuels your reflective practice? I’d love to learn.

First of all, we can all agree that among all the students that know him, DBram is a bit of rockstar.  Also, I have now been at the school long enough that I’ve started to absorb my favorite rhythms of the year long season. For example, in the same way that I begin to crave pumpkin spice in the fall, I find myself looking forward to seeing some precalc video projects near the end of each school year.  🙂 I’ve blogged about them before, but I can’t help but blog about them again. (DRUMROLL PLEASE) . . . .

I don’t know what it is about these projects that compels me so.  Is it the sometimes-muffled guffaws of embarrassment from youth as their video makes its debut? Is it the care with which Dr. Bramlett creates awards and a formal program and even displays their movie posters on the board and hands out mini white cheddar popcorn? Is it the range of types of projects: from rap to game show to fairy tale to music video and on and on? Is it the inclusion of pop culture figures and symbols (e.g. Bubble Guppies and Where’s Waldo in this year’s batch)?

I think it may be the way our smart-sophisticated-cool kids really put themselves out there in these videos with their friends with full knowledge they will be viewed publicly.  Take a gander through this slideshow of posters and movies.  You may (re)learn a bit of precalculus, but I can guarantee you will certainly see some youth making memories that will last a lifetime together. 

Authored by Jessica Parker-Farris

It’s no secret that the Lower School is in need of a major renovation, and thank goodness, the school has steadily been envisioning and planning to make that a not-too-distant reality. But what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Folks at the South Campus know that we teachers hunt and gather. We hoard things: chairs, used books, tape, you name it! There’s an underlying panic of You never know when I might need that! I’ve been working in the same space for eight years now, and the only thing in my room that was not scavenged is the rug. I had been using a twenty-plus-year-old rug, but when we came back from Covid, the space was just too small to fit twenty 4th graders without difficulty and fuss. I am so thankful for that perfectly new rug, but there’s been benefits to inheriting what I’ve convinced the guys (Greg, Arty, and Kenney) to retrieve from B quad, or, what I like to call The Chamber of Secrets.  

Throughout the years, I’ve constantly thought about all the things my space didn’t have, what I couldn’t do. And then one day it hit me, Don’t think about what you don’t have. Just list out what you actually DO have. And that was a game changer. I suddenly realized the table at the back of the room (that had not been moved in over 20 years!) could serve as a table kids could access materials from rather than hold items that belonged in the back storage room. I could place the rug in the center of the room, giving breathing space between tables to allow for better classroom management and separation of centers. Inundated with more grade-level sets than places to put them, I scavenged three unused shelves that now simultaneously function as a focal point, art supply storage, and showcase grade-level sets, serving as both decoration and continual kiddo-artist inspiration. 

Transition to this year. 

As some of you know, I’ve been determined to find joy. One thing that brings me joy is making ikebana-inspired floral arrangements. Instead of hiding what I do at home, I wondered if seeing arrangements would bring others joy the way it does me and decided I’d share my arrangements with others. I eventually had two main goals: experiment every morning (a morning play-date, if you will) and keep the main LS foyer table tidy and supplied with a simple composition. 

Often getting to work while it’s still dark, it’s become a meditative joy, and doing so has also, yet again, connected me to fellow co-workers. I quickly realized buying flowers each week adds up, so I asked our amazing new Lower School Science Teacher Rolando Roman if it would be possible to use some of the school’s flowers for an upcoming LS art reception. He was more than excited for us to be using the flowers as a way to celebrate community and beautify campus. So I began using school flowers for school events on a regular basis. Rolando headed up the school’s first farmer’s market, and, already having connected over flowers, he asked if I would help sell the school’s flowers. It was a huge success. Flowers were sold out in the first 18 minutes, and we completely wrapped up the market 50 minutes before official time – we’d sold out! One connection led to the next, and before long, I was making one arrangement after another: April Cosgrave’s baby shower, the front desk, the round table entering the main building, school plays/parent receptions, art receptions, and chapel services. 

Then came our first real temperature drop. 

Almost all of the flowers were taken out, all but a few planted near the science room which had more protection. How would I now make arrangements? Out of necessity, once again I asked myself the question, What do you have? and then began a whole new series of creating and designing. I’ve always foraged twigs, bark, and extra greenery to fill my arrangements, but this time I thought, What if I made everything out of dead materials? I have endless amounts of dead materials at my fingertips! 

As I transitioned into working with sticks, bark, lichen, and stems, something resonated with me that Anna Frame had nonchalantly mentioned at the baby shower: “Your work is so sculptural.” 

I took plenty of ceramics courses in college, but I’ve never thought of myself as a sculptor. I think this shift of creation could only have happened because I allowed myself to both share my work with others and, like a child discovering the world for the first time, to experiment with my gathered natural materials by simply noticing what they could do, how they were structured, their textures, how they might connect, no product required. And what’s funny to me is that I always loved abstract expressionism and wanted to paint abstractly, but I’ve always felt like a fake. I can make beautiful abstracts, but I’ve never known what each work truly represents in my mind.  And here nature has been speaking so clearly to me! Each branch and work has told me exactly what it wanted to say, what it wanted to be. Maybe it’s because I was finally listening. 

I had quietly made this commitment to playing and creating, and so for a while no one knew it was me.  Eventually folks figured it out and made comments like, “I’m glad you can see beauty in such weird things,” but I knew I wasn’t the only one. I’d seen folks walk past the stick arrangements, pause, and softly smile, so I knew it at least brought a handful of others a tiny spark of joy. And by the end of this year, I had teachers bringing me all kinds of twigs, branches, dead wisteria vines, you name it! By May Day, folks were literally pulling dead branches from trees right adjacent to the May Day field and telling me “This branch has potential!” 

I’ve loved and learned so much through this uninterrupted time of discovery, but if I could wrap it all up in a pretty little bouquet of findings, here’s a few lessons my play sessions have taught me: 

• A bouquet of flowers or sticks, it’s what you do with what you’ve got. Reframe. What do I have?
• Beyond efficiency, even a bouquet of sticks can be beautiful and spark joy. One of the most beautiful branches I’ve found yet was one Arty had just thrown on the golf cart along with trash bags all ready to be thrown out. We can breathe life into something that has otherwise lost it!

(If Chanel can reimagine women’s fashion with curtains or mens’ undergarments, if scientists can see the potential health benefits from understanding the way cicadas urinate, what joyful learning experiences could we have that might also contribute to society if we simply allowed ourselves the space to follow our own curiosities?) 

• Being your authentic self and following personal joy begets community connection, creativity, and more joy! 
• There’s probably a lesson in limited materials, limited free-choice for students
• Intentionally beginning the day with a creative endeavor rather than waiting till after work when I’m too exhausted helps me feel like I’ve accomplished something just for myself and sets me up to start the day in a more joyful, positive mood
• Everything’s connected. I can directly see how my mindsets, animation studies, summer travels (both work and leisure), and flower and furniture droughts have all informed both my floral arrangements (possibly now better described as assemblages) and teaching practice.  
• Honor yourself, each other, and your space (even if it’s a tiny table that’s continually shoved up against the wall and often sports a disarrayed assortment of crumbs, waddled papers, coffee rings, backpacks, dust, and lost water bottles).
• Neuroscientist Beau Lotto says play is the only time we not only are comfortable with uncertainty but the one time we actually celebrate it. If being comfortable with uncertainty is one of the most vital skills we can teach our students, shouldn’t we be helping them “play” as much as possible? But also, how can we teach them a skill we ourselves do not practice? So let’s follow our curiosities into the rabbit hole and spend the summer playing and celebrating, shall we? 

At the end of his life, the great picture book author and illustrator Maurice Sendak said on the NPR show Fresh Air, ‘I cry a lot because I miss people. I cry a lot because they die, and I can’t stop them. They leave me, and I love them more.’

He said, ‘I’m finding out as I’m aging that I’m in love with the world.’

It has taken me all my life up to now to fall in love with the world, but I’ve started to feel it the last couple of years. To fall in love with the world isn’t to ignore or overlook suffering, both human and otherwise. For me anyway, to fall in love with the world is to look up at the night sky and feel your mind swim before the beauty and the distance of the stars. It is to hold your children while they cry, to watch as the sycamore trees leaf out in June. When my breastbone starts to hurt, and my throat tightens, and tears well in my eyes, I want to look away from the feeling. I want to deflect with irony, or anything else that will keep me from feeling directly. We all know how loving ends. But I want to fall in love with the world anyway, to let it crack me open. I want to feel what there is to feel while I am here.

― John Green, The Anthropocene Reviewed

For my last class of the semester, my students read essays from John Green’s The Anthropocene Reviewed, in which he “reviews” elements of human life: from sunsets to the Piggly Wiggly to diet doctor pepper.  Then I asked my students to submit a one-page review of something they have encountered during their time of St. Andrew’s.  I got some stunning writing in the mere 30 minutes we dedicated to do this, and I had to share some excerpts for you all below. In this season of sometimes-cliched nostalgia and rose-tinted speeches, I think it is also good to remember our school’s imperfections alongside its glory.  After all, the dents and scratches are also part of why I love this place so.  

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The Adults of St. Andrew’s Episcopal School

The adults of St. Andrew’s Episcopal School have been some of the most influential people in my life both negatively and positively. So much so that the field of study I decided to pursue has been directly impacted by said adults. I often heard throughout my time at this school that St. Andrew’s is full of the dumbest smart people you’ll ever meet. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about that statement countless times and that it isn’t the most truth I have heard. Multiple teachers, faculty, and administrators have shaped my outlook on life, the way I treat others, and the way I act when no one is watching. Do not be fooled that all of these impacts are pleasant ones. I have had countless teachers breathe down my neck because they didn’t understand the way I worked or lack thereof. These experiences taught me to always give the benefit of the doubt and to ask personal questions instead of demanding answers. Times when me and my peers were enjoying our day whether it be gloomy or sunny and being reprimanded for our boisterous laughter during a free period. Subconsciously, I promised myself to bring joy instead of taking it away. I respect adults for the care they provide to the students here but I dislike the double standard that seems to follow some directions given to the student body as a whole. “We are teaching you all to be independent thinkers so that you go out in the world knowing how to think not to what think.” On the other side of this two-faced coin, there are the teachers and administrators who genuinely brought me so much joy and peace whenever I experienced stress or burnout. When you find people who see you when you’re happy and lift you even higher are the best type of people you can find. Oftentimes kids feel intimidated to speak to adults especially about topics important to them. I’ve learned through my years at St. Andrew’s that teachers and administrators who take the time to not just hear but listen to their students will keep in touch and help through struggles in life. Those people mean a world of difference and help to shape their students into outstanding scholars and citizens to the world around them. I give St. Andrew’s adults 4.5 stars.

-Catherine Bryson

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FLIK Corndogs 

When I came to the north campus at St Andrew’s, Flik was not in charge of the food at the school. I forgot who it was, but I remember the food being so good. I would eat at school every day and enjoy every lunch I ate. When I first figured out that we were getting a new food company I didn’t think much about it. Then The next year came around and I realized just how bad it would be having a new food company. The food was way worse than before. Then one day there were corndogs for sale. I ate one and all I could think about was the next day there would be a FLIK corndog waiting for me. And to this day I still sit and wait for the days that they sell corndogs. I give FLIK corndogs a 5 out of five rating 

-Cullen Cox (Editorial note: that day FLIK coincidently served corndogs.)

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The Bus

Every day from 5th grade until 8th grade, I had the privilege of riding the St. Andrew’s shuttle. I took the bus from the lower school to the upper school, and in the afternoon, we would take the bus back to the lower school. Every day we created new memories. Some days, we would sit and talk, and others, we would play games on our Chromebooks, but one thing remained the same every day, we always waited for that one bump on the highway right before the motel 6. We waited and right before the bump we would launch ourselves into the air hoping we would hit it just right so we could feel like we were flying. At least one person would hit their head on the roof of the bus every time. Saying that these were the most influential memories of my childhood might be a stretch, but at the time I might’ve said they were. While I might not remember every one of my peers from the shuttle, these are some of my most formative memories and the best because of the friends I made. Crawling under the bus seats put an aspect of adventure in the confining walls of the shuttle. There was never a dull moment in the mornings. And in the afternoons we would recap our days spent on the playground and share all the drama from our grade. This is what is called an episodic memory, and while that is the psycho-scientific definition, it was not all that robotic sounding. I give the St. Andrew’s Lower School shuttle five stars. 

-Avery Decker

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Mrs. Paula Pratt’s Office 

Whenever you wanna have a good time and most likely eat some food, you just need to head on over to Mrs. Paula Pratt’s Office.  She may or may not be in there, but most likely there will be a group of guys in there with some food.  As well as the guys and the food, whenever Mrs. Paula will be there, she’s always gonna be in the mood to either make jokes with you, give you some good advice about whatever you need.  She might as well talk to you about college, but that’s every so often.  

This past semester I’ve found the love coming from Mrs. Paula’s office because of how I have branched out and started to hang out with some guys that have the same kind of beliefs that I have.  Not dissing at all my other friend group at all, but in Mrs. Paula’s office, I am able to talk about what I care about most without getting any questionable looks from around the room.  

One bad thing about the office is that it isn’t always available when you think you need it.  Whenever Mrs. Paula is doing her job and helping students, there isn’t always that openness about it that it needs sometimes, but that’s really the only bad part.

There are certain moments when you are able to be around those who don’t think like you think for periods of time and eventually those people might get on your nerves or say something that isn’t too cool with you.  So you need that break from them and to go and seek others who have a similar way of thinking like you that are easy to talk with and help ease your nerves in some way.  I think that that’s what Mrs. Paula’s office is to me, some sort of a getaway from stress of school and what not or negative thoughts or comments I’ve interacted with throughout the day and that’s why I give it  4.5 stars.

-Banks Egger

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Review of SA In The Eyes of Thomas Greener

Forty – Five students and the church hall of St. Andrew’s Cathedral is all it took for Sherwood Wise to begin St. Andrew’s Episcopal School on September 8th of 1947. For the past 77 years, St. Andrew’s has immensely grown from 45 students to now over 1,000 students and two campuses located in Jackson and Ridgeland, Mississippi. The mission and values of St. Andrew’s help foster a community of excellence. St. Andrew’s strives to hire educators of immense backgrounds who are dedicated to enriching the lives of the younger generations. Being a St. Andrew’s student is not just about the academics, its not just about the grades, its not about the GPA, its not about who is better at what subject. Being a St. Andrew’s student is about the community built within, its about the education provided within, its about the environment created between the students and the educators, students and administrators, educators and families, administrators and families. The education given by St. Andrew’s is one of the most extensive programs in the State of Mississippi. I have been a student of St. Andrew’s for the past 15 years and there have been many occasions where myself nor my parents didn’t think I would succeed at St. Andrew’s. My parents and myself have had extensive conversations with educators and even administrators to understand how I as a student can succeed here at St. Andrew’s. It has been an extreme and sometimes frustrating experience but I have succeeded and now I am graduating. St. Andrew’s not only taught me how to be independent, but they taught me how tough the real world is going to be. The heart of St. Andrew’s revolves around the educators. The educators play one of the most important and significant roles in the working of St. Andrew’s – they are the direct line of educating their students. As I went from grade to grade and sometimes not knowing if I would succeed to the next, the administrators and educators knew inside of them that I, Thomas Stribling Greener, could pass. Yes it was difficult, yes it was frustrating, but it was completely worth it. I will never forget the knowledge I have learned from being a Saint. This knowledge that I have gained will be extremely valuable and helpful as I continue growing and maturing into the real world. I know I don’t always say this but I thank St. Andrew’s for allowing me to learn from them. I thank St. Andrew’s for always being in my corner when needed, especially during tough times. I truly appreciate all the educators and administrators of St. Andrew’s. I appreciate all that I have learned from St. Andrew’s. I APPRECIATE ST. ANDREW’S! I APPRECIATE THE EDUCATORS! I APPRECIATE THE ADMINISTRATORS! I APPRECIATE MY PARENTS! I APPRECIATE THE ST. ANDREW’S COMMUNITY! I am forever grateful for St. Andrew’s Episcopal School. St. Andrew’s will forever be a 10 out of 10 in my book.

-Thomas Greener

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Teaching ENG12

Teaching is a whole lot like parenting. It is the best of the best and the worst of the worst, all tied up in a single absurd package.  As someone who has spent my literal life in schools of all kinds since the age of 4, I can say with decent authority that whoever came up with the idea of one adult shepherding a group of 15-25 young people into a serious examination or study of a thing that they may or may not love using a range of tools/skills that they may or may not have discussing a text they may or may not enjoy or even connect with is bonkers, right?

Also I just threw a book at Bralan and spilled lemonade all over him on the last day of class. Like ruined-his-day sort of situation.  This is the kind of flawed teacher I am.

Still, there is nothing like the hush over a room when everyone is reading, or thinking, or writing together.  There is nothing like getting to connect with some students here by just putting in the time being together week after week, month after month.  There is nothing like sitting on my couch over the weekend and laughing out loud at something they wrote.  There is nothing like failing and getting better and failing and getting better at something that is impossibly hard and impossibly fulfilling.  

I give teaching Eng 12 a 5/5. 

-Julie

The other day I awkwardly tried not to eavesdrop in my office when Greg and Brad were having a logistics discussion about setting up one of the billion events this week right outside my door.

Greg caught my eye: “ You want to help with the 5 am setup, Julie?”

I audibly groaned.  These people that make magic happen behind the scenes are seriously heroes. 

Greg laughed at my reaction: “I heard recently you aren’t the same Julie when you are tired.”

I’m guessing he heard this from my recent trip to Charlotte with fitness folks, when I ditched everyone at the hotel bar at the embarrassingly early hour of 8:15pm and happily crawled into my PJs and bed to Facetime with my family (but mostly my dog.) See proof below.

To be fair, this was the night after a 3:30 am wake up call to catch a 5 am flight out of Jackson.  

But also, he’s right.  I fade every night, whether or not I have an obscenely early wake up, at just about that time. The people that love me know I’m tired, because I begin to wax eloquently about the increasingly dire state of the world.  My pessimism correlates with my figurative gas tank.  The emptier I am, the more dramatic I become about our future as a human race, or the fact that I’ve wasted my life, or I should have added more pepper to the lemon pepper chicken, or how will we afford college tuition, or what will I do when my parents die. 

This too, may surprise you.  As my husband says, I am the most optimistic pessimist he knows.

The funny thing is, I’m often not feeling optimistic, even when I come across that way at my peak time of day: God’s hour, 8:00 AM.  Have I already told this story in this blog? Almost certainly, but here is is again:

It’s a sunny springy morning about ten years ago when I was still a professor at Millsaps.  The curmudgeonly-about-to-retire music faculty member intersects with my path as I am making my way to Sullivan Harrell Hall.  

“Good morning,” I chirp in harmony with the birds.

He doesn’t  even manage a hello in reply, just a sort of guttural grunt from the back of his throat.  Then, as an addendum to his half-baked greeting, he says, “you are the happiest person I have ever met, Julie.”

I normally let that kind of thing slide.  I’ve heard it before and I’l hear it again.  But that particular morning had been distinctly challenging.  Alianna had kept me up all night wanting to nurse, there had been potty training mishaps battles with Zander, and Lucy had just burst into tears in the car for no reason.  I had a major headache and I was still wondering what in the world I was doing in MIssissippi when all of our family network was in Indiana. 

So yeah, I snapped.

“I AM NOT HAPPY!” I shouted. “I am a woman, and I am from the midwest, and I have been enculturated to put on a happy face in order to ensure that everyone AROUND me is comfortable.  This is not me HAPPY.  This is me going through interactive norms that I have internalized so deeply they have become automatic.”

He sort of backed away, aghast.  Poor guy. 

Here’s the thing. My “good morning” that day was not inauthentic.   I’m really not “faking it.”  Often I am pretty darn enthusiastically pumped about all the things I love: teaching, students, our school, parenting, my kids, going on runs, the podcasts, friends, the smell of fresh grass, fun facts, dumb jokes, trying new recipes/meal planning, a good book, a movie that makes me think, the sunset the other night.  This world takes my breath away routinely.  But on the days that have not treated me all that well personally, I find putting on a smile and connecting with people around me doesn’t feel like a lie . . . it feels like grace.  And I actually think getting outside of ourselves and our ego-centric mind spirals is the gift of being in community. And  I think faking it until we make it or become it can actually be a thing. 

Ok here’s another shocker to those that may not know me well: I do, indeed, get angry.

I recall when I was fairly young, maybe 11 or 12, we were leaving a church function.  I had the reputation among all the adults I knew there of being pretty mature for my age (aka a total nerd that felt more comfortable around grown ups and long theological diatribes than unpredictable interactions with teens in youth group).  As we were leaving, I started arguing with my mom about something in a not-so-mature, some-could-say bratty tone. I was tired and I didn’t want to go to school the next morning and I unfortunately took it out on my mother.  I said something sharp and sarcastic, angry barb-wire-words, and then I gasped.  Someone from church had been walking to their car right behind us and heard it all.

I was humiliated and cried in the car.  My mom laughed.  “Of course you get angry sometimes.  You’re not perfect!” she said.  “Believe me, they knew that already.”

This time of year, in fact, the time in which we are all overloaded and overwhelmed and operating in scarcity of time/resource/energy and often have wildly different priorities in our roles can be a frustration-inducing time for me at my job. I know I am not alone in this.  Oftentimes in a single meeting or class, I will feel all of these these feelings for the amazing people or initiatives/tasks in our community: gratitude; frustration/annoyance; confusion; clarity; stress; hope; excitement; injustice; hope; peace; hopelessness; and yes, from time to time, a tad bit of rage. The jobs we have at a school are SO DARN interdependent AND interpersonal.  And we all are invested so highly in what we do here.  It can’t be that surprising that the full spectrum of human emotion, the ups and the downs, can accompany a single 60 minute session of the good and hard work that we do.   Honestly it’s a miracle we hold it together as well as we do.  I have yet to see a fist fight erupt among colleagues, and so very often there is laughter and quick forgiveness/ humility. 

Sidenote: rage is often the wrong emotion, I know.  But I still let myself feel it in a detached, curious sort of way.  “Hmmm . . . i”m having a strong reaction to . . . [insert something a  student or colleague said/did/wrote].  What’s really going on here?”  I learn a lot about myself and my work and what matters to me.  Rage is like a built-in value indicator.  Or an indicator that I need to sleep.   But it is rarely an indicator of “true injustice” and it rarely gives me an accurate or rational portrayal of what is going on in the moment in other people’s heads.  I have lived long enough to know this.  

So yeah.  I get exhausted at night.  I’m fairly pessimistic by nature.  Also, I get ragey from time to time. 

Wanna make something of it?! 

Authored by Matt Luter

My last two blog posts here introduced the idea of ungrading by making the case that grades are not effective and talking about what ungrading is and isn’t. I wanted to follow up on the latter—which emphasized that ungrading is an imprecise blanket term for a wide variety of practices that decenter grades—by proposing a few ways that ungrading practices can start to take shape even in a school like ours that uses traditional grading systems. These are far from the only good ungrading practices out there, of course, and I’d love to chat with colleagues about even more possibilities. I hope some of these can find a home in your classroom next year.

Returning work with no visible grade. Perhaps you have noticed that every learning management system, even while including options to attach feedback to a grade, makes it far easier for students (and parents, and teachers) to locate grades than to locate feedback. The grade is foregrounded; the feedback requires extra clicks to find. That dynamic sends a pretty specific message. Why do we recreate it in person?

Instead, how about simply returning graded work with feedback, but with no number on it. I do this frequently with larger writing assignments already and plan to begin doing so with smaller ones also. The message is clear, I hope: the important feedback here is the descriptive, generative feedback from a teacher who knows your work. And I’m not hiding anything from you, because you know where to find the numerical grade, which will be entered at the end of the day.

Offering evaluative feedback, but with fewer categories and/or no numbers at all. The check-plus / check / check-minus system, for example, conveys information to students about their performance, which paired with some descriptive feedback, can provide a successful assessment. That it does so with only three possible categories and without a numerical element makes the responding quicker and the message lower-stakes.

Retiring the zero. A traditional 100-point grading scale in which 0-59 counts as an F claims that there are sixty different points of failure, but only ten different points of excellence. To what extent do any of us actually believe in that level of variance among poor grades? And should one particularly poor grade exert such mathematical weight over that many stronger grades?

Instead, making the lowest possible grade a 50 actually matches the 4.0 scale on which our school calculates GPAs. On that scale, an A (4.0) and an F (0.0) average to a C (2.0). Why should, on a 100 point scale, an A and a 0 then average… to an F? A 50 still sends the message that a student’s work was concerningly deficient in some important way, without utterly derailing an average for the semester.

Self-assessment. This one can be the toughest for many teachers to wrap their heads around, because it requires surrendering control over the assessment process. But at its best, self-assessment encourages students to build some self-awareness about their working habits while also creating space for generative conversations about individual students’ strengths and weaknesses as developing students.

Toward that end, a final note: I have essentially ungraded the new advanced humanities course here, SEARCH, by incorporating self-assessment. While the class structure had built-in checkpoints that required work to be turned in on certain dates, none of that work was given a numerical grade. Instead, I conferenced individually with students in December and May and assigned grades to each student’s work, portfolio-style, for the semester. In those conversations, I asked students what grade they would give themselves for the semester. And in each case, taking into account quality of work but also time management and deadline awareness, the student responded with the grade I had in mind—or lower. This matches what almost all research on ungrading has pointed out—that students are rarely inclined to grade themselves substantially higher than teachers would, as long as expectations are made clear. To be fair, the SEARCH class is a small, self-selecting sample set of strong, motivated students who opted in to an additional class. But I found this example revealing and wanted to be sure to share. 

I’m not claiming to be an expert on ungrading, as I’m still in the process with my own classes and practices for sure. But I do think it can go a long way in discouraging our students from thinking of themselves as numbers, and encouraging them to think of themselves as active learners with agency and potential for growth. I’d be glad to talk about it more with any of my colleagues or recommend additional resources.

If anyone thinks that PE and fitness class is nothing more than round upon round of dodgeball, I encourage you to speak with Burney King or Stacy Sullivan or Britney Wolfe or any of our inspiring fitness instructors.  Working with these folks this school year on our fitness programming curriculum review cycle this year has been quite the education for a less-than-coordinated human like me. 

TBH, like most things, the most I know about this anything related to athletics has come from being a momma:

The joy and challenge that athletics has brought to my children at this school been one of the most unexpected momma gifts I’ve gotten from this school.  That’s another blog for another time, but athletics and coaches at our school are a crucial linchpin to many youths’ SA experience. 

Perhaps my ignorance on this subject stems from my- ahem- slightly limited personal experiences with organized sports and PE as a youth:

• PE with Mr. Hoffa in elementary school was generally experienced as a humiliation, the one class that baffled me with its unpredictability and left me, frankly vulnerable to attack. For example:
  • Our yearly line-dancing unit in which I had to (horror of horror) hold hands with a BOY.
  • The MILE RUN, which seemed like a never ending, ungodly marathon distance that no one should ever attempt. 
  • That one time my mom wrote me a note that my asthma was acting up so I should sit out class but her handwriting was so bad that he thought I forged the letter and I started crying and just recently finally forgave my mom for having such messy cursive.
  • Hanging in the air attempting to do pull ups. 
  • Me not understanding the rules of a game.
  • Those really fun rolly things that remained fun until someone ran over my fingers with theirs. 

• It should be known that I DID get third place in the “hoppity hop” field day race in third grade. I was decidedly chubby in the third grade, and my superiority (ok ok, mid-level greatness) came as a shock to everyone but most especially myself.  I just loved bouncing.

• I played on the middle school volleyball team, if by play you mean I sat on the bench the entirety of each and every game except for one single game in which Mrs. Granger reluctantly called me out and I successfully bumped the ball over the net and she was so astounded by my success that I actually could not have felt worse.  
• One year in middle school I played tennis doubles with my friend Kori, and we had such a fun time coming up with ironic smack talk about how great we were that we often forgot to do things like watch for the ball coming and, I don’t know, make contact with it.  
• Does marching band count? Sometimes there were push ups.  And there was sweat.  So much sweat.  Also we had these things called “march offs” in which we responded to increasingly quick commands on which way to move and I could hold my own on those things.  But it felt more like brain work than body work.

Yeah.  That’s about the sum total of it.

So it’s safe to say that I always have a lot to learn from my friends that live in the ARC, and I hoppity-hopped (see what I did there?) at the chance to spend a few days talking with folks at some leading schools in Charlotte about why fitness/PE in schools MATTERS. Shout out to Catherine Bishop, who drove around Burney King, Sarah Spann, Stacy Sullivan, and me all around that city. Also shout out to Charlotte Country Day, Providence Day, Trinity Episcopal, and Charlotte Latin, who gave us all of their secrets and fed us their amazing FLIK lunches (for real, they were amazing) and just generally shocked us with their generosity. For anyone that wants a clear rundown of all the things we learned from our colleagues in Charlotte, have at it. Here are some highlights we saw or learned about: 

• Many of the schools organize their PE classes by sports unit.  The idea is to give kids exposure to track, basketball, softball, dance, soccer, etc. by first playing a game, then breaking down the skills, and then revisiting the game again. (I learned from Burney I believe this is called whole-part-whole.)  In one school, the 3rd-5th graders actually use PE time for three week “sports seasons units” in which each kid has a different role on their team.  Don’t like playing? You could be the equipment manager? Kind of bossy? Why don’t you try the coaching role.  Fascinating.
• Nearly all of the schools incorporate choice into PE.  In elementary school this often looks like stations or options for warming up.  In middle school, this expands to include choosing an elective in 8th grade (yoga? Dance? Lifting?) or having each Wednesday in PE operate like a free choice Friday with each fitness instructor offering a different activity.  If a student just isn’t up to any of the activities, they can opt to walk around the track that day.  The goal= MOVE.
• Most places we saw pushed toward student ownership of their fitness goals, especially in middle school.  This looked different in different schools, but I really appreciated Trinity Episcopal’s approach to having students set goals and work to achieve them.  They also documented their workout minutes with some interesting templates.  If I could have just used gym class in middle school to simply work out, I would have LOVED it, and I would have gained valuable skills and habits to last me a lifetime. 
• Coaching and feedback was built into every aspect of PE  Sometimes this happened informally with multiple circle times between rounds of a competitive game.  Sometimes this happened more formally, such as when we saw third graders watching video of their team’s gymnastics routines and get specific feedback on a rubric with their PE instructor.
• There was the interplay of JOY, COLLABORATION, and COMPETITION all over the place! In elementary settings we saw obstacle course relays which ended in each team adding blocks to a high tower to mark their progress.  We saw creative and inventive games, knocking over bowling pins defended by team mates, strange alternative versions of dodgeball, etc.  The ropes course at Charlotte Latin was a thing to behold and was entirely designed with the premise that youth can achieve things better when they work together and problem solve with their peers. 

And of course, like every set of school visits, we also left affirmed that much of what we have in place is already best practice. I am so looking forward to digging into some of our shared aha moments from Charlotte and seeing what we want to change and what we want to keep exactly the same. The wise Burney King said it well: “this is about making the experience better for the kids.”  

My vote? Buy a class set of these.  I challenge all ya’ll to a race. 

“Dr. Rust, your ability to sustain optimism in a class with this degree of senioritis on display is nothing short of inspiring.”

-A senior in my English class in April . . . with definite senioritus.

It’s been a minute since I’ve had an update on “Teaching while Julie Rust.”  It’s time.

The date is April 17th.  I just sent no fewer than FIVE separate “you have a C- or lower in my class” emails to students and parents. I have a tiny class of 13 so this is even worse than what your first impression might be.  My handy dandy calculator says this is 39% of my entire class.  

I remember raising my hand in a 12th grade faculty meeting early fall and asking for advice from the group: “Help me!” I said. “It’s been a minute since I’ve taught high school,” I said.  “What should I be aware of ahead of time?” I asked.

Someone snorted.  “The spring.” they said helpfully.

And here it is.

The spring and my 13 rapscallions have fully won me over and they know it.

They have one TOE in high school and an entire head and shoulder and body in the what is to come.

I caught two of my students huddling during a group activity over a laptop, shopping for dorm furniture together.
“Sorry Dr. Rust,” they said in the voice of not-sorry, “We are actually dorm roommates next year and we have to buy this right now.  It’s on sale.”

This is spring semester of senior year.

We know the dance moves, but the music has been turned off.

Or perhaps it’s truer to say we are asking them to dance to an old, five-songs-ago song when a new and faster one is drumming in their ears.

I’ve never been able to muster up righteous anger when kids don’t do the work and I kind of wish I could, because it seems to motivate some.  

I’m more a “dude you are failing my class right and doing this to yourself but DANG you are so smart when you say things in class and I just really like you as a human” kind of person.

Perhaps that’s why I just cc’ed Hollie and Blake on five emails with the following iron-clad formula:

Dear people that love this kid + the kid + scary upper school admin,

Here are all the ways I love said kid.  This kid, though, is not living to their potential because look at this shocking number that shouldn’t be a shock since grade books are transparent both on Google Classroom and MySA.  Here are obvious things you should do: like turn in the things.  I am nice and accessible so how can I help? (I can’t help! Just do the things! You will be deducted points for lateness but not ALL the points and late is better than never so hurry!)

Love and warmth, and light,

Pushover English Teacher

Sometimes I think grades just measure compliance (and there is all sorts of good debate around that in terms of equity) and sometimes I think: I REALLY LIKE WORKING WITH PEOPLE WHO DO THINGS WHEN THEY ARE DUE.  LIKE I WANT TO TRUST THE PEOPLE I WORK WITH. 

I love you five, but my trust in your reliability is low at the moment.

You will turn it around.  You always do.

Sigh. 

---

But also this. The morning after I scribed this litany, I walked into class.  A student sat there doing 1000 things that weren’t about my class on his laptop, and he looked up briefly. He’s the kind of student that just isn’t an English class kind of guy.  He doesn’t immediately hear words and get goosebumps like me.  He often takes a quote and misinterprets it.  He’s been clear about his ambitions and career goals and they are in a different planet altogether than the humanities.  But he is also honest about this, and goodnatured about this, and I really really like the kid.

Today, though, he caught me by surprise.

“You know that assignment for in class today?  I went ahead and already did it.”

“Huh?” I squeaked out, morning coffee fully not in effect, “you mean the one where you pick which character you most relate to?  I’m sorry- was I not clear in the instructions you would do it during class?”

“Nah,” he shrugged.  “I was just kind of in the mood to do it.  Actually, when I did it, I cried.  Like good tears.  So thanks for that.”

---

I do not really know what makes good teaching, not even after all of these years in schools and that PhD and planning PD and going to countless conferences and doing presentations/publications and research and being awed in classrooms watching all of you teach.  I’ve graded a billion papers and interviewed a ton of kids and teachers and I’ve sat in a jillion meetings about teaching and learning and it turns out it’s about the same amount of mystery to me it has always been. 

I know there are better and worse ways to do this thing.  But also, just as often, there are just different ways to do this thing, and each different way sets off a distinct ripple. . . initiated by a force via decisions you make but then, one thing impacts the other and the resulting fallout feels inevitable and out of your control in a way.  Perhaps then teaching is a game of dominos, and sometimes the dominos going down are about how well youth can do literary analysis and other times they are about what is felt, the acquisition of particular habits, and what is learned about the self and the community and others. 

From this year back in the classroom with 17-18 year olds I reminded myself of the ripples that I care most about.  I don’t mean to say they are the ripples you should care most about, just that I hadn’t taught English to high school students in awhile and in that way it was a self (re)discovery of sorts.  (I also had never taught humans so close to the age of one of my own kids.  This, too, shifts things.)  The greatest gift is I get to do this again next year, still learning alongside the incredibly wise Paul Smith.  

Notes for Next Year: 

• Read together. Write together. Share writing regularly.
• Make space for joy and play and competition.
• Open up the modes students can use to demonstrate understanding.
• Cultivate more one-on-one conversations/conferences about writing.
• Practice a culture together of following deadlines.
• Enforce quality work and attention to detail at every turn. 
• Be human together.

Authored by Hannah Williams-Inman

Somehow, we have found ourselves at the end of another academic year, and I’m sure among faculty there are a wide array of adjectives we would use to describe it. As Buck would say, your mileage may vary. This might have felt like the longest year so far, or the shortest. This batch of students may have been generally delightful, or generally like you’ve been wishing for them to move onto the next grade since October. As we continued to learn more about our students, and about the personality of their class, we may have found ourselves increasingly endeared, frustrated, confused, or impressed, and, regardless of those findings, we continued to come to work and do the hard job of bringing up kids to be a productive part of our world. It’s certainly not nothing.

If I’m being honest about where I’m at this May, I will tell you this: the Commons during middle school lunch has devolved into my personal circle of hell, the 7th graders are quickly (slowly?) becoming 8th graders which is very cute, and the 8th graders have universally become done with me (it’s mutual). At the same time, I got misty watching said 8th graders leave my class for the last time, the 7th graders are about to undergo the mysterious-summer-before-8th-grade-magical transformation, and, as I type this, there are a total of two (2) remaining school lunches in the ‘23-’24 academic year. I’m trying to practice gratitude more than attitude, and it’s going okay (but not better than okay – if you’ve talked to me in the last week, you know), so I will say this: May is May-ing, but I’m still really happy to be here. 

One thing I have been thinking about these days is that I’ve now experienced 5 different groups of 8th graders, each one so distinct and weird and wonderful, but, nonetheless, I have taught 8th grade Spanish 5 times. I know that’s nothing compared to some teaching careers, but it’s 5 times! That’s already kind of a lot of times. Each group of 8th graders, though, will only be an 8th grader once, and, while they’re in it, 8th grade is their entire world. As an adult that spends each year getting to know and care for pre-teenagers, I’m grateful for the way that their middle school life allows me to be reflective, and consider how much we are all still growing and changing, albeit not quite to the same extent as these adolescents. It would be easy, I think, to have seen this year as “just another year” for me, but the reality that these students only get to live this year one single time, and that I get to be a part of it, has helped bring so much texture to the drivel of adulthood. So, in this last installment of If Only You Knew, I thought it would be sweet to share the things our students are grateful for this May.

They are grateful that you helped their love for learning blossom (this is not paraphrased).

They are grateful that you helped them see things from different perspectives.

They are grateful for the seating charts (because you put them next to, like, 9 friends)

They are grateful for the way you make them feel welcomed and comfortable.

They are grateful because you made them love writing again.

They are grateful for the way you help them.

They are grateful for the way you are reliable, for being there when they need to talk.

They are grateful for your passion for teaching, enthusiasm, and excitement – yes, they notice!

They are grateful for the ways you have extended them grace, and for the ways you have helped them this year.

I wish these humans-in-training had the awareness, the vocabulary, the gumption to tell us why they love and appreciate the adults who dedicate their days to helping them grow, but without a fully formed prefrontal cortex, they quite literally can’t. We will have to settle for a couple of these gratitude notes, scrawled hastily, but honestly, at the end of what has been (for all of us, including them) a long and great year. I hope that this week you can leave work for a little while, and feel like, for whatever year of teaching this may be, that you got to have a 2023-2024 school year that was, by nature, unlike any year you’ve ever had, or will have. I hope that you leave this place knowing that the work that happened this year only happened the way that it did because you were a part of it! And such is the grace of being a part of something greater than ourselves.

For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, ready or not, 2024-2025 is around the corner. See you in August!

Author’s Note:  Is it possible to already have the Sunday Scaries for next year?????

Have you all gotten to know our amazing new French faculty member, Dr. Jocelyn Van Tuyl?

She’s not only brilliant, experienced, and down-to-earth . . . she’s also a pretty darn good at improv.  I had the good luck of being in an improvisation PLC that David Kelly led this past school year with Jessica Parker-Farris, Matt Hosler, Jim Foley, and Jocelyn so, yeah, pretty much the dream team.  This lady is quick-witted and doesn’t take herself too seriously.  My favorite.  

But I digress.  This blog is (sometimes mostly) about teaching/learning. Luckily, Jocelyn can also teach. She’s had a lot on her plate (ha- cooking metaphors!) this past year as the solo French teacher across a million grade levels, and she still managed to establish some very high standards with her students and also make room to incorporate a very cool cooking show project.  

Here’s what she said about it:

Each student chose a French recipe and demonstrated how to prepare it in a cooking show format. This gave students an opportunity to showcase their spoken French and public speaking skills. Presenters demonstrated their understanding of the steps in the recipe by acting out chopping, whisking, etc. After all, you really need to understand something in order to be able to teach it or demonstrate it to others.

Students went above and beyond with dramatic presentations, handmade props (including an origami butter cube and confetti “salt and pepper”). In some cases, they cooked the actual dishes. The attached photo shows (clockwise from top): Tarte Tatin (caramelized apple upside-down tart); crème caramel (hmm, recurring theme: caramelized upside-down custard); préfou (French garlic bread). Everything was délicieux! 

Here’s a sample of a few of our engaged and enthusiastic student “chefs.” You’ll also note an impressive level of audience participation!

Clearly many of our students love to perform. And who doesn’t love good food? Why not combine the things they love to get to the learning objectives we plan for? Jocelyn, we are so glad you have joined the SA community! Bon appétit, everyone!

Authored by Jessica Parker-Farris

Let me paint my own end-of-the-year classroom experience: eight children interrupting me all at once; children arguing over markers, personal space, or fidgets; children staring into nothingness or, better yet, rolling their eyes; children seeing just how far they can stretch one piece of bubble gum (Where did they get gum???); children putting boogers on each other; emotionally charged and sensory over-stimulated children; exhausted, grouchy, snappy children. 

The end of the year always brings its own set of challenges. Kids are just checked out, burned out, D-O-N-E! And I think I will be the first one to confess that I’m right there with them! I’m not one to give up easily, but my usual go-to is push harder, work harder, maybe get frustrated and a little resentful. Striving to lean into joy this year, I’ve been reflecting on how to approach things in a new light. Typically when things aren’t going according to plan, I’d ask myself what soft skills my students are missing, but this year I was in David Kelly’s Improv PLC, and he talked about changing something about the way I show up to class and seeing if I get a different response from my students. I had done this at a small scale a few years ago noticed good results – I had a certain student that had more “bad” days than “good” days in art class but had noticed that if I talked in a slightly silly voice and cracked a few jokes, this kid immediately smiled and became excited to work on their project. This discussion in improv, to actively experiment showing up to class in different ways, freed me this year to try this more consciously and without guilt.  

It began in November when I was teaching clay techniques to my students. Clay can only be manipulated so fast, and as we all know, students these days can quickly get bored and lose interest. In second grade we were learning slab method, and as a way to regain their attention, I showed them slip-and-scoring by adding a face onto my slab piece of clay. Once the character was finished, I make-believed it could talk. It began taking over my lesson and telling kiddos what to do next. Their eyes quickly widened and smiles came across their faces. They were hooked into what it was saying. I acted like it “talked too much” and was “taking over my lesson” and therefore decided the best solution was to squish it at the end of the demo.  As I squished it, it squealed a muffled “Nooooo!!!!” sound. The kids all laughed hysterically. This made them all eager to go to the tables and try to make their own clay projects. Later that week, other students had gotten word and wanted to know if the clay would be coming to life in their classes as well. 

In March of this school year, I was having a similar experience. Students weren’t listening, and I was feeling frustrated and burned out. Between classes, I immediately grabbed the closest thing to me, my dry-board eraser, and quickly sketched a face on it. And POOF! That is the moment my eraser instantaneously came to life. I hadn’t expected things to progress as quickly as they did or I would have put some forethought into her design. 

As I began teaching with this character, students were both fascinated and curious. I hadn’t planned on so many questions about her. At a certain point, I would tell them, “I don’t know what she thinks about “X.” You’ll just have to ask her yourself.” Students eventually started helping me make-believe the character to life, and we created her own profile. While the first graders quickly dubbed her Queen Bee (Her colors mostly being black and yellow, I can only assume this choice of name was a direct result of their homeroom studies – they were in the middle of a unit on bees) students from every grade were excited and intrigued by her! 

Queen Bee’s personality is over the top. With a groggily and high-pitched voice, she talks incredibly fast, c-o-n-t-i-n-u-o-u-s-l-y, and without prior thought, which means she doesn’t always make the right decisions. She often helps me model what the kiddos shouldn’t do before anyone else has had the opportunity to actually “mess up.” This gives them a few laughs, keeps things exciting, but still helps me control the level and duration of said “drama.”  So sometimes she models how to apologize for interrupting the teacher or for being slightly inconsiderate or selfish. But as much as Queen Bee isn’t perfect, she notices what others do well and is quick to share her kind and constructive thoughts. Many students feel so close to her that they tell her things they won’t tell me. She’s super curious and confident but a simple eraser, which means, while she asks the kiddos lots of questions or makes suggestions, she doesn’t do things for them. 

A few weeks ago Queen Bee took a two week vacation to Hawaii since she was burned out (My voice needed a rest! ha!). Students were eager to learn how she was able to travel so far while only being a two month old eraser. Kids wrote her fan mail, made her works of art and birthday cards (It’s March 28th in case you wanted to know!), suggested I create Queen Bee her own web page – the list goes on! And now that she’s back, her popularity and adventures only continue to grow. Students have been making works of art inspired by her – one moment she’s surfing and the next she’s hanging out with Taylor Swift! The kids were so glad they had a few more weeks with her before school let out, and they’re already asking if she’ll be back next school year! 

I’ve had fun making-believing along with the children, and presenting from this other voice has proved a fun and helpful teaching strategy in the classroom. Check out a few of the ways Queen Bee has assisted me in the classroom so far:

• Engages kids in the lesson just by being present (She’s cute and fun – what can I say!)
• Observes and asks students thought-provoking questions 
• Models healthy friendships 
• Demonstrates how to envision a W.O.W. (wonderful, original work of art)
• Creates a safe space for risk-taking (makes mistakes and tries again)
• Models forgiveness and kindness 
• Creates an engaging space through excitement and curiosity  
• Helps with lessons and skill-builders through personal examples

 (Ex. Helped third graders with shading, story-telling, and comics; perfectly modeled my anthropomorphism lesson with first graders) 

• Challenges and encourages students to imagine and problem-solve   

Luckily, we’ve finally made it to the end of the year. Hopefully we can all take some very needed time for rest and restoration. But if next year you find yourself feeling burned out or frustrated – or better yet, playful and creative – I highly recommend allowing yourself the freedom to explore communicating with your students from a different perspective, voice, or character and see what possibilities it creates!

Tadaaaaaa!

The 2023-2024 school year is over so that must mean we most certainly successfully conquered and now fully have unlocked the mysteries contained in the PD theme of the year: “Teaching These Days.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

(We barely scratched the surface.)

Still, I am grateful for all of the questions we have unearthed together, and the sometimes answers and solutions we have scratched up as well.  

I recently listened to this TED Radio Hour podcast about memory and the brain and it reminded me of some things I’ve heard before about the vital importance of recounting and rehashing memories to solidify them in our brains.  Indeed, most of my memories from the kid’s early years reside in facebook memories when I used to document the cute things they said/did.  Without the yearly reminders, they would have slipped away.  After our Rust family epic trip to New York City last Spring Break, I took the advice to heart, and we had a family “share photos from your devices and recount best moments from the trip” the weekend after the trip.  It was a way to make those dollars we spent really count. “Remember this, brain?! This was fun and good and we learned things and spent time together!”

Well in the spirit of the recap, here are some of my personal highlights from “Teaching These Days” this year. 

1. August Workshop Week: “Teaching These Days” Overview

Remember that start of the 2023-2024 school year when TEAM folks stood up and quoted all of these quotes complicating the notion of “kids these days?”  

We began the year talking about generational differences and norms, and then Hollie, Matt, and Blake took the stage to talk through three big impacts on “teaching these days”:

• Technology
• Economic Forces
• Political Polarization

Annie Elliott shared some on-the-ground observations from how campers and counselors have changed from 2002-2023:

We had a panel discussion with faculty across divisions and ended with some talk about the impact of Generative AI led by Linda Rodriguez.  

Fun fact: We were supposed to have had a panel of outside speakers for this opening session and it all kind of fell through at the last moment. I’m kind of glad it did. To have so many different faculty and admin step up and share their thinking was a gift.

2.  Our October PD Day was all about human growth and development.  I was so grateful to have Jessica Goldsbury step up and share her work on this front at SA.  The session with Dr. Scott Rodgers and others provoked a lot of community conversations and feedback, and I have been grateful to have these important/honest dialogues about hwo to best serve all of our youth and respect the dignity of every human being rise to the surface.  

3. Our February PD Day centered back in with localized concerns and noticings about teaching these days at SA.  TEAM members created a series of short skits to launch into faculty-led conversation groups about questions that folks had noticed when teaching in their particular context.  (Here are notes from those meetings!)  Early Childhood Center faculty opted to share out their best practices grade level by grade level by “going on a field trip” to each other’s rooms. 

The afternoon brought Marc Watkins to share about “Teaching in the Age of Generative AI”  His talk, much like our October conversations, provoked several follow-up discussions about our institutional stance with these technologies and how we can best equip faculty/students with our mission at the center.  

It is clear that this was not all smooth sailing. This people-pleasing self of mine has slowly recognized that, in this job, there is no pleasing everyone . . . especially when whole-school PD initiatives are concerned.  In fact, I have begun to suspect that if a speaker or activity or set of themes doesn’t provoke any disagreement, dialogue, or follow-up, it may have not been worth the time and effort at all.  The trick is how to listen well and deeply to the smart people in our community without getting stuck in a state of paralysis.  The trick is to decipher/separate what we need to reach a stance or consensus on and what we need to live in ambiguity on and who needs to be involved at every step of the way. 

None of this year’s exploration would have been possible without the incredibly supportive team of folks we have at the school.  Thanks to Kevin, Shea, Buck, and Blake for supporting this work and providing a whole-school divisional lens when needed.  Thanks to Taylor Davis, Jessica Parker-Farris, Rachel Scott, Hannah Williams-Inman, and Matt Luter for providing crucial teacher perspectives, feedback, and ideas throughout the journey.  Thanks to say many others who stepped up when I said “HELP will you submit a question?!” or “HELP- will you jump in and be in a skit in the last minute?!” or “HELP will you lead a conversation on ______.” The only way to do this work well is for all of us to have a hand or pinky toe in it.  I believe this. 

The theme may be over, but I’m pretty sure “teaching these days” will persist as the most relevant preoccupation of many of us that work with youth in classrooms each day.  Let’s keep talking.  Let’s keep asking hard questions.  Let’s keep listening.  I am grateful for all of it. 

Contributed by Matt Luter

The easier thing to define is what ungrading isn’t.

• It is not a sudden decision to stop giving assignments or doing evaluations of student work altogether.
•  It is not inherently easier than traditional grading (as both formative and summative feedback can be tougher and more time-consuming than assigning a number and stopping there).
• It is not simply letting students grade themselves in an unguided fashion, though reflection and assigning grades in collaboration with students’ self-assessments are both powerful ungrading practices. (It’s also worth adding here that almost all research out there on self-assigned grades finds that students do not, as many expect, give themselves substantially higher grades than teachers would).
• It is also not standards-based grading—I mean, the centrality of grades is still right there in the name.

So what should we know about ungrading, then? The first thing to understand is that ungrading is more of a dial than a lightswitch. Everything I’ve read on ungrading practices emphasizes that, because ungrading can be a difficult shift for some students (and parents!—and especially for high-achieving ones), ungrading one’s classroom over a period of time might be the best idea. Surely some teachers have stopped doing traditional grading all at once; many more have transitioned in this way gradually over a period of several school years, testing out what works well and what doesn’t.

The second thing to understand is that ungrading is a menu of options and not a single meal, so to speak. There is no definitive right way to do it, in large part because the core goal is less to eliminate evaluative feedback and more to de-center the act of placing a letter or number on student work. If you’re interested in doing just that, then the way you ungrade will probably vary by the age of your students, the discipline you teach, and your usual classroom procedures.

I’m keeping this one short just to lay out a couple more foundational principles. In next month’s blog post on this topic, I’ll address what you may be thinking right now. We are a school that uses grades in fairly traditional ways on report cards and college transcripts. How can someone ungrade a classroom while grades are still part of the fabric of the institution? And how does this even work within K-12, since many of these practices began in higher ed? 

Glad you asked. There are a variety of practical strategies to de-emphasize grades while working within some traditional K-12 frameworks, and we’ll talk about some of them next time.

Contributed by Matt Luter

One of the reasons I wanted to work with TEAM this year is so that I could have some opportunities to broach the (admittedly, somewhat sensitive) subject of how we, as a community, think about grades, their purpose, and the act of grading.

I have read fairly widely at this point on the topics of grading and the nascent (but decidedly no longer fringe) movement known as ungrading. In the next few blog posts, I want to make the case for a few ideas: 1) grades, traditionally understood and used, do not support student learning and can in fact impede it; 2) de-emphasizing the centrality of grades in your classroom through ungrading practices is beneficial; and 3) we can employ ungrading practices even within a framework that uses traditional grading in big-picture ways.

A lot of what I will do here is link to other resources and research; please consider these posts an invitation to learn more from other published material. I’m not the expert researcher on this material, but I’m glad to talk about it with you and share resources.

I have come to believe that grading, in its traditional form, does more harm than good. A few observations, with links:

1. Grades, at least in American school settings, were invented not to give students actionable feedback and support their growth, but simply to sort them. (Or, you could also say, they were invented not to assist in learning, but to rank people. Ranking people—especially given the existing power imbalance between educators and students—is gross.)

2. Emphasis on grades appears to be one potential factor driving our current mental health crisis among young people. Here’s a link to a great article on the topic by Joshua Eyler (whose upcoming book on this topic Failing Our Future: How Grades Harm Students, and What We Can Do About It I am excited to read). Eyler focuses there on college students, yes, but there is also evidence that his argument applies to high school students (at least).

3. Traditional grading negatively affects students’ intrinsic motivation and general attitude toward school. We’re all aware of students whose early-childhood curiosity and delight in learning veers toward joylessly playing the game of school as teenagers. Often the centrality of grades is why.

4. Most importantly: it does not have to be this way. Traditional grading was not handed down from on high like stone tablets on Mt. Sinai. Educators created it. Educators can should must change it. Here are two aptly named websites, both highlighting communities of teachers thinking about this topic, that I would recommend to anyone interested in a wide variety of additional thinking on this topic. Teachers Going Gradeless runs a great repository of ungrading material on their website Grow Beyond Grades—the title alone there characterizes traditional grading as something we ought to move past for the sake of our students’ growth. Another standout is Human Restoration Project, which works a bit more expansively on topics well past ungrading—they are opposed to any educational practice that they see as dehumanizing students, and they argue that traditional grading definitely runs that risk.

I encourage you to check out all of these links on your own. I also recommend a few books: Ungrading: Why Rating Students Undermines Learning (and What to Do Instead), edited by Susan D. Blum (author of I Love Learning; I Hate School), is a good introduction to many of the current top thinkers on the topic. I also like the work of Thomas R. Guskey, who is less of an ungrading advocate than some and more of an advocate for thoughtful grading reform. His On Your Mark and Get Set, Go do a good job of mixing research-based theoretical underpinnings of grading reform principles with practical applications. I have copies of all on hand and am glad to lend them out. 

Next post: let’s sort out some facts and myths about what ungrading does and doesn’t mean. 

Authored by Hannah Williams-Inman

As part of a Global Studies trip, I had the opportunity to go to Peru for 2 weeks (!!!) over spring break this year. To say the trip was amazing would be both an understatement, and inadequate in properly conveying some of our extraordinary experiences – let’s just say, I now understand why some people consider Machu Picchu to be a “bucket list destination.” And to make things even better, I got to go with my HUSBAND. I mean, come on. 

While you may not have the added perk of getting to travel with your spouse, I cannot recommend highly enough applying to chaperone one of these trips. Now, as anyone who knows me will understand, I do have a bit of camp-counselor energy going on, so the idea of gallivanting around a foreign land with a bunch of teenagers actually just sounds like a fun side gig to me. Chaperoning a global studies trip is definitely not a vacation, but holy cow if I didn’t feel like the luckiest girl in the world to get to be a part of this experience with this group. 

There’s something so interesting about watching kids grow up, and, having never been a parent myself, the trip to Peru was the first time I got to watch teenagers (definitely still kids) be mini-adults. As a middle school teacher, I only get to interact with kids who are deeply in their tween-ness; my students are so far from being an adult that they’re almost regressing. I don’t really ever see glimpses of almost-adult, and it’s because developmentally, it’s just not time for that yet. Some of them haven’t even started puberty in the 8th grade. Middle school is a different time. Our Peru trip, though, a mixed group of sophomores and seniors, was such a new experience for me, because traveling with people who can (mostly) take care of themselves was REALLY FUN.

One super fun part of this trip was our time in literally any market in any town. We got to send the kids on their own (in groups of 3, of course) for a few minutes, and would come back together and share stories from their time shopping. Y’all. These kids had the time of their trips trying to haggle with these Peruvian street vendors. The way they were so excited about each deal, each bargain that they struck, was truly adorable. And I’m over here, quaking in my boots because the haggling gives me anxiety. Bless them and their uninhibitedness. And before you ask, yes, the uninhibitedness also extended to the amount of (their parents’) money that they were spending… Packing for the trip home was an adventure.

Something else that was sweet and surprising was the way our kids felt about the homestay portion of the trip. I was astounded to hear, as we traveled home, that the kids’ favorite part of our 12 days in Peru were the 5 days we were in the town of Arequipa, when they were staying with host families. Forget Machu Picchu, endless Incan ruins, and all possible forms of transportation with more than two wheels – these kids LOVED getting to be a part of la vida arequipeña for a few days. They got to see cool spots, visit cool restaurants, and be in a cool place with someone their age who could tell them about life. What a way to experience the broadness of our world, and have their hearts and minds opened to something different. We are so fortunate at SA to be able to arrange trips like this, to help raise global citizens and curious learners. They formed such sweet friendships, made lasting memories, and some are already planning a trip back to Arequipa this summer! There were so many airport tears, it was fortunate we were 2 hours early for our flight. 

The kids also surprised me with their immense capacity to care about each other, and to care about us chaperones. As Fearless Leader Philpott says, we became a “travel family.” I think they really understood that this experience would be different for each person, and had a knack for knowing when someone needed extra support. They were not exclusive or selfish with their time, tried to include each other, and were open to the new friendships they would form. We had a few chaperones not feel well at different parts of the trip, and the students even made an effort to check in on and care for the adults, as much as they cared for each other.   

Most impressively, these students were positive and uplifting, even through some particularly grueling and busy travel days. We had a group of 16 teenagers that really and truly had great attitudes, from beginning to end. We traveled for the first week with our own personal tour guide, Augusto, and he took excellent care of us, shepherding us to sometimes three different destinations in a day, such as, for example Machu Picchu (again, luckiest person ever). 

At Machu Picchu, the visitors center is sort of halfway up the mountain. We took a bananas bus ride to get there, which is another story. You can probably imagine. Then, you walk up infinity stairs, climbing, basically, to a lookout spot. From there, you (should) get an INSANE view of the ruins, before walking back down actually into the ruins for the rest of your tour. That day, we hiked up the mountain, and it was cloudy. Almost no visibility. It could have been really depressing, to be honest. 

Augusto and some other tour guides told us to give it time, and the clouds would clear up. Spoiler alert – they were right, and we ended up having a beautifully clear, and swelteringly hot, day at Machu Picchu, with sunburns as our souvenirs. 

The reason I’m rubbing this day in your face, though,  is because Augusto, all while we were anxiously hoping for the clouds to part, was busy crafting an… instagram reel. The video is adorable, and features candid photos of our group smiling and having an amazing time despite the cloud-concealed ruins, being positive and not letting the lack of visibility ruin (ha) our time. They were so excited each time a cloud moved, every time we could see a little bit more of the ruins. Some of our first photos are hilarious to look at now, because, compared to how it would look 30 minutes later, you could barely see any part of the ruins.

We would find out later on the trip that he called this video “The Power of your Smile;” he would tell the kids that their positivity and good spirits were what ultimately moved the clouds, and, you know, I think he may have been right. 

Anyway, I could keep you here all day, regaling you with stories from the tour de Peru, but I will leave it with one last plug for the Global Studies Department. If you can make it work/find the time/get all the sub plans together/do all the things, you should consider applying for the faculty travel grant! And, my own personal piece of advice is this; apply for the trip you would never/could never plan for yourself. We saw so many important and amazing things on this trip, we traveled so efficiently and were led so expertly by Emily, and it was all to a place I would have never really considered on my own for a “vacation.” Again, the trip was definitely work, but what an awesome “work trip” to be able to go on, to come back with new insights about the world, myself, and the awesome kids and adults we got to travel with. 

*This message kiiiiind of sponsored by the global studies department by way of covered travel costs 😉 LOL*

Written by Jessica Parker-Farris

Still on that continued mission to find joy, this year I signed up for Upper School Theatre teacher David Kelly’s Improv PLC! Here’s what I sat down and wrote after our first full meet:

It’s Thursday, October 10th, and 4:49pm. I just got home after having completed our first improv session together. I shared with the group how excited yet nervous I was, how at the very worst I may bolt out of the room! (If you read my last piece, What the World Needs, you know why!) Luckily that didn’t happen. Instead I found a small group of people who were able to be playful and vulnerable with one another, not to mention have some educator-reflective moments on our shared experience.  

While there, once again, I learned I’m not alone in this human experience. We played Dramalom, The Acting Game, not unlike charades. The gist of the game is this: form teams; once established, one person is assigned the role of actor, the other observer; the actor is given three cards: one with a line to say, another with an emotion in which to express said line, and finally, one more for the intensity level of said expression. The goal is for the observer to accurately interpret the actor’s emotion and intensity (1-5 in range). This at first glance seems quite simple, but then questions begin to percolate: Wait, I’m in a room with people I’ve never met before…how do I know what their 5 is? Or their 3? Wait, how do I say this line at a high intensity with this emotion? Wouldn’t this emotion be calmer? Not to mention there is no time to practice in front of a mirror and make sure you match your own intended level and expression. Fears began to surface from folks in the group: “I’m sorry. That’s my fault. I’m not expressing it correctly,” or “I’m sorry. I’m not doing it right. Can I try again?” 

There was one moment in our game where there was absolutely no doubt what emotion and intensity was being expressed because it was being channeled from the infamous scene in the classic and well-loved movie When Harry Met Sally. You know the one. Meg’s repeated line of “Yes! Yes! YES!” in the diner! And this person, my partner, performed it perfectly (talk about being vulnerable upon first meeting!) I knew the reference. We all did. This moment definitely brought some joy and chuckles into the room! Did I mention you weren’t allowed to break eye contact?! IT. WAS. INTENSE!  And yet when I glanced down at my emotions card for a quick reference, I still managed to select the incorrect word!!! How could this be? I’m a middle-aged adult! I’ve used words in my daily life for, let’s see, quite some time now!!!!

This got me thinking about our daily experience of teaching: if it’s hard for me to select the appropriate word for what I’m sensing as an adult (even when I have a word bank right in front of me!), if we all have our own lifetime of biases that build our norms in different ways than that of others’, are my expectations of my students sometimes a bit unrealistic? Working at the elementary level, it’s far more likely that my students:

1. Are so young they don’t even have the vocabulary to fully express themselves (intentions, feelings, needs, wants, etc.) even if they are comfortable and confident enough to actively try and do so. 
2. They’ve hardly had any prior experience building norms with me (if any) so there might not be any common understanding of what we’re trying to communicate to one another. For an added layer of confusion, my norms might outright contradict norms in their homeroom or household.  (Thank you Chelsea Freeman for helping narrow this gap by introducing our shared language through Responsive Classroom!)

3.  Beyond vocabulary, our elementary kiddos rarely notice if they’re cold at carpool and need to put on a jacket, so it seems a bit doubtful they’d also be able to perfectly communicate their intentions through “correct” tone, modulation, volume, expression, timing, etc.. 

My Main Take-Aways:  

• Grownups and children alike, it’s still our shared human condition for fear to arise, particularly when we perceive there’s a “correct” answer to a given question or challenge. Though we are not alone in our lone interpretations, I have faith we can, through practice, effort, and heart, learn to share and understand our intended meanings.  
• That said, the relativity of language means it’s a blessing we can communicate at all, so when I feel frustrated or hurt by a student or co-worker (or anyone else for that matter) just maybe reflecting back on this realization will help me find a little more patience, a little more faith in folk’s intentions, and also, just maybe, in that moment, my cup of joy can continue to remain a little fuller than it otherwise would. 

Sources that influenced these thoughts:

David Kelly’s Improv PD

NYT: The Laws Emotion Problem 

Can You Read People’s Emotions? 

What Faces Can’t Tell Us

Hannah Williams-Inman wrote this glorious blog. I wish I had. It’s that good.

As I sit down to type this – definitely not the day the TEAM blogs are due (OOPS, why am I like this) – we have just wrapped this year’s spring show The Addams Family Musical. It has been busy last few months, and, as any past, present, or future theater kid will understand, the time between tech/polish week and opening night absolutely flew by. Always believe the person who says “yeah, the show opens next week and it miiiight be a disaster.” This is a rite of passage for any show to actually make it to opening night. It is critical for the good of the show, and for the good of theater at large, that the show be a hot mess exactly one (1) week before it opens. 

But those days between last week and now weren’t the only ones that flew by – I think the entire team of folks who worked on Addams would agree that it feels like only weeks ago we were workshopping choreography at auditions. I truly hope you had the chance to see the show last weekend, because it was such an example of what can happen when a bunch of people decide to do something good, together. 

There’s so much I could say about bravery, or discomfort, or community when it comes to why I believe school theater is so critically important. There are so many ways that being a part of theater during high school changed me – so many things about me that finally make sense when you find out that I used to be one of those kids who donned a wig and LAYERS of makeup, to go do my little song and dance for a few hours, for one weekend, each spring. And honestly, I don’t think being one of “those kids” is something you ever grow out of. 

As Neil Patrick Harris sang in his iconic opening number to the 2013 Tony Awards (yeah, I’m that kind of theater kid), “There’s a kid in the middle of nowhere who’s sitting there living for Tony performances… so we might reassure that kid, and do something to spur that kid, because I promise you all of us up here tonight, we were that kid, and now, we’re bigger.” Case in point, I basically begged to be a part of this production. I asked David and Catherine (with Anna, an already-extraordinary directing team as they were) if there was any room for me to help with this show, because I love it that much. She’s a sap, folks!

You don’t know brave until you’ve stood up, on stage, in front of your peers at 14, in character as someone’s mom, belting your heart out. Full stop. You don’t know discomfort until your audience is flat, you dropped an entire monologue, and you think you hear some of your peers giggling at you. You don’t know community until you’ve stayed late at school, singing, dancing, and acting with your friends who have now seen you at your most vulnerable. They’ve seen you say that line wrong, they’ve heard your voice crack on that note at every rehearsal for months, and they’ve watched as the choreography for that dance number disappears from your mind, mid-show. Experiences like these are critical for teens as they grow into adults, and being a part of a show is a unique venue to experience all of them, sometimes all at once.

Having a community in theater in high school does a lot of the same things for students that being on a sports team or other academic team does, only for kids who would rather hit a high note than a baseball (LOL). It creates a space for kids who may be more comfortable doing a jazz square than a football route (I don’t know what I’m talking about). It lets kids be a part of something greater than themselves, to be a part of a whole, where the final product literally could not exist without the contribution of each and every participant. 

One thing that separates theater from other sports teams, I think, is this idea of mutual importance. In a production of this size (Addams), with a cast this small, each person plays an integral role, and not just the actors on stage. Crew members are responsible for specific set moves; tech is responsible for every light, sound, and curtain cue; cast members are following their own props and ensuring that things are where they need to be when they need to be there. Actors not only remember their own cues, lines, songs, and choreography, but also the “extra” tasks they’ve been given offstage. They keep track of when they need to move the set for the next scene, when they have a costume change, and whether they enter stage right or left for the next scene. The way the puzzle finally comes together in those final few rehearsals, the way everyone meshes on stage, the way tech and crew nail their cues – it literally cannot work if one person doesn’t, or can’t, play their part. It takes the entire team to achieve the entire goal, and that’s a beautiful experience for our egocentric teens and tweens. 

In a time of confusion, growth, and daily discomfort for teenagers, having a place where they can feel “at home” can be so formative. And for some kids, the theater is the place that made it all finally click. It’s a beautiful thing that any teenager would find a community, a group, a team that helps them become who they were meant to be. 

There’s one thing that’s special about being a theater kid, though, and it’s this: You won’t always be a high school athlete. You won’t always be captain of your quiz bowl team, or the prom king, or the cheer captain. But the theater kids… we’ll always be theater kids. And theater kids will always find each other, and put on a show, and cry when it ends, because, whether you like it or not, “all the world’s a stage.”

Note: All credit for the idea of this blog post goes decidedly to Anna Frame.

Four/fifths of the Rust household has been obsessed lately with the very edifying and high-quality reality show, Dance Moms. I won’t tell you which four out of the five love it, but let me just say you might be surprised.  I am a strong believer that one can learn a lot from junk food TV.  For example Love is Blind has really driven home for me the facts that (1) love is in approximately zero ways blind and (2) thank GOD I am not 20-28 years old and looking for a spouse.  

But enough about that.  Back to Dance Moms. The central arc of conflict in the show involves the conflict between the terrifying dance coach (Abby Lee) and the weirdly-overly-involved-and-nicely-dressed dance moms.  Usually the interplay goes something like this:

Abby Lee: I will pit your children against each other for the sake of making them better! I will make them practice for like 6 hours after school even though they are six years old and this will prepare them for their lifelong dream of becoming a Rockette.  I will make them learn their dance five hours before the competition and this has nothing to do with my disorganization and everything to do with making them better.

Dance Mom: You love other girls (aka the standout dancer “Maddie”) more than more than my baby! You clearly are beating them down.  My child does better with positive affirmation; why do you yell all the time? Stop punishing my child just because you don’t like me.  She needs rest, not more practice.  Why did you forget my kid’s costume?

Honestly, usually both sides are sort of right.  I have a soft spot for Abby Lee because I feel like she is playing up her mean personality for the cameras, and from time to time she slips out of character and you see her soften up, laughing with the kids.  Also, I can’t really stand how well dressed those moms are at dance practice. And they constantly get to go to bars and nice restaurants to just chat? I know it’s for TV, but COME ON. Do these people have jobs?

Well you may or may not know that last Friday, St. Andrew’s fourth grade participated in a Science Fair, something they haven’t done for quite awhile.   To be fair,  Rolando Roman has almost nothing in common with the intimidating Abby Lee Miller.  And we mommas of fourth graders dumb enough brave enough to let our kids sign up for science fair were not about to put on formalwear and makeup for the camera crew.  Still, as we discussed our shared love for Dance Moms after a soccer practice last week, Anna Frame came up with what it possibly her best idea yet: a new reality show called (drumroll please) . . .

SCIENCE FAIR MOMS!

Consider this blog our pitch to the big TV producers, and definitely plan for Anna and I to be central characters.  Here are some high drama highlights that could ensue:

• Parents texting each other in a panic when they realize: “SCIENCE FAIR IS LESS THAN TWO WEEKS AWAY! Arghhhh it used to seem so far away!”
• Julie saying the phrase “qualitative coding” and “convenience sample” over and over again until Emma Papadimitrou and Alianna Rust faint out of boredom.
• Parental bribery: “if you finish this “application” write up for your poster, we will go out and get you ice cream!” 
• Parents freaking out when they realize their printers don’t print color. . . or that their printers don’t print 36 by 48 posters from Canva . .. or that their printers aren’t printing at all and they need to put in an order to FedEx
• Parents fighting over which house their collaborating kids should work at. “Oh they work so much better at YOUR house!”  “Oh no no, I couldn’t take that joy away from you; they work better at YOUR  house!”
• That excitement-filled award’s ceremony at the end!

The truth is that Rolando’s leadership of the science fair was fabulous in a non-scary-Abby-Lee sort of way.  The fourth graders were positively buzzing with joy as they set up their posters and shared what they learned with each other. I am convinced we need more opportunities for kids to step up and do hard, difficult things for real audiences outside of their regular teachers.  Really all it took on Rolando’s end was creating a science guide, finding judges, and setting up an event.  The kids and parents figured out the rest, and I was so grateful for the push to actually talk about science with my child.  So rarely do we actually share our expertise with people we love the most.

But for the TV audience of Science Fair Moms, Anna Frame and I could definitely play up some conflict.  Just saying. 

There are really three places the Rust family finds the focus and time to really talk:

1.  Walking Millie dog around our neighborhood. (See above for proof.)
2.  Those rare nights of “everyone is around the dinner table at the same time.”
3. Our Honda Odyssey mini van during our delightful commutes from Reservoir Brandon to all the SA campuses.  

Sometimes a kid plays DJ and we share songs we like with each other.  Other times we play “roses/thorns” or some version of the game to talk about our days.  But you can usually count on one thing: Alianna has the most to say out of all of us.  All year she has been regaling us with stories of the joy of social studies, and Zander and Lucy have eagerly jumped in to either say “we did the exact same thing in 4th grade!” or “no fair; I don’t remember doing that!”

 I had to learn more, so I sat down briefly with the Anna Frame last week to finalize a list of TOP TEN FOURTH GRADE SOCIAL STUDIES HITS!

10.  Start class with something fun and low-key to connect to students’ lives.

Whether it’s talk about Taylor Swift, a sports event, or showing the class pictures from when they were in PK3 at St. Andrew’s, Anna knows that a short attention getting “off topic” activity is rarely a waste of time. Why? Anna explained: “Ithe more you get to know kids and what they do in their personal life and anytime you can randomly connect . . . any time you can be like “I know you. I know what you are about,” I feel like it really helps.”

9.  Bring content to life with debate & role play.

An Anna Frame Classic: Every year for lots of years, Anna engages her fourth graders in a heated debate-role-play experience to explore the American Revolution: Patriots v. Loyalists-style.  After assigning students a historical figure on either side, they are each asked to become an expert and then argue from that person’s point of view.  Some of her most-treasured memories of this debate experience were when she used to coordinate with Darin to bring down debate students to help judge.  Interestingly, her favorite moments come, not out of the debates themselves, but the team huddles between rounds: “they are so engaged; so competitive; so intense!”

8.  Have students show what they know with thought bubbles on images. 

A newer addition to her repertoire, students have a blast working together to create these comic-strip style thought bubbles on the same image of famous historical figures.  Fourth graders benefitted from the scaffold of “you must mention these five things” as well as the creative opportunity to incorporate their voice into the content.  The best part according to Alianna? “I got partnered up with someone who actually does their work!” 

7.  Stop teaching and start storytelling! 

This one is a bit more abstract, but it’s at the heart at the best of history teaching.  Alianna has said often that she retains so much from class NOT from the textbook, but from an Anna Frame retelling:  “Instead of reading straight out of the book, sometimes she gets up and entertains us by telling the story of it.  The words on the page are kind of more boring than telling it in her own voice.”

6.  Tug and war your way into learning?

Anna is quick to say that this idea came from a textbook, but it was essentially this genius way to demonstrate the American Revolution.  You first ask four of the biggest kids in the class (aka the British at the beginning) to face off against four of the smallest (the Colonists).  Slowly, you incorporate more members to each side and the odds of the US gaining independence skyrocket.  It was an incredibly effective metaphor, but after too many years of children getting too upset at the injustice Anna wisely decided to retire the analogy.  

5.  Encourage students to do corrections!

Corrections?! FUN?! I know this is a crazy one to include, but it’s a Momma Top Ten Hit, even if it may not be Alianna’s.  Check out this amazing little template Anna uses to ensure that students take the time to review what they missed and incorporate the text evidence to show how they know what the right answer is after all.  Some kids need an extra push to do the work and return to the text.  If she can get our students into that habit in fourth grade, I can’t wait to see their scholarly habits by the time they reach senior English! 

4. Beyond note-taking: Incorporate comics to make sense of the text!

Fourth graders are still fairly early on the journey of “reading to learn,” so they can use any help they can get to help them make sense of the text. Anna creates fun fill-in-the blank study guide comics that incorporate images and captions to level up her fourth graders’ comprehension and study habits.

3.  Prank the children for memorable impact by giving them wrong information and watch them lose their mind but then never forget what they learned from the ordeal.

I hate pranks so much that last week when Dr. Foley asked me to switch classrooms with him on April 2nd for a quick “let’s pretend we are teaching the wrong block” I crumbled within 30 seconds and shouted to the class “It’s a prank! It’s an April Fool’s Prank! I can’t keep this up!” However, Anna Frame (and Jim Foley) do MUCH better sustaining pranks for the good of everyone.  In one case, Anna emphasized that our founding fathers voted to approve the Declaration of Independence on July 2nd.  She goes on to say “that’s why every year we celebrate the 2nd of July. . . you know with fireworks, etc.” Every year, a few nod and don’t catch it and a few begin to object. Anna stands strong with impressive gaslighting skills. Finally, someone reads ahead in the textbook to verify: IT WAS JULY 4th! Kids love being right, but even more so: they love it when we, founts of teacherly expertise, are WRONG.

2.  Prank the children (again) but this time to provoke empathy and historical understanding.

Alianna came home talking and talking about this one. (Anna uses her resources and credits her sources, so she wants you to know this idea also came from the textbook, but I credit the success of implementation entirely to her.) It was around Valentine’s Day and Anna started class with “this is random and has nothing to do with what we are learning, but SAPA just had a meeting and since this is your last Valentine’s day party at lower school, they want you to go ahead and plan it for fourth grade.”  She split them into small groups and they spent 15 very focused minutes planning all the elements of party: what to eat, what to do, etc.  Then she interrupted the buzz of activity with a fake “uh oh . . . I just checked my email and SAPA actually has about ten very limiting rules they are imposing on these parties at the very last minute.” After groans were emitted, she snaps them out of it: “I want you to harness these feelings and the injustice boiling in your body; this is exactly what happened with the colonists and Great Britain.”  Side-note: she did actually pass along the ideas to SAPA and it turns out our fourth graders are fairly adept and creative party planners. 

1.  Incorporate song and dance!

This is THE TOP ANNA FRAME HIT (get it . . . it’s a hit and it’s about songs?), at least in the Rust household.  All year Lucy and Zander had been asking Alianna “have you learned the song/dance thing from Mrs. Frame yet?” Finally, the day came. We swung by to pick up Alianna from after school care and she ran into the van screaming: “I LEARNED THE TENSION DANCE!” This is an Anna Frame original, and it came out of a lesson entitled “Tensions Grown Between the Colonies and Great Britain.”  Anna explains “Years ago as I was teaching it I realized it was a lot of information and you needed to know the order of events for,  and randomly I was like ‘I’m gonna make it a song’; on the fly in class I made it up.  The best part is over the years kids have added little details to it, such as the amazing line: “rallied Mohawks bring out your axes!”  I tell them ‘I’m not gonna force you to sing and dance, but there have been studies about connecting motions to learning.’  I also say ‘during the test if you get stumped you can come ask me a question but I might do a hand motion like this’ People every year ask to go in the hall to do the dance while they are taking the test. 

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I am of two minds about fun.  I recognize and know that not all the things in life are going to be fun, so school shouldn’t always be a circus either.  Sometimes we’ve got to learn to buckle down and do the really hard, boring things, and when we are lucky, the hard, boring things magically transform into something deeply fulfilling and (dare I say) fun in the end.  

But also, life is short, and childhood is even shorter.  We spend so very many of our hours in school settings.  Nearly all of my most memorable experiences in life have had an element of fun to them.  And if we as teachers aren’t enjoying our work with our students, what are we doing wasting our time in this profession anyway? We humans, young and old alike, are wired for play.  And the great news is I see your recognition of this truth in, not just Anna’s class, but nearly every class I observe at our school. So as we settle in for a final month of learning and begin and living together, let’s (re)commit to serving up all the rigor with a side of joy.

Some days, you rise princess-like from your bed before the alarm goes off and you trot into the room to do yoga and your dog licks you appreciatively and you don’t spill an ounce of oatmeal over your clothes.  

But most days, it seems like every day this month for me, you knock over your water when you attempt to silence your blaring alarm.  You trip over a pillow on the way to the bathroom.  Your coffee spill lands perfectly in a place on your pants that is precisely the most embarrassing as you rush to your first class or meeting.  

And to add insult to all of these injuries, about two months ago my middle age started to show with a vengeance:

I CANNOT SEE ANYTHING ANYMORE.

It probably started longer ago than two months.  But two months ago I hit that point in which you can no longer be in the state of denial and actually make out words on the computer screen.  Ya’ll this google doc I am typing on is enlarged to 125%.  Nearly every day I have to increase the brightness on my laptop screen from the default setting to twice as bright.  At first I thought it was my laptop going bonkers. But then Lucy, with her absurdly young eyes, walked by my now-to-be-finally-readable computer screen and covered her eyes as if being blinded by direct sunlight: “MOM!” she exclaimed, “Why do you have that SO BRIGHT?”

The thing is, it doesn’t look bright to me.  It looks just right.  And the font doesn’t look big at all.  

Ya’ll, I’ve been floundering lately.  The word on the street is that everyone is.  Or most of us are.  In some way or another.  I’m trying to find a sunny-edge to all this.  You know, along the lines of “it’s darkest before the dawn,” but I’m pretty sure my vision is just going to get worse and my age is going to continue to show its face in all sorts of new and unwelcome ways.

But the thing is, when I think back to my twenty year old self, my actual physiological sight may have been better, but I didn’t see things nearly as clearly as I do today.  

Do we exchange one for the other as we age: physical vision for some deeper, more abstract and philosophical kind of vision? As I age, does wisdom progressively come to live in the place that my old-boundless-energy used to roam?  Is it possible that the humbling of our body’s downgrade produces a more accurate reckoning with the battles everyone is facing around us? 

Or perhaps I need to just stop waxing philosophical and buy some reading glasses.