our esSAy

It was weeks ago, and it was one of those dreams right before the alarm goes off that you remember with startling clarity.  Picture a big auditorium-like space (not the CPA, but in my head during the dream it was definitely the CPA), zooming in on a massive event we had at the school called: “It’s Your Turn, Faculty!” or something like that.   To my surprise, everyone was super dressed up (like a red carpet situation) and waiting their turn to catwalk model style down the aisle.  Each face I settled on in my dream revealed genuine excitement; there was no eye rolling, just sincere joy at the prospect of having a moment in the spotlight.  Once each group of 3-4 folks made their way to the stage there was this big “freeze pose moment” and flashing cameras everywhere.  SO. WEIRD.

I had three thoughts when I woke up: (1) “Wow! I actually had a school dream that wasn’t anxiety-ridden!” (2) “That’s a hilariously terrible idea; can you imagine our next PD day, all of us in formal attire?!” (3) “I wonder what other people’s school dreams are like.”

Well I asked, and you delivered. Big thanks to the brave-kind humans who shared!

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I still have an occasional dream that I’m trying to find my locker at Dearborn High School (where I went, a very large school), and I can’t seem to find the right hall.  And then when I finally do, I cannot make the combination work, and everyone has gone to class and I’m going to be late, and it JUST WON’T OPEN!  (btw, there is no resolution to this dream, as this is the part where I wake up in a panic!).

-Karyn Kunzelman, 8th grade Science Teacher

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Multiple times a month!!!!! I will dream that I woke up for the day late– like at 1:00 in the afternoon or something. And then I have to rush to school or, in a panic, trying to get coverage. In the dream, I will then have to rush to school so I am never wearing the right clothes! Coming to school with a messy ponytail, kooky bangs, and pajamas!! I have to actively tell myself in the dream (I’m a bit of a lucid dreamer) that this is not real and I am not hoursssss late. 

-Gracie Bellnap, Upper School Science Teacher

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 I gave the stuffed and addressed (but unstamped and unsealed) NJHS invitation letters to an 8th grade student to deliver to Margaret Mains. A few days went by (still in the dream), and I started to get angry parents contacting me about the letters. I ran into the student and asked him about the letters. He said “Oh yeah, I totally forgot about those. My bad” and started fishing them out of his backpack. They were just kind of randomly stuffed in there along with his papers and books, and some of them were bent up.

I also have another completely incoherent dream from last March that I wrote up in a note on my computer. It involved a school-wide hog roast. There was a trivia competition to see who got first access to this hog roast. Those people were then supposed to become servers in a buffet line. There was also supposed to be spaghetti carbonara but it did not turn out right, and I got really upset about that and the fact that there was no wine (which had been promised).

-Margaret Clark, Latin Teacher

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 I have a recurring dream that my advisor from the English department from college calls me and says, “Sorry, you didn’t graduate [in 2008] because you still have ONE more paper to write!” I say, “I always knew this day would come, what is the paper to be about?” She says, “Shakespeare,” over and over, laughing hysterically while I BEG for more specifics. How long is it supposed to be? “Shakespeare!”  But which play? “Shakespeare!” 

-Caroline Lin, 4th Grade ELA Teacher

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I have had for years a dream that I was walking into a classroom that basically was my first grade classroom at Stevens Elementary in Brandon, Mississippi and that as soon as I opened the door I saw a huge tornado bearing down on me. The opening a door or rounding a corner and finding a tornado motif is common in my dreams. The school/classroom version is the most common.

-Buck Cooper, Head of Middle School

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Okay……I actually have two recurring dream-mares! 

In my first one, someone in HR comes to my classroom and pulls me outside. Guess why? I failed ONE class my senior year and I actually don’t have my college degree, so I can’t teach. This is NOT true….I actually did major in Music Education! I think because I actually had one class in college that didn’t count absences and I almost failed it because I skipped it a lot, this will haunt me until the day I die…..or retire!

The second dream-mare is – I show up the day of a concert or performance and the kids don’t know their music – not the words or anything and they don’t know what they are supposed to wear. 

Yikes – what does this say about me?!

-Shannon Watt, Middle School Music Teacher

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In my first year of teaching, I had a difficult 9th grade class.  (sound familiar, anyone??). I had a recurring dream in which I was naked at the podium in front of the class.  The students never realized, but I DEFINITELY DID!!  The dream always ended with me trying to hide behind everything in the classroom (text books, bookshelves, assignment papers, notebooks,  etc) while also trying to help them with their odd and always complicated Latin work.  Interestingly, once I got my “sea legs” as a teacher and felt more empowered and in control in my classroom, I was able to lucidly control my emotions within my dream and convince myself that if the kids weren’t reacting to my nakedness then it probably wasn’t a big deal and I could interact with them without the shame.  Once I got to that point, I stopped having the dream…and haven’t had it since!  😀

-Linda Rodriguez, Upper School History Teacher & Director of Virtual Learning

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I dream about creating school schedules that are all out of whack where multiple classes are showing up to the same co-curricular class at once, and everyone is mad at me about it. I also have a reoccurring dream that I’m speaking in front of a big audience at school over a mic at a podium, and my teeth start falling out or I look down and realize I’m not fully dressed. As a teacher, I used to often dream that I was supposed to be teaching a class that I had forgotten about until about mid-fall, and I would be in panic mode trying to find the classroom and get my notes together as I would enter the class and apologize to students for having to do the class on their own for several months. I would love an interpreter to take a stab at these, lol. 

-Shea Egger, Head of Lower School

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Me too Shea, me too. (By the way, a bunch of our dream themes are mentioned in this psychoanalyst’s blog.) But it most definitely doesn’t take a dream therapist to look at this corpus of data and note that our dreams are clearly functioning as a way for us to work through unprocessed emotions and stressors that lie beneath the surface.  Dream-sharing may seem like a silly pursuit, but for me it’s incredibly helpful know I’m not alone when I have a fairly-typical heart-racing ordeal of a dream that is situated in a school setting.   We are all working through tough stuff, whether we show it on our faces or not.

I’d write more, but I’ve gotta run! After all, our October 2025 PD entitled”It’s YOUR Turn, Faculty!” featuring a red carpet isn’t going to plan itself. 😉

Big thanks to David Kelly and Marie Venters for yet again submitting their beautiful director notes as a blog. I love our shows, and I am grateful for the vision that compels them.

WILLY WONKA DIRECTOR’S NOTE

When I think of Wonka, I think of hope, honesty, and the ability to find the best in what you have.

I remember watching Willy Wonka as a child. I was amazed at Gene Wilder’s performance; showing the children his wondrous factory. I desperately wanted to eat that edible tea cup (I still do). Revisiting Wonka’s factory as an adult, I’ve spent much more time thinking about the Bucket Family.

As we worked through Charlie’s story, all I could think about was how much the Bucket family held on to the idea of Wonka’s factory. How every morsel of chocolate brought hope into their lives. The possibility of Wonka coming back, and what the opportunity to work for Wonka would do for Charlie. Charlie was the Bucket family’s hope; he was the purple ink they used to write their futures. 

Even with the odds stacked against him, Charlie is able to find sweetness in the simplest of moments. It can be hard to find those moments in life, but it’s important to remember that nothing really starts out sweet. As we add sugar and cream to our morning coffee to help us get through the day, the Bucket Family adds sugar to the most bitter moments in their lives. 

There has not been a dull moment working on this show. Even in the most stressful moments, it has been impossible not to laugh and smile because of our students. These students have truly embraced this show, and I am a better, more positive person because of them. 

Ms. Venters

Director, Willy Wonka Jr. 

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ADDAMS FAMILY DIRECTOR’S NOTE

About a year ago, I did not know much about this musical. However, a dedicated group of drama students held musical-theatre-karaoke in my classroom over flex time and lunches. They slowly introduced me to some of the music in today’s show. I laughed (Death is Just Around the Corner for example) or cried (Happy, Sad always makes me tear up) as appropriate.  In the context of the popularity of the Netflix series Wednesday, and after reviewing the audience vote last year, it was clear that The Addams Family was a good fit for our students and appealing to our audiences. It provided just enough challenge and opportunities for growth while also creating an entertaining piece of theatre. 

Growing up in the theatre taught me many things about who I am. It developed my confidence and creativity; it challenged me to see the world in analytical and empathetic ways; it gave me a community to be part of. It is my goal to feature the same attributes in our St. Andrew’s theatre community. Nearly everything you see tonight has been made with and by the students. Hands-on experiential learning has been shown time-over-time to be more impactful and meaningful for learning development. From the sets, sounds, and lights, to the performances on the stage, students do it all. We empower our students to learn about the craft of theatre by creating it themselves.

That being said, this production would not have been possible without the support, collaboration, creativity, and leadership from Anna Johnson (Music Director), Catherine Bishop (Dance Director and Choreographer), and Hannah Williams-Inman (Assistant Choreographer). My endless thanks goes out to this dynamic team. 

Tonight you have the privilege of hearing some of the top musical theatre artists in the state. Mattie Ellis (Morticia) and Rhen Tanaka (Wednesday) recently won first place in both the Mississippi Theatre Association DramaFest duo musical theatre category and at Thescon the International Theatre Association festival for Mississippi; they also performed in our Chapter Select production of Fin and Euba and were awarded as one of the top three Outstanding Plays at the state level festival. Ahmir Hoskins (Gomez) was also recognized with a ranking of Superior for his musical theatre performances at Thescon; in the solo musical theatre category Mattie Ellis was a finalist, and Rhen Tanaka was awarded first place in the state. Equally impressive, Maury Allin (lighting designer) and Richard Burrow (sound designer) were the only lighting and sound designers in the state to be awarded superior rankings at Thescon for their work for our fall productions of Murder on the Orient Express and The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe respectively. 

The drama program has also grown in the last year, congratulations go out to the recent middle school production of Willy Wonka Jr. – featuring students from the lower school as well as 50+ talented middle school students. For those of you in that age range, look for the specialty camps this summer. There are several drama opportunities for you. Today’s show also features two middle school students that have gone above and beyond to be a part of this high-school show, Suryia Christian and Elle Smith. 

Today’s show, The Addams Family, starts with Wednesday Addams at the age of 18, now bringing a young man home to meet her very un-normal family for the first time, asking them for just “one normal night.” It features most of the beloved characters from the original series and introduces a new group of characters, the Ancestors. Driving the plot forward, Uncle Fester, locks the ancestors out of their home crypt –  until love wins. Many thanks go to Catherine Bishop for leading the choreography and Anna Johnson for directing the music.I hope you enjoy today’s production and I look forward to producing many more shows at and with St. Andrew’s Episcopal School. On behalf of the entire cast, crew, and directors for this production, I thank you for your support. 

David Orace Kelly

Producing Director, Addams Family

Need a new idea to enliven a class this last marathon month of the school year? Are students telling you they lack the motivation to engage with a difficult text? Are your typical reading checks just not cutting it? Burton Williams-Inman has got you: have students vote documents “off the island.”

In his 9th grade history class, Burton has always engaged students to a high degree in primary source documents.  He creates entire interactive packets to scaffold students as they make sense of not-so-quickly-accessible content in contextualized and nuanced ways. DBQs or document-based-questions are staples in history AP exams, and this kind of work begins to pave the way for analytical, interpretive prowess.  Students always did the packets, but Burton was interested in designing a follow up enrichment activity to put individual’s work on display for the collective.  Enter, voting primary source documents off the island, a delightful play on the popular reality show, Survivor.  I’m planning to adapt it to do something similar with my students at the end of the year about all of the books we read throughout. I sat down with Burton to learn how he did it:

1.  Theoretically everyone comes to the class with this packet of document analysis (see above) about all of the primary source documents completed.  They begin it in class and whatever doesn’t get finished is homework. 
2. In class, I randomly(ish) put them in groups and assign each group a primary source document to defend.  In small classes I had pairs and bigger classes I had 3 per group.  I find that 2-3 is the magic number; more students and the work is less equitably shared. 
3. Each group gets 5-10 minutes to create a pitch with their groups as to why their document (A-F) is the most important in terms of the driving question.  Last time the driving question was: What were the primary reasons for the Fall of Rome?
4. Each group presents their 1-2 minute pitch.  Students can then ask probing or clarifying questions after.
5. Then, depending on how much time you have,  we vote the first one to two document(s) off the island.  You can switch up your emphasis on the criteria on the presentation (could be communication-based or content-based). I usually emphasize we are voting off “documents NOT people.”  If you don’t, you will usually get students whose feelings are hurt that will vote vengefully in later rounds that will derail the lesson. You can either run it by “which documents were the least effective” or “the most effective.”  I usually have students just raise their hands to vote. 
6. Then the remaining groups/documents that haven’t been voted off have 90 seconds to revise their pitch (and reduce it to 30 seconds) with their partner. If you want to, you could say that in this round, they can address other documents in their pitch if they like. The participants/groups that are voted off now are assigned another document to create questions for when they pitch next.  
7. The remaining groups do their 30 second pitch.  Then two more group are voted off, and the fun continues until one primary source document is left standing.  
8. This is about the process, so all students that participate fairly and evenly get points for participating.  

Burton is the first to admit that this is a time consuming activity that can be difficult to fit in if you are rushing through content and don’t have time to focus on skills.  However, he has noticed that students that engage in this activity over primary source texts seem to demonstrate deeper understanding of them on the next assessment.  All in all he has found that “it can be a great way to get kids more energetically or passionately engaged with some dry primary and secondary sources.” 

Thanks, Burton.  This teaching idea most definitely would NOT be voted off the pedagogical-teaching-idea island (ummm that would be an amazing island) if I had anything to say about it 🙂 

“Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report written on birds that he’d had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books about birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.” -Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

“Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them . . . Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.  Each day has enough trouble of its own.” -Matthew 6:26a,34

I first encountered Anne Lamott’s beautiful part-memoir, part-writing-manual, Bird by Bird, in 2007 when I was a still-newish middle school English teacher studying over the summer with other English teachers during a glorious NEH-funded summer in Chicago.  I was young then, with energy in spades and no children to care for, and while much of the book stuck with me, I had no patience for doing things bird by bird. I was gulping life at breakneck speed.  I was at a full gallop.  I loved the feel of wind in my hair and six different balls in the air.  Slow, methodological attention to one thing at a time was not my hallmark.  It still isn’t.

Besides, the brother she speaks of in the story shouldn’t have procrastinated to begin with! I mean, come on, bruh.  You had an entire school year to begin that project. 

Still, I recently encountered an interview with (the now 70 year old) Anne Lamott, and I heard her “bird by bird” story with very different ears.  Whether it’s staring at the March/April blog folder and feeling inundated-paralyzed with ideas or looking daily at my list of priorities and stressing over where to begin, the more middle aged Julie Rust is finding herself much more sympathetic to Lamott’s brother “immobilized to the hugeness of the task.”  Lately I am finding, not just comfort or wisdom, but survival in bird by bird,  day by day. If I think too large about the entire enterprise of it all, I too easily slide into frenzy or depression or an odd swirl of both.  If instead I redirect my attention to small bites I can take today in the right direction, I find a whole lot more comfort.  (For example, I am in a tad bit of denial about Lucy Rust going to college in the near future, both financially and emotionally.  But this morning Lucy and I looked at the slideshow from our fabulous college counselors together, started a google folder entitled “Lucy College,” and began drafting a list of next steps.) 

Another strange shift in middle aged Julie is that my previous disdain for self help books is dissipating.  I don’t mind mentioning that I’ve been listening to excerpts from James Clear’s  Atomic Habits and have had more than a few aha moments result.  The basic premise is that there are rarely single breakthrough moments or inherent genius markers that lead to success.  Success comes from tiny changes, slight daily improvements, that accumulate and reap dividends over time.  A clean house is the delayed result of 1000 better choices.  (I clearly haven’t made those choices.) An impressive set of academic publications is the delayed result of getting up at 5am day after day for years to fit in extra writing time.  James Clear advocates that we give up the popular practice of setting concrete, measurable goals.  Instead, we should start changing systems in our lives that will inevitably lead to hitting these goals.  In other words, stop watching the score on the jumbo-tron.  If we continually improve our stamina at each practice session, the game score will take care of itself. 

I think that Lamott, Clear, and Jesus are all pretty much saying the same thing in a different tune.  I think we are all too-focused too-often on the outcomes.  I think, perhaps more than any other life-season, middle age forces us to reckon with the fact that just setting a goal doesn’t mean we will achieve that goal. The proof is in the pudding.  My pudding isn’t what I thought it would be at the age of 42.  I think this makes us more humble, but also a whole lot wiser.  

I think I will try to slow down and take things bird by bird, blog by blog, class by class, conversation by conversation, for a while, and see how that goes. 

In an earlier blog this month, I philosophize about why students were so weirdly quiet when I asked them to collaborate. 

Then serendipitously, I got invited to virtually “sit in” Darin’s silent class discussion, simply by being added to a google space chat.  The experience helped me rethink the role of silence, particularly in class spaces that are often noisy and competitive with voices and personalities.  “Hey, introverts!” the experience seemed to shout, “this is your chance to interject all of the brilliant things you silently submit for your teacher but rarely assert in class discussion!”

I had this weird phrase in our ed identity draft: “just-in-time feedback”. A lot of you mentioned that it was too jargon-y, and I think you were right.  So instead of defining it, I thought I’d illustrate what it looks like in real time . .. from the perspective of “sitting in” one of Darin  Maier’s silent discussions 🙂 Thanks to the ease of google spaces, it’s easy to set up and run.  I’m totally stealing this format for an my Eng 12 class today.  Thanks, Darin. All the flavors of feedback.

Here’s how he set it up:

Then he listed the questions of the day:

Now for the questions: Over the last few weeks, we examined the first two decades of the 20th century, commonly referred to as the Progressive Era, which also included World War I. Just now, you should have finished watching or be finishing up the “1920-1929 Boom to Bust” episode of The Century: America’s Time. My initial questions for you to consider are as follows:

1) Were the 1920s a continuation of the trends of the first two decades of the 1900s, a rejection of them, or something in between?

2) To what degree (using a scale of 0 to 5 if you like, 0 being “not at all” and 5 being “entirely”) did people in the United States begin to develop a common identity as a people in the 1920s?

3) Were the apparent differences between the cities and rural areas in the 1920s a function of the 1920s themselves? Again, the 0 to 5 scale would be appropriate to use.

The students quickly jumped into high gear.  And so did Darin, with his just-in-time feedback. 

 Sometimes this came in the form of a recommendation/request for more evidence.

Sometimes feedback came in the form of a question:

 Sometimes his feedback came in the form of an additional resource for learning:

 Sometimes affirmation with a bit of extra info:

 And sometimes, maybe in the best of times, they come from a peer in the class:

It’s amazing how much teaching Darin did in the scope of a class period without saying a word.  

Note: I should probably mention here that none of us can be as Darin-as-Darin.  He happens to be particularly built for this kind of quick-paced, quick-thinking, battle-of-rationality that unfolds in real time (speech/debate anyone?) He also happens to know his stuff backwards and forwards, so improv’ing in the moment is more effortless for him than it might be for many of us (for example me, teaching a Shakespeare play I’ve never taught at the start of this year).  

Still, I am inspired to learn from his example.  I like to think his students were also inspired by the experience, although for some reason after all of Darin’s amazing feedback, only one adult got an accolade.  He had a cameo appearance at the end of the chat:

I was 29 years old.  I was midway through my doctoral program and had just brought a certain Zander Paul Rust into the world.  We were living the blurry dream of a family of four with a newborn and three year old; supported by a single income from my nurse husband; no family in town; me teaching courses for my doctoral fellowship; and my husband and I working ten hour shifts each week in our daycare cooperative, the only care for our young children we could afford at the time.  But oh how I loved those days.  I rode my bike to and from classes and returned home to nurse to sleep whichever kid was a baby at the time while reading Friere or Kress or Foucault or whatever absurd theory or research methods article I was being assigned at the time.  I was under water most of the time, but I loved that water.  Unlike the preceding stressful years I had experienced teaching high school English at a large public school, I felt nearly 100% fulfilled and at home.  

And then, I got a few negative course evaluation comments from some students and I nearly quit everything. 

This may seem insane to you, and it absolutely, logically was.  But the existential crisis I went through was real.  I wasn’t used to winning all the things (I was rejected from some research grants, I was typically the last to get picked for a team, and popularity in high school was not really my strong suit) but winning my students’ affection had been my hallmark.  This wasn’t my first rodeo teaching my college; it was in fact my fourth semester.  How could I have gone from the coolest, smartest, most fun prof to these so-so ratings with occasional jabs.  One comment read, “Mrs. Rust means well, but she talks too much about her newborn baby when she starts class.”  Another comment read, when asked “what is your favorite part of the class” . . . “when it ends.”  The crazy thing was, I didn’t see it coming.  Typically I can somewhat read the room.  I had no idea the students secretly resented me.

 I remember calling my graduate advisor at the time on the phone and she laughed out loud to me when I read my numerical scores to her. “Those are better numbers than I got last semester,” she said.  “Don’t let a few negative comments get you down.” 

I stammered out a question of sorts: “Do you think I should even be trying to become a professor with this kind of feedback?”

Once again, she laughed. “Julie, you have a whole career ahead of you. This is just the beginning. You shouldn’t have it perfect yet.”

I hung up the phone a bit relieved, but no less wounded.  I had to learn more. I had to get better.  I had to DO something with all the pent up negative energy.  I emailed a student in the class who (I believe) I had a decent rapport with to ask if she’d be willing to give me some in-person feedback about the class.  I’m not sure if this was a move of resilience or insanity.  But she met with me, and I learned a lot.  The students had picked up on the fact that I hated the textbook I was forced to use for the class.  That made several students think the class was a joke.  Even more relevant, though, was that the English Education students I had that particular semester had another class taught by a full time middle school teacher in the field for their middle school methods.  Students in her class had access to constant, applied materials and experiences with actual middle school kids.  It was, by all measures, just a better class.  On top of this, the student I met with mentioned that this instructor regularly bad-mouthed grad students and profs at my R1 institution.  “Those people have been out of the field too long,” she would say, “you can’t believe a word they say.”  She was one of those instructors that didn’t have a Ph.D. but had ALL the street cred, and she’d culminate each semester with a huge party at her house for her new future teacher besties.  

How could I compete? I had a two month old and an apartment that couldn’t fit more than five people in it at a time.  Still, even in my resentment I recognized that this instructor had some things right about teacher education.  I immediately emailed her to see if I could learn from her on how she structured the class. 

She was gracious enough to invite me to meet her after school one day, and there I sat in her slightly-middle-school-smelling classroom taking notes like a crazy person.  I radically shifted my classes after that to incorporate more practice based methods.  And perhaps more importantly I got just a slightly tougher layer of skin. Once you experience less-than-perfect comments, the next time you get some rough feedback a part of you kicks in: “You survived this last time; you’ll survive it again.”

I have NO idea if those students that put in a few negative course evaluation comments were actually pointing out real deficits or were just kind of feeling mean that day.  And I am conflicted/mixed (like most of the research) about how seriously we can take all student course perception feedback.  But here’s what I do know: I will use every bit of information I can get to improve in my craft.  I will no longer plan to abandon ship the minute one person says something I don’t want to hear about my performance.  My sense of worth is not dependent on what others write about me on a piece of paper.  And, perhaps most importantly:

“Julie, you have a whole career ahead of you. This is just the beginning. You shouldn’t have it perfect yet.”

Footnote: If anyone else out there struggles with differentiating your sense of self from what others think/say about you, I have to say this book  (Everything Isn’t Terrible, by Kathleen Smith) has been a HUGE help for my people-pleasing self.

At the church I grew up in, we always had “testimony time” after worship.  After singing songs, they’d open the floor for anyone to share “a testimony” or a story from the week to encourage the entire congregation.  Our services could sometimes push 2-3 hours in length, but testimony time was always entertaining, unexpected, and heartening.  

Well, several weeks ago after a series of teaching tips about student effort and teacher feedback, I received the most wonderfully unexpected email from our new Mandarin teacher, Tong.   Tong’s words feature the best of that “testimony tradition,” so much so that I surprised myself by blinking back tears by the time I got to the end of her email.  I was so moved I asked if I could share it with our community in this month’s blog blast.  Thank you, Tong; we are so glad to have you at St. Andrew’s!

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When I received this email [of weekly teaching tips] I just thought of the three students who have be learning in our Mandarin class. I am so glad to share with you how they made the progress in the first month of this semester.

Actually, at the beginning, I was very worried about their learning situation. The girls haven’t had the motivation and the boy had a strong thirst for knowledge but cannot find a way to learn. They are already in 11th grade and don’t have time to waste. So, I have decided to cram them with knowledge this semester and see if they can break through themselves. Anyway, it won’t be a bad outcome.

I made a schedule to complete one lesson every two weeks and two lessons in one month (this is their learning progress from the previous semester)and more additional knowledge points we encounter. I gave them homework and asked them to do the preview, I pushed them to do more but they didn’t finish it very well.

When we finished the first lesson we had a quiz, not at all surprised, they all got a very poor score. Yes！That’s the pressure I want to put on them.

Then I talked to them and asked if they felt any pressure? Is there too much homework? 

But their answers surprised me.  One girl said:“ No, Miss Tong, I am good. There isn’t much homework, I think I can do better！”OK, let’s see where it goes, then we can redo the quizzes. This time they all got good grade!

They saw how much effort can lead to as many results as possible！Not only that, they also proved to me that they have the ability to accept more knowledge！After that, they showed enough motivation and fighting spirit. 

During the second lesson, they no longer needed a lot of push from me to complete their assignments on time and were more focused in the classroom.  In our second writing class yesterday, when we saw together the visible progress we made compared to their first writing, they were extremely happy, I praised the whole class fiercely!

Yes！ Perhaps grades are important, and attending a good university is important, but I believe true happiness comes from the results of hard work. Isn’t this process the most enjoyable for us?

This is my reflection this morning and I wanted to share it with you！ I am very lucky to be able to join this wonderful family. Thank you all for bringing me so much emotion. Let’s continue to work hard and see how these students can still surprise me！

Thank you for listening！

Best，

Tong

A library is a library is a library, right?  Like mostly a space for books? Well, this is kind of right . . .

And kind of wrong.

This year it has been so fun to see how Tonja Johnson has reimagined the north campus library space to incorporate all sorts of activities, largely with the help of a question of the week (the votes are counted and the winning option is featured on the TV screen the following week) and an “activity” of the week on a white marker board, which features everything from sudoku, a question like “what is your favorite Christmas movie,” or a fill-in-the blank question. I think my favorite one this year was “The answer is [picture of pie].  What is the question?” 

Remember that old-fashioned concept of a frowning librarian yelling “shhhh” to everyone in the space?

There’s not even a whiff of that in this space. For this, we are grateful. 

You know what’s awesome about teaching my own class again? I am consistently knocked down 2-500 pegs, depending on the day.  But seriously, you know what’s actually awesome about it?  Having colleagues like you surround me while I fail and succeed and fail again.

That’s why so many of our “choose your own adventure” options involve experiencing each others’ teaching craft.  

I joined a teaching square.  I mean, of course, I did.  It’s a thing I conceived, or at least adapted for our schools’ usage and so I figured it would be pretty hypocritical to launch a thing and then fail to actually take part in it.  It was such a low-stakes thing and I love a low-stakes thing.  I also love things that involve food.  Low-stakes things that involve food are pretty much my specialty.

My magical square of teaching goodness was composed of the delightful, talented, and endlessly generous Cyndi Irons, Monica Colletti, and Maria Edwards.  (Don’t kill me, guys; I couldn’t help but pull your cute pictures from MySA.)

First, they observed me: Ironically, ALL THREE of my teaching square buddies happened to show up on the same morning.  Like it was weird and they hadn’t planned it.  They came on a writing marathon day, and they, like the good sports they are, jumped right in to write and share alongside my very energetic seniors.  

I then had the gift of observing each of them. Sure, I get to sit in classrooms all the time.  But my teaching squares version of self was liberated to simply hang out to glean things for my own teaching practice.  It was inherently celebratory and selfish all at the same time.  A wonderful combo really.

From Maria I learned the power of the atmosphere we set in our classrooms via decor, furniture, and rapport.  Despite the fact that she teaches fifth grade history, it was clear that Maria believes in her students and works to equip them with choice within structure.  I saw the youth happily working on projects and gamifying their learning with Gimkit.  “Maybe next year we can share these projects with lower school students,” Maria posited.  Fifth grade magic.

From Cyndi’s seventh grade art class, I learned the ways that students naturally take up the same project in so many different ways and from so many different skill levels.  I think all of us can agree “art class chill” is the best kind of experience.  Everyone happily progressed on their project without rush or stress or needing nagged.  How can I do that with my seniors? I also got to see how Cyndi builds excitement for an upcoming nutcracker project with hip hop ballet and how she seamlessly incorporates a diverse array of artists into her curriculum. 

From Monica’s sixth-grade English, I learned how to make every class less like a big old entree and more like an array of delightful bite-sized tapas with a singular theme.  We learned about dependent clauses, walked and talked to practice them, shared them out, watched a fun music video, and moved on to a center activity practicing with varied sentence construction.  Monica took advantage of every mistake a student made and turned it into a learning opportunity for everyone.  

When we gathered at Eudora’s to share what we learned from each other (well, after we realized how expensive the place was and decided to buy half price appetizers . .. and two desserts whoops instead of full meals), we took turns spotlighting what we learned from the experience, one teacher at a time.  Unsurprisingly, a lot of us had similar takeaways, even though we hit different class periods. I felt strangely nervous when it was “my turn” to be talked about, but Maria-Monica-Cyndi were generous and insightful as they pointed out things about my practice I hadn’t even realized I was doing.  Plus I got to stuff my face with the most incredible goat cheese situation while they talked. That helped.

Teaching squares is a double-edged gift.  I left (1) feeling more confident in my own particular strengths as a teacher while also (2) possessing a handful of other ideas and approaches from three educators I super-respect. Thanks to my teaching square, I became more than just a random point in space . . . I became a meaningful constellation.  

We’ve already started this semester’s round of teaching squares, but if enough folks want to opt in a week or two late, email me and I will try to configure some more squares!

We are a community of smart, strongly-opinionated folks that care deeply about the wellbeing of the youth in our care.  This comes out in all sorts of conversations, but the impact and integration of digital technology is certainly one of them.  

This year in our curriculum review we are zooming in on math, fitness, and (the very cross-disciplinary) tech integration, and although we’ve only had one meeting so far, it is clear to me we have an incredible array of smart people to do the work.  Here are what some folks at our first meeting put in their pre-meeting survey:

• I’m really looking forward to this conversation. I hope that we will be able to set up a curriculum or guidelines for how tech skills will be taught AND come up with a way to catch up the students who might have missed out on the instruction of tech skills. In other words, I hope we can establish a plan for the future and a remediation plan for the kids we currently teach
• I hope that we will look at long term studies, such as Growing Up Digitally, UNESCO’s report on tech in education, recommendations from the Surgeon General, American Academies on Pediatrics, Optometry and other entities to guide our decisions. We have to remember that the companies who produce these digital products need marketshare and profit and if we are just guided by what’s new, cool, and useful according to Google, Meta, etc….instead of waiting for actual research and recommendations by professionals who have the best interest of children in mind, then we might wind up wasting a good bit of resources on things which are actually doing more harm than good.
• For years, we’ve had these conversations. Rather than spending more time debating the best approach here, I would love to see us find a way to measure student tech skills in a way like we did math facts/fluency. If we focused on that as a next step, we could have some concrete data that help us determine if we need to have more stand-alone tech classes or focus on teacher training/tech integration. I think it’s time to just answer the question with data: “Are students equipped,” and this group can decide what we mean by equipped…as digital citizens, equipped with navigating things online safely, equipped with typing skills versus this holding them back in class, etc. It’s more complex to measure than math facts, but we can do it!

We are eager to roll up our sleeves and dive more deeply into this work for meeting later this week, and we will most certainly be asking for more voices and input from faculty, admin, and students as we continue to articulate our school-wide vision in this arena.  We have lots of goals in this process, and below you can see what our group voted as either high priority or priority.

GOAL	VOTES
Students need to understand the impact of screens on the brain.	8
Students need to understand their digital footprint and digital citizenship.	8
Students need help critically analyzing the information they encounter online.	8
We need to reduce the amount of time students are on screens during the school day.	8
Students need better AI Literacy and/or discussions about ethical questions around the use of tech like ChatGPT.	7
We need to address students’ use of tech in relation to the honor code in Middle/Upper School	7
Students need to see how technologies are actually used by professionals in various careers.	7
Students need better keyboarding skills by the time they reach middle school	6
Students need more familiarity with google suite products.	6
Students need help creating digital compositions (e.g. slideshows, videos, etc.)	6
Students need to develop “maker” dispositions (e.g. the ability to contribute, imagine, and create; not passively consume content)	5
Faculty need training on technology so they can model good uses.	4
We need more stand-alone tech classes.	4
Admin need to more clearly set guidelines for when students should be introduced to which technology.	4
Faculty need to better-integrate tech into their classes.	3

As I worked on these various meeting agendas (constructing a meeting feels very much akin to lesson planning for me)  I couldn’t help but think back to my graduate work.  (As an aside: In case you aren’t convinced by my blog about how I can’t read small text anymore, let me give you another example of my “I’m not as young as I used to be” status.  My dissertation in grad school used the word “new media” in the title.)  In my year-long study (circa 2011-2012) I worked with a high school English teacher and her three classes to make sense of the ways that integrating “new media platforms” into her traditional curricula shifted youth’s engagement for better or for worse.  We did cutting-edge things like having kids tweet in character, blog regularly (duh of course), create videos, make digital comics, and utilize a classroom website mimicking social media to chat about books.  I’d roll my eyes at grad-student-Julie, except I was hyperaware at the time that what I was doing was less about technology and more about the complex decisions we make constantly when designing for learning.  Here’s a section in my preface I entitled “This Work Matters, and Here’s Why”.  

Let me be very clear.  This dissertation is not about blogging.  It is not about Twitter.  It is not about Facebook, or Go Animate, or Ning, or iMovie, Pinterest, Poll Everywhere, or Power Point, or photography.  It’s not about those things, because “those things” will quickly become obsolete.  The platforms and tools that put the “new” in “new media” will shift and fade and merge and completely disappear from cultural memory. But it’s not even about new media. This dissertation is about what happens when good teachers try to make changes in the classroom, and they find themselves pushed up against the wall by their own ideologies, the school institution, the expectations of students and parents, their own understandings of what counts as legitimate learning.  This dissertation is about what happens when students, with a million other more important things going on, are positioned to participate in English class in different ways than they are used to.  This is about the millions of tiny decisions practicing teachers make every day, sometimes calculated and sometimes not.  This is about the variety of ways high school students take up teacher invitations in English class, and the way they creatively, tactically rework them.  This is about the ways that teachers and students and collide as they make choices in classroom spaces.  New media may be the frame.  But it is not the story.

In some ways, 2024 is a very different frame to talk about digital tech than 2013 when I typed those words.  We know more now about the physiological and psychological impacts of social media and over-screen-use than we did then.  We underwent a global pandemic which forced us to reckon more honestly with the limitations (and affordances) of all the devices.  Those of us that believe deeply in writing-as-thinking are forced to confront the ways that generative AI is colliding with our worlds.  But, at its heart, whether we call it “technology” or “screen use” or “new media,” this is a story about tools intersecting with classroom spaces, youths’ purposes intersecting with educators’ purposes, and what we believe schooling is actually for.  

I look forward to the conversation continuing. 

Authored by Linda Rodriguez

This week I was inspired by a lesson that I observed our colleague Gracie Bellnap do with her AP Bio class: speed dating!

Our AP World History class is studying The Atlantic Revolutions (American, French, Haitian, Latin American) and, to shake things up a bit, I tasked them to research characters from the Atlantic Revolutions – thinkers, leaders, and revolutionaries who shaped the course of history.  From the fiery ideals of Toussaint Louverture to the political prowess of Simon Bolivar, each student quickly became an expert on their chosen historical figure. (They had about 30 minutes to research 12 questions about government, society, law, and gender relations for their character). 

Once the activity started, the classroom was transformed into a historical matchmaking arena. Students took on the personas of their chosen characters, armed with facts, quotes, and a few character specific pick-up lines. The clock started and the speed dating began. Each “character” had three minutes to introduce themselves, share their philosophies, and gauge their compatibility with their fellow revolutionaries.

The atmosphere was electric as students engaged in lively conversations, navigating the complexities of compatibility based on historical context. It was heartening to witness George Washington bantering with Mary Wollstonecraft, and Catherine the Great engaging in a spirited debate with Olympe de Gouges. Laughter echoed through the classroom as students creatively brought their characters to life. 

Beyond the humor and entertainment, this lesson aimed to teach students critical thinking and empathy. By embodying historical figures, students were forced to grapple with diverse perspectives and understand the complexities of the time. The unconventional approach fostered a deeper understanding of the characters’ worldviews and philosophies. In the end, our journey through the Atlantic Revolutions was not just an exploration of the past but a dynamic experience that challenged students to think outside the box. By combining humor with a serious exploration of historical concepts, we created an unforgettable lesson that left a lasting impact on both students and teacher alike. Here’s to more unconventional adventures in the world of education!

Check out some of the students’ pick up lines: 

Napoleon Bonaparte: “They say I have a complex about my height, but you make me feel on top of the world.”

John Locke: “I think, therefore I am. And I think you’re beautiful.” 

Toussaint Louverture: “Like the resilience of the Haitian spirit, your presence fortifies me against any challenge.”

Adam Smith: “I feel like I hit the jackpot with you ‘cause you are a high yield investment.”

Catherine the Great: “Is your name Peter? Because you’re the only one who is truly ‘great’ for me.”

Marie Antoinette:  “Are you a revolutionary? Because I’m losing my head over you.”

King Louis XVI: “Do you believe in Divine Right? Because I feel like it’s my destiny to rule your heart.”

“Metaphors have a way of holding the most truth in the least space. “
-Orson Scott Card

Working at a school is a game of whack-a-mole since . . . 

• You solve one problem and another comes along.
• You figure out one class and another comes along.
• You finish one novel or unit or skill and another one comes along.
• You figure out a kid and then a different version of the kid comes to the next class period.
• One social relationship in your class seems remedied and then they come in with an entirely different set of baggage from that party or the social media exchange or that moment over lunch. 
• You think things are going great and then you get feedback from a student, a colleague, a parent, an administrator, and you are thrown for a loop stressing over whether you can even accurately assess the right moles to whack.  WHY DIDN’T I SEE THAT MOLE?! WAS I TOO FIXATED ON THE WRONG ROW?!

Or sometimes, working at a school can be more accurately compared to 12 people trying to untie the same knot with different techniques and at different angles at the same time. Sometimes it works really well.  Sometimes not so much.

If the problem is clearer and the communication more true, it’s closer to digging a ditch together.

But all of us in this public-private-personal work of education can feel we are sometimes shouting into the wind. Our words are so often lost or heard differently than intended.  And other times we are whispering into what we think is a single ear but is actually an amplifier, a microphone. That doesn’t usually go great either.

It’s almost too cliche to say, but we are ALL jugglers, like professional jugglers of way too many balls.  (At least we are smiling and from time to time wear suspenders and bow ties?)

Above is a picture of herding cats.  I think you get it.

But every single human I know working at our school is filled to the brim with good intentions and a heart in the right place. 

I mostly like to think of us this way, in our diversity of flawed glories: a mish-mash of wildflowers sprouting and growing and changing at a million different rates in a million different colors letting off a million different fragrances and features. Or, as I like to say about the state of my housekeeping, “It may be chaos, but it is OUR beautiful chaos.”

It could be that it was Thursday, the first class of the morning. It could be that it was freezing outside.  It could be the fact that I teach seniors.  But last month when I divided students into groups with three discussion questions and gave them fifteen minutes to collaborate I got the last thing I expected from this incredibly energetic group: silence.

At first I worried they misunderstood the directions. “You know you can work together on these, right?” I gently prompted. 

“We are,” one student retorted, pointing at the multiple cursors blinking on his google doc.  Once he saw another member of the group typing on the section he was on, he quickly moved down to an unoccupied question to add his two cents. 

At the end of the allotted time, every group had finished the challenge with a decent quality of answers.  Still no one had said a word.

“What was that?!” I asked as we prepared to share out.  “Were you all just tired or being efficient or do you actually prefer to collaborate that way?” 

“Since Covid, I think we all learned this was a better way to work together in a group,” one student offered. 

“But is dividing and conquering a google doc the same as collaborating on a google doc?” I asked.

The students shrugged. One mumbled something to the effect of, “If we had done this by hand on one single physical copy, likely one person would dominate all of the answers.  At least this way all of us contributed something.”

I thought back to my last collaborative manuscript.  While we talked together about the overarching argument of the piece, we quickly and early jumped to division of labor (you do the lit review, I’ll do the methods section, he can do the findings).  Truly writing collaboratively can be a miserable enterprise.  The real collaboration prefaced the doing of the writing, and then it followed the first draft when we looked across all of our contributions to smooth it into one coherent piece.  

As usual, I’m left with questions rather than answers:

• Does collaboration mean what I think it is? How central is talk to that process?
• What are my main goals with group work?
• How can I better set up expectations for the kind of group work I think will best serve these goals?
• To what extent is technology the bad guy here? To what extent is it the good guy?

The following Monday class, everyone was back to their very talkative, very loud selves. During a think-pair-share I couldn’t get students to silently write first so I gave up and let them talk with a partner first instead. I found myself thinking back to the previous baffling class with nostalgia: “Why was I so worried about silence?! That was a GIFT!” 🙂

Authored by Hannah Williams-Inman

On this edition of If Only You Knew, I (definitely didn’t run out of time, needed to audible and) decided to flip my own script. For the past two installments, I have been connecting with students in the Middle School, and asking them to let me behind the curtain a bit, to help us all better understand some of the complexities of being a middle school student at this moment, in this place. In the craziness and slog of February, at the end of a particularly long week, I, honestly, needed a break from kid noises. Not wanting to miss any deadlines (given to be by my most fearsome and not-at-all-understanding leader Dr. Julie Rust), and needing to whip this out real quick before heading on an overnight field trip/slumber party with the 8th graders, polling the adult voices felt more manageable than the kids’. And thus was born the third installment of If Only You Knew: Teacher Time.

I asked some of my colleagues, “Friends. Besides everything, what do you wish these kids knew? What do you wish you could say to them?” A better way to ask this may have been to say, “What lesson do you wish would just stick?” We spend so much time trying to impart wisdom to these tweens and teens, and, usually, are trying to drive the same lessons home over and over again. Right now, the proverbial hammer has come down on Middle School students not being in the places they’re supposed to be, or inside the boundaries that have been drawn and clearly stated to them (as though the hammer has not been coming down repeatedly ALL DANG YEAR). We tell them repeatedly, daily, HOURLY that the expectation is that they are where they can be found at any time, and STILL we are having to “catch” a wanderer and “release” them to Mr. Cooper (dun-dun-dun) for him to try, try again to be a consistent, predictable adult, that doles out those logical consequences when they’re earned. Bless him for that.

Author’s note: Not to make this about me, but one thing I wish the kids could remember is that, as he has proven in a beautiful way in his first year as our head of the Middle School, Mr. Cooper will. not. get. tired. of. consistently and fairly communicating expectations. In his own words, “This is the work.”

Author’s note: If I’d had the chance to ask Buck what he wished would stick with these kids, my guess is he would have said, “I wish they’d learn that we’re reeeeally good at catching them.”

For those of you familiar with some of our middle school faculty, I’ll let you have one guess which coworker had this completely efficient and systems oriented response to my query: “If we give you time in class to do something, just do it then!” I love this, because to our adult brains, it makes perfect sense to complete our tasks in the time allotted for the task. Maybe it’s been too long since I was a teenager, but given the choice between homework or no-homework, my computer games were always on hold. I basically didn’t have homework all of high school because I was using my class time so regularly. Of course, the computer-sized elephant in the room in 2024 is that social media is intentionally designed to suck up all of their attention, and not even me and my best performance (and I give a good performance) can compete with all of that. But like… c’mon! 

Now, to be fair to these delightful pre-adolescents, the majority of them are, in fact, using their time wisely and doing their work well. Especially at St. A, on the whole, our student body is efficient and motivated, and works hard to achieve great things. They are so good, and achieve so highly… but procrastinators will procrastinate, and, without a doubt, the kids who need the most prompting to do their in-class work DURING CLASS are the ones who would forget to do it for homework anyway. That idea alone makes me chuckle. And whoever you’re thinking of right now, bless them too.

Author’s note:  My personal favorite thing to say to a student not using their time effectively is, “Just stop procrastinating.” Works every time.

Author’s note: I am cracking myself up writing these author’s notes as if this whole blog isn’t just one big author’s note… why am I like this? 

Now this next one… this hits. The next colleague I spoke with (read: the next closest person to me during dismissal on a Friday afternoon) said that they wished the kids could remember that “We are literally so tired.” And y’all, there’s no tired like A-Teacher-In-February-tired. I don’t even have anything inspirational for this one, only that, as time has proven to us again and again, February will end, quarter 3 will wrap up, and the rest of the year will fly by. If you need me for the rest of this month, I’ll be over here limping through, trying my best (and maybe failing) to practice gratitude, thankful to be a part of the work with you all.

Almost like I planned it, we segue nicely into our final piece of hopeful dreaming for our students, which is that they would “Be grateful.” The colleague who shared this with me gracefully and graciously leads their class through many discussions during the year that ask them to acknowledge their own privilege in the face of some of their class content. He helps keep them grounded in the present reality of the gifts we have been given: attending or working at a school like St. Andrew’s, having some of the experiences afforded to us by this school, and getting to be with each other in these classrooms, to name a few. He wishes, despite the adolescent reality that everything is either: 1) unfair or 2) all about them, that our students could remember that we are lucky to be where we are, with these good people.

And speaking of good people, to those of you that are still with me, you get the third “blessing” of this blog post. Bless you. I will practice some gratitude with you before we part ways: I am grateful for you, grateful for these kids, and grateful for this job. Even in February.

Alianna came home one day from her Babysitter’s Club after school enrichment (shout out Andrea Stallings!) positively GLOWING.  

“Mom- get ready,” she warned me, “I have a LOT to tell you about and I’ve taken a lot of notes in my notebook.  WE WENT TO FOUNDATIONS TODAY!”

She did indeed have a lot to tell me, but she didn’t have to.  In the past few months, I’ve had the joy of spending some time with our one and two year old classrooms to get a sense of what our youngest Saints are up to. I had a blast spending time with some amazing educators (Catoria Mozee, Shea Miller, Abby Cockerill, Terry Cotton, Marsha Miller, Stacy Richardson, Ashley Singleton, Brenda Brown, Inga Sjostrom), and a whole bunch of littles! Enjoy the glimpses below:

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1. A home-like feel as kids entered for the day; transitions appeared seamless and the children were happy to be at school.  Lots of great “welcome to school” activities to choose from: love-themed books at the book center, puzzle, animals/blocks, outdoor legos, etc.

2. Who knew that taking attendance can also function as counting practice and recognition of your friends’ names?

3. So much positive rapport with the kiddos; smiles and positive redirection and age appropriate interventions all around. 

4. Solid guided reading with multiple texts around the theme of snow that students were clearly captivated by.

5. The power of music, whether it was wheels on the bus after snack or songs about animals and how they walk.  One two-year-old class LOVED the L and F song, eagerly employing the motions and words.

6. Making the most of eating time together: This two year old classroom has a bunch of singer/performers; several suggested songs to sing during breakfast!

7. The power of movement, such as during the “FREEZE” song/dance party.

8. Little ones are given an appropriate amount of choice between activities at certain parts of the day (e.g. go listen to that story or you can climb up on the indoor play structure, etc.).

9. Foundations faculty are pros at transitioning from the excitement of free play to circle time with the old trick of “touch your nose if you can hear me.”  

10. This way-cool sensory activity about snow that really engaged the kids: finding stuffed animals in styrofoam snow or playing with animals in whipped cream. 

11. Instructional Assistants that are very actively engaged with the children either as they did the activity or in the guided reading. 

12. A “what animal do you hear” game that was such a blast and perfectly pitched for the class.  

13. Differentiation based on how kids’ experienced the activity (e.g. one little boy felt disturbed by the “mess” of the whipped cream so he had the option to play with his toys on a clean table.)

14. Foundations for reading are already being laid in our two year old classes!  Kids were very ready to practice motions with blends (eye-lid, eye-brow, etc.). Bonus: having the kids close their eyes (what happens when you shut your eyelids?) and feel their eyelashes really brought life to the phonemic awareness.  

15. My first ever sight of seeing use of the outside porch at Foundations!

16. Science exploration with cups filled with water to different levels to discover a range of pitches!

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While Alianna visited the building as part of her “Babysitters Club,” I can affirm that there is so much more going on in Foundations than babysitting.  The intentionality of activities, loving atmosphere, and clear structure inspired me in my own teaching practice.  And this joy isn’t just for Alianna and me to hog, by the way! At our last FAAC meeting, Tabitha made it clear that Foundations is eager to partner with other grade levels as desired.  Just email her at gibsonta@gosaints.org  to start the conversation. 

Here’s a thing you may not know about me and this blog.  Every time I schedule a blog blast email to send, I forward along that email to my parents all the way away in Indiana accompanied with “here’s some stuff we’ve been up to” or “I talk about you in the third blog!”  I do it to stay connected.  I do it so they can get a glimpse of my world. I do it because I’m so proud of this place I work at and the people that make it great.

 But if I’m going to be really honest (life is too short not to write the truth) there’s a decent sized portion of me that sends that email in eager anticipation for a reply of affirmation.  Because, while sometimes I’ll hear little notes or receive emails from faculty in response to a blog or podcast or teaching tips, often I send out a big old chunk of stuff and there is radio silence.  I’m a words of affirmation kind of human, and I know I can always bank on a response from my biggest fans . . . my mom and dad.  (Sure, I am an almost-42-year-old momma of three.  But I’m still ISO of my parents’ thumb’s up!! Aren’t we all?)

Last December, our blog blast solicited this note from my wise mom, in response to “Merry, Merry” and “School Identity as Figured World”:

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Hi Again!

I just read Merry Merry (liberating, honest reflection) and the essay about identity. It reminded me of a committee I was on for awhile (and HATED) at Memorial, where we tried, and failed, to fashion a new mission statement.  On a personal level, it confirmed the truth of the scripture, “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.”  (Did you remember that “essay” means “an attempt”?)

Have a good night, my love!    Your Mommy

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This blog is about that little parenthetical-mic-drop-of-a-statement at the end of her email.  I didn’t remember (or perhaps ever know?) that essay means “an attempt.” (I’m guessing many of you did, and I’m certain the witty Marty Kelly knew that when she proposed the new title of our blog, “Our esSAy.”)

Sometimes people don’t feel comfortable writing a blog because they feel like they don’t have deep amazing expertise to offer.  Some don’t feel like their writing is quite good enough.  And I’m pretty sure all of us are laden with uncertainty and insecurity in at least some arena in our lives because, well, this is the fate of the human psyche.  

But thinking about these blogs, that lesson plan, this decision, that meeting agenda, those conversations with students or colleagues, that PD Day, etc. as an “attempt,” well that’s not only liberating . . . that’s just a whole lot more accurate.  We care a whole lot about doing our work at this place.  Sometimes we care so much it hurts.  But all that I can guarantee about anything I put out into this world is that it is my best attempt at that moment with the information and energy I have at my disposal.  It is a curse.  It is a gift.  

If I look at all of these things as attempts, I think I might hold life a bit more loosely, be a bit more willing to listen to feedback, and be able to change things the next time for the better.  

Can I be honest again?

The first year I worked at St. Andrew’s back in 2019, I thought it was gonna be a one-year-gig.  Before I knew how thrilling and interesting and hard and consuming this work would be, my plan was to “play” at being an administrator for a year while I went on the professor job market.  We weren’t really tied to Mississippi after all. My plan was to be an academic.  I was a decent professor.  That was the plan.  It was still the plan.  

I lived that year so loosely.  I had spent the five years preceding working at breakneck speed to do all the right professor things: publish, research, teach well, build relationships.  Well, where did that get me? (It turned out, no matter how well I did things on my end, I ultimately have no control over things like whether a small liberal arts college would have to cut several academic departments because of low enrollment.) I would look at this unexpected “gap year” as a break! I would try things! I would stop taking myself so seriously.  

It was the most creatively generative year of my life. 

Remember all that i2 stuff? I know a lot of it wasn’t loved, but I threw a lot of my energy into brainstorming with Shea and Megan, tracking all of the good things happening in classrooms, beginning the blog, imagining the podcast into existence, creating demo opportunities for faculty, researching aspects of teaching/learning going on throughout the school.  I’m not saying I did a perfect job at any of it, but I sure did attempt a lot.  One of i2’s catchphrases that Jeremy liked (remember Jeremy?) was “Failure IS an option!” Well I kind of lived it that year.  It was liberating.

Can I be honest again? Now that I can see myself staying in it for the long haul, I sometimes forget to hold things loosely. In fact, I’ve been known to grasp on things so hard my fingers go numb. One such 2 a.m a few weeks ago, I was obsessing over lists upon lists that I was behind on at work.  I was thinking about a meeting that felt like it had gone the wrong direction.  I was, per usual, berating myself for all the things I could have and should have done better.  I then turned my mind to other stressful things, worries about my kids for example.  I know one should pray in these situations, or at least read a good book to calm down, but I instead started scrolling through social media.  Miraculously, someone had posted this excerpt from Huxley’s Island in the precise moment I needed it:

It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. 
Learn to do everything lightly.
Yes feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.
I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig.
Lightly-lightly- it’s the best advice ever given me.
When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic.
No rhetoric, no tremolos,
No self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell.
And of course, no theology, no metaphysics.
Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light.
So throw away your baggage and go forward.
There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet,
Trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair,
That’s why you must walk so lightly.
Lightly my darling, 
on tiptoes and no luggage,
Not even a sponge bag,
Completely unencumbered.
-Adous Huxley, Excerpted from Island

Silly me.

“Lightly, my darling/On tiptoes and no luggage”

 I had forgotten that “essay” means “attempt,” and, as a result, had taken myself far too daggone seriously.

“. . . . Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light.”

I shut off my device, walked upstairs to my bedroom, and promptly fell asleep.

Compiled by Rev. Annie Elliott

You know that Christmas-morning flutter of excitement you felt as a little kid? I’m not even lying; when I saw Annie’s email about a daily release of an advent reflection from an SA community member, I felt it. An entire set of incredibly diverse, spiritually-informed perspectives on this season of waiting in the most hectic month of the year just popping each day into my inbox?! That’s what I call a gift. Thank you to everyone who contributed your words, your ideas, your heart. Our community is deeper because of you.

I could write pages about how incredibly amazing our 18 juniors and seniors were on our trip to Italy-Austria-Germany. (Are the kids all right? These kids were INCREDIBLE.) I could write about the beauty of the places and the tastes and the sites and the kindness of the host families and BREAD-CHOCOLATE-BREAD-CHOCOLATE.   I could write about our British tour guide who had some crazy good teacher chops alongside his fab accent and dashing good looks. I could write forever about how dang good Emily Philpott is at her job as Global Studies Director. 

But today I really want to write about Mayson McKey, Cool Teacher. 

You see you hit a certain age, all of us do, when suddenly you transition from young-hip-trendy teacher to not-so-young-anymore.

And on this trip, I most definitely hit it.

I blame it on the fact that two other chaperones were the super trendy-cool-young Sara Clark and Mayson McKey.  I blame it on the fact that I was most definitely actually NEVER trendy, not even in my twenties.  

But this isn’t a story about me.  This is a story about Mayson McKey, Cool Teacher.

Watching Mayson shine magnetic-like on the trip was a sight to behold.  He has a way of drawing in whomever happens to be standing next to him with a joke, an aside, a quick little affirmation of “we are friends and this is going to be fun.” This is a fabulous trait in real life; but this is like gold on a global studies trip in which 22 near-strangers are catapulted into best friend/family status overnight.  We either make this long walk uphill in the cold darkness a game of roasting each other or we just are tired and cold.  Mayson always chose making it a game.  

One thing he instituted early on in the trip, perhaps initially after our first all-night flight, was the “vibe check.” It was a quick flick of the wrist with a “Y”-shaped hand, almost like the sign language we use for “I agree” when we want students to nonverbally affirm another students’ statement.  Initially he used it with his small chaperone group, then it spread to my group, and it quickly became an entire group phenomenon whether walking in the rain in Salzburg or boarding crowded trains in Dusseldorf.  Vibe check meant, “are you doing okay, like on a scale of 1-10?” It meant “someone here is checking in on you.” But it also, just as crucially meant, “we are part of a group together and we have signals that have a significance of meaning shared just by us.” 

The story could end here, but of course, like many things, vibe check became so huge that it eventually crumbled in on itself.  Once we joined host families and started attending school in Germany, “vibe check” spread like wildfire.  We would walk across a crowd of random fifth grade German students and, upon seeing Mayson, they would begin bustling excitedly, making the vibe check signal. “MAYSON!” they would shout with no irony, “Mayson is COOL teacher!”  Literally this little signal that had started with  just a few teenagers and their chaperone had become a schoolwide phenomenon.  

Mayson began worrying the signal might mean other things in Germany, that it had taken on a life of its own, and so, he subtly stopped using the signal and it lost momentum.  Our students caught on too and stopped promoting its use with their new German friends.  After all, a trend is really only trendy when it is somewhat niche and novel.  Even the coolest move has the potential to lose its initial intrigue.  Our small in-house signal had simply gone too viral to maintain its special status.  It was time to say goodbye to vibe check.

Of course, just because the hand signal died down didn’t mean that Mayson lost his cool teacher status.  Mayson remained the center of intrigue for many of our students and the German students as well.  After all, you can take away the vibe check, but you can’t extinguish that cool vibe.  And the fact that Mayson always made sure to spread the love with all the students, that his popularity was never about exclusivity . . . that made Mayson the cool teacher in my book.

This is the hidden-bit-side-effect of a global studies trip, I think: relationships and unanticipated connections. Each time I see a student or colleagues across the plaza from that trip, now over a week removed, genuine squeals and delight result.  You share time together and, whether or not you were the cool teacher, or the middle-aged-weird teacher that never could quite get used to the European coffee, a little sprout of a thing sprouts. “I didn’t really know you before, and I know you now, quite real and imperfect.  And surprise surprise! We quite like each other.”

We all have those days of teaching when our patience runs thin, when we find ourselves in the constant space of “which battles should I fight and why.” I wrote this after one of those days several months ago. To be honest, revisiting this piece this week it rang less true for me; at this point of the year I feel like we are all a bit more honest with each other. (For example, I am much quicker to call students out about their surreptitious heads-down phone practice and we all just openly crack up when someone makes an innocent statement that could be taken inappropriately with a not-so-mature audience.)   Nevertheless, I wonder if some of this resonates with others, whether you teach 18 year olds or three year olds.  I hope it does, and I hope it doesn’t, all at the same time. 

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You think I don’t see you. 

The way your eyes flit quickly around to each other with a glint of mischief when I accidentally say a phrase that could be construed as a double entendre. 

I see it.

You think you may be squeaking by: when you send texts with your phone on your lap,

head down, device hidden; when you flip open the laptop pretending to take notes but are actually playing a game, watching a game, shopping, looking at the stock market, looking at game stats, doing other homework; when you have ear buds surreptitiously stuffed in your ear.

Just because I don’t say something in the moment doesn’t mean I don’t see it.  I am practicing grace here.  I am practicing planned ignoring here. We are all practicing “before you know it you will be in college” in this space.

We are also practicing being human together.

Still, your assumption that I don’t see it, don’t see you, can cut deeper than the fact that you do it in the first place.

You think I don’t notice when you consistently turn things in late, when you slip into my classroom 45 seconds-2 minutes late- 3 minutes late, that you have 10 times more excuses for each thing than most.  

Please don’t mistake my patience for ignorance, my practiced “choose which battles to fight” with naivete. We have all lived lives far longer-bigger than you. We have all played games that rhyme with yours. Different vices-devices, different tools, different melodies. But all hauntingly familiar.

I see you are overwhelmed and behind and scared and insecure.  I see you in the back row with the answer on your tongue.  I see you stuff it back in because you don’t want to always be the first one right.  I see you out-perform in class and under-perform in anything you need to do outside of class.  

I am scared for you. 

I am scared for the way you sometimes crumble under pressure that seems minute to me.  Deadlines like these shouldn’t sneak up on you so.  I am scared for a world of people that can’t do the thing by the time the thing is due. I am scared for a world of people that can’t cough up the motivation to care unless the thing is personally, inherently engaging.

I am scared the way all forty-somethings are scared of the generation that comes after them.  I am scared of my own mortality. I am scared of difference.  

Am I already growing out of tune with the world? 

I am ashamed to admit I am often more scared of what non-compliance can produce than what revolution can redeem.

You think I don’t see the way that everytime religion is brought up in class your jaw clenches.  Anytime politics might enter, you feel the need to make it known you are a vague reflection of the conservative-liberal-whatever-constellation you’ve grown up in.  You think I don’t see you are silent.  Listening.  Watching me.  We are all still figuring out who each other is. Where we stand. On our own and with each other.

You think I don’t see that he always asks for bathroom breaks and disappears from class for too long.  He is 18.  I’d rather let him escape than to declare this classroom a jail.

You think I don’t see you are still children,  In tall-long-adult-esque bodies.Begging for a game-a prize-some noise- some fun.  I know you can be both: a child and an adult. Both can be reckoned with seriously.

I know you need a break.  I know you’ve been sitting too long.  I know you act crazier in my class because you were holding it in the last class.  I know you could act more mature, make better decisions.  But so could I.  So could we all. 

I see this too: I see you being kind and caring for each other.  I see you also caring for me. 

I see that seeing this makes all the rest of it melt away. 

I see you. 

The fake tree isn’t decorated. In fact, one entire section of built-in- lights affixed to the artificial tree has burned out.  

The presents are not purchased.  The Christmas lists are not made for the family.  The elf is not hidden.  (Alianna did, finally, out of annoyance find it herself and start moving it around the house.)  The Amazon is not delivered.  The traditional Christmas Crack and Puppy Chow has not been made.  

The advent calendars haven’t been opened out of their plastic.  The stockings literally have not been hung by the chimney with care. 

 I can’t even seem to get the dishes done. The clutter on our kitchen table has reached levels never before seen in this natural world. 

The meal plan for the week obviously didn’t happen. We shall eat (oh we always eat), but the recipes will be courtesy of Newks, Chickfila, Arby’s, etc. 

Is it because I took a two week international jaunt that I feel so ill-equipped for being catapulted into this merriest of seasons?  An abrupt fast-forward into time? I still haven’t eaten pumpkin pie yet.  It can’t be time for all of this. 

Things holiday movies have taught me: It isn’t about the presents.  It isn’t about the glamor and shine.  It’s about. . . family? Love? Gratitude?  (And if it’s a Hallmark Christmas movie it’s about how I’m a career woman too busy for love that moves to a small town where a handsome young bachelor teaches me about the true spirit of the holiday. Thanks, this Twitter Post.) 

But in all of those movies there are definitely lights and trees and cooking and snow.  What happens if it’s not snowing and you forgot to turn on the carols and there is no fire crackling or lights to gaze at or sugar cookies to decorate?

Julie, it’s only December 5th.  Get a grip.

What if, for this holiday season, instead of taking pictures of our browned meats and meticulously decorated cookies and smiling offspring in red and green apparel we took pictures of the everyday? What if decided to tell the truth about the cluttered corners of our lives? What if we humbled ourselves in the way God did in sending Jesus to this place to highlight our flesh-on-earth-flawed-everything?

Happy Holidays, everyone.