Support.

Teachers have rough moments. Occasionally an entire day is rough. A whole week? Unheard of. I’ve been out of sorts lately, and I have four people at school to thank for the therapy.

Without going into details or giving away their identities (there’s always one person looking to steal your joy), let’s just call them Ms. A., Ms. B., Ms. C., and Mrs. D. Between cute emails with photos of puppies (sometimes a cute puppy photo really can cheer you up), to a homemade apple pie made by Mrs. D’s husband (I’ve yet to spend any quality time with him, but I already know we’re going to be good buds), to a sweet voicemail, and even major candy therapy, my web of support at school came out in FULL force this week. I work with some amazingly caring, loving ladies and for that, I'm truly grateful.

I’ve also received many emails of support from readers like you and for that, I sincerely each and every one of you. We teachers are in this business for one simple reason – we love kids and want to make their lives better. Unfortunately, not everyone feels the same way, but we can’t let those folks ever, EVER let us forget why we’re here… for the kids… and many times, for each other.

Allright - enough! We will now resume our regularly scheduled Happy Rainbow programming!

Extra.

I've had a rough few days. Without going into the details, things at work have been stressful. My students, ever the caring loving souls they are, just seemed to know when I needed a hug or smile.

Today, as I walked the last bus group out to line up, one little girl said, "Mr. A., it's a long weekend - you must need extra hugs to get you through until next week."

I did and when she gave me them, the other sprouts came over and joined in. It was pretty freakin' awesome. It really is all about the kids.

Genius.

Yesterday I wrote about our adjective lesson with pumpkins. One of the sprouts I visited to help with his descriptive word was Billy. As I squatted down next to Billy’s seat, I glanced at his pumpkin… it was a big ol’ mess of a scribbles, so I wasn’t quite sure how he was going to describe his pumpkin.

“Billy, what adjective do you want to write for your pumpkin?” I asked.

He looked at the picture and then back at me.

“Scary,” he replied.

I couldn’t agree more.

“All right, ‘scary’ – What sound do you hear at the beginning?” I prodded.

“/S/, /S/, ‘Snake,’” he said as he wrote the letter S. We’ve been chanting the sounds every day (sometimes more than once) and most children can identify a sound and write the corresponding letter without naming it – amazing.

We continued with each sound in ‘scary’ until the final one.

“Scar-EE,” I said, emphasizing the last sound.

“What sound do you hear?” I asked, fully expecting Billy to write the letter E.

He wrote a Y.

“Wow, you know it actually is a Y, but in this word it makes the /E/ sound, how did you know that?” I wondered.

“It’s just like the Y at the end of my name,” Billy replied as if it were as plain as the nose on my face.

I got chills when he said that. I called Mrs. D. over and had him explain it to him. I then looked up at her and said, “Genius.” She nodded in aggrement.

Risk.

Today we introduced adjectives and as a way to practice the skill, we colored plain white paper pumpkins and then wrote a describing word for each pumpkin. As I walked around, helping each sprout sound out their describing word, I was amazed at the letter sounds I was hearing after only twenty-one days of school.

Last spring, my principal sent out an email stating he had a new book called The Three Habits of Highly Successful Reading Teachers: A Quick and Easy Approach to Helping All Students Succeed and wondered if anyone wanted to borrow it. Being the nerd I am, I thought, why not. I got the book, put it in my bag and there it sat… for weeks. One rainy Sunday afternoon, I pulled it out and read the entire book. Based on research, it has some ‘out there’ concepts about how children learn to read, but I thought it sounded promising. I wondered what Mrs. D. would think about it.

Without telling her my thoughts, I gave her the book and asked her to read it and share her thoughts. She agreed, the book’s approach was different, but also seemed revolutionary. We prepped the materials and began the program after the first few weeks of school.

Basically, the book proposes that letter naming (a big deal in kindergarten) has absolutely zero to do with a child’s ability to read. This was a major shift for Mrs. D. and I as letter naming has always been integral to kindergarten success. We’ve always been told, a child’s letter naming ability directly correlates to their ability to read. The book explains, when you look at a word, your brain decodes the sounds only, and the names of the letters are irrelevant. A system for teaching letter sounds only is laid out step by step in the book.

Well today, as I walked around helping children with sounds, I was amazed at the number of sounds even some of the our lowest sprouts had. The program is not only working, it’s wildly successful. We are truly empowering children to feel successful, even so early in the year. We always tell our students to take risks, but how often do we heed our own advice? This is one risk I’m thankful we took.

Kryptonite.

Every time I turn on the television news lately I’m alerted to the sad state of American public education. Apparently, teachers, administrators, and everyone down to the cafeteria staff are in the middle of the crisis of our lifetime. Supposedly we’re all waiting for Superman to come save our education system. There’s only one problem. He’s already here.

Not just superman, but Spiderman, Batman, and certainly, Wonder Woman are in classrooms making a difference in the lives of children one lesson and smile at a time. They realize there are obstacles to overcome, but each morning they arrive with the optimism of Pollyanna, hoping, knowing they will make an impact and become someone’s hero.

No doubt there are a few Lex Luthors, Jokers, and Green Goblins lurking about, but in my humble (and I hope not too naïve) opinion, even they want what’s best for the students in their classes… they’ve just lost their way, lost sight of the excitement and energy that brought them to education in the first place.

As I watch politicians, businessmen, and even evening news anchors try to solve the ‘crisis’ in the American education system, I can’t help but wonder where are the teachers? Who asks us for guidance and opinions? From what I gather, the solution might just be money. It appears the more money you throw at a problem, the easier it is to solve. Problem is, with the cool crisp air of autumn, the money tree seems to have lost most of it’s leaves.

As we wait (and wait…) for Superman, let’s not forget, even if he decides to show up, Lex Luthor always managed to find a shard of kryptonite to foil his plans. As we see the focus on test scores increase it appears the system is falling harder and faster than ever. We need to remember a huge part of our jobs as educators (and parents, and friends…) is to instill a love of learning in our sprouts. We need to show them the value of eye contact and a firm handshake is just as important as a high score on an assessment. Perhaps the answer to our children’s future isn’t going to be found in a bubble filled in with a number two pencil, but in the smile of a hero.

Speechless.

Have you ever had a sprout do something wrong, but the execution was so flawless you had a hard time holding them accountable? Recently during Writing Workshop, Martin gave the performance of a lifetime.

During our Writing Workshop, we’ve been talking about how good writers write about what they know. In order to focus on the details of the story, we’re looking at ‘small moments’ in our lives and expanding on all the information we can remember. Most children are doing an excellent job, but a few are having a hard time with the ‘real’ part.

Yesterday, when I knelt down to conference with Martin, I saw lots of detail and action in his picture. He’s really been doing well with staying on task during work time and I wanted to hear about his story and offer him a plethora of praise.

“Martin, wow, look at all the detail, can you tell me about your story?” I began.

As he pointed to his paper, he told me his adventure.

“One day I was outside in my backyard climbing a tree… when I got to the top part of the tree I saw a chipmunk,” he said.

So far, so good. All fairly plausible.

“When I got close to the chipmunk, it got scared and farted on me,” he finished.

Realizing Martin had reached the fantasy portion of his story, I tried to have him explain it a little further to see where he had veered off the path of telling a true story.

“So how did you know the chipmunk farted?” I inquired.

“I heard it,” he retorted. Touché.

“Oh and I smelled it… see these lines coming out of the chipmunk’s butt, those are the stink lines,” he finished as he pointed out the offending lines.

With that, I nodded my head and stood up. I was simply speechless… something that doesn’t happen often.

Bonus.

Kindergarteners are like sponges. They really do soak up knowledge and experiences like little critters starving for a drink. As my experience with this age group expands, I’m realizing the absorbency of each sprout isn’t the same. Some of them come in with their sponges already saturated and others come in with theirs bone dry.

Nelson is one such friend. Like a newly opened sponge dehydrated of all moisture, this sweet little boy came to us with nary a clue. I swear I wonder sometimes how some of these little guys get through the first five years of life with nobody exposing them to learning, but there are always a few that appear to have been raised in a cave with no letters, words, pencils, paper, or books.

The first few days of school, it became clear Nelson didn’t know how to write his name. He didn’t recognize his name. He didn’t know any letters or even the ABC song. Math wasn’t much better. He couldn’t count past two. Two. The poor kid was five and couldn’t count up to his own age.

What happened after those first few days, when we settled into the routines of school and began learning was nothing short of a miracle. Nelson’s sponge began taking in water like a cactus longingly awaiting rain. Slowly, but surely, he began learning to write his name, recognize his name, and count.

One afternoon, while playing count around the circle – a simple game where we count to a specified number and the sprout who says the target number sits until there’s only one child standing – I literally saw Nelson learn to count.

We start with low numbers so those who can’t count can learn the pattern quickly and this day our target number was nine. The first few times around the circle, each time it was Nelson’s turn to shout out his number, he looked at me, clueless and scared, and I’d whisper the number to him. After a few minutes, though, he began catching on. He was determined in his study, soaking up the numbers.

At bus time, I asked him to count for me, and right on cue, with a huge beaming smile he counted for me.

“One, two, free, four, five, six, seven, eight,… nine!” He shouted the last number.

He couldn’t go any higher then we’d practiced, but wow, he did it and will only learn to count higher. Watching that light bulb go off and the accompanying smile is what makes me feel like I’ve earned my paycheck. Nelson’s hug when he walked out of the room counting aloud was my bonus.