We just returned from Spring Break and had our first Writers Workshop. After getting them started, my first student approached me draft papers in hand, gave them to me, and finitely said, “I’m done.” Initially I continued my bad habits of “correcting” misspellings/periods/caps, strongly “suggesting” changes in wording or organization, and “marking up” her paper. Then I stopped myself.

I took a breath, reread what she had written, and celebrated the ideas she did get down on paper. Her affect immediately changed, and I lauded her for her thoughts. AND it helped me see her writing more clearly, too! With all the others I conferred with, I definitely gave more positive support than before the Break, and I noticed the change in their responses to me. They smiled, they relaxed, they even puffed their chests out a bit. This was juxtaposed with one boy for whom I did have a lot of “suggestions” at the end of the period. He shrank a bit, his eyes shifted more, and he avoided meeting my eyes compared to the others.

What a fine balance between positive feedback and really pushing their writing. (This is probably one of those cases where it does not need to be an “either/or” situation and should be a “Yes, and…” approach.) I’ve never seen myself as a writer before, and so I always said I’m not a good writing teacher. This SOL Challenge is definitely helping me gain insight into their process and how feedback, even if productive and helpful and all those sweet, “teachery” words we use, does not substitute for genuine appreciation for what the writer has produced.

I get caught up with wanting to “fine tune” fifteen writers’ pieces, and I forget about them as individuals and how they hear my “suggestions” or how it feels for me to take my purple Flair pen to their paper. I probably would have stopped writing if in these past eleven/twelve days you all corrected my punctuation, spelling, revised my words, said I should move this sentence/fragment to the front, etc.

Thanks for the support and understanding in my first attempt at “slicing”!

I definitely enjoy a good staycation. I like getting to go to my kids’ schools (they’re at different ones than where I teach.) I enjoy helping with all the zig-zag driving my wife normally has to do. If I choose to go in and do some work, it’s my choice and on my time. I decide when I eat. I shower later in the morning or even in the afternoon. I run around and do errands that I can’t do during the school day, because, well, it’s a school day, and on the weekends we are running around doing children’s games, recitals, or practices.

The problem is I end up spending money when I’m not working. Sure, we went to the library today on my last day of Spring Break, and my sons and I played soccer and tag on my school’s football field. But I couldn’t get away from spending some money. We got lunch out, and I even splurged on some ice cream because it was a balmy 58 degrees out. Over the ten days off, I think I went to the grocery store at least four times (even with my wife making two or three trips there too).

I guess I thought that a staycation would be super cheap, and obviously it is compared to traveling. But I just don’t like spending money when it doesn’t seem like I’m earning money (working).

A couple of weeks ago we had a meeting about some of our more challenging students. We were trying to understand what was behind some of their behaviors and try to figure out how to help them. We discussed incident after incident of things gone awry. We talked about how students don’t verbalize the things they really want, they just act in some self-serving or selfish or unkind manner, and the adults around them try to figure out what’s at the heart of their “acting out” behavior.

They want to be noticed.

They want to belong.

They want to feel connected.

They want to be known, understood.

They want to be challenged.

They want to be heard.

They want to be liked.

They want to be recognized.

I think we can easily substitute “We” for any and all of the “They” words above. I think our students want/need the same things we want/need. I know I could substitute “I” for all of them.

(I borrowed this format from a fellow Slicer.)

I used to think winning was the most important thing when playing a sport/game. Now I think not injuring my old bones is essential to my sports experiences.

I used to rarely eat vegetables. Now I love beets.

I used to wonder when pre-drinking would begin. Now I wonder when it’s too early to go to bed.

I used to believe that Catholicism was the one, true way. Now I believe there are many paths up the mountain.

I used to think using certain words were just funny and okay. Now I know how words are behind beliefs and opinions and how harmful words can be.

I used to believe that anyone could succeed in this country. Now I believe there are systems in place that keep certain groups down and maintain the status quo.

I used to waste time watching TV all day long. Now I waste time on my phone.

I used to believe in the goodness in all people. Now I still believe in the goodness in all people.

Eating breakfast this morning our ten-year old son went to get his backpack ready in another room, while the four-year old sat with me. As he re-enters the room I have my back to him and ask, “Everything all set?”

With a raised eyebrow our four-year old questions, “How’d you know he was in the room?”

Reflexively I reply, “Don’t you know teachers have eyes in the back of their heads?”

Suspiciously he retorts, “That’s freaky! They’d be a monster.”

I continue the joke just a bit more, and he mischievously grins, “Or what about three eyes on their foreheads?” Eventually I tell him that it’s just a saying meaning that teachers can see whatever is going on in a room even if they’re not turned toward that thing.

I love to joke and (maybe every now and then) be sarcastic with my third graders. I’m always reminded in moments like above and also at the beginning of school years, that kids often take what we say very literally. I’m reminded to be concrete and direct. Some humor is fine, it’s who I am, and it’s part of them understanding the subtleties of this world. But in general, it’s a good reminder of how literal kids are.

Sometimes our ten-year old doesn’t understand my jokes. Sometimes our twelve-year old either looks confused or if she gets it, rolls her eyes. Even friends and colleagues misunderstand my deadpan delivery. I guess I shouldn’t really expect a four-year old to understand sarcasm.

As I usually do a few times a week, I played pick-up basketball early this morning from 5:50-7:15am. We’ve got a great group of guys (and one woman) who hustle, play defense, share the ball, and basically understand the game. While I sort of know some of these guys (since it’s mostly men) outside of the game, I don’t really work closely or spend any significant time with any of them. I’ve always wondered if how someone is in our games is how they are in other parts of their life?

Is the guy, who slacks on defense, also slack at work? Life? Is the person, who doesn’t call out screens or switches, not a good communicator in other relationships? Is the self-centered shooter, who regularly chucks up contested shots, selfish in other aspects of his life?

Does the person, who shares the ball and passes up a good shot for an even better shot, unselfish in other things? Does the player, who directs traffic on a fast break, lead equally effectively in his job or at his house? Is the guy, who regularly calls his own fouls and honestly tells if he barely touched a ball going out of bounds, equally honest in calling out his own mistakes in life?

Like I said, I know some of them off the court, and some match their on court personas. I guess the next question is, how am *I* like or unlike the way I play in those pick-up games?

Last night our son was doing something fairly innocuous- bumping into me when we were unloading the car or not doing something in the order I asked him to do it. I can’t even recall what exactly it was, but I remember feeling annoyed with him and however I responded landed on him with a hurtful look, “Like, geesh, Dad, whatever I did wasn’t that huge for you to be so disappointed in me.”

I could blame it on being extra tired, because his younger brother had woken me before 5:00am that morning. I could blame it on being cold or hungry. But I just shouldn’t blame it on anything, and just not be so harsh on him.

He is a good kid. He has a huge heart. He looks out for his classmates and his peers. He’s respectful, polite, and thoughtful. His teachers tell me that he is well-liked and admired.

I don’t want him to be perfect and I know he’s going to make plenty of mistakes. I just get annoyed when he is impulsive, unaware of his body, or he doesn’t think of the consequences of his actions.

As a third grade teacher, I spend my days with eight and nine-year olds. Maybe I’m just tired of my students not always doing the things I ask them to do, and I take it out on our son, thinking that he needs to make up for others ignoring my repeated directions, other’s impulsivity, or other’s seemingly unsympathetic behaviors. I probably just need to give our son a break. Like I said, he’s a good kid. He can be impulsive or unaware at times, but so it goes for kids his age.

Last night the University of Virginia Men’s Basketball team beat Syracuse. It was a tight game with Syracuse leading at the half by two points. The game was a one-point affair with about fifteen minutes remaining. Eventually the Hoos (as they’re affectionately called around here) ran away from the Orange, put in their bench players, and won by 26 points.

I’ve been following this team closely for roughly the past dozen years. The program that the head coach, Tony Bennett, has created and maintained astonishes me each year. Of course the winning makes them an easy program to root for, however, beyond that, the UVA players seem to be quality young men being led by a quality man. Whenever my family or I have seen them around town, both players and coaches graciously talk with fans, willingly take pictures, and politely accommodate any fans requests. On the court, they exemplify team play by showing how the sum is greater than the individual parts. They play team defense helping when a teammate gets beat. They move the ball around on offense, pass up on good shots to take better shots, and set up their teammates with screens and movement. They fight together. They win together. They lose together.

I dream that the “teams” in my life persevere together similarly- my family team, my work team, my friend team.

This morning I spent half the day with our son’s pre-K class. I read at least four picture books, well three picture books and part of a Kate DiCamillo Mercy Watson book, which has a number of detailed pictures. I found myself asking those four and five-year olds what they thought the characters were feeling, what they thought the characters were thinking by looking at the illustrations (especially the characters’ faces) and hearing the words I read. They were fairly astute and accurate with their predictions and observations: He looks frustrated. She looks really, really happy. They look frightened.

As a young man I think I went about life hearing people’s words and taking them at face value. I didn’t look people too closely in the eyes when we spoke. I thought I was a good listener because I paid attention to the words people said to me.

I met my wife twenty years ago, and almost immediately fell in love with her gorgeous eyes. I soon realized that they were not only beautiful because they were sparkling blueish-greenish, but when she looked at me or a relative or friend, she really studied how we said something and what we were revealing non-verbally. Nowadays, with how she listens she even gets me or my kids to understand more of what we ourselves are really saying.

I still don’t love to do it- listen as intently as she does, because it requires so much more and probably means that I will invest more time and energy into that conversation. But wow, what a difference when I do listen more fully aware of everything being said and how the person is saying it. It’s more authentic. It’s more empathetic. It provides more understanding. It’s work. It’s more of the true human experience. It’s more loving.

Since starting this Challenge, I find myself trying to do the things I tell my students to do- to live the writer life. I try and observe the world a bit more closely. I text myself little ideas to maybe write about later. I make up stories about strangers I’m eavesdropping on. I try and notice the small, subtle movements of my friend as he tells me about the stresses and joys of raising a ballet prodigy. I go to sleep wondering what I’m going to write about. I wake up thinking of an idea to write about.

I’m doing these little things, but I still feel far from a writer. I can share thoughtful snippets of ideas. I can relate and connect two seemingly disparate things. But in my writing, I don’t feel like I’m fully communicating or clearly communicating all my thoughts. Or I’m using really basic sentence structure or repeating words or simple words.

I guess this is me stretching those writing muscles. It’s been a minute (as the kids say) since I was in college and writing regularly. Since college, I’ve written intermittently for school things- my own personal narratives to show students I write (poser!), answers for school publication interviews, a short story here and there, etc. So this exercise is stretching muscles I rarely use. I’m hoping they haven’t completely atrophied. I’m hoping they loosen and allow me to move more smoothly, with less aches and pains, in this exercise of writing. I’m hoping I discover some muscles that I didn’t know were there.

Onward.