Teaching Strategy: Picking Your Battles

I've only been teaching five years. Sometimes, I say that and five years seems like such a short period of time. One of my fellow finalists for SC Teacher of the Year started teaching in 1967, so when I reflect on that, I definitely feel like I have a LONG way to go. Other times, at the end of a stressful day when I've been wading through a sea of ungraded papers and dealing with bickering back and forth between children who simply cannot settle their differences, I say, "I've been teaching five years." Then, it seems like forever.

In five years, I've been exposed to various teaching strategies. Some of them have stuck with me. I've embraced multi-genre projects, reader response journals, "learning groups," and more. I've learned that I am not a fan of the literature circle, something I'm not even sure I should admit on a blog that's written by an English teacher. Perhaps I haven't learned how to tweak it to most effectively meet my needs yet.

One strategy I have learned that has been effective in every instance I have ever used it is to pick my battles. Though probably not touted as a teaching strategy, I firmly believe that the art of battle picking should be the topic of books, professional development, and conference presentations. Learning to do this in a moment of dire stress can make the difference between a child learning and a child shutting down. Children today bring a lot of baggage with them into the classroom. Many of my students go through more in a week than I have been in through in my entire life. When I first started teaching, I didn't realize this. It was my fatal flaw. I waltzed into my classroom on Day One ready to conquer the world. I envisioned a classroom full of students who had grown up in homes just like mine, a home in which education was a priority and reading was mandatory. Some of them do, but some of them don't. Instead of my little utopia I had envisioned, I was faced with students who came from a variety of backgrounds--students who didn't have homes, who didn't have books, and who didn't have anyone showing them the value of an education. I learned that I was teaching students who didn't know if they would have dinner when they got home and who didn't know how much longer they would have electricity before the electric company finally turned off their service. I was teaching students who were mothers and fathers, students who left school and went to work from 3:30 to 11:00 p.m. Some of the students I was teaching were the caretakers in their homes, taking care of little brothers or sisters, cooking dinner, and keeping the home going. I teach students who are bullied by others, who are insecure about who they are, and who don't know how to deal with high school drama. My education courses didn't prepare me for any of that.

After "teaching" for a few short weeks, I learned that the greatest teaching strategy that existed had never been taught to me. That strategy? Pick your battles. Sure, this strategy can masquerade under a whole host of terms: "Be compassionate" or "Monitor and adjust," but I think the most accurate way to phrase it is simply to pick your battles. Students today deal with a lot. After a student has gone home to find his family has no food and no electricity, should we really be surprised that he doesn't care about learning the ten vocabulary words we insist he know? If a child is harassed by her peers day in and day out, should I be surprised that doing the assigned reading was not high on her to-do list? We have to know which battles are worth fighting. For me, those battles are always the ones that benefit my students, and if I have to choose between making sure a child is fed or making sure a child is safe and teaching him ten new words, I will feed him and do whatever I can to make sure he is okay every single time.

In education, we often get lost in our standards and our testing and our pacing guides. The truth is that we have to make sure we are continuing to see individual children. If we're not, we need to take a step back and analyze what we're doing and why we're doing it. Our students fight battles every day. Some fight battles just to get out of the house and on the bus and through the school door. They have to know we're fighting for them, too. That's a battle that's always worth it.

The Post In Which I Talk About Falling in Love with Reading

In second grade, I had a teacher who looked just like Princess Diana. Her name was Mrs. Pam Williamson, and she thought I was a pretty incredible kid. I know that's the case because she told me that a lot. She was kind and sweet and terribly funny. The cool thing about Mrs. Williamson is that she's still that way. I know this because my niece was lucky enough to have her last year. She would come home telling me about sweet things Mrs. Pam told her and dissolving into a giggle fit when she demonstrated how Mrs. Pam danced the "Cha Cha Slide" with them. And I know that Mrs. Pam loves her job. I had the pleasure of attending the Lake City Tobacco Festival to watch my niece dance this year. Mrs. Pam was there in the audience because her daughter dances with the same studio. However, when my niece was on the stage, Mrs. Pam had her phone out, grinning and taking pictures. Afterward, she gave Anna Cate the biggest hug and told her how proud she was.

Mrs. Williamson is important to me not only because she remains one of the best teachers I ever had but because she helped me fall in love with reading. I'm not just talking about picking up a book casually here and then and tolerating it; I read voraciously, devouring any book I encounter. This is primarily because of Mrs. Williamson.

When I was in second grade, she read aloud to us every single day. At that point, reading had always been important at home as I come from a family of lifelong readers. However, the way Mrs. Williamson read was different. I remember sitting in her class listening to her read Shoeshine Girl by Clyde Robert Bulla. As she read, it was almost as though I could smell the shoe polish as she described the girl polishing the shoes. I remember what we read in her class more than any class I ever took. She drew us into a world of Fleischman's The Whipping Boy. I was introduced to New York through George Shelden's The Cricket in Times Square. Even though LeVar Burton from "Reading Rainbow" tried to convince me that reading could take me places, Mrs. Pam Williamson was the first person who actually showed me that.

Last year, I read 104 books, and I know that's something that would have never happened if I had not been exposed to the enjoyment of reading in second grade. Because of her, I try to instill that same love of reading in every child I teach. I try to show them that reading can transport you to another time or place and that it can teach you empathy. This Teacher Appreciation Month, I honor and appreciate the teacher who introduced me to my favorite hobby and a whole huge world that I never knew existed. Thank you, Mrs. Pam. I've never stopped reading.

My weekend reading stack...

Dance Recital: Kickin' It Old School

Let me begin this blog by saying I am only 27. I do not feel old, nor do I feel "old school." I consider myself nearly a digital native since the internet was an important part of my middle and high school years. There are some older things I remember; Oregon Trail comes to mind, as do slap bracelets and slouch socks. I've lived through some rather precarious fashion trends, but I'm not old. Or at least I wasn't old until today.

My beautiful eight-year-old niece had her FIFTH dance recital today. How she is eight, I have no clue. Just a few weeks ago, she was tiny and learning how to lift her head! The theme of her dance recital was "Kickin' It Old School." All in all, a very cute idea, if I must say so myself. I settled into my seat and opened my program ready to see songs from the 50s, 60s, and maybe the 70s. Sadly, I was mistaken. My niece danced to "Hangin' Tough" by New Kids On the Block. When, oh when, did NKOTB become "old school"? I felt as though those who selected the music must not have been entitled to knowing the recital theme, but I was mostly okay because NKOTB was really more of my sister's thing. I feel better thinking of her being "old" than thinking that I am.

We watched the recital. The little ones are my favorite. One of them performed her own solo, dancing her own jig oblivious to what anyone else was doing. A lot of them stood there, picking lint off their costumes or twirling their hair. It was precious, really. Then I heard the first few bars of a song that took me back. Not way back--remember, I'm only 27--but a little bit back. And though I loved the song, I cringed and tried to avoid sobbing. How is "Mmm Bop" old school? When did this happen? I blame Justin Beiber and The Jonas Brothers! There is no possible way that Hanson is old. I refuse to accept it.

While her Aunt Amy was sadly dealing with a mini early-life crisis, this little cutie was "Hangin' Tough" and beaming from ear to ear.

The Post Where I Reflect on 5/1/2012

I have to capture this moment and these emotions before they leave me. Today, I got to celebrate being named South Carolina Teacher of the Year with some of the greatest kids God ever put on this earth: my students. Being named SC's Teacher of the Year was a big deal to me because it was a big deal to my kids. They were so excited when I got to school today; it's like we all won. And really, we did. When Dr. Zais called my name Tuesday night, I sat there a moment, knowing with certainty that he was kidding. In retrospect, I'm not sure what I was thinking. Surely, a formal occasion such as that would not be the appropriate time to play a practical joke, and if he was, he was a month late anyway.

When I finally realized that yes, he was talking about me, and yes, he was serious, I felt this overwhelming sense of gratitude and appreciation. Deep in my soul, I was so thankful for people who have helped me along the way. I have to give credit to my parents for raising me to be a teacher. It was the only real career goal I've ever had, and they always supported it fully.

My husband gets this. No really, he gets it. He understands why a lot of days I'm still sitting in my classroom at 6 p.m. instead of cleaning up our house. He can whip out a phenomenal bulletin board in no time, and he is a master at grading multiple choice tests. He reads books for me when I say, "Do you think the boys in my class would like this?" yet never complains even if a book is a huge let down. And more so than getting it, he appreciates it. The pride in his eyes when I tell him of me reaching a student is unmistakable.

The teachers that I've had in my own life have shaped me into the teacher I am today: Pam Williamson, Josie Stratton, Kay Sellers,Dr. Marcie Ellerbee, Dr. Meredith Love, Dr. Bill Ramsey, Dr. Jennifer Kunka, and pretty much every other professor in the English Department at Francis Marion University. I have gleaned so much from them to make up my own teaching style and philosophy, and I am forever grateful.

More so than anything else though, I had to give credit to my students. They are the ones who travel this journey with me day in and day out. They see my highs and my lows, and most of the time, they are more than willing to tell me their opinions. Ever since I walked in Room 112 five years ago, my students have captured my heart. Together, we have tried new methods and returned to old ones. We have had laughs, cries, and serious discussions. We have graduated together, celebrated together, and mourned together. All these students have left an indelible mark on my heart, but they have also made a great impression on the teacher I am. They have molded me and will continue to mold me long after this year is over. Thank you, guys, this Teacher of the Year title really belongs to all of you. You are truly the best there is.