It is hard to believe we have reached year end. And yet, here we are beginning our final week. I always laugh when those outside of education say, “Oh things must be winding down.” It is obvious they have never worked within a school. As we all know, things wind up in June, not down. They only wind down when the last student has left the building for summer.

And although most students look forward to summer vacation, there are also those who dread it. Those who worry about not getting enough food to eat, those who do not want to spend more time with their families, and those who will miss the security of the school day.

I spent considerable time with a few of those students last week. I suspect this week will be the same. And although most of us look forward to the break and all that comes with it, I pray that these students find peace and security. I can help provide food, I can provide emergency numbers and I can reassure them as best I can. And yet, I still have to see them off for the summer and hope that their days are not as bad as they dread.

Let’s make these last five days enjoyable ones for all!

 

This weekend was certainly a time to celebrate! It was father’s day, yes. But in our family we also had another reason to celebrate: one-year-post-bone-marrow-transplant for my sister-in-law! It was truly a day of joy.

The kids enjoyed running and jumping and playing with their cousins. There were games, water fights, food and cake. And the adults… the adults felt a joy deeper than words can express… A joy to spite what might have been… A joy at seeing someone determined to beat this thing… A joy acknowledging each precious day of life.

Albert Camus once wrote, “In the midst of winter, I found there was within me an invincible summer.” With my sister-in-law as inspiration, I am reminded of the power of positive thinking. Summer has arrived and the cold days of winter seem to be behind us.

Recently I reprimanded a young adult for his inappropriate language. Typically, I am fairly liberal in my acceptance of language. I was therefore somewhat surprised when I was truly offended by the language of a worker outside my home. It got me thinking…

Why am I not bothered when it comes to language in movies or the occasional curse of a family member or friend? What was different about this incident? What moved me to speak up about his cursing?

After reflecting, I believe the difference was circumstance. His language was excessive and untimely; he was representing a company; he was within earshot of several homes with no regard for who might be inside; his cursing was not a result of being upset or hurt but simply a case of showboating to his coworkers.

After I spoke up, he seemed truly apologetic. Had he not considered where he was and how he represented himself? Do we have to teach our young to be deliberate about the language they use? *#&$>! yes.

Last week the theme of ritual surfaced time and again. I attended both a retirement party and a funeral; I completed the MS walk; I also heard Father Mike talk about ritual within the church setting.

Why do we have rituals? To celebrate holidays and events. To alleviate anxiety. To cope with difficult circumstance. To grieve. To signify a rite of passage. To honour a life. To gather as family.

Whichever culture we are from, whatever religion we belong to, ritual is present. The elements of the ritual might differ, but the need for ritual remains.

As I walked the MS Walk today for the 25th time, surrounded by others affected by the disease, I felt a closeness with my father. Although he died almost 13 years ago, being part of this event is my way to honour him, to pay tribute to all he did despite the disease. I cannot bring him back, I can no longer visit him, but I can bring him to life through this yearly ritual.

Here’s to you, Dad!

We tried something new last week. Each adult in our building chose a passion. Each of our grade 1-6 students then chose to join one of those adults. The passions included street hockey, baking, film studies, robotics, guitar, yoga, Polish, photography, sculpture, watercolours, book clubs, drama and story writing.

The building was abuzz. For days leading up to the project, students were talking about where they were going, who they were going to work with and what they would be doing.

Students returned to their classrooms energized and inspired. A grade three boy who rarely speaks in class chose Polish and beamed at the end of the session. A grade two student, a new Canadian, told me he was going to golf but quickly added, “what’s golf?” Afterwards his eyes were wide as he demonstrated what he had done: the swing, the path of the ball, the distance even. The day following the project, a young student climbed off the bus clinging to the journal I had given her the day before.

We cannot measure the results of this project on standardized tests. We cannot measure the learning except through anecdotes. Was it worth the time and effort? Was it worth the coordination and logistics?

No question.

 

I sit on a swing at the top of a bank overlooking Strawberry Creek. I hear the water rushing, rolling really, through the rocks below. I pause a moment to listen and an assortment of birds speak as if on cue: chickadees fluttering above me, a woodpecker pecking furiously to impress a mate and another song unidentifiable to my untrained ear.

The sun shines but the wind is cool. The trees do not yet have their spring buds though May presses on. I hear a rustle behind me and look to see a rabbit cavorting in the bush seemingly oblivious to my presence.

A simple change of setting changes my thought process, changes my writing. How often do we give this experience to our students? Reading, writing or even creating art out of the classroom environment? Sprawled on the grass or spread throughout the playground. How might our students’ creations change when we change their setting?

 

Each day I work with small groups of students: struggling readers and English Language Learners. I absolutely love my job. Yet this week, as I worked with two young students who continue to struggle to learn letter names (sounds are nowhere in my sight lines with them yet), I had to remind myself that they are not yet capable of learning this information.

I teach and reteach. I find creative ways to reinforce the letters. I incorporate sensory matters and physical movement. We laugh and play as we learn. And still, the progress is painfully slow. Often I have to avoid the temptation of saying, “We just went over this.” or “You should know this.” Because, they don’t.

And with as much repetition and direct teaching as they are getting, I remind myself that they are not yet ready. They are trying. They want to know these arbitrary symbols that I call letters. They long to join the world of the literate.

So my journey with them continues: I dig a little deeper for more patience and increasingly creative ways of teaching the same thing, and I look forward to the day when all 26 letters are identifiable.

Who will rejoice more? The jury is out.

The Velveteen Rabbit… Harry the Dirty Dog… Go Dog. Go! These were some of my favourite books growing up. I looked forward to bedtime because of the stories I knew came with it. And yes, perhaps my love affair with words began young. But now, dear and faithful readers, I want your input. What book did you want read over and over in childhood? Which book was your favourite to flip through? Are there lines of a book you can still remember and recite?

Together let’s generate a list of beloved books! Include your kids’ current favourites if you prefer.

Last week I visited a beautiful new school. So beautiful in fact that I took pictures of the space and the furniture. And yet, after talking to two staff members from that school, I heard descriptions wildly opposed to the physical space. Toxic. Isolated. Negative.

And then I think of my own school building. From the outside, boxy and plain. Certainly nothing special. And yet, the energy in our school is positive, electric and exciting.

I know where I’d rather work! More proof that the people make the place.

 

What a week! Leadership Day, Open House, Violence Threat Assessment Training. The gamut of experiences was noticeable: some highs, some lows, some moments of joy and some reminders of the sadness in our world.

The power of language strung these experiences together. Language to connect: our students speaking to hundreds of guests about the 7 Habits. Language to inspire: our Kindergarten students hosting Open House for next years’ students. Language to deceive: troubled youth posing threats, ultimately crying out for help. Language to reveal: skilled investigators digging for truth.

I have no doubt that words have power. Are we flippant with the words we choose or do we choose them carefully and deliberately?