On Grief, Grieving, and Facing the Next Level of Jumanji

photo courtesy Donna Yingst Shenk

I cleaned out my classroom on Wednesday. It was the first time I'd been in there since March 13, with the exception of two 20 minute "grab and go" opportunities during Virtual Learning this spring. It was weird to be there, and the experience was emotional. I packed away several boxes of books, including class sets of "On Grief and Grieving" by Elizabeth Kugler-Ross. Now I'm wishing I'd brought one copy home to re-read.

The year is over, and we didn't get to say goodbye. 

After dinner, I took my llama-like chair down the street to watch the 2020 version of The Senior Parade.  It was a little comforting, and a lot bittersweet, to see the eight minute parade led by our SRO, Scott Ney, and firetrucks from all three municipalities, followed by car after car filled with seniors celebrating the previous night's "Virtual Graduation."  Many wore caps and gowns, some had signs, some threw candy.  It was a giant rush -- that same rush I get when I have a truly wonderful day of meaningful discussions in my classroom with my students.  It made me grieve the loss of the "real" school year all the more.

I've previously mentioned the TDO, the Talent Development Opportunity, project that is part of my Themes in Lit course.  A week after school closed, I received an assigned reflection from one student which included a sentence that said:

 "I really hope we go back, because I don’t 

 want that random Friday to be my 

last day of high school ever."

photo courtesy Donna Yingst Shenk

Those words have haunted me since Taylor wrote them in March, and they make me incredibly sad.  All of the "what might have beens" are still tumbling through my awake mind, and my dreams, and I'm forty years older than the kids who are making history by living through their high school years during a pandemic.  I should be able to handle this better than they are -- yet, somehow, they're demonstrating strength in accepting change much more readily than many of us.

Thursday morning, I awoke to seeing the Tribe perform the ritual senior circle and tossing of caps in a field at a neighborhood church after the parade.  I was crying, before I even got out of bed - for the loss I felt for this year, for the safety of the non-social-distanced circle, and the downright glory I felt for the sense of normalcy that existed for that brief moment in the twilight hours of June 3, allowing the class of 2020 to gather together and celebrate because a wonderful group of community members made it possible by collaborating on social media.

Everything is not normal, and random is the only word we can all claim at this point.  Somehow, with the support of a wonderful community, the class of 2020 picked up the pieces and satisfied the challenge Dr. Lausch had offered to all of us this year at Donegal:  

Every Name, Every Need, ONE TRIBE.

It remains our duty as educators to identify the struggling, figure out what they need, and continue to bless and nurture every member of the Donegal community.  Amazing things have happened, and will continue to happen, because of the parents, teachers, friends, and surrounding neighbors who love and support our graduates and graduates-to-be.  It's easy to say that we'll come together, one way or another, in the fall to welcome the next class of seniors, and we'll improve upon what we've learned and make better use of technology or ramp up the quality of our lessons, all while focusing on Every Name, Every Need.  It's really hard to do that without looking back, and shedding more than a few tears for what could have or should have been.

To the class of 2020, I say congratulations on your graduation.  Please, go change the world, using the compassion, kindness, and unconditional flexibility you've learned.  We need you, now, more than ever, to constantly remind us of our need for flexibility and imagination to solve whatever obstacle we encounter.    

To the teachers and parents, it's officially summer, after a few more professional development days.  Restoration and renewal will be replaced by getting ready for the next level of Jumanji 2020.  

Closing Time...

A month ago, I started a blog entry.  It struggled to figure out where it was going, so it's been sitting in DRAFT mode since then.  For perspective, I offer you the beginning of that entry.

Friday in any high school usually has a sense of both exhaustion and optimism radiating throughout the hallways.  This week was particularly long -- maybe it was the full moon, the impending pandemic, or the fact that (unlucky?) 13 was falling on Friday.  Additional exhaustion for a large portion of the student body this week could be credited to the final week of preparation for Seussical, the Musical!, which was scheduled to open to packed audiences that night.

The only way to describe  the vibe accurately was that underlying feeling that you know that a blizzard is coming, and that the teacher-gut is whispering "Pack your bags, we won't be here on Monday."

By 2 pm, we had received an email from the superintendent that we were closing for a week.

By 2:50, the closing doubled to two weeks, by order of the governor.

By 3:30, we were warned to take home plants and animals, as there are plans for heavy-duty substances that will be sprayed to disinfect our classrooms.

I've watched a lot of coverage, and talked to people across the state who are educators.  While cable news casually mentions "moving to online learning," the realities for that are much more complicated.  Administrators across the country are scrambling to figure out what to do, and how to do it with fidelity.  Teachers are hoping that the accountability tests like PSSAs and Keystones, that usually disrupt the schedule for more than two weeks in April will be suspended this year, and allow an opportunity for face to face instruction once again.  Parents are trying to figure out childcare, entertainment at home, and, in many homes, how to feed hungry and bored kids on a fixed, or significantly reduced income.

The sense of unknown is the most unsettling.

The first few days seemed a bit like a really big snowstorm.  No reason to go anywhere, and pajamas all day long.  By Thursday of the first week, I found myself having panic attacks that woke me up in the middle of the night.  I'd go out in the driveway and stare at the stars, looking for reassurance that the world was not, as I had dreamed, closing in on me at warp speed.  The sense of unknown was now unsettling my usual Fitbit Sleep Score that hovers in the mid 80s.

Within the first week, a friend reached out and asked if I could make masks for the local nursing homes, so they could donate their supplies of PPE to the frontline hospital workers.  I obliged, until I ran out of elastic, which coincided with the startup of school and my new job as a virtual learning instructor.  

Meanwhile, my octogenarian mother had organized a virtual army network of mask-makers, who

have, I can only assume, been purchasing elastic on the black market.  (Last count was over 750 masks made and distributed.)

Teaching online is absolutely nothing like teaching in a brick and mortar classroom.  I'm not sure that society understands that the current models of delivery for most districts are being designed minute-by-minute, with the warp speed feeling from my dreams that first week.  What I've come to realize, is how both modes of instruction foster relationships between teachers and students, and while I'm struggling to feel like this current content looks anything at all like the last time I taught it, I'm finding surprises in what I originally perceived as adversity.  

Several students who I felt incredibly disconnected to in the normal classroom, are sharing and engaging with me, and asking me questions that cause me to think critically, and then push out new ideas to classmates.  One such experience was a student who shared a quote from literature, trying to explain how the pandemic felt to him.  I posted the question to my classes, and got more than 30 contributions quoting everyone from Voltaire to Nicholas Sparks, which also served as a great way to check in on the students who posted particularly depressing quotes.  

Where am I going with this rambling?  Well, two things.  First, it is obvious to me that like my mother, I need to keep engaged and busy.  This is helping me to continue to push off that retirement  date that I am asked about on a weekly basis.  The second thing resonates with my Key Club members who are at home making cards for veterans, working on one of our ongoing projects, that I/we need a sense of purpose to get through each day.

And my eighty-three year old mother?  Well, she continues to manage the sweatshops of a network of seamstresses, sharing elastic in a no contact dropbox on her front porch, distributing them as quickly as they are collected.  Last evening, she spoke with enthusiasm about her involvement, and commented, 

"I haven't felt this giddy since I was hit by a truck!"

For a full explanation of the adversity she faced in December, 2014, click the link.  And, much like our current situation, read the good that came out of her experience, when she bought the farm.

Flexibility, Understanding, and Patience.  The mantra for teachers shared by our administrative team.

Truly, CLOSING of school has become an OPENING of my mind in what is truly important when connecting with students.  They'll learn something during this time, and what they do learn, will be a life lesson to share for generations to come, and adults will have a new perspective, and, with any luck, a new sense of purpose to share.

It's About Time!

Almost five years ago, I told the tale of Alex, who had attended a SEE (Secondary Enrichment Experience) Seminar entitled "The Art of Swiss Watchmaking."  At the time, the idea that high school students would be interested in an entire day watching people make watches seemed pretty unlikely to me, yet Alex, being Alex, jumped at the chance.  He went on to receive a full ride to Franklin and Marshall College, yet the gnawing memory of that day at the Lititz Watch Technicum continued to haunt him.     

Alex walked away from Franklin and Marshall, and into the very selective and rigorous program at the Lititz Technicum, learning the secrets of  fine watchmaking, taught by the experts at Rolex.  Two weeks ago, he sat for what I can only assume was the most rigorous test of perfectionism, proving his steady hand and keen eye, and whatever other skills are key to the success of a watchmaker.  That afternoon, he sent me a message, inviting me to his graduation ceremony.  My response, "I WOULDN'T MISS IT FOR THE WORLD!"

So today, I had the privilege and honor of watching this very wonderful young man start the next phase of his life -- as a Rolex Watchmaker.  In his speech at the graduation ceremony today, Eric Grippo, the Manager of Rolex World Service, GENEVA, spoke about the passion of the seven graduates of the program.  I've known Alex since third grade, and he's been passionate about many things.  Mr. Grippo suggested that his father's goal for him had been that he find a career where he was so passionate about what he did that he would never feel like he was working a day in his life.  He enthusiastically welcomed Alex, and his classmates by saying "Welcome, to the first day of not working, beginning tomorrow!" 

Alex, and his gorgeous Betsy.

The best part about this day was seeing the genuine love of life this young man has.  His family travelled from far and wide to be in attendance, and every single one of us was hugged, and kissed, and appreciated by the reason we were all there.

So yes, there's never enough time in teaching -- or many careers for that matter.  For Alex, the rest of his career is all about time.  

And it is days like today that make me so very grateful that I have a career that, despite a 20 year pin on my lapel, is actually one that has me feeling like I haven't worked a single day.  Mr. Grippo's speech solidified the very thought in my heart that I feel every time someone stops me and asks me "How many more years do YOU have?", implying retirement is overdue for me.  Somehow I've blinked, and five years have passed.

Oh, and reminiscent of Alex's first day at the Technicum five years ago, he's sporting a new watch on his wrist.  (No word on whether it glows in the dark, although I suspect it does!)  

Clearly, those dimples are evidence of his passion, pride, and complete joy that comes with this achievement.

My prayer is that all of my students can find their dimples -- whether or not a Rolex is part of the package.  Because the joy of watching this kind of happily ever after is reinforcing the heart of this not-ready-to-retire teacher.

Thanks, Alex, for the invitation, and for reminding me what I've known all along.  Magical things happen when gifted kids discover their passions.

Is Ketchup a Jelly or a Jam?

Today, the students in my two afternoon classes asked 3700 questions, almost simultaneously.  

While this may seem a tad confusing, and a lot deafening, it might help to clarify that they were writing the questions in their Whitebooks, and not actually shouting -- or even whispering -- them aloud.  I spent the time giving the class some space, and then quietly circulated and chatted with some individually.

"Is ketchup a jelly or a jam?"

Honestly, not a question I had ever considered, and almost dismissed the thought, until the questioner chatted a bit about the confusion the world has over whether tomatoes are fruits or vegetables.

Now the goal of this exercise is to randomly write, freeing your mind, and generate 100 questions.  In past years, we encouraged this by creating dice with WHO-WHAT-WHEN-WHERE-WHY-HOW, helping to keep the questions flowing.  That proved to be more of a distraction -- especially when 20 kids were simultaneously tossing wooden dice on a table.  Not exactly conducive to free-thinking creativity.

I encourage you to try this activity for yourself.  Ask 100 questions, but think about none of them.  Just write them down in a list, all in one sitting.  (If you want to play along, STOP reading this blog now, and go do it. ) 

This semester's topic in Themes in Literature is "Think Like da Vinci," and loosely based on Michael Gelb's book by the same name.  The first exploration is a focus on "Curiosita," (with an accent over the "a" that I have no idea how to insert in this platform), or a study of how curious one might be.  The most difficult part of teaching this class -- and there really is very little that is difficult once the "teacher of the gifted" succumbs to the idea that he/she will NEVER be the smartest person in the classroom, so "sit back and enjoy the ride...", is wanting to chat and explore fascinating scenarios about condiments, and the like.  

I am proud to say that NO ONE in my class was entertained by my knowledge of the difference between jelly and jam today.  (You, however, may not be as fortunate.  One has chunks of fruit, while the other is strained before canning.)  I simply moved on to the next student, leaving the questions on fruits vs. vegetables percolating in the head of the questioner.

For those of you playing along:  Choose eight colored markers, and sort your 100 questions through the following lenses:

Environmental

Ethical

Community/Social

Artistic/Philosophical

Scientific

Political/Historical

Economic

Futuristic

What causes you to think the hardest?  Are you a philosopher or a sociologist?  A scientist or a politician?  Just like da Vinci, these kids are all over the map, subconsciously, and consciously, asking questions through nearly every lens.  Next week, we'll examine the areas of fascination, and collectively consider, just like da Vinci, a little bit more about how we think.  The Environmentalists will go head to head with the Economists.  The Futuristic folks may just clash with the Historians.

While I can definitively defend my position that ketchup is neither a jam or a jelly, there is little else that is that black and white in Themes in Lit.

And that's exactly the way it should be.  Every day should leave them wondering, asking questions, and wondering why everything that they knew is no longer black or white, but actually a confusing gray -- scratching their grey matter for a greater quest, and another da Vinci exploration day.

Was Day ONE fun?

I grew up in a time where family dinner was a ritual.  Nothing pleased my father more than the beginning of the school year, and quizzing me, and my younger sister, in rhyme.

"Was day one FUN?"

It's been nearly two decades since my father passed away, and I still hear his voice. 

Especially during the first week of school.

Today was no exception. 

And while today was ANOTHER first day, it was different.  Amazingly different.  This school year has been bathed in positivity and encouragement.  The message is clear and simple, and resonates from many corners, creating a ripple of enthusiasm and peace that I didn't know I needed, until it happened.  It's deliberate.  It's intentional.  And, for me, it's working.

A year ago, I cried every single day for two weeks.  It was an emotional start, and I struggled to figure out how to make things better. I can't even really explain why last year was so tough -- and I've stopped trying to figure it out.  This year, I'll be as attached to this senior class as I was to last year's.  I'll threaten them to stop telling me countdown events like "This is my last..... first day, math class, concert.... fill in the blank.  Because every new beginning is another new beginning's end.  I'll laugh with them, and do my best to teach them to raise the bar on their lives, to challenge themselves, and take risks.  I'll force them to collaborate, even when they don't think that they can ever function in a collaborative group.  We'll think critically and creatively, and we'll connect things, and people, in ways never considered before.

Today, the last words at our all-school assembly were,

"Don't count the days, make the days count."  

I didn't cry.  I smiled.  Because I can, we will, and that's the way Donegal is rolling this year.  (If you want to join in the fun, follow us on Facebook to get a glimpse of each day!)  The day flew by, with an ever-growing To-Do list.  Tomorrow, the voice will ask, "How was day TWOS, Suz?"  My dad was less about grammar rules and more about the joke and the rhyme during the first week of school.  Sometimes the rules don't matter, when you're busy making the day count.

Oh, and, "Yes, Dad.  Day One was fun!"

First Day x 20. In Search of Lollipops

Today was my first day of work.  Never mind that my first day of work  with the district was actually in August, 1999.  My hope is that the next 189 first days of work this year are as wonderful as today.

You see, teachers have a rare opportunity to reset the clock at the beginning of every new school year.  The annual cleaning and polishing of the classrooms and hallways requires teachers to pack up their desks and clean off their surfaces before departing for the summer -- yet also allows/requires that we consider each item as we unpack and design our spaces for the new school year.  (This also allows us the luxury of unpacking our summer haul of new school supplies, which is a serious addiction for many teachers that might, some day, require a 12 Step program.)    So while every other profession has calendars that begin with a month named JANUARY, teachers have calendars that spread over two calendar years, and teachers make New Year's Resolutions in August.

Here's the thing about today's first day:  It was entirely different than any previous year.  Those who are anti-existential will argue that this is an observation that is painfully obvious, while those who are mindful and have listened to the fading of the tiny cymbal in the Mindfulness Professional Development session this summer, will know exactly where I am coming from.  After a series of very stressful starts in recent years, today was a day unlike any in recent memory.  The focus was on people instead of data. The discussion and activities encouraged wonderment, raw honesty, and reflection about our teaching.  Nothing seemed rushed, and everything seemed nurturing.

It was magical.

Right before lunch, we watched Drew Dudley's TedX talk, "Leading with Lollipops. "  (Click on the link  -- it's worth the 6 minutes!).  I instantly flashed back on my person.

Almost 25 years ago, I was shopping at Stauffer's of Kissel Hill, with a four year old in the cart.  I was pregnant with Kristin, and Scott was in school. Now Stauffer's was, and still is, a great place to wander and shop - especially at lunchtime.  There are MANY samples to be had, and if you don't leave with a full belly, along with a full cart, there were still 50 cent hotdogs to be grabbed on the way out the door.  I was doing my usual mom thing, chattering to the kid in the cart, when a total stranger touched me lightly on the arm and said, "YOU are an awesome mom! I love listening to you talk to your little boy today!  You made my day!"

I found myself today-- a quarter of a century later -- (and many times in between when I thought I was less than adequate as a parent) flashing back on what I now know was a I lollipop moment of a total stranger affirming me. I wish I had been more grateful, and less like the freak who stared at her in total amazement. I don't remember saying much more than muttering a "thank you."  

I have never had a professional development day that resulted in serious flashbacks of personal affirmation of value and worth as today's experience.  "All the feels," as my 30 something friends say on Facebook, and yes, today, that's a great definition.

It made me want to recommit to the blog.

So here I am, watching TedX talks after my first day of work.  and now some Canadian guy in a hat is my new inspiration.  On Monday, I'll be diving off sand cliffs with some guy named Mustafa. (watch the video and stop singing the Lion King in your head -- it's not a typo!) Tomorrow is Day 1 again, without the feeling of Bill Murray or Groundhog Day, driving right into year 20, still feeling like it's my very first day of school.

What do you wish?

It's 4:57 pm on the OFFICIAL last day of school.  Today I had the honor of hosting five students -- three of whom graduated on Wednesday, but can't seem to really leave our hallowed halls -- who were invited by the District Office Administration to lead three separate 45 minute Professional Development Sessions for the secondary level teachers in our district.  

Yes, we have administrators who recognize that two days of snow turned our regularly-scheduled PD days into Snow Makeup Days, and added those days to the end of the year, after the caps and gowns were donned, and textbooks were packed away were going to be particularly brutal with a traditional format for In-service Training.   These last two days were the most refreshing and enlightening teacher training experiences -- and every single teacher seemed to echo that thought as they headed into summer at the end of today.   (Don't believe me?  Search #DSDJune78).  (Other sessions included Breakout,Edu, Team Building - with water balloons???, and other experiences that engaged and excited even the most grumpy and critical PD attenders.)

Armed with a single question, and packs of Post it Notes, my team of students went in search of an answer to a single question:

What do you wish teachers knew about you?

They queried junior high and high school students in the last ten days of school.  They the answers, looked for common themes, giggled over answers like "I have six toes," and "No matter what you say, I will always be eating in class," and sobbed over "My father is an alcoholic,"  and "I try harder than it looks like I am."

My role was to sit in the room and be the responsible adult.  (Sometimes this is harder than it looks, especially for me.)

I've been on the teaching end of PD, and it's not easy.  Especially with secondary level teachers, who all have at least six other places where they wish they could be to be doing something of greater importance than the perceived required session.  The teachers were engaged.  They listened intently.  They mind-mapped.  They scrutinized the Post it Notes with great focus, synthesized their learning into great questions, and asked questions of the student panel for the remaining 30 minutes.  Each session contained administrators, both building level and district office level, in addition to the teachers, including the Superintendent in the second session. 

Three of them gave up senior exemption days, when they could have slept in to prepare for this day, and returned, two days after graduation, to present. One gave up his "last day of summer" (keeping in mind that YESTERDAY was his FIRST day of summer), because he's going to be working every single day for the rest of the summer as a Scout Leader in an overnight camp.  

They were compensated in pizza at lunch, and Rita's Water Ice on the way out the door.

I am blessed beyond measure to work with students who are not only passionate about their own learning, but care enough to give of themselves to share their passions with a bunch of teachers who would have been watching the clock and waiting for the end of the day, had they not been so engaging in their thoughts.

I came home to thank you notes from two students - one of whom was part of today's experience.  Indulge me when I share a line from each: 

"I promise to passionately pursue life and share with others selflessly every day."   

"You taught me to find a career that you love, that way work never feels like a job."

Thanks to these kids, and the teaching position I have been gifted, I have the opportunity to fulfill these goals every single day.  I am confident that the three graduates are going off to change the world -- because they've already proven to me that they have the power and strength -- and I am lured back to school in August to work with the remaining two, and many of their classmates.  Because thanks to my district and my students, I don't ever have a JOB.

Happy Rejuvenation, Happy Summer!