Dear Second-Year Teacher,

Hey there, you, behind your desk toppling over with seven distinct piles of paperwork.  You, who has locked your keys inside your classroom twice this week. You, who considers it a moral victory if you've managed to remember to wear earrings twice in the same month.  Oh sure, advice-a-plenty was available to you last year when you were just starting out, but now that you have four semesters under your belt, that well has run dry; indeed, you feel waist-deep in the day-to-day mire that is/was your second year of teaching.

Your YEAR ONE reality

Last year, when you were hired, you were prepared to take on the (academic) world.  You zoomed through your first year on a concoction of caffeine, adrenaline, hot glue, hand sanitizer, bravado, copier toner and pure fear.

You read Harry Wong!  Your were ready: You learned every kid's name within a week because you came prepared with the get-to-know-yous.  Most of your students loved your class and quickly forgave any minor faux pas, such as forgetting to pass out picture forms on the right day, because you were just so darned nice and genuinely happy to see them everyday.  Yes, you had the stinkers, but you grew to love them for what you learned from them.

What no one tells you: You will always remember this group for what they taught you; after all, they trained you.  You will keep track of them, and measure your years in teaching by where those kids are now.  Remember the teacher you were with them--mistakes and all--for you will want to connect with her or him later.

You were just thrilled to have a job! First year teachers are being enticed with decent salaries for first year professionals.  You're income might have actually doubled (or even tripled) from your previous hourly-wage position.  Even if you've transitioned into teaching from another professional career, it's not difficult to find a district that pays relatively well.  Yes, you spent a small fortune to set up your classroom to make it welcoming and attractive, yet functional, but it was money well-spent.

You were likely given a mentor, who graciously showed you the lay of the land and earnestly answered your most absurd questions.  He proactively answered questions you didn't even know to ask, like how to deal with the negativity you would undoubtedly encounter in the teacher's lounge or faculty meetings.  You spent a lot of time in her room, rehashing your mistakes, venting about frustrations, and probably eating chocolate.

You were hopefully put onto a team which welcomed you as the "newb" into their fold.  They gently eased you into the fray of day-to-day teaching with a decent side of "administratrivia" [Isn't that an awesome word I heard in grad school?!]  You helped plan lessons; you remember excitement, as well as the trepidation,  the first they let you create something "on your own".  You really grew that year!

Administrators were kind and accommodating: guiding you in your classroom management, enveloping you in a cloud of praise with just a bit of practical criticism sprinkled throughout. They help you to field the parent phone calls and conferences. In data meetings, you were able to throw in your two-cents, but no one expected you to have all the answers.  You listened far more than you spoke, still poised to learn.

Then just like that, it was over.  WOW! You plan your time in professional development over the summer with your friends, taking time to reflect on your first year so you can improve your craft for the new bunch.  Yes, it's a blur, but a big, colorful, emotional, let's-do-it-again blur.

Now maybe you didn't have all of that above or at least to that degree, but hopefully, you had some of it or you may not still be here to read about Year Two.  

Your YEAR TWO reality

Boy, summer doesn't last nearly as long as it did when you were in college!  You spent a huge chunk of that time in mandatory professional development classes or maybe preparing for your final certification test.  You got to spend another few days planning with your team.  The data came in, some changes need to be made, and you are expected to implement that professional development you received before you start teaching again in August.  

You've also spent a huge amount of time and money preparing for your classroom.  There's a good chance, if you're a content teacher, that they've moved you to another room, another team, or both. You reevaluated your needs and see that a lot of cutesy stuff you bought last summer was either destroyed or unnecessary.  You invest in a lot of sturdy, ugly, plastic storage, bulk file folders, and more pencils that the world should ever need.  Don't forget to buy that pricey electric pencil sharpener that won't break after two weeks!  Make a mental note to put Expo markers on your Christmas List because you are Ramen Noodle broke.  

Yea, you got a $100 raise after your first year.  No, not per check, per year. 

Hopefully, you weren't shipped off to another school because you were the last-in, first-out.  But perhaps they really did move you to another team.  Or you stayed, but half your team left.  Or now you have to teach a split of something you've never taught before. No matter what, change is inevitable, and you feel like the mom in The Incredibles with your new-found flexibility. 

Your week before school starts is filled with nothing but meetings, and deja vu kicks in because this is starting to sound very familiar.  Except what is brand new, and expected to be implemented by Day 3. Your mind wanders because really need to work in your room or with your new team.  There is no time, so you stay late that entire week and come in on Saturday, sweating buckets because the air is turned off at 2:30.  The Sunday before school starts brings panic and dread because a simple truth has emerged into your consciousness: I am not ready!

The first few weeks of school your anxiety subsides.  Your classroom management is vastly improved, so class is running smoothly and you're building those relationships.  However, this class doesn't seem to "love" you quite as much as last year's, probably because you're better at your job! You diligently follow the discipline guidelines, spending a precious thirty minutes writing out a three-step referral for serious and persistent disruptive behavior and vulgarity, making multiple parent contacts, only to be told by the administrator that the consequence was a "verbal warning".  The honeymoon is over, in every possible way.  

You've seen behind the curtain, so you find that you have legitimate opinions and concerns that you feel compelled to voice.  This can be intimidating in planning meetings. To some jaded veteran teachers, you are still too new to offer anything of value. Alternatively, you may have some that just want to do what's easiest or what's been done before, whether it worked or not.  Perhaps scariest of all, you may be the new leader of your team, so the burden falls on you even though you feel like you are still just learning.  

Oh, and by the way, you're needed as a sponsor/coach/chairperson to one of 100 extracurricular activities.

Time is your least abundant resource. You may feel compelled to re-create everything if you want your students to have the most engaging and appropriate lessons.  You are grading as fast as you can, but you can never catch up, at home or at school.  Meanwhile, you notice those who have plenty of time to play social butterfly and skate out the door early, without taking anything home, and simply wonder "How?"

Your valuable conference and after school time is spent in so many meetings: data meetings, committee meetings, testing meetings planning meetings, department meetings, faculty meetings, professional development, share sessions, ARDs, 504s, parent/teacher conferences or even celebrations. 

You realize that even though you still stumble through the acronyms, you are now expected to be able to explain, and sometimes defend, your instruction in multiple arenas.  Sometimes to people who have never stepped foot in your classroom.  

In other words, you're in survival mode. Receive it.  Accept it.  That adrenaline is long-gone. In an effort to do it all, you've cut corners on your own life:  your own self-care, your relationships, your own family.  You've neglected yourself to the point of being unrecognizable.  You finally let yourself admit that you're not sure if you're up to the challenge.  You don't know if teaching is for you. 

Post-Survival Mode

I'm not here to judge you.  I've been there.  Many of us have been there.  I have to tell you, if this is how you're feeling, then this is good news.  It means that you care!  It means that haven't folded yet!  It means that you've gone through the lowest valley and that it's only going up from here.  

That doesn't mean that there won't be setbacks in the future.  There will be many!  There will be tragedies, absurdities, and poor leadership.   However, there will also be celebrations, breakthroughs, and awe-inspiring leadership if you allow yourself to get back on the roller coaster.  I assure you, if you let it, the day-to-day uncertainty, drudgery and self-doubt will subside.  The next step after survival?  We like to call that "mastery".  

Your classroom management will strike a balance of relationship, engagement, and discipline.  

Your grading and assessment will become more streamlined so that you can spend time on what matters most.  

You will learn to say "No."  Without guilt. Without waffling. Without fear.  You cannot do it all.  

You will learn to navigate professional interactions in order to put students' needs first while maintaining best practices.

You will never stop growing in your craft so you can pursue an advanced degree in the area that fuels your passion.  

Your love for teaching and work ethic will enable you to find ways to supplement your income in order to make teaching a long-term career option if you feel like you always want to stay in the classroom.     

You will be the mentor that knows the answers to questions that weren't even asked. 

You will become a leader who can affect change. You will find your voice.  You will find your path.  

My Personal Advice to You

Don't make any decisions about the future in April or May.  Everyone is stressed out in these months whether you teach a tested subject or not.  Make judgments about your campus/your district/your future when everyone is much more rational.  If teaching really isn't for you, it's also not for you in the summer or fall or the two weeks of Christmas break.

Guard your heart against the negativity. There is nothing wrong with having a conversation about what's going wrong, who's doing what, what you'd do differently, etc.  However, that should not dominate your professional conversations.  Visit that island, but don't move there.  Your time is too valuable to wallow in the negative.  The sooner you make like Elsa, the happier you'll be.  

Manage your expectations of yourself. Many people have said, "Be the person you needed when you were younger."  While I think this is a fantastically honorable sentiment, you can't be everything to anyone.  Be the best at what you can be, and help others do the same.  Let go of the idea that you are someone else's savior.  

Most importantly, surround yourself with great people who know more than you.  I've learned a lot from books, but that's nothing compared to what I've learned from other practitioners.  They may be at your school, but look beyond that.  Look to leaders in your district both in and out of the classroom.  Connect on Twitter. You'll be shocked who tweets you back. (resisting the urge to name drop, here).  Staying connected can keep you sane and motivated.  

Keep up the good work, Second-Year Teach.  Hope to see you in the fall!

SSI Intervention: Day 1

It started a little rough 

I couldn't sleep last night thinking of how today would go.  Would they show up?  Would they participate? Would they rebel?

Then of course when it was time to drag my sorry butt out of bed, I was slow, which imperiled my plan to leave early.  I heard some rodent scratching underneath my kitchen cabinets, so I kicked the cabinet willing it to stop.  It didn't.  

Then when I slid into my driver's seat exactly one minute ahead of schedule, I felt the unpleasant damp sensation through my pants which alerted me to the fact that we had left my sunroof open overnight when a rain shower rolled through.  My son likes to stand on the console through the sunroof in order to survey his dominion. This was the first time we forgot to shut it, and the evidence was all over the back of my clothes.  I ran back inside, grabbed a Tinkerbell beach towel, hoping it would absorb most of the moisture.  It didn't.  

I get to school and I've left my lunch on the kitchen table and my coffee in the fridge. Oh, and of course, several colleagues walk in with me, so I feel compelled to tell them the sunroof story. Awkward? Why yes, it was. (Silver lining: Admin fed us today! Yeah, Funyuns!) 

I get to class, and I've forgotten to print some graphic organizers for my partner teacher in case the copies didn't make it in time.  They didn't. She can't access the attendance in her Google Drive, so that needed to be printed, too.  And, oh crap, I just knew I had some more index cards.  I don't.  All of this before 7:25 when the bell rings and our first students start to arrive. 

So I flip the switch

Good morning! Did you have a good weekend? Oh, yes, I have ear buds you can borrow during your break. Yes, you're in my group first. Nope, you don't need a pencil unless you don't like writing with scented markers. You can sit at any table, just grab a book off the cart before you sit down.  Oh, yes, thanks. I'm doing great! I'm excited that you're here.  

Guys Write for Guys Read

The Lesson

Today's lessons were from my favorite collection of short stories to use in intervention, Guys Write for Guys Read, edited by Jon Scieszka. I love using this book because it's written exclusively by male authors, poets, illustrators, news & sports writers and editors, and all of the stories revolve around the theme of what it means to be a guy. Not surprisingly, guys slightly outnumber girls in reading intervention, but even girls love reading about the crazy things guys do.  

My lessons all have a kinesthetic element because I will lose them if they don't move around, so today's lesson involved centers.  They read; they answered individual open-ended questions on an index card and then placed their card in the box.  Then they moved to the next station at their own pace. With about 15 minutes left, I divided the students evenly among the centers where they would take on the role of teacher.  They could use their own entry or select any entry from the box to use as the basis for their answer.  They would then in turn remind the class of the answer and present their best answer to the question.  We listen; we evaluate using hand-signals, and we celebrate. Repeat until every center has been expertly taught.  

A "recipe box" center from a 7th grade rotation, pre-SSI

The efficacy

Over 15% of the students missed all or part of their intervention.  On day 1.  Some kids had missed so much of last week that they hadn't been notified yet. No one likes having to get or give that kind of information on the fly. As far as behavior problems, I'm fortunate to already have relationships with the vast majority of these kids because I could see them resisting the temptation to rebel.  

To know their personalities is to know what motivates them or what will shut them down.  I know that if C starts to complain, then I can start singing to shut him up.  I know that I can appeal to J's desire to be a leader. I know that it would be more effective for A to do three centers well than to rush through six. I know that V & G will work if they aren't together, but N works best if she has a partner like B. I was asked to arm wrestle a student more than once today.  One kid asked me if I still kept the video from two years ago of me falling in the hallway that my principal was kind enough to copy from the security footage. (I do)  And I did have to sing, "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman", but only twice. 

It would be ludicrous to only hire a temporary tutor attempt to make progress in this system because they would only be address cognitive deficits, not the socio-cultural or affective domains. I feel for kids who have to go through this process with virtual strangers.  We're teaching kids not empty vessels waiting to be filled with the right knowledge. '

I'm glad these kids don't view me as a stranger.  This might be my best Day 1 yet.  

Personal Note:  When I drove home on my still-damp seat and made my son cry because he will no longer be surveying his dominion from the sunroof, I did find a lovely surprise in my mailbox: I have been selected to receive an academic scholarship to help pay what I lack in my masters courses.  Two-thirds done! Hooray!

What does SSI stand for, anyway?

April, sweet, April.  

While most teachers are breathing a collective sigh of sweet relief that testing is finally over, I'm gearing up for another intense round of S.S.I., or Student Success Initiative to the uninitiated.  It really is my favorite time of year but also the toughest.  

In Texas, 8th graders must pass the STAAR Reading test to be eligible to move on to high school.  In most years, they must also pass the math, but thanks to some shifty-shifts in the state standards, math is off the hook this year.  My friends A & R are very happy about this stroke of luck.  So am I, come to think about it, since I don't have to try to remediate around math's intervention schedule. (IOW, we can do what's best, not just what's most convenient.)  It also means that student who failed both tests won't have to spend literally their entire test day in intervention.  You can imagine what that does for morale.  

Phase 1:

Of course the first step of SSI is notification. Our student notification process is admittedly a bit complicated, involving a holding room, grade level teachers, an inclusion teacher, two intervention specialists, and the counselor, not to mention the APs who were calling parents.  We explain their results, tell them what to expect for the immediate future, let them ask questions, & hand them a summer school application.  That's right: if they are unsuccessful a second time, then they are heading to summer school.  We're not worrying about that yet.  They are assigned a small intervention group and told they won't be in a few of their classes for the next two weeks.   

The Demographics:

A few of them thought they were in some sort of trouble receiving a discipline action. Several are no strangers to the principal's office for tardies, absenteeism, disrespectful behavior or classroom disruptions.  Ultimately, they were happy to be out of class and caused a ruckus in the holding room.  A few kids in this group come from unspeakable circumstances, so the results of this test rank right up there with the ozone layer in terms of the "I couldn't care less" radar.  Others have no parental support, no bedtime, no one telling them to go to school, no one making sure they take their meds.  No one to be disappointed. 

A few were crestfallen even emotional.  Too sad to even talk. They knew they struggled, but they'd hoped that just maybe they had eeked out a passing grade.  Now their hopes for the summer and beyond were put on hold.  Some kids in this group have parents who expect great things for them, who make plans for vacations that may now have to be postponed, who have best friends who are "gifted and talented" and receive academic awards.  They feel as though they have disappointed everyone.

The largest group of them knew why they were there.  They'd had been in an intervention class for years. We weren't telling them anything they didn't already know. They are Special Ed students who have never passed in the six years they've been taking standardized tests.  They are the immigrant students who came from tiny impoverished schools and whose time in the country could easily be calculated in months, not years, but still are expected to take and pass the exact same test.  They are the ESL-lifers who try, really try, but just can't shake the label.  They're not disappointed because this is who they've come to believe they are.  

What's next?

Bright and early Monday morning, small groups of frustrated eighth graders will trickle down to my little corner of the school and begin a regimen of intervention.  I've picked the absolutely best partner teacher whose expertise perfectly complements my own. We've been given top-notch support staff who bring both energy and experience.  I've got a principal who loves kids first and lets everything else come second. I've got administrators who trust me to do what's best for kids. They haven't saddled me with any unreasonable expectations or forced a workbook down their throats.  I've got a school full of teachers who are writing personalized letters to each student and not compounding the problem by forcing them to make up the work they're missing. I've got a team who have shared their own lessons with me on top of their regular responsibilities and who put up with a fair bit of inconvenience to accommodate this intervention, and still their response is just, "What else to you need?" Yes, I feel very lucky.  

This weekend, I'm gearing up, as I have been in my mind for weeks.  I'm bringing my A-Game: I'm busting out the smelly markers, the personalized folders, the PINK Starbursts, the music, the picture books, the literacy centers, the videos, the rolly chairs, the comfy couches, the technology, the stickers, the novel choices, the puppets and the brain breaks.  But mostly, I'm bringing the positive; I'm bringing the relationships; I'm bringing the engagement.  Maybe, we can bring back that swagger.