Reality 101: CEC's blog for new teachers

Melissa: Happy Halloween?

My husband and I finally purchased our three-year-old’s Halloween costume, which made me think back to enjoying Halloween as a child myself.

I remember celebrating Halloween in elementary school. We always had a party, ate lots of candy, and wore our costumes. The costume thing is a big deal in North Dakota because it’s almost inevitable that it will be so cold, the only thing people will see while you are out trick-or-treating is your heavy winter coat, not your brand-new Halloween get-up.

I remember bobbing for apples in fourth grade and how gross we all thought it was because somebody else’s spit might have gotten in the water. Middle school brought about the witch- and ghost-themed worksheets, as well as the more sophisticated version of dressing up, with items such as spider web earrings and monster-covered socks. Even in high school, one of the best parts of being a senior was finally getting to go to the seniors-only Halloween party. I fondly remember my costume from that year: a “holy cow.” (Yeah, my sense of humor has always been a little weird.)

Brad: Social-Emotional Temperature

One recent morning, I’m standing next to my desk, flipping through piles of permissions slips and saying hello to students coming through the door. Some have walked to school in the dark. Others have just gotten off the bus. Some have climbed out of cabs or mom’s van, or have been dropped off by foster parents or other caregivers. They amble into my classroom, half-sleeping. Most say hello, drop their binders onto the table, and march out to the commons to get a breakfast that isn’t available at home.

One student sits in the chair next to my desk and rubs his eyes. He knows I’ll ask about his weekend, as I always do. It’ll be hard for him to answer—and I can see the mental gymnastics as he replies to my questions, the same ones I always ask: What did you do this weekend? How’s your dad? Are you awake?

I have a plan for the day, but I’m also willing to change it based on a student preferences or ability levels. What I don’t yet know is that the most important lesson I’ll teach today isn’t actually in the lesson plans at all.

Megan: My Response to Intervention

I love response to intervention (RtI). I do. I think anything that helps students achieve success is a good thing. I love the idea of teachers working collaboratively to better serve the needs of all students, not just the ones officially in special education.

In theory, RtI is fabulous. As I pursue a certificate in Curriculum Adaptation as part of my master’s program, I am constantly learning new, fabulous ways to keep students in the general education classroom. I am excited to talk to other teachers and share ideas; I am a big adaptation nerd.

But my response to intervention is one of confusion. I’m someone who likes clear outlines. I’ve decided I want a rubric for RtI. I want to know exactly what a great RtI team looks like and what interventions are the most successful. I want to know when I’m supposed to step in and when I’m crossing the line.

I am new to special education; I am still learning the ropes of being a teacher in a self-contained classroom. Just as I’m getting the hang of my district’s curriculum and what’s expected of me, I feel like my job is changing because of RtI.

Sheena: Acceptance

Recently I’ve been reflecting a lot about change—and recognizing the difference between the things that I can and can’t change when it comes to instruction.

As a special educator working with four different content teachers, I’ve realized that one of the most important factors of my success is the ability to accept. Each one of my fellow co-teachers has a different level of readiness when it comes to changing activities in lesson plans or deviating from pacing guide dates, and I must be accepting of this.

This week I attended a professional development workshop on how to incorporate adaptations for the differentiated instruction classroom, and I left with an almost bittersweet feeling. The presentation was amazing, but the special educators I sat next to noted the same thing that I thought all along: These instructional adaptations are only possible when the content teacher is open to that approach.

Megan: The Gift of Time

Kids spell love T-I-M-E. ~John Crudele

There are many things that require credentials. You can’t drive without a license; you can’t teach without a degree. Yet the role of parent—the most important role in a child’s life—requires no preparation at all.

People often ask me if my students with emotional disabilities are placed in my classroom because of their families. I explain that while family factors have to be ruled out when diagnosing students with emotional disabilities, families actually play a huge role in a student’s success.

This year’s students are a prime example of that. I have more kids in the custody of people other than their parents than any other year I have taught. Most of their parents/guardians are rarely home and are often frustrated, overwhelmed, and unsure how to help their students. I call home and get no response. I send home daily communication journals, same thing. I try setting up conferences and no one RSVPs. Only two sets of guardians showed up for Open House.

Brad: No, I Don’t Speak Spanish, I’m Tongan

When you take on the role of teacher to students with special needs, you’re seldom prepared for the connections and conversations you’ll have with so many families.

This is particularly true at East High School, as the students are so diverse. Looking up and down the hallway outside my classroom door, I see a sizable sample of the two thousand students at East. I’m still struck at how different they look: Asian, Pacific-Islander, Hispanic, Black, Native Alaskan, White, and multi-ethnic. All told, about 70% of our students are ethnically diverse. This creates opportunities for some amazing discoveries and unique challenges in the classroom.

This week, a student began to sing while doing the dishes (one of the daily student jobs). When asked what she was singing, she replied, “It’s a Samoan song my mother taught me.” Another student in the classroom sang us a traditional Hmong song. When a teacher assistant joked that he and one of the students might be brothers, the student shot back, “But I’m Black and you’re White!”

I’ve found that while students at East are adept at noticing differences, like all high school students, they’re also generally accepting and curious about where others are from, what languages they speak at home, and what traditions they hold.

Melissa: Work-Life Balance?

Is there such a thing as true work-life balance?

In college, I was busy with classes, homework, and my job. But as busy as I felt, I still found it pretty easy to make time for a football game or a movie. Then I graduated and got married. I was busy with my first year of teaching, in addition to figuring out how to blend “his” and “hers” into “ours” in our new little apartment. Fast-forward five more years to having a baby and starting to work on my first master’s degree. Work, baby, classes, baby . . . and baby some more.

Today I’m still a wife and mommy, teacher and student. But another role has come to the front lately: daughter.