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Shortly after the last day of school, I spent some time in the Midwest and managed to visit friends and family, get married, then drive north and relax for a few days — all before returning to Alaska to begin teaching summer school.
Teaching summer school is enjoyable because it’s an opportunity to work with a new set of co-workers while instructing students who are often at a very different educational level. Much of it is teaching the very important skills of basic communication, social interaction, and participation. So much of what we do in life depends on our skills in these areas and committing to improve any areas of weakness.
One tool I use to develop vital communication and participation skills is music. At its most basic level, music is a medium that allows us to choose the way we’d like to respond. Some of us hum along, some dance in their chairs, and others even sing (some in tune, some out of tune). Wherever there’s a crowd of people gathered, somebody inevitably chooses to communicate through song. Individual reactions vary, usually depending on who or where you are and what type of music you appreciate. At any rate, many of my students with severe intellectual disabilities connect to and respond well to music.
Each morning our students gather for circle time, where we review the day of the week, the weather, and the daily plan. I happen to play guitar and harmonica, so we also take a few minutes to sing songs and react to the music. I notice that when I talk and play guitar, most students are much more engaged and connected to the topic of conversation — and they’re also more likely to communicate with others when prompted.
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...
~ “Wicked”
The end of the year is approaching so quickly!
I cannot believe how the past 180 days have whizzed by (nor how, at other times, they have seemed so slow). My mind is consumed with all the successes of the year and how much more I wanted to get in. I have to say, I couldn't be any prouder of my team or my students.
This week, the final AIMSweb benchmarking report came out. My little guy with selective mutism who only knew two words and was "significantly below average” at the start of the year? His scores are now average! I have never been so proud of “average” in my entire life. During the benchmarking he made numerous vocalizations in the library, with many people around, and I almost started to cry.
Every new crop of students shows me something new about myself and helps me grow. So now I sit here thinking about whether I've made as big an impact on my students this year as they've made on me. Three of my students will move on next year, and I'd like to think they'll remember their time in my room fondly. Before I would have said “no way,” but now. . . .
The teacher across the hall from me is an ED/BD veteran—she's been teaching for almost as many years as I've been alive. Recently she shared a story that made me wonder how much my students really do remember about their teachers. A few weeks ago, this colleague of mine came home to a voicemail on her answering machine asking if she was so-and-so from such-and-such school in the ‘80s. The caller said she was a former student and left her number, saying she wanted to see what had happened to her former teacher.
As the end of the school year quickly approaches, I realize that attending the CEC 2011 Convention & Expo was exactly what I needed at this stage in my career. Countless amazing, inspiring, and dedicated people were placed in my path, giving me the perspective I needed to move forward on my journey.
As I attended sessions and asked questions about the realities of co-teaching—my favorite subject, as you all know!—I was shocked to hear veteran special educators both acknowledge my professional concerns and encourage me to continue on the path. Their positive and supportive responses were just the consolation my young, passionate teacher’s heart needed.
Continue reading "Sheena: Our Passions as Our Professions" »
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