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Teaching = Stress with a capital S
Sometimes you may wonder why you even bother to get out of bed if it means facing that classroom once again. But you do get up and drag yourself to work and, as the day passes, you notice things happening. These are the things that make the job worthwhile. It may be something as simple as a child's excitement when the light dawns on a problem that was difficult, or it may be the special gift a student has made especially for you. You were there, you know what keeps you in the classroom. Here's your spot to shine, and share your experiences with others.Keep your stories short but true, and only send stories that haven't been copyright protected (unless you own the copyright and send written permission to post your story). Please try to omit names or other identifying information when writing your stories. If you submit something with a name, I reserve the right to change that name in order to protect children or anyone else.
While teaching my geometry class, I made the statement, "A six-sided polygon is called a hexagon, and five-sided ones are called pentagons."
"What about two sided ones?" one of the students asked.
"They don't exist." was my response.
"Of course they do!" he retorted. "And I think we should just let bi-gons be bi-gons."/Submitted by: Anonymous
Francine's fourth grade classroom looked like many others I had seen in the past. The teacher's desk was in front and faced the students.
The bulletin board featured student work. In most respects it appeared to be a typically traditional elementary classroom. Yet something seemed different that day I entered it for the first time.
As an Associate Superintendant of education, my job was to make classroom visitations and encourage implementation of a training program that focused on language arts ideas that would empower students to feel good about themselves and take charge of their lives. Francine was one of the volunteer teachers who participated in this project.
I took an empty seat in the back of the room and watched. All the students were working on a task, filling a sheet of notebook paper with thoughts and ideas. The ten-year-old student next to me was filling her page with "I Cant's." "I can't kick the soccer ball past second base." "I can't do long division with more than three numbers." "I can't get Bobby to like me."
Her page was half full and she showed no signs of letting up. She worked on with determination and persistence.
I walked down the row glancing at student's papers. Everyone was writing sentences, describing things they couldn't do. By this time the activity had engaged my curiosity, so I decided to check with the teacher to see what was going on but I noticed she too was busy writing and I felt it best not to interrupt.
"I can't get Anne's mother to come in for a teacher conference." "I can't get my daughter to put gas in the car." "I can't get Eddy to use words instead of fists."
Thwarted in my efforts to determine why students and teacher were dwelling on the negative instead of writing the more positive "I Can" statements, I returned to my seat and continued my observations. Students wrote for another ten minutes then they were then instructed to fold the papers in half and bring them to the front where they placed their "I Can't" statements into an empty shoe box. Then Francine added hers.
She put a lid on the box, tucked it under her arm and headed out the door and down the hall. Students followed the teacher while I followed the students.
Halfway down the hallway Francine entered the custodian's room, rummaged around and came out with a shovel. Then, with shovel in one hand and shoebox in the other, Francine marched the students out of the school and to the farthest corner of the playground. There they began to dig.
They were going to bury their "I Cant's"! The digging took over ten minutes because most of the fourth graders wanted a turn. The box of "I Cant's" was placed in a position at the bottom of the hole and then quickly covered with dirt. Thirty-one 10 and 11 year-olds stood around the freshly dug grave site.
At this point Francine announced, "Boys and girls, please join hands and bow your heads." They quickly formed a circle around the grave, creating a bond with their hands. They lowered their heads and waited while their teacher delivered the eulogy. "Friends, we are gathered here today to honor the memory of 'I Can't.' While he was with us here on earth, he touched the lives of everyone, some more than others. We have provided 'I Can't' with a final resting place and a headstone that contains his epitaph. His is survived by his brothers and sisters, 'I Can,' 'I Will,' and 'I'm Going to Right Away.' They are not as well known as their famous relative and are certainly not as strong and powerful yet. Maybe someday, with your help, they will make an even bigger mark on the world. May 'I Can't' rest in peace and may everyone present pick up their lives and move forward in his absence."
"Amen."
As I listened I realized that these students would never forget this day. Writing "I Cant's," burying them and hearing the eulogy. That was a major effort on the part of this teacher and she wasn't done yet. She turned the students around, marched them back into the classroom and held a wake. They celebrated the passing of "I Can't" with cookies, popcorn and fruit juices. As part of the celebration, Francine cut a large tombstone from butcher paper. She wrote the words "I Can't" at the top and put RIP in the middle. The date was added at the bottom. The paper tombstone hung in her fourth grade classroom for the remainder of the year.
On those rare occasions when a student forgot and said, "I Can't," Francine simply pointed to the RIP sign. The student then remembered that "I Can't" was dead and chose to rephrase the statement. I wasn't one of her students, she was one of mine. Yet that day I learned an enduring lesson from her as years later, I still envision that fourth grade class laying to rest, "I Can't."/Anonymous
