For my 6th Graders: Advice I Offer But Still Struggle To Take

     Our 6th grade class' final literacy unit this year was speechwriting.  I knew that my speech would also be my goodbye to my students.  I won't be returning to their school next year, and I was going to share that news with them after my speech. 

 Here is the farewell that I gave.

      Well, here we are.  We have reached the end of our time together.  Every ending offers a new beginning, though, so let me be the first to congratulate you on your fresh start.

I have accumulated a lot of advice from various sources over my 47 (and a half!) years on this big blue marble called Earth.  Some of it, I’ve managed to follow, and some of it… well, I still struggle to achieve.  I, like you, am a work in progress. 

As you start on your new journey, I want to leave you with 20 of my most practical pieces of wisdom.  You will notice that none of them has anything to do with literacy.  While our lessons here in this classroom/sauna have been important, there are life lessons that take precedence.  As much as I want you to be great writers and readers, my ultimate wish for you is greater than English Language Arts.  So here goes:

1. Problems never go away.  Just because you are older doesn’t mean you are without problems.  You will have different problems, and hopefully some good coping skills to deal with them, but no one reaches a blissful state of non-problem living.  No one.
2. Embrace your imperfections.  They make you perfectly you.
3. Learn to laugh first at yourself. It shows great self-confidence, it lightens the atmosphere, and you will always be entertained.
4. Focus on the best in others. We all have faults, but choose the positive and your relationships will be more positive.
5. Learn to apologize with sincerity and to accept an apology with grace. Apologies are a big deal. No one gets through life without hurting or being hurt, so learn how to fix things to move forward.
6. Share the credit whenever you get the chance. No one does it alone. 
7. The greatest gift you can give is your attention. Put down the cell phone and look someone in the eye. We are a society that is so distracted. Look up and see...
8. Anything you put into cyberspace is there forever, with the possibility for all the world to see. Think twice before you share that photo or write that text. Lives have been ruined.
9. Anger can feel good and righteous in the moment but it will eat you alive. Buddha says it is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.
10. If you are bored, it is because you are boring. Take an active role in your life. There is so much to learn, to appreciate, to wonder. Don't blame your lack of engagement on anyone else. You have the power to choose.
11. Nobody likes excuses. Stop making them.
12. Recognize the difference between being lonely and being alone. You can be lonely in the middle of a crowd and blissfully connected when you're all by yourself.
13. Everything can change in an instant. At your lowest moments, remember that there are bright, beautiful moments on their way, sometimes sooner than you can imagine. At your highest moments, be sure to be grateful.
14. Struggle is not something negative. Struggle makes room for growth. There is no success without it.  It’s not comfortable but it’s necessary.
15. You can't always control circumstances in your life, but you alone control how you will react. The only things you are fully in control of are your emotions, so the sooner you can recognize and harness them, the better off you will be.
16. You can't make other people happy, just like no one can make you happy. Again, we all choose our emotions. Strive to choose right.
17. Discipline and structure aren't sexy in the short run, but they are the foundation for success.
18. We are all the stories we tell ourselves.  If we tell ourselves we aren’t good, we aren’t pretty, we aren’t worth loving, we start to believe our stories as truth.  Examine the stories you tell yourself, and know that you have the power to revise them.
19. Be kinder and more generous than you think is necessary, especially when you don’t want to be kind or generous.  You never know the secret struggles that someone else is experiencing. 
20. Seek out people in your life who believe in you and can see the best in you, so they can reflect it back to you when you don't believe or see it. 

            I believe in you. I see the very best in you. I really do.  I hope you felt that during our time together. I hope you forgive me for the times I fell short, and you didn’t know.  And I hope that in the future if you ever need reminding of how beautiful and amazing you are, you will reach out to me. I sincerely love each of you and have felt privileged to know you, to teach you... and to learn from you. Thank you for being a part of my life.  I am forever changed by you.  That is incredible power.  Remember the power you possess and what real love can do. 

6th graders are kryptonite

I'm only two days into the school year, and I've already cried on the subway ride home.

I'm teaching 6th grade this year.  I've never taught people quite this little before.  They're small and fragile, which was exactly why I didn't want to teach this grade.

Seventh grade has been MY grade.  Some 7th graders may still be small and fragile, but they'll fight to the death to hide it.  The #1 goal of 7th graders is to perfect the swagger, the tough bravado, the I-don't-care attitude.  Those 12- and 13-year olds act like they want nothing to do with their teachers, or any adults, and they resist the structure we establish with the last bit of strength they've got.  Every 7th grade teacher knows the phrase, "Choose the hill you want to die on," because everything is a battle.

Everything.

And that's been great, because I'm an excellent soldier.  I like the action.  I'm good in crisis mode.  I can handle high drama.

I have lived in my identity as a 7th grade teacher for most of my educational career, even when I was out of the classroom and working as a literacy coach.  In my eyes, 7th grade is no joke; 7th grade is hardcore.  If you can handle 7th graders, the neurologically insane (it's true!), you can handle anything.  So, I've basked in my story that I am a 7th grade teacher because it says
I am invincible.


Of course, I met my 6th grade classes, and everything changed.

On our second day together, I asked my 6th graders to show me what they know how to do - to show off for me - by writing the best personal narrative they know how to write.  For 45 minutes, I watched them, their heads bowed over their papers, intensely focused on the task at hand.  When I gave a five minute warning, there was an audible gasp.  Oh, the pressure!  I thanked them and smiled as I collected their stories, and told them how excited I was to spend my weekend learning all about them through their writing.

I'd planned to settle in at home on Saturday and read all their work right after my morning cup of coffee when my mind is its freshest. But my commute on the train is an hour door-to-door, and the stories seemed to call to me that Friday night.  I pulled out the folder from my backpack and began to read.

And you can't believe the stories they wrote... you can't believe the beautiful secrets, the tender hearts they held out to me.  I have known my students for two days - I don't even know all their names yet - and they are already trusting me with these beautiful, vulnerable pieces of themselves.

One student wrote:
Now I'm going to tell you who I live with and why.  Me talking about this gets me a little sad because it's not good at all.  I live with my aunt and I live with her because my mom can't take care of me.  I wish I lived with my mom because I always think about her.  I love my mom and dad so much and I miss them.

How brave he is.  How incredibly brave.

This 6th grader has gone and done it; he's gone and proven that I am, in fact, not invincible at all.  I am all exposed nerves, just like these amazing children that I am so blessed to teach.

Maybe my tough exterior is as thin as the candy coating of my 7th graders'.  Maybe I'm not all warrior after all.

Lucky me.

Letting It All Hang Out

Before investing the reflection necessary to write a blog centered around embarrassing epiphanies, I had no idea what a leading role swimsuits had played in my emotional growth.  Everyone who's ever spent 5 minutes with me has heard the most infamous of my swimsuit stories (which I will never write; it will only be passed on through oral tradition), but there are so many more.  

I have no lingering insecurity about my swimsuit body.  It's been the same my whole life: undeveloped. Mostly I just look like a younger brother who's gotten a hold of his sister's bikini top and has put it on to make a show in front of friends and relatives at a barbecue.  I don't mind this fact, other than the expense of shelling out big bucks for a top I don't need.  My swimsuit body - or lack thereof -  has given me a treasure trove of story material.  

Here's one now:
It must have been beginning of summer my 8th grade year.  Middle Pool was one of the designated places to congregate in our Iowa town.  (Pool during the day, Happy Joe's at night.) The right bathing suit was a must.  

Lisa Bregman and I went to Marshalls together and, wouldn't you know, I struck gold.  The suit was lightweight lycra, and I felt slippery like a fish in it.  It was a one-piece, light kelly green and white striped with white piping and a racing back. As you know from a previous post, puberty hadn't awarded me with a single shape to put into a suit, but I could at least look like a bonafide swimmer, and boy (excuse the pun), did I. It was fantastic.  Best part; it had been on sale for the ridiculously low price of $12.  

What's not to love about that?
(Reader alert: Be careful what you don't pay for.)

Not long after purchase, my swimsuit's debut arrived.  When Lisa and I got to Middle Pool, it was PACKED.   Everyone was there, including Wally Cale and all of his friends.  Let me pause here for a moment and explain that Wally Cale was the bad boy du jour.  Even though he had eyes, a mouth and hands for Lisa, he made other girls (read: me) swoon.  How I wished for a bad boy of my own!  I knew he had friends.  Maybe one of them would like me.  Maybe I'd attract a bad boy too and enjoy the racy excitement of something forbidden.  

Me. Maybe.

Lisa and I paid admission to swim, but Wally and his crew posed at the fence, fingers laces through the chain-link diamonds, peering in. Lisa was already "in" with Wally's group, but I was eager to make an impression.  I figured what I lacked in swimsuit filler, I made up for in athleticism. Wouldn't a bad boy appreciate an agile, athletic bad-*ss female?  Both are bad, right?  

Besides, I had a secret weapon. Over my years on swim and diving teams, I had perfected my exit from a pool.  No stairs or ladder for me, no. Two hands on the concrete side, a fast hoist up, a moment to let the water rain down on the pavement, a quick right foot plant, a graceful swoop left leg behind me, and a final, mesmerizing shake of wet hair.  It was Bo Derek meets Bo Jackson.  I was ready to impress!

And wouldn't you know, Lisa and I were in the pool and Wally called to me from the fence.  He was calling me.  I was invited.  I was chosen.  I performed my perfected pool exit and sauntered over to the chain-link boys.  The boys grinned shyly and bumbled for words. Their eyes wouldn't meet mine.  They stammered for something to say, and I felt powerful. Oh, the power of being so attractive as to render males speechless!  I had achieved my greatest goal!  I felt amazing. I smirked coyly and walked back to dive triumphantly into the pool.  Winning!

Wally kept calling to me.  Come to the fence again.  They wanted to talk.  I thought, yeah, I'll bet you do.  You got a taste of this hot stuff and now you can't get enough.  I'd never understood the power that women hold, and yet, there I was, basking in the power of sexuality, the power of my attraction.

They pleaded until I felt ignoring their request bordered on cruel.  All right, all right!  I hoisted myself out of the pool again, flipped my foot in back of me, shook my hair out and strutted over. 

Something shifted.  
This time, I heard a snicker.  This time, I watched the eyes... move downward... down the front of my body... seeing something...

I stood at the fence, fingers interlaced through the fence, and looked down.

My suit was see-through. Saran wrap would have offered more coverage than that stupid, cheap kelly green and white piece of lycra.  Until that moment, I didn't consider my body anything to look at, but then and there, there was plenty to see.  

I locked eyes with Wally's and his said, "I'm sorry, but can you really blame me?"  I felt the weight of shame as fully my own.  It felt like it was all my fault.  I did it to myself.  I let myself believe that boys would accept - yes, even like -  my tongue depressor body and my great personality.  I let myself believe that somehow that would be a catch for some teenage bad boy.  

I scampered back to the pool like a startled squirrel and dove into the water. I stayed under as long as possible in order to calm down and to cover my mortification. When I broke through the water, I faced away from them and shook out my hair the way I'd seen in the movies,  My front couldn't be sexy, but I'd work with what I had.

And that has been the story I've lived by.  Work with what you've got.