Today I want to recommend a writer to all of you. His name is Brian Broome, and he is an up and coming writer from Pittsburgh, PA. Although I do not know Brian personally, we are from the same town, and I was turned on to his writing by a friend of mine who used to work with him waiting tables and bar-tending at Harris Grill in Pgh. He comes to mind when I think of digital writing, because I first became acquainted with his writing through his Facebook page, which he used (still uses) as a blog of sorts. He publishes long "status updates" about everything form his often odd rides on the city's public transportation, to his mom, to his day to day adventures, to his anxiety, to his recovery form addiction, to his views on race, politics, and so many current issues. He is hilarious, but also serious at times, and extremely intelligent and thought-provoking. When he goes on a Facebook break (I think he is on one right now) I miss his writing and his views. I will link his website below, which has several of his published stories available to read. If he comes back online on his Facebook page, I will link that in the comments (his profile is public and you can "follow" him. He is currently working on his first full length book deal, and is a Fellow in the creative writing Masters program at the University of Pittsburgh.
https://www.brianbroome.me/
Check him out!!
Saturday, September 28, 2019
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Equity in the Classroom
After reading a classmates blog post regarding explicitly teaching about racism in class, I was inspired to weigh in on this topic as well. A little background... I was born and raised in a (mostly white) suburb outside of Pittsburgh PA. I was raised to believe that all people matter and should be valued and loved, so because of this, I never considered myself "racist." I was all good, I didn't hate anyone. What I never realized was that, in my isolation, I never actually had to face any situations where racism would have surfaced in my daily life. I went to school with only white people. I lived in a neighborhood with only white people. Nobody in my family used racial slurs or said discriminatory or bigoted things. My grandma even claimed to be "color blind" every time she lovingly told the stories about my late grandfather and his "colored" best friend, Clarence. In my high school, I had a few black and brown classmates, but everyone seemed to get along. Again, it all seemed a-okay! I now know that this is the very definition of white privilege. The ability to go through life blissfully unaware of problems that deeply affect entire groups of people EVERY DAY.
As I got older, I slowly opened my eyes and began to become more aware. I vividly remember one afternoon, riding the city bus alone in the city for the first time. I'd used the city buses before, but always with a group of friends. This time, it was just me, and I was one of the only white people on the bus. I was probably 17 or 18 years old. I remember feeling simultaneously afraid, and guilty for feeling afraid. What was I afraid of? Nothing in particular, I just was, and I couldn't help it. I knew it didn't make sense, and I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't NOT FEEL it. I think that was the first time I began realizing that everything was not as rosy and idealistic as I once pretended it was. It was step one of trying to see outside of my isolated bubble, and question the world around me.
Fast forward: I am 44 years old now. The fear I felt that day on the bus, is gone. I moved out of my isolated suburb and lived for 20+ years in a gloriously diverse community in Rhode Island. I listened to and learned from a lot of people of color over the years, both in person and through reading and listening to voices available in the world. I was heartbroken and saddened to hear the retrospective stories of one of my former black classmates and friend, how she was spoken down to by teachers, made fun of by students, and struggled daily because she always felt like a partial outsider. All the while she never talked to us (her white friends) about it, and all while I bopped along seeing the world through my rose colored glasses. I didn't want my children to grow up as oblivious as me. I purposefully choose schools for my children that were not only diverse, but that value diversity as a founding value. And I make sure we talk openly about issues regarding racism, sexism, homophobia, ect. ect. ect. on a very regular basis. We talk about micoaggressions, problematic unconscious bias and ways of thinking, and how to deal with outright bigotry out in the world. They even call me out sometimes when I need to be enlightened or reminded. Eventually, I even explained to my (very old) grandma why being "color-blind" was not the good thing she always thought it was. To my relief, she understood, and she stopped explaining her affection for Clarence in that way.
I know I still have SO MUCH to learn and understand. I know I also still retreat into my privilege whenever it is convenient, or when I feel tired, or when it all gets too hard, or when I STILL don't know any better. I know people of color can not do this, no matter how much they may need to at times. I know there is a lot of work to be done. I will try my best to do it.
Which brings me to the topic of explicitly talking about/teaching about racism in the classroom. I taught in Providence Rhode Island for the past eight years. My student body was primarily Hispanic, mostly from the Dominican Republic, but we had Black students, Cambodian students, Arabic students, and a sprinkling of other students as well. We talked about racism in class all the time. It was a part of their lives. It was unavoidable. But we talked mostly from my students points of view, which, I'm sure benefited my growth much more than it helped them. It was important for them to feel they had a voice, and to be listened to, but I don't think it was ground-breaking in any important way. The district tried to provide representation in it's curriculum and in it's staff, but never really brought up the topic of race, or how racism might affect our district in any major way. There did not seem to be any examination of systemic racism within our organization. It was not openly talked about or evaluated. I thought about it a lot. I talked about it with colleagues. But nothing ever seemed to make an impact outside of individual classrooms. Nothing seemed to improve or change.
This year, after moving to Connecticut, I accepted a new position at Manchester High School in Manchester, Connecticut. It is very diverse, with no one group of people seeming to have a majority. This is one of the things that attracted me to the school. I felt like it was an opportunity to teach in a powerful environment, with real potential to continue to grow, and to contribute to change. The week before school started, we had professional development, and I was so relieved and excited to see "Equity" as a major theme throughout the entire week. They talked about the ways that inequity has historically been in play systemically and what needs to change. They talked about how each of us must play a part. We as a diverse staff had real and vulnerable conversations. We had guest speakers including some of the students from the school, who did not sugar coat or fear calling out the phenomenon of fragility that sometimes accompanies whiteness. We were all given the chance to speak truthfully in a safe environment, whether or not we all agreed with everything that was being said. One of the things that stuck with me the most, as voiced by a black colleague of mine, was, "I don't want an ally, I want an accomplice!" That really said it all to me. It is better to be an ally than an enemy, but it won't really make a difference in the end. It's easy. You can be an ally without really making much of a sacrifice. An accomplice requires skin in the game. An accomplice can help make change happen.
I know it made some of us uncomfortable. It was not always a feel good conversation. But the important part was that the conversation was happening, and will continue to happen. My highlight, and the part that gave me literal goosebumps, and made me so proud to have joined this community, was at convocation when we were treated to a spoken word performance piece done as a collaboration between the students in our Youth Equity Squad and several teachers. The piece challenged teachers to question their ways of thinking and their good intentions. It showed that it is okay to be vulnerable and step into new territory. It neither condemned nor condoned. It was a brave, thought-provoking piece, which I encourage all teachers to watch.
These young people give me so much hope! They inspire me and humble me. I am lucky to have the opportunity to "teach" them. We are blessed that they will be the leaders of tomorrow.
As I got older, I slowly opened my eyes and began to become more aware. I vividly remember one afternoon, riding the city bus alone in the city for the first time. I'd used the city buses before, but always with a group of friends. This time, it was just me, and I was one of the only white people on the bus. I was probably 17 or 18 years old. I remember feeling simultaneously afraid, and guilty for feeling afraid. What was I afraid of? Nothing in particular, I just was, and I couldn't help it. I knew it didn't make sense, and I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't NOT FEEL it. I think that was the first time I began realizing that everything was not as rosy and idealistic as I once pretended it was. It was step one of trying to see outside of my isolated bubble, and question the world around me.
Fast forward: I am 44 years old now. The fear I felt that day on the bus, is gone. I moved out of my isolated suburb and lived for 20+ years in a gloriously diverse community in Rhode Island. I listened to and learned from a lot of people of color over the years, both in person and through reading and listening to voices available in the world. I was heartbroken and saddened to hear the retrospective stories of one of my former black classmates and friend, how she was spoken down to by teachers, made fun of by students, and struggled daily because she always felt like a partial outsider. All the while she never talked to us (her white friends) about it, and all while I bopped along seeing the world through my rose colored glasses. I didn't want my children to grow up as oblivious as me. I purposefully choose schools for my children that were not only diverse, but that value diversity as a founding value. And I make sure we talk openly about issues regarding racism, sexism, homophobia, ect. ect. ect. on a very regular basis. We talk about micoaggressions, problematic unconscious bias and ways of thinking, and how to deal with outright bigotry out in the world. They even call me out sometimes when I need to be enlightened or reminded. Eventually, I even explained to my (very old) grandma why being "color-blind" was not the good thing she always thought it was. To my relief, she understood, and she stopped explaining her affection for Clarence in that way.
I know I still have SO MUCH to learn and understand. I know I also still retreat into my privilege whenever it is convenient, or when I feel tired, or when it all gets too hard, or when I STILL don't know any better. I know people of color can not do this, no matter how much they may need to at times. I know there is a lot of work to be done. I will try my best to do it.
Which brings me to the topic of explicitly talking about/teaching about racism in the classroom. I taught in Providence Rhode Island for the past eight years. My student body was primarily Hispanic, mostly from the Dominican Republic, but we had Black students, Cambodian students, Arabic students, and a sprinkling of other students as well. We talked about racism in class all the time. It was a part of their lives. It was unavoidable. But we talked mostly from my students points of view, which, I'm sure benefited my growth much more than it helped them. It was important for them to feel they had a voice, and to be listened to, but I don't think it was ground-breaking in any important way. The district tried to provide representation in it's curriculum and in it's staff, but never really brought up the topic of race, or how racism might affect our district in any major way. There did not seem to be any examination of systemic racism within our organization. It was not openly talked about or evaluated. I thought about it a lot. I talked about it with colleagues. But nothing ever seemed to make an impact outside of individual classrooms. Nothing seemed to improve or change.
This year, after moving to Connecticut, I accepted a new position at Manchester High School in Manchester, Connecticut. It is very diverse, with no one group of people seeming to have a majority. This is one of the things that attracted me to the school. I felt like it was an opportunity to teach in a powerful environment, with real potential to continue to grow, and to contribute to change. The week before school started, we had professional development, and I was so relieved and excited to see "Equity" as a major theme throughout the entire week. They talked about the ways that inequity has historically been in play systemically and what needs to change. They talked about how each of us must play a part. We as a diverse staff had real and vulnerable conversations. We had guest speakers including some of the students from the school, who did not sugar coat or fear calling out the phenomenon of fragility that sometimes accompanies whiteness. We were all given the chance to speak truthfully in a safe environment, whether or not we all agreed with everything that was being said. One of the things that stuck with me the most, as voiced by a black colleague of mine, was, "I don't want an ally, I want an accomplice!" That really said it all to me. It is better to be an ally than an enemy, but it won't really make a difference in the end. It's easy. You can be an ally without really making much of a sacrifice. An accomplice requires skin in the game. An accomplice can help make change happen.
I know it made some of us uncomfortable. It was not always a feel good conversation. But the important part was that the conversation was happening, and will continue to happen. My highlight, and the part that gave me literal goosebumps, and made me so proud to have joined this community, was at convocation when we were treated to a spoken word performance piece done as a collaboration between the students in our Youth Equity Squad and several teachers. The piece challenged teachers to question their ways of thinking and their good intentions. It showed that it is okay to be vulnerable and step into new territory. It neither condemned nor condoned. It was a brave, thought-provoking piece, which I encourage all teachers to watch.
These young people give me so much hope! They inspire me and humble me. I am lucky to have the opportunity to "teach" them. We are blessed that they will be the leaders of tomorrow.
"Chicken Lady"
The other night at open house, the mother of one of my students introduced herself by saying, "So you're the chicken lady? I'm a chicken lady too!" I had told my class about my chickens the first week of school while playing the common icebreaker activity "Two Truths and a Lie,' but I had never really categorized myself as a "chicken lady" before. "Yes, I guess I am," I replied.
It all started with one hen, Mrs. Cluckington.
This was never supposed to be my hobby, but I guess now I am a bonafide "chicken lady." I have nineteen hens and two roosters, and I know more about chickens than I ever imagined I would.
My husband acquired Mrs. Cluckington from a friend of his, without even asking me first! She was broody, and came complete with a nest of eggs that were expected to hatch in about 21 days. Now I am usually a mellow wife, but when my husband called me to tell me we had a hen sitting on a nest of nine eggs, and that he was about to set her up IN OUR BATHROOM to sit on her eggs for the next three week, I literally said, "If I get home and there is a chicken in my bathroom, I will turn around and leave, and I will not return until my bathroom is once again a chicken-free space!" So he set her up in the garage instead. I made it clear that this was HIS chicken, and that the forthcoming chicks would be HIS as well. Fast-forward a few weeks, and those eggs never hatched, so my husband ordered a batch of 24 day old baby chicks (all female) to be delivered the next day. Twenty-four chicks! I was not exactly pleased. It seemed like overkill if the intention was to replace the nine unhatched eggs, but when my husband sets his mind on something, it's hard to stop the trajectory of it.
Now Mrs. Cluckington was an ornery hen. The original plan was to let her raise this batch of chicks, but when he picked them up from the post office and we saw how tiny and cute and delicate they seemed, we got nervous and decided not to integrate them with Mrs. C until they were a bit older. If i'm being honest, seeing those adorable babies, I started to soften right then.
So, once we took her off of her nest and broke her of her broodiness, her true colors really started to show. We could get nowhere near her! She wouldn't go into her coop to sleep at night! She would basically sneak in to nibble her food and drink her water when we weren't looking. If we did see her in there, we would sometimes try to close the door, but she always noticed and ran out before we could! She would free range during the day, and at night, she would roost high up in one of our trees. Everything went on like that for quite awhile.
Weeks passed, the chicks were old enough to start free ranging, and everything was going well. The chicks roosted voluntarily in their coop each night, and Mrs. Cluckington continued with her rebel routine. She started to warm up to us slightly, enough to meet my husband in the driveway when he got home from work, and give him a long drawn out complaining noise until he'd go back and refresh her food and water. Then she's wait till he walked away to go in and feast. It was quite amusing, really. She still wouldn't let him touch her or get too close, but they had clearly started to bond in some odd way.
Then one day we noticed what appeared to be some sort of infection in Mrs. C's left eye. I start researching how to treat an eye infection for a chicken. People are online talking about "...gently rub erythromycin ointment in the chicken's eye three times a day" and I'm thinking "Who the heck has these cuddly chickens? And what do you do if you literally can't get within 20 feet of your 'pet?' " So I'm picturing trying to build some kind of spray gun and spraying it towards her eye from a distance! It seemed like an impossible situation. In the meantime, we were worried about the infection spreading to the chicks. We decided to try to quarantine Mrs. C while we tried to figure out what to do. It was a comical scene watching my husband try to bait her into her coop with treats, and sneak up to close her in. I think it took a good 30 minutes, but he finally managed.
Poor Mrs. C didn't make it one night. Early the next morning, a short while after my husband left for work, I heard it all go down. I woke up to a pack of coyotes yelping and squealing in my backyard. I ran out, turned on floodlights, slammed doors and made as much noise as I could! It worked. They ran off, but not soon enough. When I walked over to her coop, there were only white feathers left. I was hoping she was up in her roosting tree, but she was not. She was meant to be free, I guess, and I still feel bad that she had to meet her end that way. But she was the start of it all. Standing in the backyard in my nightgown and bare feet, having just rushed out into what I presumed to be a pack of wild coyotes without regard for my own safety, I realized they were not just my husband's chickens, they were mine too. But I figured I'd just keep that to myself for a little while longer.
It all started with one hen, Mrs. Cluckington.
This was never supposed to be my hobby, but I guess now I am a bonafide "chicken lady." I have nineteen hens and two roosters, and I know more about chickens than I ever imagined I would.
My husband acquired Mrs. Cluckington from a friend of his, without even asking me first! She was broody, and came complete with a nest of eggs that were expected to hatch in about 21 days. Now I am usually a mellow wife, but when my husband called me to tell me we had a hen sitting on a nest of nine eggs, and that he was about to set her up IN OUR BATHROOM to sit on her eggs for the next three week, I literally said, "If I get home and there is a chicken in my bathroom, I will turn around and leave, and I will not return until my bathroom is once again a chicken-free space!" So he set her up in the garage instead. I made it clear that this was HIS chicken, and that the forthcoming chicks would be HIS as well. Fast-forward a few weeks, and those eggs never hatched, so my husband ordered a batch of 24 day old baby chicks (all female) to be delivered the next day. Twenty-four chicks! I was not exactly pleased. It seemed like overkill if the intention was to replace the nine unhatched eggs, but when my husband sets his mind on something, it's hard to stop the trajectory of it.
Now Mrs. Cluckington was an ornery hen. The original plan was to let her raise this batch of chicks, but when he picked them up from the post office and we saw how tiny and cute and delicate they seemed, we got nervous and decided not to integrate them with Mrs. C until they were a bit older. If i'm being honest, seeing those adorable babies, I started to soften right then.
So, once we took her off of her nest and broke her of her broodiness, her true colors really started to show. We could get nowhere near her! She wouldn't go into her coop to sleep at night! She would basically sneak in to nibble her food and drink her water when we weren't looking. If we did see her in there, we would sometimes try to close the door, but she always noticed and ran out before we could! She would free range during the day, and at night, she would roost high up in one of our trees. Everything went on like that for quite awhile.
Weeks passed, the chicks were old enough to start free ranging, and everything was going well. The chicks roosted voluntarily in their coop each night, and Mrs. Cluckington continued with her rebel routine. She started to warm up to us slightly, enough to meet my husband in the driveway when he got home from work, and give him a long drawn out complaining noise until he'd go back and refresh her food and water. Then she's wait till he walked away to go in and feast. It was quite amusing, really. She still wouldn't let him touch her or get too close, but they had clearly started to bond in some odd way.
Then one day we noticed what appeared to be some sort of infection in Mrs. C's left eye. I start researching how to treat an eye infection for a chicken. People are online talking about "...gently rub erythromycin ointment in the chicken's eye three times a day" and I'm thinking "Who the heck has these cuddly chickens? And what do you do if you literally can't get within 20 feet of your 'pet?' " So I'm picturing trying to build some kind of spray gun and spraying it towards her eye from a distance! It seemed like an impossible situation. In the meantime, we were worried about the infection spreading to the chicks. We decided to try to quarantine Mrs. C while we tried to figure out what to do. It was a comical scene watching my husband try to bait her into her coop with treats, and sneak up to close her in. I think it took a good 30 minutes, but he finally managed.
Poor Mrs. C didn't make it one night. Early the next morning, a short while after my husband left for work, I heard it all go down. I woke up to a pack of coyotes yelping and squealing in my backyard. I ran out, turned on floodlights, slammed doors and made as much noise as I could! It worked. They ran off, but not soon enough. When I walked over to her coop, there were only white feathers left. I was hoping she was up in her roosting tree, but she was not. She was meant to be free, I guess, and I still feel bad that she had to meet her end that way. But she was the start of it all. Standing in the backyard in my nightgown and bare feet, having just rushed out into what I presumed to be a pack of wild coyotes without regard for my own safety, I realized they were not just my husband's chickens, they were mine too. But I figured I'd just keep that to myself for a little while longer.
Wednesday, September 18, 2019
One of Those Days
I have to say, this week has been kicking my butt! I got up at 3:30 this morning to finish prepping for an observation I was having today. School generally was hectic. Even though I had a half day with students today, I had PD the rest of the day and I feel like I am being scattered in a million directions! I actually left school right at the end of the day today, and daydreamed about getting home, putting on my cozy cloths, making some tea and just pausing. Instead, I took one child to the doctor's for a strep test (negative!), ran to the grocery to get a few things we were (unexpectedly) out of, made dinner, dropped a car off to my son at his job so he could drive himself home later tonight, walked back home, grabbed my other car to go pick another son up from his girlfriend's house, got home, feed the chickens and locked down the coops, and now I am finally in my cozy clothes writing this blog post. I am sure many of you had a similar, or even busier day! I feel like it should be Friday, but alas it is only Wednesday. Tomorrow is Open House, so that should prove to be a late night. So now, in literally about five minutes, I will be surrendering to my need to not be awake anymore. I will go to bed by 8:30, and it will be glorious!! Tomorrow will be a new day, and my belief that all adults should sometimes go to bed before 8:30 will be freshly renewed. I encourage you to do it too. This might just be the most magical thing I do all week.
P.S. I am aware that I am 7 minutes behind schedule but I assure you this picture will literally be me in T minus 30 seconds...
P.S. I am aware that I am 7 minutes behind schedule but I assure you this picture will literally be me in T minus 30 seconds...
Friday, September 13, 2019
A Small, Sweet Thing
Life is a mixed up bag of crap and magic. Teaching especially. It can change from day to day, class to class, even from minute to minute. The fluidity of highs and lows are something only another teacher can understand. This week, as I've been getting used to teaching at a brand new school, in a new town, in a new state, I've felt the crap and magic more than usual.
I'm liking my new school. It's a super diverse place with vibrant teachers, energetic about their jobs. I have students at all levels of excitement and apathy... all levels of enthusiasm and compliance. It is, after all, a high school. I feel like someday I'll love this place, like someday I will belong. But right now, I miss Providence. I miss my students. I miss having them run up to me on the first day back to school. The hugs, the excited stories. I miss the comfortable conversations with colleagues at lunchtime, the camaraderie, the inside jokes. I miss the easy feel of the place, the familiarity, like my favorite worn out slippers. Which is not to say it was actually easy. No, there was plenty of crap to wade through. But it sure did have it's magic too.
And my new school? I can see it will feel like home someday, but for now it feels new, unfamiliar. I'm just starting to build connections. But nobody missed me over the summer. Nobody was excited to see me on the first day back. So, my heart has been aching a bit this week. And then, the smallest, sweetest thing happened. Yesterday, towards the end of the day, I had an IEP meeting I had to attend. I was standing at the board, writing instructions to the substitute as students began to file into the room. The sub arrived, and I explained to the students that I had to go. And one of my new students, who I've only had in class four times so far, said, so sincerely, "But, all day, I was looking forward to being here with you." My heart melted. "I was looking forward to it too, sweetie. But, I'll be here tomorrow." So simple, and she probably has no idea how much that meant to me, or why.
But that was my magic. And it was enough.
I'm liking my new school. It's a super diverse place with vibrant teachers, energetic about their jobs. I have students at all levels of excitement and apathy... all levels of enthusiasm and compliance. It is, after all, a high school. I feel like someday I'll love this place, like someday I will belong. But right now, I miss Providence. I miss my students. I miss having them run up to me on the first day back to school. The hugs, the excited stories. I miss the comfortable conversations with colleagues at lunchtime, the camaraderie, the inside jokes. I miss the easy feel of the place, the familiarity, like my favorite worn out slippers. Which is not to say it was actually easy. No, there was plenty of crap to wade through. But it sure did have it's magic too.
And my new school? I can see it will feel like home someday, but for now it feels new, unfamiliar. I'm just starting to build connections. But nobody missed me over the summer. Nobody was excited to see me on the first day back. So, my heart has been aching a bit this week. And then, the smallest, sweetest thing happened. Yesterday, towards the end of the day, I had an IEP meeting I had to attend. I was standing at the board, writing instructions to the substitute as students began to file into the room. The sub arrived, and I explained to the students that I had to go. And one of my new students, who I've only had in class four times so far, said, so sincerely, "But, all day, I was looking forward to being here with you." My heart melted. "I was looking forward to it too, sweetie. But, I'll be here tomorrow." So simple, and she probably has no idea how much that meant to me, or why.
But that was my magic. And it was enough.
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