The Lesson of the Kitchen Table & Rolling Chairs

I can't see. Without my contacts or glasses, I feel helpless. I can't see the kids waving and yelling my name at the end of the hall without contacts.  I can't see details, much less read 12 point font, without magnifying lenses. So, it takes two different devices to properly improve my view.  Bifocals? Uncomfortably fuzzy either way.  And if you know me well, you know I can't judge what's behind me with contacts, glasses, side and rearview mirrors, and a fancy backup camera.  Multiple poles, garage doors and my husband's truck will testify against me.  So even my hindsight is in question.

I shouldn't even be writing this blog entry right now.  I should be reading student work.  Actually, it's after midnight, so I should've been asleep hours ago.  But I've been working the swim meet though I'm fighting a vicious cold, fixing the Swiss Army knife, smarter-than-a-smart-phone copier in the school office, so the fans can get their programs.  Someone changed a paper setting and didn't change it back, I think.  At least, that's how I got it working. I rescued the principal from it after our 9th Grade team meeting.  And then I rescued the swim team.  Teaching is not for the faint of heart.  I never finished writing the mentor text of a one-pager on Langston Hughes "Theme for English B" beyond a proper heading because I was busy making change and rescuing people from technology.

After the meet, I fed some hungry sows in the barn. Also not for the faint of heart.  My husband had picked up our son in my classroom, which I had locked while I was in the meeting, momentarily forgetting that Tommy would be walking over from the the grade school next door, like he does EVERY day.  Luckily, the custodian has a soft heart and let him in.  Five minutes of apology and $1.25 in Dr. Pepper bribery mollified his indignation at my forgetfulness somewhat, and he was swept off to football practice and then First Lego League practice by hubby, Chuck. Tommy walked out of the room with the iPad in one hand and a bag of Cheetos from my secret classroom goody stash in the other, wondering aloud about when he'd get supper. They were still not home at 7:30 when I arrived. Thus my necessary appointment with the barking mad pigs and scolding sheep.  The dogs were happy to see me.  Small favors.  And then they wandered off looking for their absent master.

Around 8:00, I collapsed in my recliner tucked in a corner of the living room.  I hopped on my laptop determined to finish, and because I am being honest, START my mentor text.  My Kindle perched on top of my iPhone, both hanging on to the arm of the recliner by gravity alone. I remember why I sat down with the computer now that I see my cell phone was on Square Market when it fell asleep.  There are ICTE conference registrations to process.  It is nearly one. I haven't moved. Because I am being honest with you, dear reader, and more importantly with myself, I have been on Facebook and Twitter.  I have fiddled with Symbaloo and Photoshop.  And Weebly. And, for the love of God, Blogger.  I have NOT written my mentor text.  I just realized that I also have not eaten since lunch.  Because I have been busy online.

Are you sensing what my goals are?

So, I started the Teach Thought Blog Challenge a day late (now technically two days late), because it is about reflective teaching.  And my friends have been posting their entries on Facebook.  Peer pressure: Classic excuse.  But truthfully, my friends, I have been wanting to tell you a story all day. My fingers have been itching for the keyboard.

So, a list of my goals, then a story.  And then food and sleep.  I will write the mentor text tomorrow while my 8th graders write their on-demand narrative.

Goal #1: Focus. Slow down and pay attention.  Look.  SEE.  Using any and all tools necessary. 

Goal #2: Record your work and reflect on it in writing.  Get it out of your head!

Goal #3: Tell the truth, to others and to yourself.  (Even when it means admitting that you nearly walked out of the house for work without a shirt last week.  NEARLY.  I WAS wearing a lovely scarf and exquisite jewelry. It's not as bad as--okay it is.  Honestly.)   

Goal #4: Prioritize, woman! And stick to it!

Goal #5: Risk. Don't gamble. Except when you need to gamble because there's no time to calculate risk. 

So, the story.

I took a calculated risk this year and replaced my gigantic, L-shaped desk with a small round table. I found new homes for the detritus that nestled in its drawers. I tracked down a bright plaid table cloth, pulled up a few rolling chairs, and presto, magic kitchen table!  I imagined we would have fabulous conversations about books and writing there as I pulled a few kids over for enrichment or intervention.  In all truth, to look at the table makes me smile.  It has been a happy change.

Here, you can look at it.  I bet you're smiling!  Who wouldn't want to sit there?

On the first day of school, my first calculation paid off.  It is inviting. A new student struggling to log on to his shiny new Chromebook, plopped down right next to me at the table to show me what was happening.  We put our heads together and fixed it. He went to lunch. I rejoiced. It worked!  No student would've sat down at my desk if I was already sitting there. They would've sat across from me, perhaps.  Because that's the territorial nature of desks--a barrier that clearly defines whose room it is. Mine. A new student especially might have been reluctant to approach me, had I not been sitting at a table.  Where people gather.  To work together.  The room, and table, are ours.

Today, the table surprised me.  (Secretly, I adore that sentence.)

But first, a disclaimer, I have a student I'm not sure I like.  In fact, there are several.  This is a dirty secret of teaching.

They are all in one class, proof that random computer assignment is an epic fail.  No one in their right mind would put two of these kids together, much less five of them!  But someone with NO mind would... but I digress.  All are struggling to focus. I have been frustrated because I have fifteen minutes of down time in my other three sections if I stop the lesson to keep everyone at the same point. Writing and reflecting seem like pretty hard work to these guys.  They don't want to get down to business. They are amazingly creative with procrastination and distraction.

THEY are ME.   Yes, they are.

Not the me I was in school, but the me I am right now. This is a revelation I had to write my way to discover.  Or perhaps it was brought on by my lack of sleep and sustenance.  Regardless, it's the truth.  One I will ponder in more detail in days to come.

One young man, we'll call him William, is bright and charming.  We have bonded over The City of Bones series. The others follow his confident lead.  In the last two weeks, I have moved them all around, trying to find the ideal seating arrangement, so that we can all successfully work. There have been warnings and parent emails and an unexpected outburst resulting in this young man sending himself to the principal's office in tears.

So, what about the table, you ask?  Focus, you beg.  Here it is.  As everyone was settling in to reading time, checking out books, asking for recommendations, I turned around across the room and saw William sitting at the table.  In my black rolling chair.  Another student had handed off A Clockwork Angel to him at the beginning of class, and he was leaning over the table, with the book pressed flat, nose buried well into Chapter One. Did he realize he was sitting in my chair? Or was he so absorbed in the book that he didn't notice?  He felt my eyes on him and looked directly at me, smiling.  He knew.  It was a friendly challenge.

I gambled. And smiled back.  Challenge accepted, young William.

I got the last student settled in to reading, picked up my Kindle, and pulled up another rolling chair next to William.  The one I secretly prefer because it is a bit worn, a bit soft, and just the perfect height.  I got in five minutes of the seventh book of Outlander, asked him how the reading was going, and we had a fabulous conversation about the author.

I'm kidding.

About the fabulous conversation.  He did share that he was liking it, even though it was Victorian, and checked it out.  Small victories.  I left him there at the table while I got the class down to business blogging on Weebly about their reading. And they prioritized, and they listened, and they followed my directions. Honestly. It was a good day.  Because I saw that his challenge was playful, if a bit cheeky. Because I slowed down and spent five minutes in companionable silence with another avid reader. Because I trusted the power of the kitchen table to bring people together.

Tomorrow, and by tomorrow, I mean later today, I will savor some time with my husband and my son at our kitchen table.  Because it is a priority.  And I will follow through.  Balance can only be achieved one moment at a time, rather than all at once. It's not a destination of arrival so much as embracing being in the moment.

And vision is imagining as well as seeing.  I did not imagine the hope I saw in William's eyes that I would let him have my chair for the day.  Because I respect the power of the rolling chair over 8th grade boys. Because I respected and honored his hope, I imagined a new possibility for seating arrangement. Together.

I am looking forward to this class for the first time since school started.  Pull up a chair and join me, won't you?  The room and table are ours.