Spring Broke

With a nod to my friend Amy, I appropriate her lament for teachers on Spring Break this year. I didn’t have any money to spend on a trip to the Bahamas or Hawaii, which has turned my holiday into an inexpensive, productive, and fun week.

Being broke has an upside. I reached out to friends I haven’t seen in ages – including Amy, who I ran into while walking her dogs in Wheaton Regional Park. Then I met her for drinks at a sponsored event that several local elected leaders attended. Free food! Great way to catch up on each other’s news. We also shared our diverging answers to the question, “How are the kids these days?”

The kids are definitely better this year than last, but a lot of my seniors simply didn’t submit the in-class essay, the biggest grade of the marking period, even though they were given plenty of time, advance notice, and open-notes formatting. Several sat in class for two days with their heads down instead of writing. Amy teaches middle school and has different issues – disrespectful behavior from dysregulated students and social promotion policies that thwart any efforts to hold students accountable for showing what they’ve learned.

It’s been rewarding to cross items off my enormous To Do list. Dentist appointment, filing taxes, dealing with my son’s car insurance and maintenance ($$$). I’ve also spent a lot of time on school work: creating materials for a MCPS curriculum-writing project, meeting with that team, and grading student assignments. But the most rewarding aspect of my Spring Broke has been reconnecting with friends. Cherry blossoms, museums, and hiking don’t cost much in the DC area. I feel so lucky to have friends who like those activities, too.

A long-term sub in my department was asking about entering grades in Synergy (our online grading platform), and when I showed her what I do, she responded, “That’s so much work!” With just two more days left of spring vacation, I turn to all the unfinished tasks. Fortunately, my stay-at-home plans this year have allowed me to save money, make huge progress grading essays, and share many little fulfilling conversations that will sustain me as we push to the end of the school year. Oh! And I got to see some provocative art!

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February has always been a month of quiet reflection for me. Like the flowers waiting underground in front of my house, I lie dormant until just the right moment. That doesn’t mean I’m sleeping; it just means that beneath the surface I’m gathering strength to push my green shoots into the world.  

February is when MCPS schools get their staffing allocations for next year and begin posting jobs. Teachers start sending out resumés, scheduling interviews, and reaching out to their network of colleagues at other schools. The Job Fair is virtual this year. Is this the year to look for another job? 

February is when I set my intentions for the summer and the rest of the year. What happens if I declare my intention of leaving my current school and nobody hires me? Like the crocuses that bloom too quickly, I will become frozen and fail to bloom.

If so, there’s always next year.

I have a dream

“It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment.” MLK, 1963 speech

I have a dream that from my perch just 12 miles from the National Mall where Martin Luther King delivered his famous speech, my voice will make a difference. When I speak out, there’s always the possibility that I will be reprimanded or silenced like the four teachers in my school district placed on Administrative Leave for their social media posts this semester. I’m putting my dreams to the test this year.

While I am not vocal about my concerns for Palestinians, I speak up for English Language Learner students and for fellow teachers who support them. Sixty years since MLK urged fellow citizens to work together, we are still urging our leaders to work with us to preserve the dignity of our students. While Republicans in Iowa caucus for their party leader, they are vilifying immigrants who flee violence and persecution, hoping for a chance at the American Dream.

Fortunately, I work in a state that welcomes newcomers. I work in a district that supports English Language Learners. Yet, I speak out for conditions that need to be improved: curriculum that matches student needs, small-enough classes to support language learning, teacher workload that’s manageable, and more collaboration between administrators and teachers.

With the Blueprint for Maryland’s Future beginning to shape instruction across the state, now is the time to speak with school leaders and administrators. I am honored to be meeting with Interim State Superintendent, Dr. Carey M. Wright, as a member of Community WELL, a grassroots advocacy organization. We hope to open a dialogue that can help shape teaching and learning in the state of Maryland for years to come.

In addition, I am delighted to work with MCPS Curriculum and Instruction team to help provide differentiation options for EMLs in the Grade 10 English Language Arts curriculum material.

In the pit of my stomach, I’m nervous about speaking up. I’ve been invited into conversations at a higher level; I hope I represent my students and fellow teachers well. What if I say the wrong thing? What if they actually listen to me?

“We cannot walk alone.” (MLK, 1963)

School administrators – I could never do that job!

I couldn’t do it. The job of a high school administrator is unrelenting and thankless. 

Sure, teaching is a super challenging profession. But teachers get to build relationships with students, we get the rewards of watching their eyes grow wide with aha! moments. We get to help them with after-school activities and college applications. At the end of the year, we receive hugs and thank-you notes. 

Administrators are the real heroes of a school. 

They set the tone with their policies, procedures, and presence. Administrators deal with district bureaucracy, angry parents, underperforming teachers, and troublemaker students. They deal with the cafeteria, cleaning staff, bus transportation, athletic fields, and finances. They observe teachers and write formal evaluations. On top of that, high school principals and assistant principals supervise every football game, school play, and special activity. Everyone blames them when something goes wrong or they’re unhappy with a situation.  

My principal shares her praise for school teams regularly on social media. She’s everywhere all the time with something positive to say. Even with an excellent leadership team, the job is alarmingly stressful. It’s no wonder that three MCPS high school principals are retiring in the middle of the school year (Clarksburg,Seneca Valley, and Walter Johnson).

During the month of October, ten different bomb threats disrupted our schools, causing fear and chaos. Rapid admin response can save lives. We learned later that seven of those bomb threats were called in by a 12-year-old boy. School principals quickly communicated to the community via social media and email. Yet, people criticized their slow communication and response. I cannot imagine herding 3,000 students into a stadium in an orderly manner.

At my high school, we had two major mental health crises that disrupted teaching and learning last month – one occurred on the Friday of Spirit Week, when students were scheduled to attend a pep rally in the stadium at the end of the day. Instead of cheering for the homecoming team, we went into lock down until the bell rang, after an ambulance had quietly hauled the student away. 

This week, a student brought a loaded gun to school. Administrators and police handled it effectively before teachers or staff even knew that anything was going on. At the end of the day, the principal invited us to a meeting in the cafeteria to explain what happened. We are so fortunate to have excellent leadership at my school, but teachers and parents still complain. 

As one of the elected Building Representatives for MCEA, the teachers’ union, I helped craft a school climate survey sent to our 200 members. Despite our focus on “shared responsibility” very few staff responded, but the ones who did complained that “administrators need to be present in the hallways” and “we need better communication.” 

I teach at one of the largest high schools in the state of Maryland. We have one principal and three assistant principals, plus a handful of staff in leadership roles with walkie-talkies. How is it possible for six or seven people to supervise the hallways while dealing with all the crap they deal with every day? And those are just the situations that I know about.  

Schools have the responsibility of dealing with all of society’s ills, but so many of us feel completely unprepared. I stand in the hall and brightly encourage wandering students to get to class. If I speak using the wrong tone, a dysregulated kid could turn their rage on me. Then what? We need each other’s support – teachers, parents, students, and administrators. 

My admin team is doing a great job and they deserve our thanks. I could never do that job! Now get to class! The bell just rang!

It Could Be Worse

It could be worse. I have a roof over my head, a job, a reliable car. My neighborhood is a steady source of comfort and fun, whether I’m walking the hills after school or meeting up for a book club discussion. But my coping skills in the face of my son’s disability are undoing me, while all the promised supports remain unfulfilled. 

Since his father left two years ago, my adult son – let’s call him Xavier, after the name I wish I’d given him at birth – has fallen into a deep, debilitating depression. On top of his autism spectrum disorder, this has been a devastating turn for our newly-configured family of two. I’ve learned to tiptoe through the house after school because his night-day reversal makes it impossible for him to maintain a normal routine. When I smell sausage cooking at 3 am, at least I know I’ve got a few hours before a wellness check is needed.

For two years, I have launched hundreds and hundreds of phone calls, emails, and in-person visits to agencies and individuals designed to help me deal with Xavier’s rages, poor eating habits, insufficient exercise, medication management, and lack of meaningful work. I’ve kept track of every contact on narrow-ruled notepads. 

He’s got full eligibility for Developmental Disabilities Administration (DDA) services, and is now on their Wait List. Because he qualifies, a service coordinator has been appointed to help navigate the system. In her six years on the job, she’s never seen anyone move off the Wait List. 

I’ve applied for Supplemental Security Income (SSI) benefits through the Social Security Administration. They needed an updated neuro-psychiatric evaluation, which occurred over several days and cost me $3000. I sent in supporting letters from therapists, doctors, and licensed clinical social workers who had worked with him over the years. A worker in DC was handling the SSI application because, she said, Maryland was backlogged by 20,000 cases. She told me, “pack your patience.” SSI turned him down. Now I’ve appealed the decision and contacted a lawyer. 

The Division of Rehabilitation Services (DORS), a Maryland Department of Education agency, has allotted Xavier full support status. He met with a vocational specialist there and completed the three-day career assessment inventory they recommended. Then she retired, and it took months to get another appointment. Appointments in most places occur between 9:00 am and 5:00 pm. Xavier could not get out of bed for the next few appointments. 

I’ve put Xavier on the county wait list for HOC housing, found another agency that allotted 140 hours of respite care. So far, he’s slept through every appointment. I called his insurance provider.  Immediately post-pandemic it was impossible to find a Medicaid-funded therapist with availability. 

Dozens more phone calls and emails got him into a Medicaid-funded wellness center, where he got monthly therapy with a practitioner he liked. Then that guy retired. The new guy has not earned Xavier’s trust or my respect. But at least Xavier got an updated anti-depressant prescription. Who knows if he’ll actually take the medicine.

In the meantime, I found a family therapist that could work with my insurance. They live in another time zone and can do telehealth therapy with us at 7:00 pm. I have to sit at my computer ignoring the dishes piled in the sink, the cat vomit on the carpet, and Xavier’s electronic pile up in front of the TV. He’s forgotten to put out the recycling again, and the blue bin is overflowing. They suggested I reset my expectations. 

After my husband left, I cut the cleaning lady down to once a month because I couldn’t afford it. I mean, that’s what I told her. But the truth is that the whine of the vacuum cleaner sent Xavier into such a rage that he punched a hole in the ceiling. I had to ask the guy who cuts my grass to stop using the leaf blower outside because the noise disturbed Xavier’s sleep. At 3 pm.

When I traveled to Uzbekistan for work in June, I arranged for Xavier’s brother to come down from New York and stay with him, then take a train together to their father’s in Maine. I hired a teen to look after the cat, and a neighbor to keep an eye on the house. I didn’t think Xavier could function in the house unsupervised. At the time, he was off his medication completely. I’d contacted the crisis center to find out how they would deal with someone on the autism spectrum. Before my trip, I set up a special needs trust in case something happened to me. 

What happened is that Xavier refused to leave the house. He and his brother had a major fight, and his brother went back to New York. There’s a nine-hour time difference between Maryland and Tashkent, and I was fielding phone calls from both boys, my ex, and my lawyer at odd hours. Then going off to teach English with a smile on my face. I should have called the police. Then maybe my DDA Priority Category Assessment change would go through. 

My mortgage increased by $500 per month in August and it’s clear we can no longer stay in this lovely house together. So now, while working full time as a high school teacher, managing Xavier’s appointments (and moods), I will have to get this large house ready to sell by myself. You may ask where his father is in all of this. He’s still paying for half of the house. Thank God. It could be worse.

I’d like to say I’m waiting for something better to come along, but I suspect things have to get far worse before we’ll get any help.

Another Anacostia Bridge?!

The Washington DC Department of Transportation (DDOT) and the National Park Service (NPS) have joined forces to come up with a pedestrian bridge plan that looks great on paper and has the laudable goal of uniting the two sides of DC across a unique natural area in the heart of the nation’s capital. However, all the beautiful artist renderings fail to consider the serious concerns of actual river users.

While I support the idea of improving pedestrian access to the river, the National Arboretum, and Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens, the proposed location is in the last pristine section of the river that has recently seen tremendous growth in fish, birds, and other wildlife. A true comeback story, thanks to thousands of activists who have worked tirelessly for decades toward a swimmable, fishable waterway. Drilling concrete piers into this part of the river would permanently alter the pristine natural beauty in this section of the river that people would come to appreciate.

As a rower on the upper Anacostia, I’ve witnessed the return of bald eagles, beavers, osprey, turtles, and river otters. Once we launch downstream from Bladensburg Waterfront Park, it’s hard to believe this breathtaking natural resource is in the heart of a major city. Our section of the river is so magical that the “other boat club” calls it Narnia. Some in the rowing community would like to see this area designated a wild and scenic river — granting the environmental protections that the Anacostia deserves.

Another concern is that the Anacostia River is only 10 miles long, yet it already has 11 bridges! Why can’t DDOT and NPS use a pre-existing bridge to open up the river to pedestrians? The New York Avenue Bridge is only half a mile from the National Arboretum. Why not add a pedestrian and bicycle walkway there?

The proposed bridge would place three concrete piers into the middle of the river, creating siltation that will likely degrade the quality of the water and become a safety hazard for the hundreds of rowers who use the river daily. The artist’s drawings depict an imaginary river at high tide after heavy rains, when water completely covers the mud banks. A single-span bridge design would be a better option.

Currently, the Arboretum has restricted access from 8:30 to 4:30. There is no bicycle path currently planned for the west side of the river and it is my understanding that the pedestrian bridge is not even mentioned in the Arboretum’s 10-year plan. A project that requires such a huge financial commitment and years of effort across multiple agencies should not have piecemeal development.

When the Anacostia Riverwalk Trail (ART) opened in 2016, cyclists began appearing up and down the east side of the river. While it’s great for bikers, the ART has not opened access to the river for residents interested in boating, swimming, fishing, or wading. There are few places for those on foot to stop and linger on the riverbank. Will the Arboretum bridge be another slab of asphalt that keeps potential river users at a distance?

DDOT and NPS should work harder to come up with a better plan. This is a bridge too far.

Manifesting Generator

In the summer of 2020, when I realized I would start the new school year conducting lessons from a corner of my bedroom, I bought a map of the world to hang as my Zoom backdrop. My goal was to learn all the –stans and their capitals while covering my bare wall.

Little did I suspect that, three years later, I would spend a summer in Uzbekistan (capital: Tashkent) leading professional development workshops for secondary English teachers. 

What other latent desires am I harboring? What physical manifestation can I put on my wall or bulletin board?

A distant relative (my sister’s sister-in-law, Robin Winn) is an expert on Human Design. She has written several books and conducts workshops, interviews, podcasts. She recently read my Human Design chart and revealed that I am a Manifesting Generator. What this means is that I need to respond to clear signs before taking action or else my 43-23 Freak-Genius channel causes me to blurt things out, act too quickly, and mess everything up. 

My Human Design type needs to wait for a sign. I need to be invited into relationship before my superpower can manifest itself: speaking up for other people through my throat channel. She said I must be still, wait, and gain clear focus before acting. That is the hardest part. I’ve got three weeks before school starts and my head is spinning with To Do items.

My map of the world has fallen down, due to the humidity and masking tape losing its stickiness. An old bulletin board — where I pinned my writing group schedule, comics from the Washington Post, tea bag sayings, postcards, poems, images, rowing medals, my Human Design chart — is now a blank slate.

I’m not good at these in-between moments, but Robin told me, “You touch people’s lives like a whisper.” So I’m willing to honor that stillness and wait.

I guess I have to live with empty walls and a blank bulletin board for a while.

Waiting for inspiration

The Greatest Blessing, Amity

I’ve been transported to a different world. In this world I am greeted as a celebrity. With my blondish hair and Irish nose, I am clearly not from around here. People rush to carry my heavy bag and help me get to my destination, even when we have to use Google Translate to communicate. I walk with a fellow blonde American around the lake and kids follow us just to hear what language we’re speaking. Russkiy? they ask. The only foreigners they’ve ever seen are from Russia.

As part of a huge program sponsored by the Uzbek Ministry of Education and the U.S. Embassy (mentioned in this article), 40 American English teachers will work in Uzbekistan training secondary English teachers for four weeks. Our participants are thirsty for knowledge and soak up every lesson like a sponge. I have never felt so appreciated in a classroom. The government has given them huge financial incentive to improve their English proficiency. But it’s more than that.

These teachers are joyful, resourceful, creative, professional, proud, hard-working, risk-taking, respectful, and fun.

Here in Navoiy, a small city that has defied my expectations at every turn, we are three American teachers and a site coach, each with a local counterpart, and almost 50 participants, all secondary teachers. In my class, several women commute an hour each way to get to 16 Maktab, our training site. Two sisters live on a farm far from town. All have household chores when they get home and cater to their mothers-in-law, with whom they live. It’s 104 degrees outside and the AC at full blast barely cools the room. Despite these obstacles, they show up every morning at 8:30 ready to learn.

Our facilitator’s guidebook was carefully put together by American Councils, full of resources, activities and cultural connections. Since this professional development is really a cultural exchange, it is an honor to learn about Uzbek traditions by the best cultural ambassadors in the country: teachers. On Culture Day, these women put together a two-hour celebration with little notice. They brought textiles, arts & crafts, and delicious local food that they cooked the night before. They dressed in ornate traditional outfits and put on a full show with games, music, dancing, and theatre.

When they finished, the Americans had to present something from our culture. We taught them the Hokey Pokey.

In the classroom, we present active lessons for English instruction: Running Dictation, Bicycle Chain, Mingle Info Gap, Think-Pair-Share. And we teach the language needed for them to deliver instruction completely in English. Then each week, they do a micro-teaching lesson in front of their peers. From Week 1 to Week 2, their confidence increased and they showed amazing growth. One of the things we teach is the vocabulary of encouragement. I am inspired by their eagerness and could not be more proud of this group. Good job!

This weekend, we will take a field trip to a local attraction and students will teach us the significance of this place. This town does not attract a lot of tourists, but after our class puts together a tourist brochure in English, they will certainly be ready!

In the words of Alisher Navoiy, the founder of Navoiy, the greatest blessing is amity. I am sure that our friendship will endure long after the closing ceremony.

The Motivational Speech

I was flattered that L.J. surreptitiously recorded my farewell speech to Period 3 Honors English 12. I’d just signed a dozen yearbooks and stumbled into the perfect metaphor: a rocket! Our school mascot is a Ritchie the Rocket, so I said something about using high school as a launching pad while soaring to new heights, with rocket power fueling your rise to success. I know that the metaphor was corny, but I had their full attention.

In Period 6, I read Oh, The Places You’ll Go! in its entirety. Not one student glued their eyes to a cell phone. Nobody asked to go to the bathroom while I read in my best teacher voice. You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.

Dr. Seuss is out of favor these days. But his words fit the expectations of the moment. Something happens to seniors in their last week of school. A sudden realization that This. Is. Final. The fear, the sadness, the excitement. For 23 years, I’ve been saying good-bye to students at the end of the school year. I know my role.

This year, however, we had briefly reversed roles. Seniors wrote and delivered their own motivational speeches. We watched some model orations: a wedding toast, a graduation speech. I provided a graphic organizer, a rubric (below), and a deadline. I got some of their best work all semester.

Maybe that’s why some of their final thank you cards brought tears to my eyes on the last day. I choose to believe that the self-reflection imposed by our final English 12 assignment became internalized, that students rose to the occasion. We tend to think that students are disengaged, but they pay attention to every nuance and they have something to say.

The Class of 2023 has brought back hope and a positive attitude.

A motivational speech will often end with a positive quote. Fueled by Rocket pride, my students will join the high fliers who soar to high heights and be the best of the best! I hope my words will give them a boost. I know theirs have certainly boosted me.

Change happens

I subscribe to Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditations, which I often don’t have time to read. But this morning’s missive on Transitions spoke to me.

The word change normally refers to new beginnings. But the mystery of transformation more often happens not when something new begins, but when something old falls apart. The pain and chaos of something old falling apart invite the soul to listen at a deeper level, and sometimes force the soul to go to a new place. Most of us would never go to new places in any other way…

Transformation always includes a disconcerting reorientation. It can either help people to find new meaning or it can cause people to close down and slowly turn bitter. The difference is determined precisely by the quality of our inner life, our practices, and our spirituality. Change happens, but transformation is always a process of letting go, and living in the confusing, shadowy, transitional space for a while. Eventually, we are spit up on a new and unexpected shore…

After two decades teaching in a public school, I feel the changes that students experience profoundly. April is huge month of transition. Just as flowers burst into bloom outdoors, seniors come alive again.

This Class of 2023 has already faced “confusing, shadowy, transitional space” that started at the end of their 9th grade year and extended into their entire 10th grade year. “Change happens when something old falls apart…” Well, their worlds fell apart. Now we have the greatest teen mental health crisis we’ve ever faced. But I’m not going there.

We had a job fair at school this week. It was a great real-life connection to what we were doing in class – researching career options, creating resumes and cover letters, and preparing for “job interviews.” I thought students would be enthusiastic about the job fair. Instead, a collective meh! greeted the announcement.

I know that many are finalizing their college choice by May 1st (tomorrow is Decision Day). Many are already working or have summer jobs lined up. Once we got downstairs to the fair, I was glad to see that students went from table to table and talked to the recruiters. Afterwards I realized they were just collecting free pens, candy, lanyards, and key chains. Meh!

With just one month left of school, I feel the tide rising and lifting all ships. Senior Assassin and Promposals are in the air. In English class, I hear excited chatter as girls show each other their prom dresses. “Ms. Sullivan, which color do you like?” D. showed me a muted pink suit he’s about to purchase. Kids in team jerseys announce that varsity sports are moving to season’s end. Chronically absent students are returning and asking what assignments they’re missing. 

The rhythm of a school year forces change, ready or not. For seniors in the home stretch, a feeling of anticipation and hope fills the air. That collective meh! will soon turn into rah! as they reach the end of their K-12 education.

I can’t wait to hear which dress color A. has selected for prom, what choice P. has made about college, and if Z. will change jobs.