Building Champions

A shameless bookworm, there have been a few books along the way that have literally changed my life. The idea began as a mental seedling while reading one of those books. “Teaching with Poverty in Mind” by Eric Jensen (2009) challenged me on a fundamental level. I am a brain research disciple, especially where it pertains to learning. In his book, Jensen lays out a solid case for how chronic stress in the life of a child directly impacts learning. My school is filled with such children. Jensen uncannily described them, and I knew his research might hold some answers for us.

One of his suggestions for building strong neural pathways in the areas of the brain responsible for stored memory and concentration, was playing chess. Armed with solid research, I built my case and pitched it to my principal last Spring. It was an easy sell. He was onboard and enthusiastic right away.

We contracted the services of a local chess master to teach us the fundamentals, ordered enough sets for every student in the building, and built time into the weekly schedule for all students to play chess simultaneously.

I must admit to some trepidation and mental nail biting on my part. “If you build it, they will come,” does not necessarily transfer to children enjoying a weekly game of (mandatory) chess. I don’t even know how to play the game myself. Is it fun? How would I know? But brain research disciples put a lot of faith in the research, so I took a leap of faith and assured my teachers, who were really the ones expected to make this work, that this was a good idea.

And to my absolute delight, it seems that it was. Even our Kindergarteners have taken to a simpler version of chess called,“Pawns,” accompanied by entertaining and instructional YouTube videos that their resourceful teachers found.

It all came to a glorious culmination today in the form of a competitive chess tournament, held in the gym on a Saturday. We don’t hold school events on the weekend, at least not in the years that I have been here. I honestly didn’t know if anyone would show up, or not. More mental nail biting. But they did. Enough, anyway, to consider it a real tournament. And oh, what a time they had!

A few stories stand out in my mind…

… the boy with Autism who comes from a family of athletes, and has found something he, too, can be good at. His mother thanked me profusely for handing her son that gift…

… the third-grader who was so determined to participate in the tournament that he did chores for a relative two weeks ago in order to earn the five-dollar registration fee so that his single mother wouldn’t have to worry about it…

… the mother who works nights and had not slept in 24 hours, but stayed awake after her shift so that she would be there for her son’s big day…

… the numerous parents who told me that bringing chess into the school has spilled over into the home and they now play with their child nightly…

… the lone Kindergartner who was nervous all morning and wanted to back out, but came at his parents’ urging and walked away with a medal and an ear-to-ear grin…

… the smiles, the PTA president who worked hand-in-hand with me to provide delicious concessions and make this a festive event, the sportsman-like hand-shakes at the end of every round, the handful of teachers that came back to work on a weekend, the support and cheering of the parents…

All of these were good for the kids, good for the parents, and good for our school. There were no losers today. All walked away with a greater understanding of the game of chess. All learned something about losing or winning like a champion, and all are inspired to keep playing and learning. The kids don’t know this, but their little brains had quite a workout today.

This disciple is one happy teacher tonight.

The Winding Path

I awoke this morning to the excitement of my seventh first day of school as an educator. Seven late summers of frantic preparation. Seven rounds of teacher in-service. Seven times of being joyfully reunited with colleagues as if we hadn’t seen each other in decades. Seven glimpses of fresh young faces that are happy or scared or just plain lost. Seven opportunities to ooh and ahhh over new clothes and unicorn backpacks and shoes that light up like the Vegas strip. Seven years witnessing Kindergartners trying not to cry (and failing). And the parents of said Kindergartners also trying to hold it together with about the same results.

I love it all.

I love the hum of energy in the air. I love the way classrooms don’t yet smell like sweaty prepubescent boys fresh from PE or the sun-soaked playground. I love the shiny, waxed hallway floors. I love the Pinterest-driven classroom themes. I love the sweet hugs from returning students and the optimism that exudes from the same teachers that were on the ragged edge of burnout just twelve short weeks ago.

These are the threads that are just beginning to be woven into the tapestry of a new school year. Some of that fabric will be beautiful and bring joy. Some will break our hearts. But it will be our collective story and we will be forever intertwined because of it.

I am amazed at where this teaching journey has taken me in those seven years. From classroom teacher to remediation interventionist/instructional strategist, and now this Fall my new role as our district’s Literacy Coordinator, overseeing a federal grant that will boost literacy in our community from birth to grade 12. I am very, very (very, very, very, very, very) excited about this stunning opportunity to impact literacy on a large scale. Excited (and a little terrified).

I cannot fail to mention the love of my teaching heart, Project Armchair. Thirty volunteers and 2,000+ books donated and given away to children in crisis in the last three years. It continually amazes and humbles me. Such an unexpected and beautiful part of my journey!

Each switchback in my career has been the stepping stone for the next thing. Each major decision an open door to an unknown hallway. When I entered the college classroom again in my late forties with the hair-brained idea of starting a new career in teaching, I had no idea where it would all lead. But God did, and I am grateful. Grateful to have a purpose for this stage of my life. Grateful to have intersected with so many truly wonderful and warm people along the way. Grateful for a life partner that encourages hair-brained ideas (I love you, sweetheart!)

May this year be the most beautiful tapestry yet.

Paper Diamonds

If you know me, you know that my heart pumps printer’s ink. I am all about literacy, both in my professional and in my personal life. Being the book nerd that I am, my job as a literacy coach is like getting up and going to the carnival every day. I love what I do. Every day is fun. Every day. And today I loved it even more.

My work in a high-poverty elementary school brings its own set of challenges. Many of our kids have tough lives outside of school. Housing instability, food insecurities, imprisoned parents, and the chronic stress that goes with poverty all take their toll on the kids I pass in the hall every day. You can see it. You can feel it in the acting-out behaviors that send a steady stream to the door of the principal’s office. I look at those faces and wonder what I can do. Wonder how I can help. So much need…

My looming dissertation will orbit around (wait for it….) literacy, so about a year ago I asked our principal if we could try something at our school. I have these theories about literacy and the ability of a really good book to lower stress levels, inspire the hopeless, model determination and grit through a well-crafted story line, and build community among our children. It’s all that printer’s ink flowing in my veins. It makes me incredibly optimistic and annoyingly passionate. There’s a pretty impressive mountain of research to back most of those ideas, too.

And so…

… shortly after Christmas break, a cadre of fellow teachers and I hung mysterious posters around the hallways, built suspense to the point of some really funny theories being tossed around, and launched our first ever, after-school Book Club.

Our objectives were simple. Let’s get into small groups and talk about the books we love. We hoped it would fan the flames of literacy-love for those students already active readers (those that read for pleasure outside of school hours). And maybe, just maybe, we might pull a kid or two into the fold that was sitting on the fence. We also wanted to get books into the hands or our club members. Books to keep with no library due dates. Books they can read in bed while eating a PBJ sandwich. Books that will become a part of the fabric of their lives.

We appealed to our district’s philanthropic foundation about funding our venture. They were immediately on board. They asked if we had asked for enough and offered us more! We took it.

My principal warned me that anything held after school that required parent transportation might be an issue. Holy cow, he was right. I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say my team and I spent some long hours trying figure out how to get a kid or two home.

We had zero idea if there would be much interest or participation. We sent the permission letters home and waited. We were shocked when a full third of our student population returned with signed, green permission slips!

For ten weeks now we have met on Tuesdays, provided simple snacks, divided into (mostly) manageable groups, and talked about books. We didn’t require them to read specific books (choice is power), but let them bring the books they were most interested in. We teachers facilitating groups did the same. It always brought a smile to my face when one of the kids would share about their book-of-the-week and another kid in the group would pipe up, “I want to read that!” I keep a pretty substantial library in my office of my personal children's literature and I have had a steady stream of kids in and out my doors to borrow the books I mentioned during weekly club meetings.

I.absolutely.LOVE.that.

Tonight was our last club meeting for the year. Two weeks ago we gave out Scholastic fliers and let each member choose one book to order. Honestly, some of these kids have probably never been able to order from a Scholastic flyer. They were really excited. We surprised the members with a pizza party tonight, and gave out their chosen books. It was truly a celebration. The mood was festive and full of anticipation. The joy and laughter was infectious. I looked around at the library filled with kids and knew we had hit every one of our objectives. And a few we hadn’t dared to hope for.

There was the student who declared in the beginning he didn’t want to come but his mom made him. Two weeks ago he brought not one, but TWO books to share and nearly exploded waiting for his turn. There was the student who confessed that he is nervous about middle school next year and asked hopefully, “Do you think they’ll have a book club, Mrs. Dahl?”

Books change lives. I have never doubted that. Before we dismissed for the night, I asked the group if anyone wanted to share something they had enjoyed about book club. Hands went up all over the room. They liked having other people to talk to about books. They liked spending time with teachers outside of school hours. They liked being with their friends. (One kid whispered to me conspiratorially, “I just came for the snacks.” I’m cool with that). They liked hearing about other books. Every time I tried to shut down the comments, a frantic face would plead to be heard.

Most touching to me personally were the gifts handed me by these precious children. Wait. You brought me gifts?!? A juice box hoarded from a second-grader’s snack. A stunningly colored, intricately-cut, head from two fifth-grade girls. And an oddly-shaped, folded paper. I started to unfold it thinking there was a message inside. “No, Mrs. Dahl!” The fourth-grade boy stopped me. “There’s nothing inside.” He looked suddenly unsure of himself. “It’s…a diamond,” he finished softly. And so it was. These children have so little. They brought their tokens of appreciation for something that had apparently meant something to them.

I have high dreams for these kids. Maybe, just maybe, a book club will play a small part in helping them find theirs.