Wisdom from Kylene Beers

This blog post by Kylene Beers perfectly captures the ethos of the teacher corps, the steady, consistent spirit of care and kindness that teachers enact every day in classrooms across the country. Something horrible has happened, yet we continue to do our good work, quietly and reliably.

I pasted her blog post below. You can also find it here (on her blog, which you may want to bookmark!): http://kylenebeers.com/blog/2012/12/15/on-monday/

On Monday

“Mom, help me review my words because my teacher says spelling still counts.”

That’s what Baker – now a senior in college – said to me as he ran into our kitchen one day after school when he was in fifth grade.

He was pulling me out of a three-day television-aided trance I had been in since the first plane hit the World Trade Center.  Oh, I got up each day, got each child off to school, did most of the work I was supposed to be doing, but then rushed back to CNN to watch again and again what had happened, to try, again and again, to make sense of what this meant our world – my family’s world – would now be.

I’m doing the same thing again.  Since yesterday.  Since Sandy Hook Elementary School locked down and we redefined tragedy.  Again.  I’m listening intently to all the reports, reading closely all the articles, looking for anything that makes this make sense.  But of course nothing will because one can’t apply logic to what was done illogically; one can’t apply reason to what was done without reason.

And I keep remembering Baker’s fifth-grade language arts teacher who each day after the 9/11 attacks didn’t sit home staring at a screen, but instead walked into her classroom to help twenty-two youngsters through the day.  On Thursday of that week, she sent her students home reminding them to study because “spelling still counts.”  I loved her for giving those students (and me) that nudge toward normalcy.  All of the teachers in that school – in schools across this nation – during those first long weeks after 9/11 gave our nation’s children something far more important than what could ever be bubbled in on a state-mandated test.  They gave them security; they gave them time; they gave them ways to process all that had happened; and they helped them learn that each of us has the ability to get through tragic moments even when we doubt we will ever get over them.

That’s what you’ll do again.  On Monday.  And on Tuesday. And on all the rest of the days next week and the rest of this school year.  Parents will hold on to children – of all ages –  tighter, and you will, with firm resolve, assure them you are a professional who knows what to do when tragedy strikes.  Some children will cry and you will dry tears.  Some will lash out in anger and you will know that is fear rearing its head another way.  You will worry and fret and wonder what else you should do.  You will talk with other teachers and principals – who will be doing all the same things you are doing – and together you will decide what is the right plan for your school as you help your students through what will, for some, be terribly difficult days.

Yes, on Monday and for all the days that follow,  you will  prepare lessons, watch for that student who doesn’t quite grasp the point, encourage the student who hesitantly offers an idea, help the shy one make a friend, remind the bossy one to listen more.  And you’ll do what no university class ever prepared you to do:  you will show students that when tragedy strikes, hope lives and goodness can always be found. You will help students recognize that their grief shows their humanity.  You will show them that we all go on, in spite of fear, or perhaps more importantly, to spite fear. And you will, as you nudge them toward normalcy, even remind them that spelling still counts.  You will be in our nation’s classrooms, teaching our nation’s children, and for this we are a grateful nation.

Thank you.  Thank you.  And, again, thank you.

2013 Spring Conference Keynote Speaker & Call for Proposals

We are excited to announce our 2013 Spring Conference keynote speaker, education activist and teacher educator, Ernest Morrell. Dr. Morrell is President-Elect of the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE), Professor of English Education at Columbia University and Director of the Institute for Urban and Minority Education (IUME) at Columbia. Dr. Morrell's keynote talk will focus on engaging students in literacy activities by bringing popular culture into the classroom and by empowering students to become producers of knowledge, not just consumers.

The RIWP is now soliciting proposals for 75-minute conference sessions that focus on theory & practice in teaching reading, writing, and literacy in K-16 classroom settings. We invite you to consider submitting a proposal for a session that features the work you do in your own classroom and schools. We would like to especially encourage teachers from across the disciplines to submit proposals about how you are using writing to learn in your classrooms and, more specifically, how you are addressing the mandates of the Common Core. The RI Writing Project wishes to open its doors to all teachers, not just English teachers. We hope you will consider joining us. To access and print out the Proposal form, click here:

http://www.ric.edu/riwp/pdf/Conference%202013%20Call%20for%20Proposals_NEW.pdf

In order to prepare yourself for what's sure to be a great conference, we've sought out some great resources on our keynote speaker and on his work with youth, critical pedagogy, and popular culture. We hope these links help you cultivate your excitement for Dr. Morrell's visit to Rhode Island. 

Read Dr. Morrell's faculty profile here: http://artsandhumanities.pressible.org/lizhoelzle/dr-ernest-morrel

Dr. Morrell got his start as an English teacher with the Bay Area Writing Project in California. He has worked with urban youth from coast to coast and is currently involved in an exciting project with youth in New York City--Youth Historians in Harlem--which you can read about here: http://www.youthhistorians.com/

Listen and watch as Dr. Morrell talks about his work at Columbia and at IUME: http://quicktime.tc.columbia.edu/users/TCNEWS/2010_2011/Ernest_edit.mov?KeepThis=true&TB_iframe=true&height=400&width=400

Read more about Dr. Morrell's upcoming work at the Institute for Urban and Minority Education: http://iume.tc.columbia.edu/index.asp?Id=Announcements&Info=Dr.+Ernest+Morrell+Appointed+New+IUME+Director

Read more about Dr. Morrell's work and affiliations with the National Writing Project: http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/3495 and this http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/3536

Watch Dr. Morrell's keynote address at last year's NWP Urban Sites Network Conference in Boston: http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/3624

Finally, if you're interested in joining a RIWP book group/study group on Dr. Morrell's most recent book, The Art of Critical Pedagogy, co-written with Jeffrey Duncan-Andrade, please post a comment or email Jenn Cook (jcook@ric.edu). Our study group will be forming in January 2013 in preparation for the conference. You need not be a Teacher Consultant or RIWP Fellow to join us. All are welcome! Here's a link to the book so you can check it out: http://www.ernestmorrell.com/criticalpedagogy.html

It's going to be a great conference this year, folks, so I hope you will set aside the conference fee of $75 (early bird/before Feb 1) and set aside the morning and early afternoon of Saturday, March 9, 2013. We will be so happy to see you!

The RIWP Annual Spring Conference is a professional development opportunity for K-16 teachers looking for innovative ways to inspire and engage students with writing and literacy. Those who attend will have the opportunity to hear from and meet with a nationally regarded leader in teaching, to participate in workshops, and to network with other educators.

Shared Leadership

For several years, I have had grand ideas about implementing a shared leadership model at our organization, an idea that was precipitated by our loss of federal funding and our elimination of all office staff. But, even though shared leadership makes fiscal sense, it is a complicated idea in the workplace, as it requires so many things that are difficult for us as human beings: trust, collaboration, cooperation, letting go of control, listening, and being flexible and amiable. Tonight, after a lot of dreaming and even more hard work and team building, we held our first-ever Executive Board meeting that was a working meeting under the shared leadership model. Normally, you would find us, a group of 15 or so teachers, sitting around a large conference table, discussing items on an agenda and coming up with ideas to table for later. Tonight, I was twenty minutes late to the meeting. But, when I walked through the door to the RI Writing Project, folks were in their groups, working on the projects they chose to tackle. They were working with their updated To Do lists; some were at computers, some in conference rooms. The place was humming like a beehive. Groups of teachers were planning our spring conference, writing a new vision statement, developing our Facebook page, and planning our summer writing camp for 2013. I moved from group to group, offering feedback and lots of praise. After an hour and a half, an incredible amount of work had been accomplished, and everyone felt, I believe, happy. 

Folks had smiles on their faces as they said "goodbye." They felt useful, content. So did I.

Doing, instead of sitting. Creating, instead of following. Envisioning, instead of ignoring. These are the things teachers need. 

I love my work and am so grateful to work with the smart, capable Writing Project teachers in Li'l Rhody.

October is for Writing

It has been raining for days. A whole week, I think. And, this morning, thankfully, I can see patches of blue sky busting through the clouds, which are moving higher and farther away. This soggy, dark October still has plenty of time to show us its beauty, as I discovered when I was walking my dog today. For the first time since school has started, I found myself, this morning, finally noticing Nature all around me: the bright fireworks display of the maple trees in my neighborhood; the flurry of squirrels and chipmunks collecting and storing and preparing; the smell of autumn, that rich wet-leaf sangria that smells like apple cider and maple and sweet berry wine. One of the most inspiring phenomena to me, as a writer, is the natural world, and yet, I so often forget to notice it because I am scurrying and rushing and way too focused on my tasks and my to do lists.

But, this morning I remembered my sabbatical. I remembered that I pledged to myself to take time, to make time for Nature, as she so often calms me down and reminds me that everything is cyclical, that everything has its rhythms, that everything has its time. She also inspires me to be a writer in a way that nothing else can. Nature demands that I notice her, even when I'm too busy or too preoccupied. And, when her demands finally sink in, and when I pick my head up and look up--at the sky, at the tiptops of trees, at the hawks flying above, at the shapeshifting cumulus clouds--I am struck my emotion, by the flood of the feeling that everything is connected and that life persists, regardless.

This is how Nature inspires me to write. She makes me feel, deeply, and then I feel compelled to put down on paper how a little feeling can just rise up inside of me at the sight of a magnificent maple tree in its glorious red and orange autumn costume. I feel compelled to make a mark in my notebook that isn't inspired by anger or confusion or passion but one that is fueled by and inspired by an uncontrollable joy and awe of something much, much bigger than us, than any of our petty worries or battles.

The power and beauty of Nature is right before your eyes, right now, in its full splendor here in New England. Can you see it? Does it inspire you to write?

The value of labor, the value of work

The new academic year began yesterday, and I spent much of last week in school and department meetings, preparing syllabi and working out schedules. In a break from the usual, I chose to do much of my preparation for the new semester at the RIWP office because it's far removed from the central traffic of campus, it houses a copier that is at my disposal, and it is deliciously quiet over there these days. Also, I put in several work orders to have computers and printers at the RIWP updated and to also have the massive pile of recycling carted away, so I was also there waiting for the technicians and workers who were slated to arrive.

When I got to the RIWP offices, ready to get down to working on my syllabus for my writing class, I noticed how dusty and grimy the desks in our office were. I thought, "Geez. These desks probably haven't been wiped down in months." But, I couldn't wipe the desks off until I removed all the piles of papers from the desks, papers that hadn't been sorted through for months. So, I sorted the papers into folders, recycle bins, and trash. Once the tops of the tables and desks were ready for the accumulation of a new year's worth of stuff, I got to spraying and wiping them down, keyboards, phones and all. Once I had sorted and wiped and cleared and cleaned, I needed to get to work on the computer, generating emails that had been neglected for trips to the beach and backyard barbecues. So, I sat down at our former program assistant's desk (we no longer have a program assistant), and I tried to channel her efficiency in getting right to work. There were many boxes to be checked on my To Do list.

But, just as I began to write the first of many emails, a RIC custodian came walking up the stairs, into the office, and asked if I requested that the trash and recycling be hauled away. I said, "Yes," and then asked him his name. I stood up, introduced myself, learned his name was Mike, shook his hand, and we started talking about why the Physical Plant doesn't assign a regular custodian to clean the RIWP offices. Apparently, the custodians in the Physical Plant on our campus operate on a rotating schedule, with some custodians assigned as "floaters." The RIWP generally gets the "floater" custodian, Mike explained to me, which is why we have to call in our requests for trash pickup. While Mike was working--breaking down big cardboard boxes, hauling reams of paper downstairs to another office, cleaning out the upstairs bathroom for me (even though I didn't ask)--he and I continued talking. I learned that, in the rush at the end of the summer to get the campus in tip-top shape, the staff members working for Physical Plant get all the overtime they want, while, during the summer, their hours got cut back. Mike also talked to me about his brother who used to work for a big company and who, accidentally, once recycled some very important papers from his boss's office. He got in big trouble. That's why, Mike told me, he's hesitant to recycle anything in our office until he's gotten the go ahead from me. What had seemed to me, just minutes before, to be a simple, mindless task (recycling paper) now took on a certain moral complexity. I learned something right then about custodians, recycling, and the business of cleaning up after others.

After Mike had finished with the recycling upstairs, he asked me to walk downstairs with him so he could show me the bathroom. He had cleaned it, he said, and he wanted me to see the difference. Also, he noticed that the toilet wasn't working. "The flush isn't flushing," he said to me, suggesting that I go upstairs and submit another work order to have the toilet fixed. But, to Mike's surprise (his face gave it all away), I lifted off the top of the toilet tank, reached my hand into the tank water, and reattached the chain that had come undone and had caused the flush valve to malfunction. Once the chain was reattached, I put the top of the tank back on, gave the toilet a flush, and looked at Mike with a glow of self-satisfaction. Mike smiled at me and asked, "Do you own a house?" When I replied, "Yes," he said, "Well, if you own a house, you learn how to do everything, I guess." I think Mike might've learned something at that moment about women and professors and assumptions.

After our interlude in the downstairs bathroom, Mike and I parted ways, though I told him I'd probably be seeing him around, even if he was assigned to another building, since I do a fair amount of "floating" myself as a teacher on this campus. I went back upstairs to the office and to my To Do list. I emailed and invoiced my way through the afternoon, but I couldn't stop thinking about what a nice experience I had with Mike that day and how appreciative I was of his bright personality, sense of humor, and pride in his work. I had retreated to the RIWP offices, originally, to seek solitude so that I could finish my work. As it turned out, I had a good afternoon--productive enough--made better by interacting with one other worker. On that day, in those moments of that afternoon, we were just two workers, doing our jobs, sharing in the day-to-day labor.

Collaboration! RIWP's Summer Writing Camp and RIC's School of Education

Becoming a Networked Teacher Leader

Six months ago, I was so proud of myself for having eschewed Twitter for so long. As someone who was hesitant to create a Facebook page (but finally did), I made a solemn pledge that my digital social network would not go beyond that. After all, I'm too old to Tweet, and don't only famous people Tweet, anyway? Also, joining Twitter would add another "distraction" to the already long line of things that are actively distracting me from my work and my family. Why on Earth would I voluntarily sign up for MORE social networking when I'm the person whose heart soars at the thought of a rotary phone, a letter sent or received by the postal service or a conversation on a front porch. I am the queen of slow, deliberate practice, of cursive handwriting and paper notebooks and face-to-face teaching. I am not a product of the digital revolution. In fact, in many ways, I fight the ethos of digitizing our communication. "It'll make us less human," I'd say. "It will make us forget how to talk to one another," I'd warn. "Hiding behind screens exacerbates our fear of the other," I'd predict. In April, midway through my sabbatical, I was at the National Writing Project's Spring Conference in Washington, DC, where people from every site in the US gather for a "lobbying blitz" on Capitol Hill. I was there in DC to visit our Senators from Rhode Island, Sheldon Whitehouse and Jack Reed, who have been supporters of the NWP and the RIWP, and whose support I wanted to continue to cultivate. Before setting us loose on the Hill, the smart staffers and consultants with NWP gathered us in a large hotel conference room to brief us on the fine art of lobbying. During that briefing, we were encouraged to "live Tweet" our Capitol Hill experience; that is, NWP folks were encouraging us to fire up our Twitter accounts and to send Tweets to a specified hashtag. One of the results, they said, of doing this is that we would be able to see, were we to follow the hashtag, who was winning support and who was meeting a challenge throughout the days of lobbying. As the only representative there from the RIWP, I felt somewhat responsible for updating folks on my progress. I was also intrigued by live tweeting. So, at that moment, spurred on by the NWP, I opened up my iPhone and signed up for a Twitter account. From that moment forward, my handle's been @cookout70 I now have 113 followers, have sent over 800 tweets, and I am following over 400 individuals and organizations that are in some way connected to me as a teacher and a professional. In the past 4 months, I have cultivated a digital PLN, a personal learning network, that is tailored to my interests, my stance, my professional beliefs, and my eclectic tastes. I have gained so much, in just this short time, from this tremendous network of thinkers and do-ers. Here are five tangible benefits I've experienced since joining Twitter: 1. I now have colleagues across the globe, folks who are preparing teachers, teaching in colleges and universities and fighting corporate privatization of public schools and spaces. 2. As a result of cultivating international colleagues, I'm heading to the UK in November for a week. I will be spending time with professors at the University of Lincoln to study and better understand their "Student as Producer" model of teaching and learning. This, in turn, has opened up a whole new avenue for my interest in teaching writing by engaging my students in authentic, original research. 3. I now have readers visiting my blog. Folks don't comment much, but I can see that they are reading! And, that feels good. Like I am making a very small footprint. 4. I am able to easily stay connected to my NWP network, especially by following @writingproject and @NWPSiteLeaders. 5. My Personal Learning Network gives me hope because I've chosen to follow hopeful people. And, that's a small way I can positively impact my psyche and self-worth in a time when I am made to feel ashamed about being an advocate for public school teachers. As a teacher educator, first-year writing instructor, and director of the RIWP, I'm so happy to be able to use Twitter to connect the three streams of my professional life in one place. The most important piece of advice I can give you about becoming a digitally networked teacher leader is this: If I can do it, you can do it. Here are some resources to get you started! What is a PLN? http://onceateacher.wordpress.com/2009/05/05/pln-your-personal-learning-network-made-easy/
George Couros: "What Should a Networked Educational Leader Tweet About?" http://georgecouros.ca/blog/archives/1810

What are some good teacher-related discussions to join?
#edchat #engchat #edchatri #edblogs #yalitchat #teachchat #ISI2012

*diagram courtesy of Alex Couros