How to Teach 2nd Grade From Scratch

As the end of the school year draws near, it's time to reflect on how to teach 2nd grade without an education degree or a teaching certificate.


Step one,

Say yes when the head of school offers you the job. Move right past thinking it is crazy. Never mind what she is thinking offering the job to you - that’s her business. You have to leap at the chance before you think better of it.

Step two,

Call on all that other teaching experience:

Hebrew/Sunday school classes for which you were probably ill-prepared, but there was so little expectation or oversight that it just didn’t matter - and don't forget directing Hebrew schools, including teaching others about how to teach;

College classes for which you prepared detailed syllabi with oodles of reading, and horrid consequences explicitly laid out for plagiarism and cell-phone use in class;

Adult-ed programs for which you prepared too many texts and then wound up relying heavily on student questions.

Take them all, and throw them out the window.

Except maybe the plagiarism consequences, which you might want to save for when a student defies the sign saying “do your best work.”  No - throw out those consequences. They don’t really threaten the college students out of the plagiarism, and you can’t throw a 2nd grader out of class, or the school, for most of that defiant behavior. And trust me, you probably don’t want to. Plus, many second graders can barely read, so the college and adult-ed lessons are pretty useless.

Which brings me to

Step three,

Bring your heart.

Be prepared for it to get broken.

You will fall in love with your students. Really, you must. And if you don’t, then you probably won’t be a great teacher. And if you do, you need the have a great big open mushable, mashable heart, and be prepared for it to be bruised and scratched and torn.

Because content is only part of what you are teaching - and probably the least important part. What you are teaching, what you need to focus on, is character. You are teaching, or better guiding students to push through the hard stuff, to try things they think they can’t do, to get rid of that “can’t do” attitude, to persevere. You are teaching curiosity. No, you can’t teach that.

Nah - forget the word teaching

You are guiding

encouraging

fostering

The students will learn better when you stop teaching. When you see them. When you open the journey to them.

How do you teach 2nd grade? I haven’t a clue. I understand more about how to read a curriculum, how to write goals that I can meet and that students can understand, and how to write and (sort of) stick to a cohesive lesson plan. But teaching day to day? Every day is different, and no matter how well my plans are written, how cohesive and clear they are, I have learned to be flexible and ready for the unexpected.

What I do know, though, is that my students are awesome, and I appreciate every lesson they have for me, planned or otherwise. And I will miss them terribly when the year is over.

Addendum: thoughts that don't quite fit the above narrative
but I want to say them anyway:

• More than a skim of texts about 2nd grade pedagogy, including who 2nd graders are, is actually quite valuable, and probably necessary for sustained work in this field.
• If it weren't for the price many students would have to pay, I would think it valuable for every adult to teach for a year, including all of the preparation involved. As a society, we might respect our teachers more, and possibly compensate them better, recognizing all that they do. And more parents might then approach teachers with a level of compassion and gratitude, out of experience. I know the experience changed how I approach my son's teachers, even when I have a big concern.

St. Helens - I will never forget! 35 years

On top of St. Helens
All covered with ash
We lost Harry Truman
And his 800 cats.
     (sung to the tune of "On Top of Spaghetti")

Thirty five years ago today, Mount St. Helens blew her top. She puffed out ash and smoke, creating beautiful and terrifying visuals for miles to come, leaving anywhere from a dusting of ash here in Seattle and a lot of other places (apparently as far away as Minnesota) to feet of it in the immediate surrounds.

My older brother and I used to sing the little ditty above with a sort of glee, but the truth is that Harry Truman (not the president), refused to evacuate his home on St. Helens prior to the eruption. He and his sixteen cats (okay, our little folk ditty exaggerated a little) died there. One of 57 human and countless animal deaths.

Whenever May 18th rolls around, I find myself reflecting. 

We felt small tremors at our house in Settle - watched the red mushroom lamp swaying on its wire over our kitchen table.

I can still see the ash plume in my mind's eye - I don't need the photographs, though I don't think we could see it from our house (we had a good north view, but not south).

I can remember the dusting of fine ash that was impossible to clean, and stories from family and friends south and east who had a foot or more of fallen ash to contend with. I always thought, if it's so hard for me to clean one little layer, which scratched the heck out of the plexiglass in our front door beyond repair, how much harder for those who had not just the dust but the weight of piled ash.

For years, when we would drive down I-5 to Oregon, we could still see barren hills of ash, pushed off to the side of the road. Eventually, these became fertile, grasses and wildflowers covered them, and eventually trees made them essentially indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape, so that if you don't know where to look you would have no idea what you were seeing. 

Like St. Helens, who has welcomed the return of plants and animals to her reshaped landscape, I too have changed in these past 35 years. Sometimes inside I feel very much like the 9 year old child for whom the above events were so immensely important. But 35 years adds a lot of layers. For St. Helens, a mountain, those layers include the rebuilding of the inner dome and the reshaping of the outer flora and fauna. 

For me, those layers include growing up (still, every day), developing an appreciation for landscapes across our country and, indeed, our world, and learning to welcome the diverse nature of this world into my heart. For me, these 35 years have helped me to deepen the sense of human journey in the world, the way we are drawn from and to places. 

35 years later, May 18th, 2015 - and I have returned to the PNW, where the local news (see here and here, for example) is acknowledging, investigating, and commemorating this event that has been a natural marker in my life, in that "do you remember where you were when" way. In my call to return, throughout the years, I think I can understand a little of Harry Truman's refusal to leave, his willingness to stay in a place where death was almost certain. Where else would he feel so at home?


Note: I can find no reference to the little folk ditty at the top of this post. Did my brother and I make it up? Was it limited to our neighborhood? Did you, my Seattle readers, also sing this?

Writing Isn't Always for Sharing

In the age of the blog, in which everyone can write publicly, and many many do, it is valuable to remember that not all writing is meant for sharing.

I say this without considering whether all writing should be read, though I could argue that a LOT of what is out there simply isn't worth reading.

But some writing isn't meant to be shared. Blogs are not diaries, though some people treat them as such. Blogs are not private - even when you share a URL only with your intimate inner circle, once you put something out on the internet, it can more easily be shared. Even a private email between two parties can shared and spread under wrong circumstances.

I am leading classes and workshops in Writing as a Spiritual Practice. It is tempting to tie such writing to sharing within spiritual community.

Some amazing writing may come out of these workshops - and some may be great for sharing, with community, in blogs, or even in publishing contexts.  Most of that writing will take careful editing and reworking, whether it is poetry or Torah (bible) commentary or prayer or creative fiction or memoir.

But the truth is that my understanding of writing as a spiritual practice is that it is regular writing, practiced with the purpose of developing mindfulness and discovering the self. It is important for there to be a kind of safety in this writing.

I have a "Stickie" that appears every time I open my computer, which says "No one ever has to read a word I write." I got that from someone else. That puts it all on the potential reader, though, so I have added "I don't have to share anything I write, unless I want to." And this is the part that I'm sharing with my students in Writing as a Spiritual Practice groups.

You don't have to share. Let yourself write freely. Don't expect to share it, even if you have a particular audience in mind.  You may come back and rework a piece specifically for sharing, but often enough writing prompts may lead to a kind of tohu vavohu, a world unformed and chaotic, as in the biblical beginning of time, still needing to be ordered.

You don't have to share, and if you want to share, consider the right time as well as the right venue. This not-sharing is something I practice. I found myself saying "it's time for me to put another blog post up." In reflection, I find I have written a great deal in the last couple of weeks, even reworking a few pieces. One piece at least I will share on this blog, perhaps as early as next week, but more likely not for another few weeks -- because while it is meant for sharing, it needs to be shared at the right time.

And so I leave you with this - I have written to share with you that not all writing is meant to be shared. I don't mean all the junk out there that people share that I, frankly, don't want to read. And I don't mean the things people shouldn't write that can lead to job loss (e.g. dissing your employer publicly), though that should go without saying.

I mean from my internal perspective that there are things I am not ready to share, that there are things that can be problematic for one to write because one is afraid of sharing. I am talking more about the emotional safety - if you write, feel free to write without worrying that someone is going to read your words. If you need to write it for spiritual (or emotional) reasons, but you don't ever need/want to share it - burn it. 

Writing is a valuable process in and of itself. It can produce beautiful art, informative prose, supportive literature. But it doesn't always, and it isn't always meant to.

Writing isn't always for sharing. Sometimes it's just a way of learning to understand ourselves and our world.