There is an enlarged cartoon hanging up in our main office at the high school.  It is a picture of St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.  A potential resident in Heaven is approaching him. “Just one moment,” says St. Peter.  ” I need to check your Facebook account before I let you in.”
We have become very good at teaching our students about Internet safety and how not to post embarrassing pictures of ourselves on social media. What we need to do now is model for our students how to leave a digital footprint that is positive and impressive.

“One of the reasons social media has grown so fast is that it taps into what we, as human beings, naturally love and need and want to do—create, share, connect, relate” ( Jamie Notter & Maddie Grant).

We need to show our students how to create messages that persuade, entertain, and influence our audience.  Our messages must be written with intention, including an awareness of an audience we can only imagine. Facebook, WordPress, BlogSpot, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Snapchat have all had a profound effect on our schools, our families, and our cultures.  Let’s model how to drive these vehicles so that our travels are accomplished with an appropriate seat belt instead of proceeding with reckless abandon.

“Social media is changing the way we communicate and the way we are perceived, both positively and negatively. Every time you post a photo, or update your status, you are contributing to your own digital footprint and personal brand”( Amy Jo Martin).  Social media is not going away.
When I started my blog I had zero followers and I wasn’t following anyone.  That is how everyone starts out.  The important thing was my message.

Perhaps it is because I know we are our stories that I want people to share—to tell their stories and know that these stories are important for everyone. I think this quote sums it up…

“Someone needs to tell those tales. When the battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasures and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of Lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative. There’s magic in that. It’s in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift. Your sister may be able to see the future, but you yourself can shape it, boy. Do not forget that… there are many kinds of magic, after all.”
― Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus   

Pivotal Events

According to Merriam Webster a pivot is  “a person, thing, or factor having a major or central role, function, or effect.”  Recently I listened  once again to the Stanford commencement address given by Steve Jobs.  He tells three stories, each one a pivotal event.  I thought about what was a pivotal event  that changed me.  One of those moments was when I became a reader.

 

  When did I begin to read?  My earliest memory of reading was at the Brooklyn Public Library.  It was a modest brick building that was arranged like a split  level.  The downstairs housed

all of the adult material, the upstairs was the children’s book section, and the central level held the librarian’s desk, periodicals  and newspapers.

 

 

 

On Saturday mornings, my mother washed and waxed the floors in our apartment.   She systematically removed the table and chairs from the kitchen, and she would shoo me out  the door with my older  sister,  “Go and play and don’t come back until the floors are dry.”   We left the house and my sister was terribly annoyed that she was stuck with me for the morning. I had no idea how long it takes for floors to be washed or waxed and was happy to go with my sister.  My sister knew how to navigate the neighborhood.  She liked adventures.  She announced we were going to the library.  I was in second grade and she was in fifth.

 

The library was ten blocks away from our house, which was a long walk for me. I remember that it was hot and that my sister promised me that the library was air conditioned. The cracks in the sidewalk were filled with black tar and if I shuffled my feet a bit I could get the tar to stick to the bottom of my Keds and drag it along.  “Oh mom is going to love that on her clean floor,” my sister blew in disgust.

 

When we arrived at the library my sister stationed me upstairs at a table .  “Don’t’ move,” she ordered, “I’ll be back in a little while.”  She dashed downstairs to the adult section.  By  fifth grade she had read mot of the books in the children’s section and was granted special permission to take out books from the adult section.  The air conditioning was unbelievable.  It was even better than she promised.  I made myself comfortable and began to read my favorite story, The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss.  I never tired of that book.  After some time, my sister found me and gasped.  “Oh my goodness,”  she exclaimed.  “You are still reading Dr. Seuss books.  You are going to grow up to be an idiot.”

 

She sprinted to the shelves and returned with three books:  Charlotte’s Web, a picture book of Indonesia, and An American Anthology of Poetry.  “You will finish these by next week and from now on I will pick out the books for you to read,” she commanded.  I never complained.  I was a little scared of her.   I remember sitting in my father’s great upholstered blue club chair and reading Charlotte’s Web.  Until that moment I did not know that a book could make you cry.  The day I finished that book I became a reader.

My sister was as good as her word.  Each week she picked out a selection of three books that I was to finish by Friday.  Sometimes she would ask me questions about the books.  I did not know what genre was or fluency or what level I was supposed to be on.  Sometimes the books were very hard.  Most of the time, I loved them.   Perhaps that is why I became a reading teacher —so that I could help people discover the treasure of books.

My sister still sends me book titles that she thinks I should read.  Now I know how lucky I am.

Are Report Cards Making the Grade?

This week I visited my grandchildren in Massachusetts.  My kindergarten granddaughter proudly showed me her wiggly tooth and then asked if I wanted to see her report card.  I wondered what this could say.
It was a simple report card that showed how she was faring in reading and number concepts.  There were a few areas that indicated if she was doing well or needed support and then there was a beautiful narrative that really told me what I wanted to know.
The summary was addressed to her, and although, this was logical, so few report cards are addressed to their students.   From reading the comments, I knew her teacher truly knew her.  She spoke about her artwork and how it calmed her and allowed her to relax.  She described her social skills and love of stories.
I thought of the elementary report cards that I worked on with some dedicated teachers.  I am not sure they achieved what we set out to do: tell our students and their parents  how they were doing in school in clear and simple language. Thomas Jefferson wrote that "there is nothing more unequal than the equal treatment of unequal people."  Every student in our classrooms succeeds or fails for a multitude of reasons.  Sometimes, students aren't interested in the topic , sometimes they have a broad background in the topic, sometimes they haven't had breakfast or lunch or dinner the night before. But however they are doing, we as educators need to help them understand their progress with accuracy and gentleness.  Our students are as resilient as young twigs and as fragile as glass.  They remind me of eggs.  An egg  in its shell can withstand tremendous pressure, but if you don't hold it just right it will shatter into a yolky mess.
Our report cards are an academic reckoning.  We must remember they hold us accountable just as much as our students.  We must deliver them with honesty, not jargon, with much attention to the affective side of the child.  Although many teachers hate the arduous task of the narrative, I think it is the best way to deliver a message.

One of my favorite authors is Patricia Polacco.  In one of her books a grandfather gives his granddaughter a book and pours a bit of honey on it.  The honey is to remind her of the sweetness of learning.  Perhaps if we can wrap our words with a bit of honey, our messages will be heard more clearly.  I am so glad my granddaughter's teacher took the time to write so lovingly of her progress.  I will treasure that report card.