Tech Application: Setting up a blog
Usually this will be a blog for me to share different technology applications that I use in my classroom, but in honor of my
NJWPT Reunion lunch tomorrow, I will start with a narrative. The
first version of this story was written just days before I started teaching. The revised version below was actually my
anthology piece when I went through the
NJWPT training six long years ago.
Ok, too much talking already- on to the story...
I don’t know exactly what made Mrs. Shepherd so precious to me. All first graders love their teachers, but the admiration I had for Mrs. Shepherd was much deeper than that.
(I LOVED Mrs. Shepherd!)Maybe it was the way she gave me the nickname K.R. Maybe it was the time my mom made me wear a horribly ugly hand-me-down dress, and Mrs. Shepherd told me how beautiful I looked.
(I certainly wasn't winning any style awards!)
Perhaps it was the way she didn’t get angry when I over watered the plants and flooded the counter. She understood it was an accident and just handed me the paper towels. It could have been the way she convinced me that I could cross the scary pedestrian bridge near our school playground by myself, and maybe it was the way she celebrated after I crossed the bridge even though I ran across it with my eyes closed. It might have been the way she always said she knew the task at hand was hard, but she knew I could do it; that I WAS doing it. The funny thing is that when I think about Mrs. Shepherd, I don’t really remember how she taught me to read and solve math problems. I remember the way she made me feel. I remember all those special things that she seemed to do just for me. Those were the things that made the difference. Those were the things that inspired me to be a teacher. Even then I knew I wanted to grow up and be just like Mrs. Shepherd.
(My first public announcement of my intention to become a teacher.)
Seventeen years after spending that magical year with Mrs. Shepherd, I finally became a teacher. I started my first real teaching job at Truman Elementary teaching transitional first grade. However, the thing that really made my first year special was that my own beloved Mrs. Shepherd turned out to be a teacher in the room next door- a very significant coincidence considering that my old elementary school was more than 100 miles away from Truman.
On my very first day as a teacher, I was re-introduced to Mrs. Shepherd. While she remembered me very clearly, she didn’t remember the individual incidences that are so clearly etched in my mind. Similar little incidences have happened to her thousands of times over the years. However, they only happened once for me. I only had one Mrs. Shepherd, and she made me feel like I was the most important student in her class.
(We all felt like we were the most important student in the class.) I started my first year of teaching on the ultimate high note. Teaching was my passion, and I had waited 17 years for my chance to shine. After years of hard work and numerous reprimands for trying to take over my classrooms, my dream was finally coming true. I was going to be the one celebrating my student’s achievements. I was going to be my student’s only Miss Rose, and I was going to make each of my students feel as if they were the most important student in my class. Of course the best part of the situation was that my own Mrs. Shepherd was going to be right there to witness all of this. I couldn’t wait to amaze her with my teaching skills.
Looking back, I had very similar feelings as I entered first grade. I had waited six long years to become a reader, and I was consumed with a passion for reading despite never having read a whole book without help. After years of hearing the legends of my genius sister who started reading Reader’s Digest at age three, I was finally going to be able to pick up and read those lovely petite sized magazines. I figured learning to read would only take me a couple of days. I couldn’t wait to grab one of those Reader’s Digests from the stack on the coffee table at home and discuss its contents with Mrs. Shepherd. Forget that book with the train on it- I was headed for the big time. At the rate I was going to learn, I would probably be reading Faulkner by the end of the year. It was going to be fabulous! I was going to be the best kid in the whole class, and Mrs. Shepherd was going to be extremely proud of me.
(From the start, reading was all about magazines.)
When I first started teaching, I quickly learned it was not all wonderful moments and happy feelings. Not only was I not the terrific teacher I wanted to be, I was horrible at quite a lot of things. I carefully placed all the important papers I was given in a folder. Then, I carefully placed the folder in a safe place. Unfortunately, the location of that safe place remains unknown to this very day. I was unable to get my students to behave for twenty seconds and quickly discovered that I only thought I was a patient person. Guided Reading Books, which came from the library in sets of five, always became a math lesson on subtraction when it came time to return them. I had great ideas and exciting lessons, but nothing was working the way I wanted. Passionate feelings were being replaced with feelings of disappointment, and it wasn’t long before I wanted to quit.
The worst thing was that I had a direct comparison to what I wanted to be. Thanks to huge windows that allowed one to look inside the classrooms, I could always see Mrs. Shepherd’s Class lovingly engaged in the learning process. Her student’s eyes were forever lit up with that magic sparkle, and her student’s sounds of learning created a soft harmony with the stimulating music that always played in the background. Mrs. Shepherd was always happy, and her face and body was so tense free, it looked as if she was enjoying a calming yoga class instead of teaching 22 second graders.
Then there was my room. My students were having fun. They had that magic sparkle in their eyes as they created artistic masterpieces that covered not only their canvases but their clothes as well.
(The concept of smocks was unfamiliar to me.)
Our stimulating music was silenced after a far too active puppet show came to a dramatic conclusion that knocked over the large shelf holding the entire block and manipulative collection. It not only crushed the community of counting bears hibernating in their plastic tub, but the class CD player as well. And while the sounds of learning could always be heard in my room, I don’t think it was good that prolonged exposure to my sounds of learning could cause permanent ear damage. It was clear I was not Mrs. Shepherd. It seemed I was failing at my life-long dream, and I would often head next door to share my frustrations.
(
14 boys + 5 girls= lots of noise)
Interestingly enough, this wasn’t the first time Mrs. Shepherd had been barraged with my frustrations. It turns out that learning to read in first grade didn’t take a couple of days. I needed that stupid book with a train on it, and that completely exasperated me. I was horribly annoyed that here I was at age six and couldn’t even understand the pictures in those lovely Reader’s Digests. I made it clear that I did NOT want to read from the train book, that I did not want to sit next to disgusting Dusty at reading group, and that I wasn’t about to fold my paper into squares and draw pictures and write words on it. I wanted to read Reader’s Digest. How on earth was drawing a picture of a balloon and copying that word that I could only guess spelled balloon going to help me get at that stack of magazines?
Miraculously, and despite my stubbornness, Mrs. Shepherd managed to not only teach me how to read, but she even instilled within me a great love of books. (I even learned to love the one with the train on it.)Looking back now, I know it isn’t that I don’t remember how she taught me to read. I know I didn’t learn to read by folding my paper into squares and drawing balloons in boxes. I learned to read because of how she made me feel. She taught me to be patient with myself even though I wasn’t a perfect student, and it was all those little moments I remember that allowed me to get through first grade. Thanks to Mrs. Shepherd’s patience and encouragement, I regained my passion for reading, even though it was still quite a few years before I could understand those lovely slick magazines on the coffee table.
Just as in first grade, it was the little moments that allowed me to get through my first year of teaching. It was the little moments that taught me to be patient with myself and helped me regain the passion for teaching that I’d started the year with. I don’t really know exactly how Mrs. Shepherd did it. Maybe it was the way she didn’t tell me I was over reacting when I announced that I probably wasn’t coming back in January because after three months I still couldn’t even tear butcher paper off the roll straight, let alone educate children. Maybe it was the time I wore an atrocious purple dress simply because it was comfortable and never needed ironing, and Mrs. Shepherd told me how nice I looked. Perhaps it was the way she didn’t laugh at me when I shook up the orange tempera paint without the lid on it and covered myself and the navy blue carpet in the cold liquid. She understood it wasn’t funny to me and simply handed me the paper towels. It could have been the way she encouraged all of my crazy educational celebrations at the end of each theme unit, and maybe it was the way she celebrated even when my brilliant everyday hero unit ended in the greatest cupcake making disaster any classroom had ever seen.
(Somehow having 19 six year olds make 110 cupcakes seemed reasonable at the time.)
It might have been the way she never missed an opportunity to tell me that she knew the task at hand was hard, but she knew I could do it; that I WAS doing it. I didn’t end the year as the perfect teacher I wanted to be, but then again I didn’t leave first grade reading Reader’s Digest either.
After my first year, I left Truman to take a job out of state. Mrs. Shepherd also moved far away from Truman to go back and teach at my old elementary school. It was just as hard leaving my beloved Mrs. Shepherd then as it was when I had to go on to second grade, but just like one year was enough to inspire me to be a teacher, one year was enough to teach me what it means to be a great one. And now, when I sit back and indulge my regained passion for reading as I enjoy the slick pages of my Reader’s Digest each month, I can’t help but think of the regained passion I have for teaching and how much I love being in the process of learning to be just like Mrs. Shepherd.
(The end of another year with Mrs. Shepherd.)
