There are a lot of changes coming to education in Indiana - actually to almost every state in the country - but I live and teach here, my daughter goes to school here, so it's Indiana I'm concerned about.
On Tuesday this week, the state senate passed HB 1367 with some amendments of their own. It is my understanding that the biggest portion of HB 1367 is dedicated to giving school corporations more discretion as to how to spend their money, i.e. money can be moved from fund to fund. I see this as a good thing. If a corporation has enough money to build a new gym but not enough to keep its lights on or pay its teachers, it ought to be able to transfer money from the building fund to the operating costs fund. Makes sense, right?
One of the amendments the senate added to HB 1367 mandates that children cannot be passed on to fourth grade if they can't read at a third grade level. This seems to me like a no-brainer, but evidently there is evidence this is happening. Personally, I think we need to work on remediation much sooner. It's not as though a child hits third grade and suddenly can't read. However, I do know that I've had way too many children in middle school (and yes, high school) who don't read as well as they should, so the problem is out there. If your child is lagging behind, if you're worried about your child's progress but you don't believe your child's teacher is worried about it, speak up. Ask questions. Be an advocate for your child. I think we need these things - remediation and more parent involvement - more than we need a law like this, but that's just me.
Another amendment the senate tacked on to HB 1367 is to begin the school year AFTER Labor Day. The state (I'm quite sure) is still going to require 180 days in the school year, so the year will extend well into June if it doesn't start until September. I have one major issue with this, but in talking to my students about it in depth yesterday, they brought up many more.
My issue has to do with ISTEP. Currently, the ISTEP is given in two sections. The first section is being given next week - the first week of March - when we still have three months of school left. The second section is given the end of April or first of May, when most schools still have at least a month left. As (hopefully) any parent or teacher knows, these tests are incredibly important for all involved. A student's success on the test influences his assignment to future classes and grade levels. ISTEP scores are going to very soon begin influencing teacher evaluations and job retention. Students' cumulative scores influence the corporation's evaluation by the state and affect how much or how little state intervention the corporation receives.
When these tests are given at a point in the school year when there are still months of instruction left, it is unavoidable that there will be some standards left unaddressed. There simply isn't enough time before the tests to get to everything - to teach it well and ensure student understanding. English - my area - is probably the easiest to try and cover all of the core standards before testing because so many of them are used throughout the year. However, we're on the trimester system, so the students I have now, I have only had for a week. They have only had one-half of eighth grade English so far. So have I taught all of eighth grade standards to my satisfaction to those students yet? I certainly haven't. Give me another three months and it will be a different conversation. Even if I had had them all year, I would still be concerned about a few of the standards. There just isn't enough time.
Now, think about science (which is tested in fourth and sixth grade), social studies (which is tested in fifth and seventh grade), and math (which is tested in all grades 3-8). Math and science build throughout the year, right? What do you suppose those kids have yet to be exposed to when they still have months to go in the year? Regarding social studies, students are taught Indiana history in fourth grade. How far will they have gotten by March?
The ISTEP tests what students should know at the end of each year, but they are given before we reach the actual end of the year. Now, we push the end of the school year into June, so, if we don't move the testing dates, what do you suppose will happen to the ISTEP scores? That's my main concern. It took a Herculean effort to move that test from the fall to spring a year ago. How long do you think it will take to move it again?
The students' concerns were no less valid, even if they weren't quite as academically centered. The athletes are concerned about playing seasons. Will fall sports seasons be shortened? Will they be playing football in the snow, or in 30-degree temperatures? Many young athletes today play in summer leagues whose seasons kick into high gear in May and June. Those who plaly in these leagues are concerned about the effect this new school year will have on their ability to participate in those leagues.
Another concern was for 4-H members. Most 4-H fairs take place in July, which means members are incredibly busy during June completing projects for the fair. If school lasts into the second or third week of June, they fear they won't have the necessary time to complete their proejcts.
This proposed change to the school year is far-reaching in its ramifications. As usual, I'm worried that the people considering the change are people who are clueless when it comes to actually working in education or are people who are influenced by strong lobbyists.
The whole point of this post is to let you know that it isn't a done deal. The bill passed the senate by a vote of 31-19, so it has strong support in the senate. However, it was sent back to the house for reconsideration because of the amendments the senate added. If you have an opinion about the bill, get a hold of your local legislators. Tell them how you feel.
I'm going to.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Courage
Courage looks different to everyone. It can even look different to you on one day that it does another day. Let me tell you what it looked like to me today.
Today was the last day of our trimester. Yesterday, one of my classes revised essays they wrote last week, so I took them home and graded them last night. When I returned them to the kids today, I also delivered the news that they were going to have to stand up in front of the class and read them. I heard the expected moans and groans, as well as the, "Do we have to?" questions. Yes, they had to.
There are several English standards that require the students to speak or present in front of their classmates. Luckily, our school also has a communications class that covers many of these standards, but I like to try and incorporate a little of it in English. It's hard for most kids to get up in front of their peers and do this, I know, but I chose today's essay because it wasn't a personal one. It was about a book they had all read, so the topic wouldn't be embarrassing for them to talk about in front of others, and they would gain some (a little) public speaking experience.
I called the kids up alphabetically and everyone participated good-naturedly. The ones who were sitting and listening actually sat and listened, being respectful and considerate in ways they often aren't when it's me up there. I was proud of them.
Then I came to a boy I'll just call "T." This boy is an odd mixture of personalities. He has a good sense of humor and will once in a while participate in discussions and read-alouds. He often has stories to share about his life, but he doesn't always do his homework. He's usually respectful. Today, though, when I called his name to read his essay, he said, "No. I'm not doing it."
I don't like to be told no.
I started to tell him he had to, that it would be insubordination if he refused, and then he started to sob. Not weep. Not tear up. He sobbed. Head down on his desk, he bawled in my classroom. My jaw hit the ground.
Another boy caught my eye and said, "This happens when he has to speak in front of the class."
I looked at T for a second or two, listening to him cry, and I said, "T, I want you to calm down and take a few breaths. I'm not going to make you do this, but I want you to think about something. Everyone in here is doing this and living through it. Everyone is being kind to each other. At some point, you're going to have to do this for school and if you don't, it will really hurt your grade. I want you to try and do it here, where no one will laugh and you can see that you can do it."
I didn't know if my words had any effect on him because his crying continued, but I hoped they had. I called the next name and three or four students took their turns. Time was running out on the class, and I noticed that T had stopped crying and was sitting up straight in his chair. He had his essay in his hand.
Before I called the next name on my list, I said, "T, are you thinking you want to try it?"
He said, "Yeah, I'm just gonna do it." The entire class clapped as he went to the front of the room.
T stood at the front of the room, read the first few words on his paper, and started crying again. Hard. He'd read a couple words, sob a little bit, wipe away his tears with his arms, and read a couple more, then cry, dab his tears, read a few more, and so on.
I told him very, very early in his attempt that he didn't have to do it. But I guess something inside him said he had to. Because he finished that essay. He sobbed all the way through it, but he finished it.
I had tears in my eyes as I watched him. I have tears in my eyes now as I type this. Several of my other students turned at various times to look at me as T struggled in front of them, their eyes as wide as mine felt, but I had no answers.
I had given him an out. He refused to take it.
When he finished, we all clapped vigorously for him. I was standing, and I'd wanted to hug him, but that never felt quite right in that moment, so I just stood where I was and clapped really hard and really long.
When the clapping died down, I said, "T, that's the bravest thing I've ever seen a student do."
I'll never forget it.
Today was the last day of our trimester. Yesterday, one of my classes revised essays they wrote last week, so I took them home and graded them last night. When I returned them to the kids today, I also delivered the news that they were going to have to stand up in front of the class and read them. I heard the expected moans and groans, as well as the, "Do we have to?" questions. Yes, they had to.
There are several English standards that require the students to speak or present in front of their classmates. Luckily, our school also has a communications class that covers many of these standards, but I like to try and incorporate a little of it in English. It's hard for most kids to get up in front of their peers and do this, I know, but I chose today's essay because it wasn't a personal one. It was about a book they had all read, so the topic wouldn't be embarrassing for them to talk about in front of others, and they would gain some (a little) public speaking experience.
I called the kids up alphabetically and everyone participated good-naturedly. The ones who were sitting and listening actually sat and listened, being respectful and considerate in ways they often aren't when it's me up there. I was proud of them.
Then I came to a boy I'll just call "T." This boy is an odd mixture of personalities. He has a good sense of humor and will once in a while participate in discussions and read-alouds. He often has stories to share about his life, but he doesn't always do his homework. He's usually respectful. Today, though, when I called his name to read his essay, he said, "No. I'm not doing it."
I don't like to be told no.
I started to tell him he had to, that it would be insubordination if he refused, and then he started to sob. Not weep. Not tear up. He sobbed. Head down on his desk, he bawled in my classroom. My jaw hit the ground.
Another boy caught my eye and said, "This happens when he has to speak in front of the class."
I looked at T for a second or two, listening to him cry, and I said, "T, I want you to calm down and take a few breaths. I'm not going to make you do this, but I want you to think about something. Everyone in here is doing this and living through it. Everyone is being kind to each other. At some point, you're going to have to do this for school and if you don't, it will really hurt your grade. I want you to try and do it here, where no one will laugh and you can see that you can do it."
I didn't know if my words had any effect on him because his crying continued, but I hoped they had. I called the next name and three or four students took their turns. Time was running out on the class, and I noticed that T had stopped crying and was sitting up straight in his chair. He had his essay in his hand.
Before I called the next name on my list, I said, "T, are you thinking you want to try it?"
He said, "Yeah, I'm just gonna do it." The entire class clapped as he went to the front of the room.
T stood at the front of the room, read the first few words on his paper, and started crying again. Hard. He'd read a couple words, sob a little bit, wipe away his tears with his arms, and read a couple more, then cry, dab his tears, read a few more, and so on.
I told him very, very early in his attempt that he didn't have to do it. But I guess something inside him said he had to. Because he finished that essay. He sobbed all the way through it, but he finished it.
I had tears in my eyes as I watched him. I have tears in my eyes now as I type this. Several of my other students turned at various times to look at me as T struggled in front of them, their eyes as wide as mine felt, but I had no answers.
I had given him an out. He refused to take it.
When he finished, we all clapped vigorously for him. I was standing, and I'd wanted to hug him, but that never felt quite right in that moment, so I just stood where I was and clapped really hard and really long.
When the clapping died down, I said, "T, that's the bravest thing I've ever seen a student do."
I'll never forget it.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
We aren't all dumbing it down
I'm aggravated.
I turned Headline News on this afternoon as I often do and Chuck Roberts was soliciting opinions on a recent USA Today editorial, Our view on education: To boost graduation rates, states water down standards. My aggravation didn't sprout after I read the editorial; it came after I read comments people posted, both to the original editorial and on Chuck Roberts's Facebook page.
I will not argue the fact that some school districts, even some whole school systems in certain states, are struggling to maintain their academic standards. But even in those states whose numbers - graduation rates, test scores, etc. - are less than exemplary, I am certain there are school districts here and there that are doing it right and doing it well.
I have worked in five different school districts in Indiana. In every single one of them, I worked with teachers who care and who go above and beyond their contractual duties to help - often PUSH - their students to succeed. I have had the privilege of working for principals and superintendents who are constantly looking for and procuring the best for their students - the best teachers, the best methods, the best equipment and materials, the best facilities - that their funding allows.
But all of this - all of us - are tangled up in so much red tape that the general public (at least those who were posting on Facebook) doesn't take into consideration when they rant about greedy teachers, or school communities that don't care or that care only about numbers and statistics.
No Child Left Behind began the establishment of national standards for education. I believe the impetus behind this act was to help bring the US up to the academic levels of some other nations. That national act spawned (here in Indiana) Public Law 221 (and similar state laws across the country). These standards (which are stupefyingly long and involved) are what we teachers, as licensed state employees, are required to teach to our students. Our employers, the school districts, are responsible for holding us accountable for teaching those standards.
Everything is tied to the standards. Everything.
The standardized tests evaluate students' mastery of the standards. Their individual scores on those tests determine whether or not the students graduate from high school. The overall student scores on those tests determine a school's "success" rate which in turn determines the level of government involvement in the management of the school district, the funding provided to the school district, and - at its most extreme - the existence of the school district. Soon those scores will also help determine whether or not I keep my job (regardless of the motivation level of my students, parental involvement, and plain academic ability).
If the general public isn't happy with what the students are being taught there are several things they should do rather than rant on social networking sites about how terrible things are in the school system. They should acquaint themselves with their state's standards. (I wonder how many of those who were posting such negative comments even know what these standards are.) They should take an active part in their school community. So many of them said that our country is going downhill because of our educational system. If that's what they believe is true - get involved, get educated, and ask what can be done to help.
We educators have so many responsibilities to so many different people it's unbelievable. How many bosses does an average employee have? I have more than I can count. I am answerable to my principal, my superintendent and my school board. I am answerable to the parents' of my students. But most importantly, I am answerable to the kids who sit in my room every day and count on me to prepare them for the tests they will face in their lives - academic tests and life tests as well. And I can tell you this - I go into every day prepared for the challenge and I do it (almost every day) with a smile on my face. I love my job, and I'm tired of listening to people who don't have a clue run it down.
I turned Headline News on this afternoon as I often do and Chuck Roberts was soliciting opinions on a recent USA Today editorial, Our view on education: To boost graduation rates, states water down standards. My aggravation didn't sprout after I read the editorial; it came after I read comments people posted, both to the original editorial and on Chuck Roberts's Facebook page.
I will not argue the fact that some school districts, even some whole school systems in certain states, are struggling to maintain their academic standards. But even in those states whose numbers - graduation rates, test scores, etc. - are less than exemplary, I am certain there are school districts here and there that are doing it right and doing it well.
I have worked in five different school districts in Indiana. In every single one of them, I worked with teachers who care and who go above and beyond their contractual duties to help - often PUSH - their students to succeed. I have had the privilege of working for principals and superintendents who are constantly looking for and procuring the best for their students - the best teachers, the best methods, the best equipment and materials, the best facilities - that their funding allows.
But all of this - all of us - are tangled up in so much red tape that the general public (at least those who were posting on Facebook) doesn't take into consideration when they rant about greedy teachers, or school communities that don't care or that care only about numbers and statistics.
No Child Left Behind began the establishment of national standards for education. I believe the impetus behind this act was to help bring the US up to the academic levels of some other nations. That national act spawned (here in Indiana) Public Law 221 (and similar state laws across the country). These standards (which are stupefyingly long and involved) are what we teachers, as licensed state employees, are required to teach to our students. Our employers, the school districts, are responsible for holding us accountable for teaching those standards.
Everything is tied to the standards. Everything.
The standardized tests evaluate students' mastery of the standards. Their individual scores on those tests determine whether or not the students graduate from high school. The overall student scores on those tests determine a school's "success" rate which in turn determines the level of government involvement in the management of the school district, the funding provided to the school district, and - at its most extreme - the existence of the school district. Soon those scores will also help determine whether or not I keep my job (regardless of the motivation level of my students, parental involvement, and plain academic ability).
If the general public isn't happy with what the students are being taught there are several things they should do rather than rant on social networking sites about how terrible things are in the school system. They should acquaint themselves with their state's standards. (I wonder how many of those who were posting such negative comments even know what these standards are.) They should take an active part in their school community. So many of them said that our country is going downhill because of our educational system. If that's what they believe is true - get involved, get educated, and ask what can be done to help.
We educators have so many responsibilities to so many different people it's unbelievable. How many bosses does an average employee have? I have more than I can count. I am answerable to my principal, my superintendent and my school board. I am answerable to the parents' of my students. But most importantly, I am answerable to the kids who sit in my room every day and count on me to prepare them for the tests they will face in their lives - academic tests and life tests as well. And I can tell you this - I go into every day prepared for the challenge and I do it (almost every day) with a smile on my face. I love my job, and I'm tired of listening to people who don't have a clue run it down.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Llamas, opossums, and cats, oh my
Today was a great example of why I love teaching eighth graders.
We began a poetry unit last week, and there are several terms I have to try and get pounded into their brains for our state standards. We've talked about rhythm and rhyme, couplets, and free verse. At the end of the week last week, one of them asked about Haikus. We talked about those for a while, and some of them mentioned that they enjoyed writing them in elementary school. They asked if I'd accept a Haiku from them for extra credit. (Haikus are not in the eighth grade standards.) I said that'd be awesome, if some of them wanted to give it a go. Some said they would.
At that point, I grinned at them and said if I was evil, I'd make them write a sonnet - another type of poetry they need to be able to recognize. Well, they wanted to know why that would be so hard, and, of course, if there would be MORE extra credit available to them if they wrote one of those. I grinned bigger.
I laid out for them all of the requirements of a sonnet. 14 lines. Rhyme scheme: abab cdcd efef gg. Iambic pentameter. Their eyes were as big as saucers and their mouths hung open. When they could speak again, they said, "Please don't make us do that, Mrs. Honeycutt!" I promised them I wouldn't, even confessed I'd never tried to write one myself.
Then it happened.
"Mrs. Honeycutt!" came a shout from the back. "I want to try!" And then, a second later, a voice from the front, "I want to too!"
I grinned again. And said, "Okay."
If they get it done, and get it done right, they'll get some decent extra credit points. But do you see the magic of the middle schooler?
I set before them a very difficult task. I told them they didn't have to do it. I even told them that I'd never done it. And some of them bit.
"I'm up to the challenge!" one boy said. And I do believe he is. Before class was over, he'd started his sonnet. He said it's about llamas and opossums. The other boy who told me he's going to try is writing one about his cats. How can that not brighten your day?
How many times as adults do we still say, "I'm up to the challenge!" with a wide grin on our faces, looking forward to the work? Not as often as maybe we should.
My middle schoolers energize me. (Thank God, because they also drain my energy on an hourly basis!!) I love that part of them - their willingness to jump in feet first, and to smile as they go.
We began a poetry unit last week, and there are several terms I have to try and get pounded into their brains for our state standards. We've talked about rhythm and rhyme, couplets, and free verse. At the end of the week last week, one of them asked about Haikus. We talked about those for a while, and some of them mentioned that they enjoyed writing them in elementary school. They asked if I'd accept a Haiku from them for extra credit. (Haikus are not in the eighth grade standards.) I said that'd be awesome, if some of them wanted to give it a go. Some said they would.
At that point, I grinned at them and said if I was evil, I'd make them write a sonnet - another type of poetry they need to be able to recognize. Well, they wanted to know why that would be so hard, and, of course, if there would be MORE extra credit available to them if they wrote one of those. I grinned bigger.
I laid out for them all of the requirements of a sonnet. 14 lines. Rhyme scheme: abab cdcd efef gg. Iambic pentameter. Their eyes were as big as saucers and their mouths hung open. When they could speak again, they said, "Please don't make us do that, Mrs. Honeycutt!" I promised them I wouldn't, even confessed I'd never tried to write one myself.
Then it happened.
"Mrs. Honeycutt!" came a shout from the back. "I want to try!" And then, a second later, a voice from the front, "I want to too!"
I grinned again. And said, "Okay."
If they get it done, and get it done right, they'll get some decent extra credit points. But do you see the magic of the middle schooler?
I set before them a very difficult task. I told them they didn't have to do it. I even told them that I'd never done it. And some of them bit.
"I'm up to the challenge!" one boy said. And I do believe he is. Before class was over, he'd started his sonnet. He said it's about llamas and opossums. The other boy who told me he's going to try is writing one about his cats. How can that not brighten your day?
How many times as adults do we still say, "I'm up to the challenge!" with a wide grin on our faces, looking forward to the work? Not as often as maybe we should.
My middle schoolers energize me. (Thank God, because they also drain my energy on an hourly basis!!) I love that part of them - their willingness to jump in feet first, and to smile as they go.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
This Is It - It definitely would have been
People who know me well (or who knew me when...) will not be surprised that I went to see This Is It yesterday when it opened. For those of you who don't recognize the movie by its title, it's the footage from Michael Jackson's rehearsals for his last concert series scheduled for London's O2 Theatre this year.
From interviews I've listened to and read, I believe MJ gave the concert this name because he intended for it to be his crowning achievement, a lasting legacy for his children and his fans. This girl believes it definitely would have been.
I was fortunate enough to see Michael in his heyday - 1988 for his Bad tour. (I still have the ticket stub - I paid a whopping $25 for the experience. Think of that....) He was everything you'd expect, and I remember the feeling I had just being in the same building with him. No matter what else you say about the man, you have to acknowledge his creative genius.
Bad was the last album of his that I bought. I didn't continue to follow him, except for the snippets of news I would get nightly on TV or in the headlines of my local paper. I was never able to form an opinion as to what I thought about the allegations of molestation that plagued him in the recent past. The teenager that fawned over him in the '80s couldn't conceive of the idea that he would hurt anyone. The mother I am now shivered at the thought of what he might have done with those kids. All I know is that the criminal case foundered and he was never convicted of anything. I know his wealth would have been a beacon to unscrupulous people looking to make some money. Really, it doesn't matter what I think about that, does it?
The fact remains that a performer I was fanatical about as a teenager died so much sooner than he should have, taking his genius with him. Kind of. Because what we have left - This Is It - is a wonderful celebration of Michael at his best. The concert would have been phenomenal - amazing stage sets, new films shot to play behind his live performance on stage, choreography worthy of the King of Pop - and I would have paid several hundred dollars to see it. Thousands of people already had when he died.
This Is It does not exploit Michael Jackson. It does what he wanted his concert series to do: It plants him firmly back at the top of the pop charts. It gives us one more look at the performer who broke records - and hearts when he died - all around the world. It gives us a chance to remember him at his best.
And when it comes down to it, isn't that what all of us want when our time's up? To leave the best of ourselves behind? Michael did that. This Is It is it.
From interviews I've listened to and read, I believe MJ gave the concert this name because he intended for it to be his crowning achievement, a lasting legacy for his children and his fans. This girl believes it definitely would have been.
I was fortunate enough to see Michael in his heyday - 1988 for his Bad tour. (I still have the ticket stub - I paid a whopping $25 for the experience. Think of that....) He was everything you'd expect, and I remember the feeling I had just being in the same building with him. No matter what else you say about the man, you have to acknowledge his creative genius.
Bad was the last album of his that I bought. I didn't continue to follow him, except for the snippets of news I would get nightly on TV or in the headlines of my local paper. I was never able to form an opinion as to what I thought about the allegations of molestation that plagued him in the recent past. The teenager that fawned over him in the '80s couldn't conceive of the idea that he would hurt anyone. The mother I am now shivered at the thought of what he might have done with those kids. All I know is that the criminal case foundered and he was never convicted of anything. I know his wealth would have been a beacon to unscrupulous people looking to make some money. Really, it doesn't matter what I think about that, does it?
The fact remains that a performer I was fanatical about as a teenager died so much sooner than he should have, taking his genius with him. Kind of. Because what we have left - This Is It - is a wonderful celebration of Michael at his best. The concert would have been phenomenal - amazing stage sets, new films shot to play behind his live performance on stage, choreography worthy of the King of Pop - and I would have paid several hundred dollars to see it. Thousands of people already had when he died.
This Is It does not exploit Michael Jackson. It does what he wanted his concert series to do: It plants him firmly back at the top of the pop charts. It gives us one more look at the performer who broke records - and hearts when he died - all around the world. It gives us a chance to remember him at his best.
And when it comes down to it, isn't that what all of us want when our time's up? To leave the best of ourselves behind? Michael did that. This Is It is it.
Friday, October 9, 2009
The flour baby
My daughter is a sophomore and is currently taking the one required trimester of health. It's been an interesting week in that class, for both of us.
On Tuesday, I had to go to the store to buy a five-pound bag of flour which she promptly named Kadence Lily. Yes, she named a sack of flour. Why? you ask. Because for a week she has to pretend it's a baby. It - sorry, Kadence - goes to school with her on Monday, and then she drops her baby off at "daycare," which is her health teacher's room, for the day. When she's performing next weekend with her marching band, guess who gets to babysit. Oh, yes, Grandma Sharon. I am expected to take that sack of flour - sorry again, Kadence - to the competition and sit with it in the bleachers while I watch my daughter perform. I've already scouted the territory of, "Well, what if I just leave it - her - at home? Who's going to know?"
"MOM!" my daughter responded with mock indignation. "You have to take her!"
Yes, my daughter knows it's not a REAL baby. (Even if we did buy some onesies to dress it in. She swears she's not the only one doing that, and I do believe her.) But she wants this to be an authentic experience. She wants to play her part, so I have to play mine out of respect for her. (I'm taking a big tote bag to the band competition and Kadence is going to be at the bottom of that.)
Today, she came home from school and said that she'd been given a handout with diagrams that demonstrated how to do a breast exam on herself.
"Mom, it was an old woman with real saggy boobs and that's just wrong! I didn't need to see that!" We had a good laugh over it. (Especially too, because the handouts had been miscopied and on the flip side were diagrams demonstrating the proper method for checking oneself for testicular cancer. Imagine that in the hands of a 15-year-old girl.)
But after we got done chuckling, I talked to her about how important those self checks can be, and how frustrating they can be. It's difficult to know - at least for me - what's just me and what might be the beginnings of a cancerous tumor. I told her that if she actually started doing them now, maybe by the time that the threat of cancer is a lot more real for her, she'll have a much better idea as to what is her and what isn't. Practice surely helps.
Which got me thinking . . . Isn't that what we, as parents, try to do with our kids? Aren't we trying to teach them - while we have them under the safety of our own roofs - how to handle the twisted, slippery roads of life, both through our own experiences and theirs, as they grow? Don't we want them to practice their decision making skills so that hopefully when they're out on their own they will have honed those skills well enough that they'll keep themselves (relatively) safe, happy, and healthy? Of course that's what we're trying to do.
So bring on the flour babies. I'll babysit Kadence Lily whenever she asks.
On Tuesday, I had to go to the store to buy a five-pound bag of flour which she promptly named Kadence Lily. Yes, she named a sack of flour. Why? you ask. Because for a week she has to pretend it's a baby. It - sorry, Kadence - goes to school with her on Monday, and then she drops her baby off at "daycare," which is her health teacher's room, for the day. When she's performing next weekend with her marching band, guess who gets to babysit. Oh, yes, Grandma Sharon. I am expected to take that sack of flour - sorry again, Kadence - to the competition and sit with it in the bleachers while I watch my daughter perform. I've already scouted the territory of, "Well, what if I just leave it - her - at home? Who's going to know?"
"MOM!" my daughter responded with mock indignation. "You have to take her!"
Yes, my daughter knows it's not a REAL baby. (Even if we did buy some onesies to dress it in. She swears she's not the only one doing that, and I do believe her.) But she wants this to be an authentic experience. She wants to play her part, so I have to play mine out of respect for her. (I'm taking a big tote bag to the band competition and Kadence is going to be at the bottom of that.)
Today, she came home from school and said that she'd been given a handout with diagrams that demonstrated how to do a breast exam on herself.
"Mom, it was an old woman with real saggy boobs and that's just wrong! I didn't need to see that!" We had a good laugh over it. (Especially too, because the handouts had been miscopied and on the flip side were diagrams demonstrating the proper method for checking oneself for testicular cancer. Imagine that in the hands of a 15-year-old girl.)
But after we got done chuckling, I talked to her about how important those self checks can be, and how frustrating they can be. It's difficult to know - at least for me - what's just me and what might be the beginnings of a cancerous tumor. I told her that if she actually started doing them now, maybe by the time that the threat of cancer is a lot more real for her, she'll have a much better idea as to what is her and what isn't. Practice surely helps.
Which got me thinking . . . Isn't that what we, as parents, try to do with our kids? Aren't we trying to teach them - while we have them under the safety of our own roofs - how to handle the twisted, slippery roads of life, both through our own experiences and theirs, as they grow? Don't we want them to practice their decision making skills so that hopefully when they're out on their own they will have honed those skills well enough that they'll keep themselves (relatively) safe, happy, and healthy? Of course that's what we're trying to do.
So bring on the flour babies. I'll babysit Kadence Lily whenever she asks.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Regrets
My daughter and I were talking about serious matters last night, about choices we make in life, about the choices I hope she makes.
I've been honest with her about my life as a teenager in the hopes that maybe she won't make some of the same mistakes I made, that she won't live with some of the same regrets.
She told me she doesn't believe in regret. I responded, "That's only because you haven't lived as long as I have."
I went on to say that I think having regrets is healthy. Our regrets are evidence that we made mistakes, that if we could go back and do things over again, we'd do them differently because we've learned important lessons along the way.
She said that she believes in learning lessons from mistakes, but that you shouldn't dwell on the mistakes, that you shouldn't let them consume you and define who you are. In her mind, regret equals wallowing. I realized that in essence, we were on the same page.
Like her mother, she will make mistakes, and she will (hopefully) learn from them. My regret is that I haven't been able to prevent her from making them in the first place.
For another perspective on this theme, visit Billy Coffey's blog entry, The great front yard experiment. I love the way this guy writes.
I've been honest with her about my life as a teenager in the hopes that maybe she won't make some of the same mistakes I made, that she won't live with some of the same regrets.
She told me she doesn't believe in regret. I responded, "That's only because you haven't lived as long as I have."
I went on to say that I think having regrets is healthy. Our regrets are evidence that we made mistakes, that if we could go back and do things over again, we'd do them differently because we've learned important lessons along the way.
She said that she believes in learning lessons from mistakes, but that you shouldn't dwell on the mistakes, that you shouldn't let them consume you and define who you are. In her mind, regret equals wallowing. I realized that in essence, we were on the same page.
Like her mother, she will make mistakes, and she will (hopefully) learn from them. My regret is that I haven't been able to prevent her from making them in the first place.
For another perspective on this theme, visit Billy Coffey's blog entry, The great front yard experiment. I love the way this guy writes.
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