Permission Slips

Today was an asynchronous day.  When I leave school on Tuesday evenings, I see my classroom teacher colleagues walk out feeling a little lighter.  Tomorrow is a day they don’t need to monitor every child to ensure six feet of social distancing is happening while teaching long division or for the virtual teachers, they get a day off from the google meetisms (“You’re on mute” or “I will send the link one more time” or “Yes, I love your cat, can you please put him down while we do our writing?”  For me, asynchronous days are the days for coaching meetings and PLTs – back to back meetings from 8:00 am to 3 pm.  And, as much as I hate saying the same thing each hour on the hour, while looking at the Brady Bunch boxes of my colleagues and praying they aren’t thinking that this could just be an email, I do find joy these days.  I love seeing colleagues, and having a few moments to chit chat before we have to get started.  I love seeing how they are still so dedicated to the work we are doing this year, even though I know they are so very tired.  I love seeing a glimpse of their non school life, a pet or child passing behind the screen, a picture or something hanging on the wall that shines a little more into the person they are.  Today, I heard a partner of one of our teachers, not realizing her mic was on, say “Have a great day, beautiful.”  It was so simple, romantic and human. 

Last week I had to present a data update from the district.  Imagine, eleven months into a global pandemic and I was charged with asking teachers to review their data and set goals for their core instruction.  It was a cringy meeting. There I was, helping first grade teachers to improve their classroom instruction around blending and segmenting and how can we try to sneak in a little more phonics time, while I am thinking to myself, “Dear God, this can’t be happening.”  I guess I shouldn’t complain, my literacy partner was charged with administering the Beginning of Grade Assessment to our virtual third grade students who came into school for the first day in almost a year to take a standardized assessment – at least I got to deal with adults in pain, not eight year olds.

Don’t tell our district leaders, but this week we went off script.  We couldn’t do another data talk.  We needed to bring some joy and healing back to our teachers. Today, we talked about read alouds.  We talked about the books that were read to us as children and the books that made us want to be teachers.  We visualized our old elementary school classrooms, listening to teachers read in dynamic voices, taking us to far off lands.  We talked about the access that read alouds provide for so many students and the passion and excitement that read aloud time brings.  We reflected on our read aloud time, was the time enough? Is there a way to be more intentional with that time, while maintaining the joy?

One teacher unmutes and asks the question “But, are we allowed to? I am always worried I will get behind and in trouble.”  The minute she asked this, I held my breath.  I know my answer, I wanted to scream, “Of course you can read to your students for pleasure,  this is their opportunity for access, for higher level thinking opportunities, this is their time to learn how to be excited about something that isn’t animated little ghosts with goggles running around some basement trying to kill each other and not be the imposter!” 
I say nothing though, this is a question that is directed to our administration.  I wonder to myself, why do we do this?  Why as teachers are we always looking for permission to do things that we know are good for kids.  Although she was the only one who asked, she wasn’t the only one who wondered.  I wonder if we should have handed out permission slips for today’s meeting, asking for our principal to sign his permission for students to enjoy rich, powerful, relevant texts.  How can we as teachers build our confidence to know that what we do, when grounded in research and planned out to be purposeful is ok, even if it means we need to play catch up at another time.  I don’t remember learning phonics, but I definitely remember my teacher reading James and the Giant Peach every afternoon in fourth grade after recess.  I remember wanting to have pet penguins just like Mr. Popper, and trying to convince my dad they could live in the bathroom.  As a teacher, reading Loser and crying at that 5th grade graduation scene, year after year.  Those are the moments we love in school, those are the reasons we teach.  I want to strive for a world where teachers don’t feel like they need permission slips to create engaged, passionate learners.