The time when half your wardrobe has been overtaken by plaster and Modpodge... the time when you don't protest when your students request to climb the cabinets...the time when the bottles of dry shampoo you have busted through outnumber the times you have actually showered...the time when breakfast consists of a string cheese and a Dr. Pepper…the time when your car has become a combusted piñata of crap and craft...the time when your greatest life ambition is to take off your bra and stare aimlessly at a wall...the time when Canadian television programs become an indulgent Netflix past time…the time when you complicity play Pandora in your classroom and don't even notice when the melodic innuendos explicitly emerge…the time when posts on Pinterest seem to be sounder pedagogy then any of the reading you slaved over in grad school…
You guessed it.
One month until the end of school!
Working with elementary students one month before summer is akin to trying to herd cats. Your will to provide structure in the classroom *evaporates into a mist not dissimilar to the powder remnants of your dry shampoo. (*Side Note: I am not sure dry shampoo goes through a process of evaporation…but I am sure one of the classroom teachers will soon ask me to incorporate the changes of matter into my art curriculum so I better find out quick!)
Though I have been teaching in various capacities in differing venues for several years, this was my first official year in the classroom. At this juncture most teachers, especially in a public school, are frantically taking inventory of what their students retained as doom's day has now arrived and standardized testing will soon commence. But for me, teaching the "frilly," un"ass"eable subject of art, I get to spend my time ruminating on not only how my students developed, flourished, discovered, dared, and created but also how I did. Here is what I have learned... if I can muster the energy to think about anything beyond whether or not I remembered to put on clean underwear or turn the curling iron off. Not that the curling iron is a frequent issue seeing as we previously established my hair (life) has been reduced to a perfect concoction of dry shampoo and top knots…
1. I learned not to be so self conscious.
I learned the real implications fixating on my imperfections could have on my ability to nurture. The beginning of this year I would catch myself bristling as one of my Kindergartners ran to embrace me. The height of a five year old stacked up next to my almost 5' 10 frame put them smack dab in the folds of my stomach or the ample provisions of my buttocks. Instead of taking the opportunity to receive and reciprocate their outpouring of love and affection, I would grow embarrassed that they were feeling the rolls of my stomach. On occasion, my younger students would notice my right eye and ask me what had happened. Instead of taking the time to explain to them everything that had happened to my eye had led me to them and instilled me with the passion to teach and create, I would quickly dismiss it. Instead of telling them that the discrepancies they noticed were there because of courage, perseverance and a will to survive, I would simply grow terribly embarrassed and obsess over whether or not the differences had become significantly more obvious. I would avoid sitting right next to them as it seemed this is when they noticed the most. I created distance over a question that was rooted in genuine concern and curiosity and avoided giving the answer that is my most beautiful, cherished story. Rachel Naomi Remen explains this exquisitely, “Wounding and healing are not opposites. They're part of the same thing. It is our wounds that enable us to be compassionate with the wounds of others. It is our limitations that make us kind to the limitations of other people. It is our loneliness that helps us to to find other people or to even know they're alone with an illness. I think I have served people perfectly with parts of myself I used to be ashamed of. ” Kindergartners don't notice the rolls in your stomach. They don't immediately classify you as "strange" or "other." Worrying so much about how we appear or what standard of beauty we fruitlessly strive and fail to live up to deprives us of our ability to truly be present. The world will not be changed by the contours of your stomach, your vision cannot be clarified through an Instagram filter, there is zero impact to be made in this self deprecating spiral. The world is transformed through our nurturance. It is transformed through our ability to receive and reciprocate love. Fixating on any endeavor that impedes our ability to nurture will ultimately rob us of everything that is genuinely beautiful and praiseworthy.
2. Collaborating can only succeed through the telling of stories.
The bulk of my job involves working with classroom teachers to integrate art into their core curriculum. This means I teach close to 30 different classes and have to collaborate with every teacher in the school. At times this has led to some serious creative differences. Occasionally this has led to complaints from certain teachers. And across the board this has led to bounteous amounts of frustration and confusion on my part. About half way through this school year I stumbled on a research study developed by a doctoral student at the Harvard Ed. School. The study explained that while collaboration was now a routine part of the majority of most educator's practice, a minute percentage actually found it effective. The study went on to explain that the key to collaboration was rooted in two questions. 1."What led you to education?" 2. "What is your vision for education?" Or more generally, "what brought you here and where are you going?" I decided to subtly incorporate this into my practice. I made efforts whenever I could to both share my own vision and casually inquire about theirs. I noticed immediately after hearing my story some of the most skeptical teachers softened to the arts and I softened to them. Almost organically, an increased ease sprung from asking two questions. I have since learned that sincerely seeking to know where someone is from and where they are going changes everything. It has the capacity to turn strangers into friends, apprehension into communication, and frustration into clarity.
3. Every child (adult) is an individual that has to be served through a commitment to flexibility.
In grad school I romanticized and theorized about all the wonderful things I would incorporate into my teaching and all the abominable things I would avoid...Then one day... I woke up and realized I was knee deep in abomination! The lesson I prepared worked with 3 out of 4 of the first grade classes but bombed with this last class I presented it to. I lazily proceeded rather than choosing to reevaluate my plans. In absolute exasperation I called out a student in front of his peers. I refused to pull out additional materials for the project beyond what I initially set out because I feared the additional clean up. I heard my voice sing-song "One, two, three, eyes on me" repeatedly throughout the day. I found myself loosening the reins on my commitment to differentiate.
Teaching stretches you beyond anything you ever could have conceived. It is mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting. However, taking shortcuts in absolute desperation and exhaustion ultimately only cheapen the experience. I have had to learn this year how weariness can become a slippery slope to rigidity and there is no one size fits all when it comes to learning even when you measure impeccably. Just with anything in life you have to be teachable, flexible and amenable to course correction. You have to see people as individuals, learn their stories and do your best to help provide the conditions where their creativity and self efficacy can flourish.
I am not always the most teachable person so I am grateful fate so serendipitously led me to a "teachable" profession.
This month I will celebrate my 8 year remission mark from cancer in addition to surviving my first year in the classroom! I am not going to lie, I think the latter may have been harder;)
