Defining life through little red wagons

That second year of teaching regular education was one of the best teaching years I ever had.  Because of the selection of students I had my first year, I think everyone felt I had “paid my dues” by surviving and rewarded me with a wonderful group of kids for my second year.  I felt like I had died and gone to heaven.

In addition to my Squanto play and stone soup opera, I expanded the curriculum by assigning “Projects of the Month.”  These were special projects I designed for parents and students to work on together.  They were optional fun.  If a child chose to complete the project, they received extra credit in the subject area on which the project focused.  Each month would focus on a different subject area.  In December, they were asked to keep track of sunrise/sunset times, make some predictions, draw some conclusions, record their data in chart form, write up a report, and present the information in an oral report to the class.  In March, they were asked to keep track of daily temperatures, make some predictions, display the trend in a bar graph, draw some conclusions, write up a report, and present all their information in an oral report to the class.  During January they could choose the subject area and were asked to design a board game to teach about the area they chose.  There were requirements on what it must contain (must be able to fit into a certain size box, must have instructions how to play and rules written out, etc.)  We concluded that project with an afternoon of playing the games created.  I was amazed at how the kids (and parents) responded so positively to this kind of assignment.  Parental involvement varied, but even when the kids brought in something that the parents “obviously” helped with, the kids were invested and I felt I had provided parent-child time together that appeared to be positive. 

One month, focusing on science, the project required that the student design something that would make our world a better place.  They were to complete a questionnaire on their project, write a summary, create a physical model of some sort, and give an oral presentation on their project to the class.   Peter, one of my favorite boys in the class, presented a model of a “hovercraft” that he had designed.  Using his little red wagon and magnets, he explained if roads were magnetically lined with repelling magnets, the craft would hover and would only need a small motor to propel it forward.  I was fascinated with his creation and realized at that moment that in the schools we were barely touching the potential of students.

I recently found Peter on Facebook and sent him a message asking if he remembered me.  His response:

Lori~ Of course I remember you! To this day you remain my favorite teacher and one of the positive archetypes I've drawn from in my own experience as a teacher. I taught in the Rio Grande Valley for three years (middle school science), and I have many friends in the Delta corps. Rural region corps members tend to bond. :) I met my wife down there at the very first induction event just days after moving down. Last year, we moved to Boston so I could attend Harvard's Graduate School of Education, where I earned my Ed.M. and principal's license. I'm currently working as a program director for TFA. My wife was just accepted to the graduate school of social work at University of Chicago, so we are heading back to the Midwest this fall. I'm so glad you contacted me - I can hardly believe it's been 20 years! You really had a huge impact on me, the way I viewed myself and the world. I know as teachers we don't always see the impact we're making, but I want you to know that year opened doors for me and turned me onto life in a way that guided me for the rest of my schooling. I hope all is well with you and your family. God bless, Peter.

A side note:  TFA is Teach For America—an organization that my own daughter has been a part of for the past two years and an organization that is making a HUGE impact in education today.

As I reread Peter’s note to me, I feel emotional.  I feel like maybe the hovercraft model made out of his little red wagon, encouraged by a Project of the Month assignment written by me might have made a difference in this young man’s life.

My response to Peter’s message:

Peter,

Wow, this i the kind of note every teacher dreams of receiving. Thank you. You have made my day (maybe even my teaching career). Good luck to you and your beautiful wife in Chicago.

Peace.

lori

Top percentage on a life test

My students performed “average” on the state testing that year.  I figured since I started with the kids that were the lowest in their class and the ones that had behavior issues that this was pretty good.  This was at the beginning of the “testing frenzy” phase and I was unprepared for the staff meeting where the results were passed out and discussed, giving high marks to the teachers who managed to have test results in the top percentages.  To this day, I cannot comprehend how that is a fair evaluation of the skills of a teacher.  I liken it to giving a person a dog to train.  Yes, if you have a certain breed of dog, it will be easier to train.  It doesn’t necessarily mean you are a better trainer if you are able to train a german shepherd better than another trainer can train a mutt.  So much of it depends on the breed of the animal.  I know there is some merit in being able to train a dog at all, but to evaluate the trainers on such unequal criteria is, in my opinion, kind of stupid.  So, it was at this point in my teaching career that I decided that I would always try to stay true to myself and the kids I taught.  I was pleased that the group of kids that were chosen to be a part of my “last minute” family performed at an average level and I never regretted for a minute the time I spent on activities that stretched them beyond the curriculum (funerals, operas, plays, etc.).

My second year of teaching regular education was at the same school but with a class of 18 second graders. I was pumped to teach one grade level and was psyched to stretch the kids even further beyond their comfort zones.  That is, until the open house two days before school.   I was at the door of room 108 to greet the kids and their parents as they entered the room to gain further information needed before the “official” first day of school.  A mother came into the room with her reluctant daughter.  She sat her at a desk and then asked to speak to me privately.

“Mrs. Tupper?  My daughter is supposed to be in your class this year, but I am going to try to get her with a different teacher and I just wanted to make sure you knew why.”

“What is your daughter’s name?” I asked.

“Jill.”

“Okay, why don’t you want Jill in my classroom?”

“Well, she knows that you do ‘plays’ in your classroom and she is very shy.  She doesn’t want to be in any plays or operas.”

I intentionally led Jill’s mother close to where Jill was sitting.  I looked at this small, pretty, quiet girl sitting nervously at a desk too big for her frame.

“Jill,” I knew the minute I looked in her eyes that she needed to be built up as a person and I wanted her in my class.  “Your mom tells me that you are scared to be in my class because of the plays we do.”  She nodded slightly as she looked at the floor. 

“Let’s make a deal.”  She looked up at me.  “I won’t make you do anything in this classroom that you don’t want to do when it comes to plays and operas.  If you choose not to be in a play or opera we are doing—that will be just fine with me, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed.  I shook her hand and told her I was looking forward to seeing her in two days.

Six months later when the kids were picking their parts for our stone soup opera, Jill CHOSE to sing the lead part.  She had built enough relationships and confidence within our class that she was comfortable with the limelight and pulled off a wonderful performance. 

I went back to visit that school 10 years later and met up with Jill’s mom working in the school office.

“Mrs. Tupper?  I don’t know if you remember me, but you had my daughter, Jill, in second grade.”

“Of course, I remember.  How is Jill doing?” I asked.

“She’s graduating this year,” she said.  “She’s already been accepted at Purdue University.”

“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe she is graduating already!!  Has she thought about what she wants to pursue?”

“Well, she is considering education, but you know how that can change.”

“Yes, I know.” I turned to go, waving goodbye to the other staff with whom I had visited.

As I reached the building exit, I heard my name again.

“Mrs. Tupper?”  I turned.  Jill’s mother was walking quickly toward me.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”  She said, touching my arm lightly.

“Thank you?” I questioned.

“Yes, thank you.  I don’t know if you remember how shy Jill was when she came to your class, but you did that little Thanksgiving play and that opera and it really shaped who Jill became.”

I stood there, my heart pounding.

“You know, Jill changed after that year.  She has been in plays every chance she’s had since then.  In fact, in high school she has been the lead in several plays and has had at least some part in every play they have presented.  I attribute her passion for drama to that opera you did when she was in second grade.  Thank you for that.”

“I just planted the seed.  You watered it by giving her additional opportunities and it sounds like she has worked hard to grow.”

I walked to the car feeling 10-feet tall.  One of my students had just reached the top percentage on a life test.  THAT is what teaching is really about!

Caterpillars, Butterflies, and Operas

Once I told my students about our upcoming opera, I saw my remaining task as a teacher clearly—to provide them with the opportunity to successfully complete this production in a way that might change the course of their lives.  Of course, the administration of our school district saw my remaining task just as clearly—to provide them with all the knowledge they would need to successfully complete the statewide test in a way that might change the course of the school district.  Nobody seemed to appreciate my “confidence” when I would say, “I have taught what was laid out for me to teach and if I have done that well, my students will succeed on the state test—why get so obsessed with it?”

Although I continued to teach the curriculum each day and reviewed concepts we had learned earlier in the year, we spent our afternoons practicing the songs from our “opera” which told the story of the “stone soup” fable.  The songs were fun to learn and the kids loved singing them.  Once they learned the songs, we added actions and character parts.  Once a week, we would work on props.  We made a huge cooking pot out of paper mache’ and made the town homes and buildings out of huge cardboard boxes.  As we began to put all these parts together, the kids changed from helpless first and second graders to empowered soon-to-be second and third graders.  Their reading skills were improving on a daily basis as they sung the dialog in the opera and acted out the words they saw printed in their scripts.  The week after spring break found us once again performing for each class as they came to Room 108 to see our Stone Soup Opera. 

An interesting side note to this story is that I am not a singer.  I can kind of carry a tune and if you have been following my blog for very long, you know I can play a very rough version of “Happy Birthday” on the saxophone, but as far as actually being able to lead people in a musical “project,” well—I never thought to question whether or not it was possible. 

Finally the day to perform for the parents arrived.  It was magical to me.  We borrowed chairs from the janitor and packed our classroom full of parents and some extra staff—including Mr. G, our principal.  But the real magic happened when the kids performed the opera.  We had solos, duets, trios, and songs sung by the “chorus.”  It was perfect.  Oh, there were mistakes, miscues, and I vaguely remember a cardboard tree collapsing at the most inopportune moment—but it was perfect.  I watched as 18 first and second graders took the world in their hands and created moments that they would remember forever.  I can’t explain the feeling I had, but I would liken it to the awe I felt the first time I watched the film in science class showing the different stages of a Monarch butterfly.  I felt I had lived to watch these wonderful students move from caterpillars to beautiful winged creatures emerging from a chrysalis, to testing their wings in a world so much bigger than they were and finding strength in the knowledge that they could fly!  I was in awe of each of my students, astounded at how drama empowered them to be different people, and I felt I had handed them an opportunity that might change the course of their lives.  I felt like a REAL teacher and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what I was feeling and what they were experiencing would NEVER have happened just by scoring high on a state test.

Later, Mr. G evaluated me.  He was very affirming of the opera project and my teaching style.  He acknowledged that I had received a “tough assignment” but had risen to the challenge.  In reviewing my first year teaching regular education, his recommendation was that if I decided to incorporate a class pet the next school year, perhaps I should invest in a book on how to care for it. 

The Drama Bug

As my first year of teaching regular education progressed, I worked hard to create events to liven up the year.  Compared to teaching my angels with special needs, I was finding the job a bit boring.  When I taught special education, every day was an unexpected adventure; however, my job this year was very predictable for the most part.  I had a few kids that were daily challenges, but I seemed to thrive on  dealing with those challenges and had a knack for creative problem solving.

When Halloween came around, the kids were extremely excited about dressing up for the school parade.  I had made a friend in the library assistant, Ellen, who was a fun and crazy lady just a few years older than me.  We conspired to play a joke on my class.  Ellen, who was about the same size and build as I was, and I decided to dress up (she as an Arab sheik, me as a clown) and then we were going to change places after lunch and see if the kids noticed. 

We both donned our costumes after lunch.  She went directly to my classroom and stood in the front of the room while all the kids marched in with their Halloween costumes on.  I couldn’t resist watching from the hallway and laughed hysterically when after all the kids had sat down, a first grader shouted out, “Hey Mrs. Miller, what are YOU doing here?”  I went into the room laughing and the kids knew immediately it was me even though every inch of my face was covered. 

The Halloween celebration was fun for the kids, but then we were right back into our routine.  I decided to add some variety to our day by reading a book about Squanto and the pilgrims to my class to prepare for Thanksgiving.  The kids were enjoying it immensely and we all decided to write our own play based on the Squanto book.  As a class, we went to work writing a condensed version of the book in play form.  The kids were proud of their work and wanted to actually work up a production of the play, which we did.   Our November days were spent working on props, costumes, and memorizing the lines.  We added some corny humor to the play.  For example, when the narrator talked about the Indians and pilgrims sharing a feast together, the actors mimed pulling chicken out of a KFC bucket and pizza slices out of a Pizza Hut box.  After a week of practicing our play, we invited the parents to join us for our Thanksgiving play on the afternoon before Thanksgiving break.  A couple of days before performing for the parents, classes from the entire school took turns coming to our room to see our performance of “Squanto and the white men.”

This was a life-changing time period of my teaching as I was bitten and then addicted to the “drama bug.”  From this moment on in my teaching, I worked hard to make sure my students had opportunities to perform, practice communication exercises, and entertain before a group.  I have always been a nervous performer and I made it one of my goals to help students to be comfortable in their own skin while delivering messages, plays, or laughs to an audience. 

When we returned to school after Christmas break, I was so happy to see my students again.  We had become a “family” and everyone was excited when I held up our next project and informed them, “I have a surprise for you…we are going to do an opera this semester!!”

New Crimes

After our funeral for Rocky, I went to the principal’s office to inform him of what we had done.  I felt confident in my decision, but just in case any of the parents called—I wanted him to know.  I have often approached my decisions with a “better to ask forgiveness than permission” attitude.  I feel most people think way too much when trying to make a decision instead of following their gut or intuition.  One of my issues following my stroke was that I would often feel confident about the decision I was making even though it was a lousy one (for example, selling all of my livingroom furniture).  Another area in which I am extremely confident is in the area of traveling.  In fact, my friend Ruth and I have been lost on a number of occasions.  On one such recent occasion when we hit the Ohio border instead of western Michigan, she confessed, “Lori, I didn’t think we were going the right way, but you’re always so darn confident I can’t bring myself to argue with you.”

So, here I was, sitting in Mr. G’s office confessing that I had just led my class in a funeral service for Rocky, the gerbil.  I gave him a blow by blow description of the event as his eyes revealed his amusement.  But we both agreed, I should probably try to figure out why Rocky had died.

For this task, I enlisted the help of a fellow teacher who had some knowledge of gerbils.  She came into the room prepared for the mission of figuring out the mysterious death of Rocky.  Together we looked all around his cage while she questioned me.  Road, Rocky’s partner, lay listlessly in the corner.

“This other gerbil doesn’t look so hot either,” said fellow first grade teacher, Margot.

“I know…do you think it is the cage or the temperature of the room?” I questioned.

“Did you give them fresh water every day?”

“yes.”

“How often did you change the bedding?” the inquisition continued.

“At least once a week.” 

She poked around the bedding.  “And what did you feed them?”  I held up the box of seed.  She studied it carefully.  She looked at the food dish in the cage,  she pinched some of the food between her index finger and thumb putting about a teaspoon of it in her hand  “Lori, when was the last time you fed them?”  I looked at the food dish, “Well, it has been awhile but I’ve been waiting for them to finish what is in the dish.”

“Lori,” Margot said my name as if I were one of her dense 1^st graders, “the food you were giving your gerbils is a type of seed.  The gerbils shell the seed, eat the seed, and leave the shell.  There isn’t any food in this dish—just shells of the seeds.”  She waited patiently for the conclusion to sink in.  Suddenly it did.

“You mean, I starved Rocky to death?”  I asked meekly.  She nodded as she emptied the shells into the garbage and refilled the dish with seed for Road who for some reason attacked it like a bear just out of a long hibernation.

“I killed my class pet?”  I questioned again.

“Sorry,” she comforted, “you didn’t do it on purpose.”

I was a murderer who was glad her class was presently at music.

“Wow,” I sat on a nearby desk.  “I can’t believe I murdered my first class pet.”

“You can always buy another one,” she suggested.

“No, I don’t deserve another one. I can’t believe I killed Rocky.  I thought there was always food in the dish.”

“It’s okay, Lori.  Accidents happen.  Hey, look at this way—there probably isn’t another teacher that could put on their resume that they killed the class pet.”  She was trying to put a humorous spin to the whole event.

“What am I going to tell the kids?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t tell them anything,” she suggested, “they really don’t need to know.”

“Okay, I think you are right,” I agreed.  “Wow, I can’t believe I killed Rocky.”

“Don’t take it so hard,” she said preparing to go back to her own classroom. 

I sat at my desk processing the information until my students returned from music.  That would be like someone not feeding me dinner because they assumed I had eaten when they saw eggshells on the counter. 

I went home that afternoon immediately after school was out.  The revelation had exhausted me and I felt the urge to cook up a huge meal for Scott and Sarah.

Joy to the world

I was confused as to why Rocky, the gerbil, had died.  When I looked at the gerbil, Road, he didn’t look too good either.  So, here we sat—18 1^st and 2^nd graders and myself looking at the dead body of our class pet.  What was the proper protocol for a dead pet in a classroom?  I pondered.  My mind went back to a movie I had seen where a village set fire to the dead body of a leader on the local beach.  I could…no, fire was probably not a good idea.  I considered just throwing poor Rocky in the school dumpster, but felt like I had the opportunity for a “teachable moment” and didn’t want to pass it up.

“Mrs.  Tupper,” my thoughts were interrupted by one of my students, “can we pass Rocky’s body around so everyone can see it up close?”  Curiosity—I learned while teaching my kids with special needs that it was the greatest motivation for learning.  “Okay,” I said, “you can pass the box around, but please don’t touch the body, I’m not sure exactly why he died and I don’t have a box big enough for any of you.”  This comment sent giggles around the circle.  Then I had an idea.

“Hey, kids—what do you think we should do with poor ol’ Rocky?”  Why not let the kids decide the solution to my dilemma.  If they were comfortable with the old “flush the pet down the toilet” strategy, I would take a quick trip to the dumpster with our furry friend.  If not, I was sure they would lead the way for us to best deal with the situation.

“We need to have a funeral,” said little Eric.  “Yeah!  Yeah!” 17 other voices chimed in.  So, then it was decided.  There was to be a funeral for ol’ Rocky the gerbil from Room 108.

I borrowed a shovel from the janitor who thankfully asked no questions.  Jacob was elected to solemnly carry the shoe box to the side yard of the school.  The remainder of the kids marched seriously behind him—no one making a sound.  Jacob placed the box on the ground and we all sat in a circle around it.  The whole experience reminded me of prayer circles I had participated in as a teen ager.

“Okay,” I said.  “We’re going to go around the circle and if you would like to say a few words about Rocky, you may.  If you would rather not, just say ‘pass.’”

“I think Rocky was a good classroom pet,” I spoke first to model for the students what I had in mind.

“He was furry,” another said.

“He was funny,” shared someone else.

“He was my best friend,” said little Jacob with a tear slipping down his chubby cheek.

“I liked him.” 

After a few more comments (surprisingly, nobody “passed”), we continued with our service.  I gave a brief obituary of Rocky’s life and said a few words comparing the falling of the leaves with the death of our gerbil.  I intentionally avoided mentioning God, resurrection, and Jesus.  With the adamance about keeping religion out of school, I felt I had to shut off that part of my life at this moment.

Two of the second grade boys dug the hole for the shoebox, gently lowered Rocky into the hole and then covered it up.  Spontaneously, each of the kids picked out a beautiful fall leaf from the yard and placed it on top of Rocky’s “grave.”  I was so touched and felt we needed to have a final circle to close out the service.   We stood in a circle, holding hands.  “Does anyone have anything to say or have a song you would like to sing?”

“Can we sing, ‘Joy to the World?’” asked one of my 2^nd grade girls.

“You mean ‘Jeremiah was a bullfrog joy to the world?”  I asked.

“No,” she said as she broke out in song, “Joy to the world, the Lord is come.  Let earth receive her king?”  A tear escaped as I stood and watched in wonder at my 18 students standing in a circle, holding hands, singing a Christmas carol, around the grave of our classroom pet--a dead gerbil, named Rocky.

Confessions of a teacher

In addition to my freckle-faced, red-headed Shanna in the first grade, I had eight other short people clamoring for 1^st grade attention.  One of those little challenges was Jacob.  Jacob was a short ‘Dennis the Menace’ type of kid.  Socially, he struggled with the change of classroom and struggled with the other students in the class.  As the year moved on, I looked at different ways to build responsibility in my students.  Eventually, I decided a classroom pet would be the answer—enter “Rocky” and “Road,” two gerbils from the local pet store.

Jacob was especially interested in the gerbils and spent his free time watching their antics.  I put the feed seed in their food dish and went about my business.  It was a few days later I went to feed them again that I noticed they still had seed in their dish so I didn’t feed them more.  I decided to wait until the dish was empty. 

The next week, Jacob introduced me to his issue of “stealing.”  After being caught, I left him in the classroom alone while I walked the others down the hall to gym class.  We were going to have a long talk when I returned and then we were going to call mom.  When I returned to class, Jacob was sitting with his head on his desk, sobbing quietly.

“Jacob, what’s wrong?” I asked.

He looked at me through his big crocodile tears, “Rocky’s dead, Mrs. Tupper.”

“He is?”  I walked over to the gerbil cage.  Sure enough, Rocky was dead and Road didn’t look too healthy either.  I removed Rocky from the cage.  I didn’t recall a class teaching me how to deal with the death of a class pet. 

“ What are we going to do?” asked Jacob.  “We are going to talk about your behavior.” I said, sticking with my initial plan to discuss his incident of theft.”

“Jacob, you know when I was four years old my mom took me to see my cousin Teresa.  She had a plastic heart and it was full of half dollars.  I wanted that heart more than anything, so when she was in the bathroom, I stuck the heart in my pocket,”  Jacob’s eyes widened at my confession.  “Later in the day, I was out showing all my neighborhood friends my ‘treasure’ when I heard my mom call me to come home for supper.  So I hid the heart behind my back so my mom wouldn’t see it.”

“You should have buried it in a hole,” suggested the knowing thief.

“Yes, you are right because when I went to my mom she asked me what I had behind my back.  I told her ‘nothing’  so that was lie #1 (I held up 1 finger).  She asked me again what I had behind my back and again I told her ‘nothing’ (I held up 2 fingers).  Finally, my mom said, ‘Lori Rose, you tell me what you have behind your back.’  Now, I always knew when my mom called me by my first and second name that she meant business and I had better shape up.  So I showed her the plastic heart.  ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked me.  ‘Teresa gave it to me’ (I held up 3 fingers).”  Jacob’s eyes widened even more.

“Did she believe you?” he asked totally engrossed in my story.

“You know,” I began, “that’s the funny thing about doing something wrong.  You usually end up having to lie and do even more things wrong than you meant to.  Eventually I had to tell the truth and my mom made me take the heart back to my cousin.”

“Did your cousin say you could keep it then?” he asked hopeful that this story would have a good ending.

“No.  She was very upset at me for stealing it and it took a long time for her to ever trust me again.  Jacob, this happens every time you do something wrong.  You usually end up doing more things wrong than you meant to and then it is very difficult to get people to trust you again.”  Jacob started sobbing again.  “My mom says she never trusts me.”  I looked at this precious moon-faced little guy with his overflowing eyes.

“Well Jacob, I DO trust you and I KNOW you will learn to do the right thing.”

“Are you going to call my mom?”

“No, I’m thinking I won’t call your mom this time, but if it happens again not only will I call her but I will ask her to come in to have a talk.”

Fear filled his eyes.  He knew that would not work well to his advantage if his mother was called into the school. 

“So,” I concluded, “today you need to take care of business, apologize to Michelle for stealing her money and promise not to do it again.  Okay?”

Jacob  nodded his head in agreement.  “But Mrs. Tupper?” he asked, “what are we going to do about Rocky?”

I looked over at the dead gerbil I had laid in a small box.

“I guess we’ll have to have a funeral” I answered.

Real men know what a fact family is

After finishing my student teaching assignment, it was time to look for a fulltime teaching position.  Of course, I felt as though I had a ton of experience after my three years of teaching special education.  I suppose if I would have thought about it for too long, I might have been too scared to move on, but I wasn’t going to let myself stand in my way.  I would deal with the double vision and disorientation as it came and hopefully I wouldn’t do anything too stupid or illegal.

                I was hired to teach a 1^st/2^nd grade split at our local elementary school.  I was hired the third week into the school year for this “newly created” position.  The present six 1^st/2^nd grade teachers were told they could give me any three students they chose to make up my class of 18.  Three weeks into the school year—you know what I got.  After three weeks every teacher certainly knows who are going to be the biggest challenges, the kids with undiagnosed ADHD, ODD, LD, and the downright ornery.  It was basically a special education class with academic expectations.  But I loved it!  I was excited to go to work every day and found myself energized by the challenges. 

                The first day of school, I stood in front of my new class trying to put on a strict front (easier to lighten up than tighten up later in the year).

                “Okay, my number one rule is that everyone needs to have a silent reading book in their desk at ALL times.  That way if you finish with your work early, you have something to read.”

                Shanna, a little freckle-faced red-headed 1^st grader raised her hand shyly.

                “Shanna?  Did you have a question?”

                “But Mrs. Tuppew, I don’t know how to wead,” she said uncertainly.”

                “Oh yeah,” I muttered, “I guess that’s my job to teach you, isn’t it?”  I said just as uncertainly.

 “Well, have a book with pictures then, I just don’t want anyone bothering anyone else when their work is done.”

                Later, that first day, I administered a math test to assess where everyone was in the math workbook.  Once again, Shanna raised her hand shyly during the test.  I went to her and quietly asked, “What do you need, Shanna?”

                She pointed at one of the questions referring to fact families.  “I don’t know what a fact family is,” she said. 

                I looked at the question and realized I don’t know what a fact family is, either!  I looked at the panic in Shanna’s pretty blue eyes.

                “It’s okay,” I whispered to her, “I’m not counting that one anyway.”  Relieved, she continued on with the test.

                I decided to start the first grade math curriculum on the chapter before the fact family concept was presented for Shanna’s sake as well as my own. 

                Needless to say, my first year teaching regular education was a challenge.  I loved my students, however, and I loved teaching.  I especially enjoyed teaching the second graders.  The first graders had so much they didn’t know!!  It dawned on me daily that I had a huge task in teaching them how to read.  I really hoped the curriculum knew what it was doing, because I followed it to a T since I had no clue how to expand on it.  I counted on the other teachers a lot of guidance and direction. 

                At home, things were going well.  We fell into our “new” routine with the kids continuing to go to Ray and Pam’s for childcare.   I still dealt with double vision on a daily basis and Michael still wouldn’t let me take over the checkbook.  For some reason, not being allowed to take care of the checkbook really bugged me and I would ask to have it back on a regular basis.

                “Michael, do you want me to take over the checkbook now?” I asked one evening after I had been teaching for about a month.

                “No, dear, I am taking care of it just fine” he answered.

                “Have you been reconciling it every month?” I asked.

                “Pretty much,” he answered.

                “Do you know what a fact family is?”

                “A what?”

                “A fact family.” I tried to show how much I had advanced in the area of math.  “Do you even know what a fact family is?

                “No, I don’t know what a fact family is,” he said in a very huffy manner, “and you are NOT taking over the checkbook!”

                “I can’t believe you don’t know what a fact family is,” I muttered in disgust as I got up to start dishes.

Duty does not equal playtime

Two and a half years following my stroke, I found myself in a second grade classroom as the new student teacher.  I was honored to be teaching in the classroom of Mrs. Hartigan, a lady who attended our church.  She was an amazing teacher and mentor.  I had expected to be taught how to do lesson plans, how to manage the classroom and how to teach content.  She did teach me all of those things through example, but her main focus was on building the self-esteem of the students.  I found her insights fascinating.  She had completed her master’s thesis on the topic and I was so blessed to be privy to some of her strategies. Betsey had many gentle suggestions for me in my teaching.  The only “critique” I remember she had was when I played basketball with the students when I was supposed to be on recess duty.  “You really need to be standing and surveying so you can be there for all the children.  However, if you want to go out and play basketball with the kids on the days you don’t have duty, I think that would be okay.”  So that is what I did.  Ultimately, she helped to rebuild my self-esteem as well.

            I was still experiencing double vision several times a day for 20-30 minute periods and I occasionally became disoriented, but I tried to focus each day in the classroom, hoping to ward of these    symptoms of stress.  I began to notice the vision issues became more prevalent when I was responsible for reading groups or classroom presentations.  I forced myself to continue and to focus on keeping my balance while appearing “normal.”

            One particularly stressful Friday.  I was teaching the class full time with the breaks being used to discuss my performance with Betsey.  School was over for the day and Michael was going to pick me up in another hour or so.

            “I have these tests to grade so I can hand them back on Monday,” I said to Betsey.  “I think I will grade them in the teacher’s lounge until Michael picks me up.”

            “Oh, Michael has the car today, do you want a ride home?” she asked.  In addition to attending our church, Betsey also lived directly behind us.

            “No, I only have an hour to wait and he is expecting me to be here, plus it will give me a chance to get these papers graded.”

            We said our good-byes and I went to the lounge with my red pen and tests to grade.  I’m not sure how long I was there, but the next thing I knew, I was standing at the back door of the school in tears.  I was unsure of where I was or why I was crying, but I was scared and felt totally alone.  I thought the building I was in was pretty much empty and considered going outside to start walking somewhere, but I wasn’t sure where I should walk or how to get there.  Something told me to just stay put.  I was at the door for about ten or fifteen minutes when Michael pulled up in the car.  He saw me in the doorway crying.  He came to me and I collapsed in his arms sobbing.

            “Dear, what’s wrong?” he asked.

            “I don’t know,” I cried.  “I didn’t know if you were coming, where I was, or what I was supposed to do!”  I was like a child found lost in a woods after frantic hours of being alone.

            “It’s okay,” he comforted.  “Let’s go pick up the kids and then we’ll go home.  Once we get home, you can rest and you will feel better.”

            He was right (unfortunately, he usually is).  After a nap, I was rested and oriented again. 

            “That is the worst feeling!” I shared with him later as we talked in bed.  “It is like you know you should know what is going on, but you have no clue how to figure it out.  You feel so helpless.”

            “You just need more rest than what you are getting,” he concluded.

            On Monday morning the saga continued when I returned to school and had no idea where I had left the papers I had graded.  I frantically searched the classroom only to find they weren’t there.  I confessed to Betsy that I had no idea where they were.  Without judgment, she went to the teacher’s lounge with me to look for them.  They were no where to be found.  Betsey assured me they would turn up sooner or later. It was later that day when another teacher dropped them off having found them in the staff bathroom. 

            I was thankful not only that she had found the papers but that being disoriented didn’t happen too often.  I was close to the end of my student teaching.  It had been a wonderful experience.  I felt so blessed to have been able to teach with a phenomenal woman who not only focused on the self-esteem of her 2^nd graders, but also took the time to help rebuild the self-esteem of a challenging student teacher. 

Bounced checks and packed suitcases

              After several months of sitting on the floor and “enjoying the open space” in our livingroom, a couple from the church felt sorry for us and gave us two couches from their garage.  Let it go on record right now that they were two of the most comfortable couches we have had in the history of our life together.  Unfortunately, they didn’t match each other or anything else, but I loved them because they were comfortable.

                I spent that summer playing with the kids, trying to keep up with housework, and fighting with Michael.   I was still so very frustrated by my limitations and I took a lot of my frustration out on Michael.  Somehow I had missed out on the picture perfect family where I could assume the June Cleaver role.  I loved being in school but I missed teaching.  I was anxious for school to start again so I could go back to challenging myself mentally.  It had been almost 2 years since my stroke and I still felt inadequate in so many areas of my life.  When I bounced a check to the IRS, Michael took the checkbook away from me which broke my heart.  I was progressing in the area of reading, but simple computations continued to be a problem.  Thinking that I had Multiple Sclerosis added an additional helpless factor as I felt I would only continue to decline.

                My frustrations led to continuous conflicts with Michael.  I would fly off at the handle for the smallest reasons—usually because I was excessively tired and unable to process the fact that some rest would do wonders at restoring my spirit.  Instead, I insisted on persisting when I could hardly hold my head up.  As this became my habit, my perspective on life became more stubbornly negative.  Michael would come home after a day of work and I would argue with him constantly.  Several times a month, I would get so upset that I would actually pack a suitcase and leave, going to a local motel a couple times or just driving around until I had the sense to go home. 

                One time, Michael and I were in the midst of a huge blowout during which I walked out and sat on the front porch.  I waited for him to come out and beg me to come to bed.  After sitting on the porch for over an hour, I finally went into our bedroom, only to find him sleeping peacefully in bed.  I don’t think he even knew I had pushed him off the bed until his head hit the floor. 

                When I think of this time in my life, I am so thankful for a husband that loved me so much that he would not give up on me.   I know I was not easy to live with.  A friend’s husband defended me by saying, “Lori is just playing with the crappy hand she has been dealt.”

                By the middle of the summer, I had made my exits more efficient by just always keeping a packed suitcase available in the closet.  When August rolled around, we were lucky enough to be able to find a sitter for the kids as Mrs. Taylor couldn’t watch them anymore.  A lady from our church took the job and instead of just babysitting for Scott and Sarah, she integrated them into her family—providing them with life experiences and unconditional love that encouraged them to be independent, wonderful children. 

                I decided to prepare for going back to school by unpacking my suitcase.

Assumption Challenge

          Even though my brain was getting better by using it, there were times I was just crazy!  I realized after I was sick that I would probably never be the same person I was before I got sick.  It seemed as if my personality and reasoning skills had shifted for life.  My perspectives were different than they had ever been before.  These changes mixed in with innate orneriness got me in a bit of trouble that summer after I had finished a year of school.
            I was taking charge of my life and family a bit more each day.  I had finished a year of school and felt good about how well I had done.  I was not too disappointed when I found out I needed 2 more classes and some student teaching experience before I could actually be certified.
            Michael, a United Methodist minister, needed to be gone for a couple days in June to attend the annual conference that was held every year.  It was my first big test of taking care of the kids and running the household by myself for more than one day.  I was kind of excited about the prospect and had “secret surprises” planned for Michael.
            Things were going well after Michael left.  Roseann came over on the second day and we were enjoying some tea and Yatzee.
            “Would you do me a favor?” I asked her.
            “Anything.  What do you need?” she asked.
            “I need you to help me move my livingroom furniture outside to the front yard.”
            “And why would we do this?”
            “I’m going to sell it.  Michael is going to buy me new livingroom furniture.”
            She agreed to help, assuming I had discussed this venture with my sweet husband.  Together we moved out the sofa, loveseat, chair, and ottoman.  I put a big sign on it—For sale, $100.
            Within an hour, a nice man stopped.  After checking out the furniture, he gave me the money.  Later in the day he came back with a truck and took away my furniture.
            That night, I was sitting in the one piece of furniture I had kept (the recliner) and Scott and Sarah were enjoying the open space of the livingroom, running around in circles and dancing.  After dinner, the phone rang.
            “Hi dear, how is it going?”  Michael asked me.
            “Great!  I have a surprise for you,” I said excitedly.
            “A good surprise or a bad surprise?” he asked.
            “I think it is a good surprise.”  I concluded.  He groaned.  He knew my “thinking” wasn’t always rational.
            We talked a bit more and he said he would see me the next evening.  I told him I couldn’t wait!
            I felt like I had survived his time gone really well.  No one had gotten hurt.  We had spent a lot of time playing, some time watching TV, and everyone’s basic needs were met.  After bathtime, I dressed the kids in their pajamas and we all settled down to watch a KidSong video before bedtime.  I was sitting in the recliner and the kids were rolling around on the floor to the music when Michael walked in the door.
            “Oh Shoot!” he said when he walked in and looked around.  “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone!”
            “Surprise?” I said, sounding like a deflated balloon.
            “Dear, what have you done?”  he asked rather loudly.
            “I put all of our furniture on the front lawn and sold it.  I made us $100” I said proudly.
            “Why would you do that?” he asked, putting the $100 in his wallet.
            “So we can buy new furniture.  That furniture was getting old and it wasn’t comfortable at all anymore.”
            “Dear, we can’t afford new furniture.  You should have asked me first.”
            “I didn’t want you to have to mess with it and I was afraid you would say no.”
            He put his face close to mine, “I would have!”
            “The kids really like having the open space to play and run.”
            “That’s good because it is going to stay open for a long time.”
            “Michael” I whined.
            “No, Lori.  We cannot afford new furniture and that is that!”
            “Then give me back my $100.” I pouted.  He turned to go into the bedroom and then suddenly turned back around.
            “Lori?” he said, “HOW did you get all of the furniture out on the front lawn?”   “Roseann helped me.”
            “Dear, dear, dear,” he muttered as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Precious gifts

            I took one other class that summer and Michael and I decided that I could probably go fulltime in the fall.  We found a lady in the neighborhood who was willing to watch Scott and Sarah.  Mrs. Taylor was a young mother of school-aged children who adored Scott and Sarah. 
            When Sarah turned a year that June, she became a much easier baby to take care of.  She no longer just sat and watched Scotty’s antics, she started joining in.  Even though she wasn’t walking yet at a year, she was starting to have preferences and would smile a lot more.  She could say a few words and she began to interact with people a lot more.   She was generally pretty attached to me and would always cry when I dropped her off in the church nursery. My practice was to stand outside the door to see how long it would take her to stop crying.  I will never forget the first time she willingly went to the attendant who was there every week.    On this Sunday, she didn’t cry at all.  I stood outside the door, my back against the cool cinderblock wall, tears streaming down my face. 
            “It always hurts a bit when they don’t cry for you anymore, doesn’t it?” said another young mother.
            I silently nodded, wiping my cheeks as I walked to the sanctuary.
            When my classes started in the fall, our life adopted a healthy rhythm of routine.  I took four 3-hour classes and did well in all of them.  Never again did I run into an adventure like I had in my biology class.  I especially enjoyed a multicultural and a music class that fall.  I worked hard on my classes, receiving A’s in all of them and was excited for another  two semesters and the student teaching I was required to complete before being certified.   I was so empowered by attending school and even though I still had double vision on a daily basis, it was obvious to me that my mind was improving.  I felt hope. 
            In November, Scotty accomplished a great thing.  He used the “potty” at Mrs. Taylor’s house by himself and you would have thought he had ended a major war or something equally great.  He was so proud!!  And so were we.
            That Christmas, I received my best ever Christmas gift from my children.  It was a video tape of them at the mall, talking to Santa Claus.  Scott was on Santa’s lap.
            “Have you been a good boy?” asked Santa.
            “I go poddy(potty) at Miss Tay-ers house.” He answered.
            “What?” asked Santa
            “I go poddy.”
            “You do?” 
            “Ya,” said Scott proudly.
            “Hmmm.” answered Santa, unsure of whether or not this was a good thing.
            Sarah was glued to Michael’s arms, afraid of the creature holding her brother.
            “Tell Sarah to come over here,” Santa coached Scotty.
            “Come over here, Sissy” Scott called.
            Santa held up a coloring book.  “I have something for you, Sarah.” 
            She ran to stand in front of Santa, close enough that he could hand her the book, but far enough to  give the message she had no intention of sitting on his lap.
            He gave her the coloring book.  “What do you want for Christmas, Sarah?”
            She held up the book.  “A book,” she said.
            “You nice?” she asked.
            Santa, thinking she was talking about the book, answered, “Yes, it’s nice.”
            “No, Santa Caus nice?” she asked.
            That’s my Sarah…to this day if she thinks you don’t understand what she is saying, she will keep repeating it and expounding on it until you do.
            I watched the video with tears streaming down my cheeks.  The picture of our life puzzle was becoming clearer and more beautiful with each memory we made as a family.  I still have this video to this day and I still watch it.  It is a very short video, but I love it.  It shows Sarah as a determined girl who will approach life on her terms and portrays Scott as the independent thinker and friendly person that he has become.  It is one of those very small windows that you look through getting glimpse of who two wonderful kids will someday be.  

The "Field Trip"

           Almost everyone showed up on time to board the charter bus on Monday.  In addition to my required item, I carried Michael’s camera along with extra film.  My chosen research topic was mushrooms.  I had decided to do a slide show for my presentation.  I figured I might not be as nervous in a dark room.  So, now I had to make sure I had great pictures of at least ten different kinds of fungi.  Jim, the only student that was late, sauntered in at 6:15 with a tightly packed backpack. 

            “It’s about time, Pasquale” laughed the instructor.  My bus seatmate, Sue, looked at me and rolled her eyes.  “I guess we know who the teacher’s pet is.” she concluded.

            Our canoe team consisted of Sue and I along with a woman named Marty who was about 20 years older than us, Jim (now known as Pasquale), Jerry, and Eric. Eric and Jerry seemed to be very sweet, unassuming young men in their 30’s. Pasquale and Marty hit it off immediately.  Marty saw herself as the “mom” of the group with Sue and I being her bratty girls that she had to “keep in line.”  Pasquale did his own thing and pretty much only talked with Marty. 

            Each group would have 3 canoes (2 in each canoe) and 2 tents (3 in each tent).  When we arrived at the outfitters, we were sneeringly called “pork eaters.”  This was the term given to eastern voyageurs during the fur trade era because they were considered “soft.”

            At the outfitters, during the morning we practiced canoeing and emergency procedures in the bay.  In the evening, we gathered around the bonfire to hear story after story about the history of the French voyageurs and tales of their trade, legends of the birch bark ghost, along with other ghost stories. 

            The next morning, we began our trip along a historical voyageur route.  I was unsure of what voyageurs had to do with science, but I went along with the whole fantasy since I was kind of stuck without return transportation.  We were on the water for 8 actual days of canoeing an average of 6-7 hours a day reading maps, switching canoe partners, portaging an enormous amount of equipment (including Pasquale’s backpack), cooking our own meals, and then when I didn’t think I could move another muscle, I had to hike into the woods to find mushrooms to photograph. 

            The trip went surprisingly well.  It likened itself to a miniature “survivor” experience.  We all grew weary of Pasquale’s lack of “team player” abilities and Marty’s bossiness, but for the most part, it went well.  I was thankful that I didn’t experience any “disorientation” while looking for mushrooms and Sue laughed all the time so I could join in and relieve some of my stress.

            When we returned to the outfitters, they had us all sit on the floor of a small cabin in the woods.  The walls were covered with animal skins.  The “bourgeois” or “boss” of the camp came in and questioned us as to why we should no longer be called “pork eaters” and be granted the title “voyageur.”  More fantasy, I guess.  I thought to myself.  But after the each of us had been “defended” by our instructor, the boss left in what seemed to be an angry stupor.  We sat silently.  I leaned over to Sue and whispered, “This is really weird!”  She smiled.  “Silence!” our instructor shouted.  “We must be silent if the great bear is to grace us with his presence.  Sue and I rolled our eyes in unison but became silent lest it affect our grade.

            Suddenly through the door, with a loud roar, came the boss.  Only now a huge bearskin hung from his head.   That was it.  I was exhausted and I couldn’t find an ounce of control left in my poor body!  It started as a chuckle and grew.  While the boss performed some ceremonial dance, I laughed uncontrollably, trying to hide my face.  I was unsure of whether my laughing at this moment was “inappropriate.”  I mean, how “appropriate” is it for a grown man to be wearing a bearskin on his head and growling at a group of biology students from Indiana?

            After the growling ceremony, we were instructed to file out and kneel on the dock (with our back to the water) for the “Christening” ceremony.  The boss came to each of us, offered us a chug of whiskey.  After we drank (or pretended to drink), he said, “You are now a voyageur!”  He  randomly shoved people backwards into the water with his foot.

            It was definitely an interesting “field trip.”  I was proud of myself for surviving.  My presentation was excellent and I successfully completed my first class toward my certification with an A.

            By the way, my mushroom pictures were beautiful!