schooled.

how nice of the weather to take care of me in this way. its in the 40s here in the valley, windy and cold, and its helping me readjust back to this other home of mine.

spent the day working in my classroom, writing about kids, organizing, and enjoying the quiet. its not like that very often, obviously. but damn, i love it in there. i love the way it feels, and the presence of the kids even when they aren't physically there. i love that i can find a piece of scrap paper with a little drawing on it and i know that one of the twins drew it a month ago when they were all big on sketching the pigeon from mo willems's books.

i love that it is another home of mine.

i'm thinking a lot about what it means to be a teacher these days.

i'm thinking about those teachers in newtown. what they would do for their students--what they did--what they gave up.

i would do the same.

its strange to think about the set-up i have right now, the fact that i'm a parent and a teacher at this amazing school. i know that if shit went down, though, the teacher in me would overtake the parent. i would do everything i could do to take care of those nineteen children in my room, and know that my own children's teachers would be doing the exact same thing.

there is inherent trust in a classroom, among all of its inhabitants.

i love my job. i am good at my job. i was born to do this.

something really amazing happened recently.

the story begins with me in my classroom, talking to the kids about the fact that someone had been drawing on the carpet with crayons repeatedly. everyone claimed innocence, and i reassured them that i was not looking for someone to blame but talking to everyone about the fact that it was not okay to do this. i told them i hoped that the person who decided to do the drawings would stop, and realize that they made a mistake.

then i told them a story about being in the first grade, and my teacher, mr. lipman. mr. paul lipman. i loved mr. lipman. i told them how mr. lipman had a storage closet in our room that kept all of the supplies for us, and that we weren't allowed to go in it without asking first. one day i snuck over and stole some pencils from the closet. i felt terrible and excited at the same time. the next day mr. lipman asked me to go out in the hallway to talk to him, and he asked me if i took the pencils. i told him no. i told the kids that i still remember his face, that he was so kind and understanding but it was obvious that he was disappointed in me. i didn't 'fess up. but i knew i had done something wrong.

the kids in my class were enthralled. their teacher was a recovering thief, for crissake!

a couple of weeks later, at my parents' house in massachusetts, my mom tells me she has something for me to look at. "you won't believe it! i'm telling you!" she says.

its a letter to my mother, from mr. paul lipman.

turns out he recently retired and was going through some of his old teacher stuff, things that he had saved, including artwork that i had made for him. turns out i was in his class when he was 23 years old--his first year as a teacher. turns out he liked me as much as i liked him, and said some very kind things about me.

he didn't mention the pencils.

amazing.

i'm going to write him back, of course. i wonder how he'll feel when he finds out that i am an elementary teacher now, that i've figured out that i was meant to do this all along, even with all the fits and starts along the way. i think he'll be so happy to know that i teach at a progressive school, since the elementary school i attended (marks meadow in amherst, massachusetts) was full of constructivist classrooms and progressive educators who were so excited to be there.

i think he'll just be happy.

there is nothing noble about this profession. it is dirty, and messy, and full of craters and cracks in one's own beliefs. we have to constantly reassess what it means to be a human being every single day, because inevitably a child will do something, ask something, create something; that causes us to question what we have so wholeheartedly subscribed to our whole life. we must deal with stolen pencils and bloody noses and hurt feelings and fear of the world around us. we must be full and open and inviting and supportive and fearless. and when we're not fearless we need to be able to admit our fears to the people we spend so much time with everyday.

i trusted mr. lipman so much. i trust those 19 kids in my class with my whole heart. and i know that they trust me.

this is the luckiest i've ever been.