Lily

Yesterday was a special day.

During my last unit, in which we studied Night and other Holocaust memoir pieces and films, I reached out to Facing History and Ourselves--an organization that helps educators link history to moral choices today--about having a Holocaust survivor speak to my students. I emailed with a woman at Facing History for a few weeks, and then didn't hear from her.

Spring break passed, we finished studying the Holocaust, and we moved into our next unit (we're reading Othello). I felt terrible because I had mentioned to my students I was trying to have a survivor come speak. Then, last Thursday night, my contact at Facing History emailed me. A survivor--Lily Margules--was set to come the following Tuesday. On Friday and Monday, I scrambled to gain permission from my administration, reserve the biggest room in my school, and organize which 75 of my 130 students I was inviting.

On Monday and Tuesday morning I woke up with knots in my stomach. I was nervous. Nervous things would go wrong. Nervous she'd get stuck in traffic. Nervous my students would disrespect her.

Around 10:30 Tuesday morning I met Lily outside of my school. The moment I met Lily, I felt connected to her somehow, almost as if I'd known her my entire life. I can't explain why I felt that way, but I did. She was so cute-- wearing a green skirt suit and heels. Heels!

At this point 75 of my students were already seated and waiting for her arrival. The second I opened the door, the room filled with applause. All eyes were on Lily as she walked to the middle of the room. I gave her water and pointed to a chair if she wanted to sit.

I briefly introduced Lily. Then, she began her story. She asked if anyone knew what "survivor" meant. One student, K, raised her hand tentatively. She said quietly, "someone who makes it through a difficult time." Lily, who moved toward K to hear, said, "Please speak up honey, grandma is hard of hearing." Everyone laughed. I could feel her warmth and desire to connect with my students on a deeply personal level.

For the next 45 minutes, the room was silent except for the bell and the trucks passing on the highway outside. Every student's eyes were transfixed on Lily as she walked around the room pouring out her painful memories of the Holocaust.

Lily's story made everything I had taught my students real. Her words had a power I cannot describe. Her poignant story moved every student in that room.

As Lily told a story of her act of resistance against the Nazis, a few students wiped away tears. After surviving the Vilna ghetto, a few slave labor camps and two concentration camps, in January 1945, Lily and her sister (among others) were forced on a death march. I cannot do her story justice. They trudged through the snow for days. One of Lily's friends had started limping, so Lily and her sister tried to help her stand up and continue walking. Their efforts failed, though, and the Nazi guard shot her in front of everyone. The guard then said, "You're all cold. Go, take her coat." No one else had a coat. Lily said that everyone stood there. No one took the coat from the girl they loved and cared about deeply. That was her act of resistance against the Nazis inhumanity. She refused to be turned into an animal.

After Lily took questions, we thanked her for sharing her story, for dedicating time to connect with us. Four of my students presented her with flowers. She hugged and kissed each student on the cheek, thanking them. (Let's just say I fought my hardest to hold back tears but failed miserably.)

After I dismissed my students, I was shocked by how many (maybe 30) gathered around Lily-- to say thanks, introduce themselves, shake her hands, and hug her.

As I said goodbye to Lily outside of my school, I felt like I was saying goodbye to one of my grandparents. She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. As the car drove away, I felt incredibly humbled.

The birthday

Somehow my second period class (superstars) found out that tomorrow is my birthday. At the beginning of class, all they wanted to do was talk about me, my family (the triplets, especially. Sorry Myles :) ), and what I was doing to celebrate. I promised them if they worked their hardest on their essays for 40 minutes we could have the last five to talk and I'd answer some of their questions.

But, of course, after spending the whole period helping them with their essays I looked at the clock when there was a minute left in class.

As I was doing so, everyone sang "Happy Birthday" at the top of their lungs. My face became bright red ("Miss, you're blushing!" )and I couldn't stop smiling.

Nothing can ruin my day now.

The tan

As many of you know, I spent my Spring Break on an island off the coast of Puerto Rico-- Vieques. After literally spending 5-7 hours each day on the beach (in the Caribbean sun), let's just say I became a few shades darker. I'm now both thriving in that fact and also regretting it, as I'm peeling all over.

One of my first conversations of the day:

Student: "Miss, what are all those dots on your face?" (Note the emphasis on dots and FACE.)
Me, confused: "Ummm. Freckles?"
Student, confused: "So you, like, took a tan?"
Me, confused: "I took a tan?"
Student, confused: "Well, whatever. You tan, Miss, you tan."

Glorious.

Here are a few pictures from my trip. Enjoy.

A difficult final project

I need silence. But, as I sit staring into my computer screen attempting to articulate who I am and who I’ve become over the last 1.5 years, I can only hear the rhythmic ping of a metal bat hitting a baseball. Ping. Ping. Ping. Classmates’ fingers furiously tapping keyboards. An occasional slurp from an iced coffee. The Manhattan-bound 4 train rolls by. A lone bird chirps. Spring time. Finally.

A swaying barren tree under a blue sky reflects in my computer screen. My vision blurs and sharpens, as I linger between the present and the past. The silhouette of me. My shadowy, dusky reflection.

I tap my desk. Pull my iPod out from my backpack. Eat a few chips. A year and a half worth of memories--some vivid, some vague--flood through my mind. Images. Conversations. And suddenly, I feel overwhelmed by emotion. Moments of elation. Frustration. Sadness. Helplessness. I fight tears as I search for meaning in these memories that I once fought to suppress but which now sit at the front of my conscious.

But the words are absent. Is it really words I lack? Or, am I unable to detach myself from my body and float into the air high above my head to see my life clearly? I suspect something in between.

As I search for the words the memories that seemed once so distant come to mind. I can only hope that, in forcing myself to recall them and drag them from my unconscious, I might finally understand who I am becoming.

Last Wednesday

Even though it was pitch dark out when my alarm beeped, I woke up this morning feeling positive about the day. I had planned on going for a run, but couldn’t muster up the energy to drag myself from the warmth of my blankets.

Even so, I felt great. I knew it was supposed to be sunny and warm--in the 60s! Was it possible that winter had finally left for good??

I felt good about what I had planned to teach-- in my ELA classes, we’d be analyzing the symbolism of Juliek’s violin. In my ELA/ESL class, my students were going to complete an Anticipation Guide and have a discussion to help prepare them to read Night (this particular class is a few weeks behind my others).

In my 2nd period class, which is becoming more and more like a true honors class every day, we had an incredible discussion about the true nature of human beings and what people are capable of doing to survive. I couldn’t help but think, Am I finally getting the hang of this?

My students were visibly moved by Elie’s horrifying journey from Buna to Gliewitz in the dead of winter. At one point during the reading, I had to pause in order to stop myself from choking up. How could I read this four more times today? I figured by 9th period, my mind would be numb. Death and corpses would cease to mean anything.

The day was going just fine until 6th period. (On Tuesday, we had an amazing class. We showed our kids the first 30 minutes of a powerful documentary "Children Remember the Holocaust." Every student, even the most disengaged and frustrated, had his/her eyes glued to the screen. They were taking notes. Occasionally asking questions for clarification. Expressing their discomfort when they heard horrifying words- “And the SS caught the baby on his bayonette.” Some students looked away. F said, “Miss. I can’t watch this. It’s too sad.” They were engaged. Learning. Absorbing the horrors of the Holocaust.)

Today was different, though; the complete opposite in fact. My co-teacher (the ESL teacher) was out of the building for a field trip with the AVID students, so I was on my own. I didn’t feel on my game. At all. I thought I was prepared to teach, but soon realized I wasn’t. In fact, I couldn’t even remember what we did the day before! How could I forget?

About ten students out of 25 were absent. This should be no problem. I can handle 15. I was wrong.

From the start of class, it was obvious to me that 6th period would resist me today. Most of them looked half asleep. Some wandered in late. It took about 5 minutes to get them to take out their binders and read the Do Now.

After a valiant--albeit failed-- effort to wake them up (suggesting jumping jacks, push ups, etc.), class started. But, no one wanted to do anything. Anything. What is going on here?! Even the best students--students who are on point ALL the time-- are messing around!

Finally, they settled down a little and wrote independently for about 10 minutes. After, we reviewed the rules of a class discussion (which we had JUST taught them a week ago).

Discussion on the nature of humanity commenced. It was terrible. Just terrible. What was going on?

Students were discussing the statement: In times of trouble, a person will save himself/ herself first. A thought-provoking statement. Or so I thought. I asked for volunteers to agree or disagree and explain their response. Nothing. No hands. No sign any student was even listening.

After staring at them in disbelief, I decided that perhaps they didn’t quite understand the statement. So, to clarify, I gave them a scenario.

Me: “OK. So. What if you and your best friend were approached by a bunch of gang members who had knives. They start hassling you. Giving you trouble. You decide to make a run for it--”

I’m cut off.

P. yells, laughing: “--HAHA those PUSSIES!”

Students laugh with her and encourage her.

Me, shocked but calm: “Are you serious P?”

(P. is one of my favorite students. Until today, I had never heard any vulgarity spew from her mouth. I was-- to say the least-- appalled by her behavior. Later, I stopped her during the fire drill and asked her what was going on. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t respond. I began to wonder if her outburst had to do with my co-teacher's absence. P. respects her.)

Not wanting to pay her any more attention, I continue with my scenario (which was proving to not serve much of a point...)

Me, trying to be dramatic: “--but you’re faster than your friend. Your friend starts falling behind. What do you do? Keep running? Go back for your friend and risk getting hurt?”

A. raises his hand. Wow. A hand. No curses. Finally. Someone has some life today!

A., enthusiastically: “Obviously I’d go back for my friend! How could you just leave him there to possibly get jumped or stabbed? WHO DOES THAT?”

Without raising her hand, F. shouts out: “Fuck that shit.”

Again. Really? What is going ON in here today?

Me: “Excuse me, F.? Is that any way to respond to your classmate who has just shared his opinion?”

F., knowing she was in the wrong: “Oh, sorry.”

(F. has the tendency to over apologize to the point where her apologies are completely fake. It’s almost as if she’s making a mockery of me and my rules.)

The unproductive and unaccountable discussion continued for about 3 more minutes, even after I told the students if they couldn’t start following our rules, we’d have to quit.

After the 5th time hearing “fuck” I called it quits. I told my kids they had to answer the discussion reflection questions silently and independently and that I’d be having a serious conversation my co-teacher about their behavior and their inability to follow the rules of a discussion.

They grumbled and began writing. Two minutes later, fire alarm. They shouted their approval. And suddenly, class was over.

Highlight

I rarely-- RARELY-- have anything to brag about when it comes to teaching, but I thought I'd share something that left me smiling all Friday night.

On Friday, one of my favorite students, I, sat down with me and her mother to discuss her progress in my class.

First, some background on I. She's a former English Language Learner. She scored a 3 or 4 on her 8th grade ELA test (according to the 8th grade state test, that's proficient). She was in my "on track" 9th grade writing class. At the beginning of the year, she was probably one of my worst writers. She struggled with organization and adding details as well as just writing in complete sentences.

I is incredibly motivated. She's a delight to have in class. Always smiling. Always contributing. Always asking difficult questions. She wants to improve in any way that she can. By the end of last year, it became clear to me that I's writing had improved significantly. Her final paper was one of the best. Her writing was clear, detailed, organized, and it had a real voice.

This year, she continues to improve.

OK, back to the meeting.

After basically telling her mom the above "improvement" story about I, her mom said, in broken English, "my daughter talks about you all the time... Ms. Brady this, Ms. Brady that... She loves your class."

I thought, Am I really hearing this? A student actually talks about what we learn in class at home? AMAZING!

I was speechless, and all I could do was smile.

Texas here I come...

During the last week of school this year (aka. proctoring and English Regents exam grading week...) I will be in Dallas for AVID training!

Not exactly sure about the details of the training, but I am thrilled.

AVID stands for Advancement Via Individual Determination. Basically, it's a program that targets 'middle of the road' students--who are capable of excelling in rigorous courses but are falling short of their potential--to prepare them for success at four year colleges. A number of my students are AVID students, and it's incredible how much they've changed as students this year in terms of organization, motivation, study habits, and questioning. They've taken ownership of their education.

I'll be trained in how to incorporate the AVID curriculum, which is driven by writing, inquiry, collaboration, and reading-- into my ELA classroom.

More details to come!