When I was a kid, my family travelled annually to my grandmother’s house for a week. She lived in eastern Kentucky where Kentucky touches both West Virginia and Ohio, pronounced Uh-HI-uh by the natives. In that part of the country, there is no sweet tea or grits. The dumplings are drops of dough and not strips. The pizza has olives and banana peppers as the vegetables of choice. Roads pass around mountains, over mountains, and through mountains. Relatives live in a place called a holler, where you leave your car at the end of a dirt road so you can walk the rest of the way down a foot trail using the rising smoke from a trash pile as the guide to the gray weathered house of a smiling, but, most likely, toothless, relative.
My uncle lived near my grandmother. He had his teeth, but I never saw him clean-shaven. He wore a beard before beards were cool. Think Duck Dynasty beard and not soap opera actor beard. He rode a motorcycle and owned leather clothes. He kept bullets on his coffee table. He worked on the railroad. He also had the most peculiar eating habit. He was the first person I ever saw do this and he always did it. He mixed all the food on his plate into one big pile of mess before taking a single bite. That’s not the way I eat. When I was a kid, I ate one thing at a time, starting with the least favorite and moving up to the favorite. My brother was the eater who didn’t like food to even touch on the plate. I was not that extreme. But, for both of us, seeing the jumble of all foods stirred into an unrecognizable brown pile was shocking. We knew it was coming, but, every year, we were again surprised and disgusted. Some people read books like my uncle—multiple books going on at one time. Stacks with bookmarks in different places, each book getting a turn eventually. That’s not how I read. I read one book at a time, and, frankly, do not understand the habit of multiple books going on simultaneously. While I don’t display disgust, it does take me by surprise when I do see it. So, this weekend, I surprised myself by starting a second book when I had not finished my current book. The current book is the third in a series by Alan Gratz. I had no intention of starting a second book because I really do want to read the end of the series and it was getting to the good part. However, I peeked at the new selections in the public library online book catalog. There was a sequel to a book I really enjoyed. It has mystery, intrigue, and conspiracy. It was available. Without thinking, I clicked borrow and, before I knew it, I read 50 pages. Since the weekend, I take turns alternating days of reading each one. I look forward every day to diving into a different story than the previous day. One day, I am immersed in 1860s alternate reality steampunk and the next, I am reading about the inner workings of a technology company with a secret to hide. It’s not quite the same as mixing my green beans and mashed potatoes, but, it is close. Do not think less of me.
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State assessment scores are in. I am not sure anyone is happy with them. It was a new test. During a pandemic. With thousands of kids across the state in virtual learning. And then the quarantines. And isolations. And more quarantines.
None of that takes the initial sting away from the scores. As teachers, we want our students to do well. To show everything they know. A test on a single day or multiple days hardly comes close to describing the learning a student has attained over a school year. Especially last school year. As an administrator, I want my teachers to do well. To be confident in what they do with kids. A test on a single day or multiple days hardly comes close to describing the work teachers do over a school year. Especially last year. No one’s value can be quantified into a single checkmark, especially among a choice of only four categories, and that applies to students and the teachers of those students who own those scores as if the teacher sat in the room taking the tests. In an era of science of reading when we apply research to practice, are we applying research to the practice of annual standardized summative testing? Today, I emailed all of last year’s remote teachers. To thank them. To remind them how extraordinary they are and that the stories they can tell from last year are truly incredible. I needed to email them. To thank them one more time. To remind them they are remembered for stepping up or for being asked to step up. I celebrate teachers. For their work with students. Sometimes that work is reflected in standardized tests and sometimes it is not. Their work is ALWAYS reflected in the students they teach. Confidence is a fickle animal. One of the greatest hurdles of a teacher is to learn to emote confidence within all of the relationships the teacher is required to manage--confidence with content, confidence with students, confidence with administrators and colleagues, and confidence with parents. The longer you teach, the more that confidence grows. In part because of the lessons taught to you by the other teachers and educators around you.
Margaret Ann Gray, Social Studies teacher at Holt High School, was a master of the hook at the beginning of a unit. She had costumes, music, dances, and film clips. Ruth Borden, math teacher at the Alabama School of Fine Arts, was one of the smartest people I have ever worked with and she made being smart cool for kids. Charlotte Manning, math teacher at Vestavia Hills High School, knew kids, knew the school, and knew the community in ways that made everyone want to be just like her. Cindy Adams, my curriculum mentor, not only taught me the correct ratio of diet drinks and regular drinks to put out in teacher sessions, but taught me to always be my absolute best for teachers because they deserve it every time. They all taught me in ways that built my own confidence as an educator. The list could go on and on of people who have poured into me--Ann Larson, Caroline Avery, Cissy Bennett, Roz Spivey, Kay Cooper, Karen Delano, and Connie Bain. My time in Auburn City Schools has only added people to the list who have helped me grow in confidence--Karen Delano again, Connie Bain again, along with Cristen, Dennis, Jason, Tim, Ed, Betty, Laura, Drew, Silvia, Jill, Gene and, of course, Kathy Tyler. I could keep listing names of principals, assistant principals, staff and teachers in my Auburn world. These people made me and make me who I am as an educator. They built my confidence. The events of the last 18 months with the global pandemic changed me. A hole was punched in my beliefs and practices about learning and the community. New realities about teaching and students were created. And my confidence as a teacher, as an administrator, and as a leader faltered. Parents are different now. Teachers are different now. Students are different now. I am different. Confidence falters. What happened? The question of what may not be as important as the question of what next. What choices am I going to make as a response to the differences around me? When I am not confident, what will be the North Star on which I base decisions? In a world with new values and many diverse opinions, what is my center? On what will I stand? To that last question, I know the answer. The lessons and relationships given to me by all of the people above were not in vain. They were not merely for the moment. They formed the core of who I am as a teacher and who I am as a leader. That core is still inside me. The core cannot change. The core will not change. And confidence grows. It was warm and sunny out. A day just like one would expect for that time of year. There was a calm, gentle breeze that broke the intensity of the sun. It was, by all accounts, a perfect day.
All of a sudden, out of the corner of an eye, the calm was shattered. Perhaps, it was a rustle of the grass of maybe he thought he saw something. He couldn’t be sure, but, frankly, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that there might have been something out there. Something dangerous. Something deadly. The anxiety alone was quite enough for the gazelle to stop grazing and immediately lift its head to try to see what it hoped was not a lion. Another gazelle noticed that one of the members of its group was alerted to a possible threat and it too immediately stopped eating to look up—two sets of eyes are better than one. Before long, the whole group had joined in. None of them knew what specifically they were looking for—they only knew that if one of the members of the group felt threatened, they should all feel threatened. Then, in an instant, one of the gazelles, one that wasn’t originally alerted to the potential threat, saw the lion about to pounce and instinctively made a mad dash in the opposite direction. Whether they also saw the lion or not, all the gazelles in the herd followed in the same direction, all running at full speed. The lion attempted to give chase, but couldn’t run for long before it ran out of energy. The surprise attack was foiled and all the gazelles got to live another day. This is one of the primary benefits of group living—every member of the group can help look out for danger. If one individual in the group senses danger, the whole group can help spot it before it’s too late. It is a familiar scene played out in many a nature documentary. Sometimes, the lion makes the kill and sometimes it doesn’t. But the response from the gazelles is always the same. First, one or a few of them sense something is amiss. Then they try to get a bead on the threat, and if there they is a threat, they run for their lives. It is that initial feeling, that sense that something might be out there that would do them harm, that sets the whole scene in motion, and at the end of the day, gives the herd a greater opportunity for survival. From Chapter 7, Leaders Eat Last, Simon Sinek Using the analogy described by Simon Sinek, in a education environment, the lion represents a rumor or the fear of something unknown. One parent or teacher or administrator or legislator tunes in to the rumor or fear, causing another to tune in, and then the entire herd of workers is watching and waiting carefully for a lion to jump out at them. None of our students are going to be eaten by a lion any time soon (knock on wood). Yet we are still susceptible to stop, watch, and flee as part of a herd mentality. Are there uncertainties and fears looming in the proverbial tall grass and bulrushes of education in Alabama? Yes. What we as literacy leaders should ask ourselves is this, “What would the herd be doing if they were not stopping and watching?” Or even “What is NOT happening in our schools because of the distraction caused by rumor, fear, or angst?” There is too much good going on in our schools and classrooms for anyone to be distracted right now. While the beginning of a school year is an easy time to see potential in every student, we cannot let our enthusiasm and excitement for potential wane based on fear of the unknown future. Reflect on what the “normal” is for your sphere. If you know what the normal is, then you are more able to recognize when the gazelles start lifting their heads and the herd stops doing what is normal. In this new era of accountability, new assessments and new literacy acts, be wise and navigate so that the work for students stays on the forefront, so that fear or angst does not cause work to suffer, and so that we can define and recognize normal for the times ‘not normal’ creeps in. And remember, these are metaphorical lions; not real ones. It could be worse. The Alabama Humanities Foundation sponsored a workshop recently, the sessions of which all focused on aspects of black history in Alabama. Too many adults who grow up in Alabama look at Alabama history as white noise because it has always been around us. It is too easy to see our own history with a passive attitude. However, I heard a perspective of history that was completely foreign to me.
A speaker talked about the origins of the passengers of the slave ship Clotilda, the last slave ship to dock in the United States. 110 men, women and children were taken forcibly from their homes in West Africa and brought to Mobile illegally in 1860. The workshop focused on who those people were in Africa and the lives they left behind. She talked about the agriculture and art of the regions of modern day Benin and Nigeria from which the captives were taken. She spoke about their names and the origins of those names. She showed us pictures of the landscape of the thirty mile radius from which those 110 were stolen to slavery. She displayed the photographs of descendants of some of the 110 and named their names. I can look up the story of the Clotilda and the founding of Africatown in lower Alabama readily. I can read details of the story, including the bet waged over whether or not a slave ship could be brought successfully to this country from Africa. Injustice, anger, and hurt are easily found in the story of the Clotilda. Those details are not the important aspect of my learning. I learned a different perspective. I learned about the people, their names, their faces, and their families. I learned about their expertise, their pride, and their perseverance. And I heard the story with different ears, saw the story with different eyes, and felt the story with a different heart. I didn't hear a story about slaves. I heard a story about people--men and women--with skills, homes, and dreams. What a change in education we could make if we could all—teachers, parents, legislators, administrators, students—learn each other’s stories with a fresh set of ears, eyes, and hearts. What a change. The first presentation I ever made as a professional was made at a Saturday morning workshop hosted by a local chapter of the National Writing Project. When I was asked to present, I was surprised and humbled that anyone would want to hear my voice or perspective. Teaching kids is one thing, but presenting to adults is a completely different story. I prepared for hours on my topic of writing in the content areas. I practiced my words in the car for weeks leading up to the workshop. Since my session was one of a choice of sessions teachers could attend, I was unsure of who or how many my audience would be.
Two people showed up to my session. Yep, two whole people came to my presentation. Don’t think or imagine I was disappointed. If I was going to fail, at least I would fail in front of only two people. My hours of preparation were not in vain because those two people were the organizers of the entire workshop. I was the one presenter they had never seen so they chose me. Every bit of preparation paid off and those two people left me with my very first words of affirmation as a presenter. I will never forget them or their kindness to me that day. Three years after that presentation, they invited me to be a Co-Director of the Writing Project site. They became mentors and friends. Since then, I have presented dozens of times on many topics to a diverse audience of participants, but there are lessons I learned from that first presentation I will always remember:
My first principal called me Randall for two years. I corrected him at the beginning, but after awhile, it was apparent my corrections were not sticking. In his defense, there was another young male teacher in the school whose name was Randall. When I asked Randall what the principal called him, he looked at me quizzically and said, “Randall.”
I had a superintendent who called me Todd. There was another young teacher whose name was Todd and the superintendent confused me for him only one time. When he came back to apologize to me, he noticed I had changed the name on my badge to Todd, laughed, and called me Todd from then on. I have been Mr. G, G-man, G-dog, Gordon, Mr. Gordon, and, for one group who had high hopes for me, Doc. I have also been Wesley, Wes, and Mr. Wes. In one school district, I worked very closely with a colleague and we were CindyandWes. One word. CindyandWes. My personal growth as a learner and teacher can be traced through the names by which I have been called. Wes-as-Randall learned to teach kids. Wes-as-Todd learned to teach teachers. Wes-as-CindyandWes learned to teach administrators. I am still learning and growing. There are still names to be called…positive ones, I hope. Names and descriptions about my heart for kids, my heart for teachers and administrators, my heart for learning. When it is all said and done, the name Wes should be enough. If I am doing it correctly, my name alone should invoke that message. My name is Wes Gordon. Know my name. Know my heart. A challenge was posed to me two weeks ago by a Twitter friend. The challenge was to post covers of seven books I love. No explanations or reviews. Just the cover. Each time I was supposed to post a cover, I was to ask someone else to take the challenge. One cover a day for a week with a different person to nominate for the challenge each day.
It reminds me of an old shampoo commercial. “I told two friends about Faberge Organic Shampoo with Wheat Germ Oil and Honey and they told two friends and so on and so on.” The screen filled exponentially with ladies adding to the voices of “I told two friends.” All of the ladies had shiny, big hair. They were excited about their hair. And what Faberge did for their hair. The book cover challenge came to me and I fulfilled the challenge. For seven days, I posted a new cover. Honestly, I had to narrow down choices. Day One: House of Purple Cedar, Tim Tingle Day Two: Paper Horse, Kim Xiong Day Three: The Thing about Jellyfish, Ali Benjamin Day Four: The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien Day Five: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J.K. Rowling Day Six: The Secret History, Donna Tartt Day Seven: Pierre, A Cautionary Tale in Five Chapters and a Prologue, Maurice Sendak The challenge did not require me to justify my choices at all. Only I know the reason I pulled these seven books from all the books I love. Only I know the reasons I did not include other books that could have easily replaced books on this list. I had reasons. I wanted to communicate something about me with every choice. I wanted the books to be a reflection of who I am as a reader. And I told seven friends. In the middle of my challenge, the shampoo commercial started happening. More and more people started taking the challenge and posting book covers. With no explanation or review, more book covers popped into my Twitter feed and I saw a different side of other people—through their book choices. Many put smiles on my face because they could have been on my list—books like Echo, The Stand, and All the Light I Cannot See. Others reminded me that I need to read them—books like The Sympathizer and The Hate U Give (I know, I know, I know need to read it!). Every time a new challenge pops up, I have a new chance to see a friend or colleague through a different lens. I also get to share a love of reading with people. And this love of reading is not tied solely to our lives in social media. I was walking down the hall of an elementary school this morning when I heard my name. I turned back and a teacher called to me. She had a book to lend to me. She had read it and thought I would like it. Seeing me saved her from sending the book through the courier. I had not solicited the book and we had not talked about it before then. And she told a friend about that book. The community of lovers of reading is large and I am seeing it. Because someone challenged me. As one of seven. And then I challenged seven. And they are challenging seven. And a love of reading among a community spreads....spreads like flu. You are on your own with your hair, though. I heard Maya Angelou speak twice. The first time was during my senior year of college. Even though she was on the stage in front of crowded auditorium, she was talking directly to me. Everyone else in the auditorium was eye clutter. Her words were for me. After I arrived home that night, I immediately wrote in my writer’s notebook about this self-proclaimed tall, ugly black woman whose soul and spirit spoke beauty, power, and confidence into my own spirit. Even then I was an overweight, balding white man, but I still carry inside me the words she spoke that night about inner confidence and strength.
Several years later, I heard her again. At a different place in my life, I walked into that auditorium ready for her to make heart contact with me. To my shock and disappointment, Maya Angelou gave the exact same speech she had given years earlier. Though her words were the same, my heart was in a different place. It was not to me she spoke that second time. I left sad because she had given me so much the first time in her speech. But it was her one speech. The disappointment faded into admiration as I matured and saw the value in having a single message. Especially as an educator, my ongoing challenge is to know the importance of being recognized and heard as a source of inspiration on a common theme. Certainly I want to be well-rounded and have a diverse skill set, but it is important to me that there be an underlying message in my work story and in my life story. I heard Donalyn Miller speak this week again. Over the last several years, I have had the opportunity to hear Donalyn Miller speak several times. Tallassee City Schools invited her to speak at their January In-Service day and I finagled an invitation to sit quietly in the back row. Donalyn Miller has a message she speaks with authority and conviction every time I have heard her. She has a theme that has not changed. As I have matured in my own learning, I do not leave disappointed anymore. If Donalyn Miller spoke to my educator’s soul the first time I heard her speak, she whispered to my educator’s soul every time after. And I was ready to hear her whisper. The words my heart heard this time were about the 56%. I am certain she shared this statistic before, but I heard it this time. One research study found 56% of unenthusiastic readers did not have a teacher who shared a love of reading. This statistic generates questions. Are the 56% self-reported unenthusiastic readers? Did the 56% report they did not have a teacher who shared a love of reading? If this research is accurate and the answer to the two questions is an affirmative one, then my eyes are officially bugged out and a crack has officially formed in my teacher’s heart. Are there really teachers about whom students are saying there is not a love of reading? I want every teacher to communicate a love of reading to students. I want every teacher to ask students what they are reading. I want every teacher to be able to answer the question What are you reading? I want students to see every teacher as someone who shares a love of reading. And, for those teachers who do not share that love, please fake it. For the students. Not girls in white dresses. Not snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes. Not even silver white winters that melt into spring. Nor is it brown paper packages tied up with strings….unless those packages hide my favorite books read in 2018!
Picture Book A Different Pond by Bao Phi is one of those picture books whose illustrations add a completely different dimension to the story. I used the book as a read-aloud with new teachers this year without showing the pictures. We talked about the story a little and then I showed the pictures. The graphic novel style illustrations are a complete surprise and there were audible gasps. As they re-read the book with the illustrations, their understanding of the characters completely changed. Illustrated Book Out of Wonder: Poems Celebrating Poets is illustrated by Ekua Holmes. The illustrations are a true celebration of the visual arts and how the visual arts complement the literary arts. The text of the book includes contributions by Kwame Alexander, Chris Colderly, and Marjorie Wentworth. Their poetry is a beautiful example of how authors use mentor texts to inspire writing. However, the star of this book truly is Ekua Holmes with her illustrations! Children’s Novel Okay for Now by Gary D. Schmidt has been around for a few years but I didn’t read it until this past year. To describe the story as being about family and friendship is much too simple. Set in New York state during the Vietnam War, the story describes one family’s struggle to cope with life after financial troubles facilitate a move from New York City to a smaller community. The oldest son returns to the family after being severely wounded in the war. Characters like a cranky playwright, an artist-librarian, and a bully gym coach keep the story lively and surprising. Each quirky character contributes to the story and the outcome of the family. Young Adult Novel Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi is a fantasy novel set in the fictional country of Orisha. Magic was forced out of the kingdom by a bitter king. The main characters in the story are on a quest to restore magic to the people. The setting and mythology in the story are African-inspired in a way that portrays magic and its impact in a fantasy world in a completely new way. Professional Book Bold School: Old School Wisdom + New School Technologies = Blended Learning that Works by Weston Kieschnick is such an easy book to read with a simple message that resounds in a powerful way. As educators mature in the profession, they find themselves battling a pedagogy of the traditional with a pedagogy of the new and current. The framework provided in this book helps teachers understand how to determine what is worth keeping in practice—whether it is old or new. Book Study Emotional Poverty in All Demographics: How to Reduce Anger, Anxiety and Violence in the Classroom by Ruby Payne tells you everything the book is about in the title. I like this book better than A Framework for Understanding Poverty because this book not only helps you understand emotional poverty, but it provides strategies for dealing with it. This topic can often make educators feel hopeless and helpless, but as I have discussed this book with a book group, I have left feeling hope. It speaks to the power of reading a book with peers. It speaks to the power of learning in a community. |
Wes Gordon
Wes Gordon is a Past President of the Plains Literacy Council, the current Vice President of the Alabama Literacy Association, and a curriculum leader for Auburn City Schools. He reads. He writes. His greatest professional fear is lack of relevance and his greatest triumphs are his two children, about which most of the credit actually goes to his wife. |