Everyone Will Accomplish Everything

There's a copy of Chicken Soup for the Teacher's Soul in one of the staff bathrooms at my school.

Chicken Soup books were second only to Beanie Babies in terms of things I was excited to buy from the Hallmark Store when I was a kid. But I haven't touched the Chicken Soup book in the staff bathroom--in part because why would I read a Chicken Soup book in a bathroom at work, but also because if this edition fits my memory of the genre, the stories will all be about teachers who feel like they are floundering but then one day their toughest student comes in and says hey teacher, that inspiring poem we read really got me thinking, and now I realize that I have great potential and that everything you do is because you care about me and my future, and even though I never believed that I was worth anything or that there was any good in the world up until now, you have transformed my life and I have just received early admission to college despite still being a sixth grader. And the kid becomes a poet himself and in the dedication of his first book of poems he thanks the teacher. And all the other kids in the class become astronauts.

I don't think I can handle reading that most days. Most days I feel nothing like that teacher. Most days there are no life-changing breakthroughs delivered via poetry. More likely the poem was turned into a paper airplane. Most days there is no Chicken Soupy turning point, and I don't want to read about someone else's.

Yesterday was parent-teacher conference day, and while most conferences were delightful, I left in the evening having a hard time getting a couple tough conversations out of my mind. I was waiting for the train to go meet some friends, but the longer I sat and waited, the deeper I fell into the vortex of negative thinking. There's nothing like a student's parent questioning everything you do day in and day out to make you... question everything you do day in and day out.

So I did what everyone does when waiting for the train and slipping into a black hole of anxiety and self-doubt, which is check my email on my phone. I had one email. It was from a student I'll call Mary. 

Mary is a passionate writer and as of yesterday my favorite student of all time. She has recently taken to creating random writing projects for herself in her free time and sending them to me on Google Docs. This is all the more heartwarming because Mary, though awesome, is not a teacher's pet type. We've had our fair share of tough conversations, and I love that she can bounce back from those and still want to send reflections to her writing teacher.

So obviously my spirits were lifted a little just seeing that I had a new document from Mary. But when I opened it, it only got better. Mary's latest piece is titled "Never Give Up." It has every quality that I love in student writing: Written out of personal motivation, on a significant topic, and just off-kilter enough in terms of sentence structure and word choice to remind you that the writer is a twelve-year-old finding her way in the world.

It begins, "In life, everything is gonna be hard." SO TRUE.

She goes on: "Sometimes you just have to look around and notice that you’re gonna make it through whatever it is." A little cliche? Sure. Deeply moving when written by your student and sent to you at the end of a rough day? Extremely.

The best part might be this perhaps unintentional Marvin Gaye reference: "Every mountain is not too high for us to jump over. No streams are too high to swim in."

There's a nice section in the middle on the importance of turning to friends for support, which is exactly what I did when the train finally came. The piece concludes, "You have to stand up to fight it and be strong. When you’re strong then you’re already winning. You’re saying I will get through this no matter what. I will fight until I win. If everyone has that type of thinking in life, everyone will accomplish everything."

I wrote Mary back and told her how much her words had moved me, and suggested she submit her writing to the school newspaper. Maybe she should write in to Chicken Soup for the Preteen Soul. And if Jack Canfield is accepting submissions for Chicken Soup for the Teacher's Soul Part II, and if he doesn't mind those submissions being meta-essays that start by mocking his book series, I hope he'll consider this blog post.

Dispatches From The Snow Emergency

plastic snowman engulfed in real snow

Typically, I come here to write about the daily project of attempting to teach the 27 young people whose education has been entrusted to me. And typically, the limiting factor in the frequency of these dispatches is time: The children fill each day with shocks, delights, and occasional horrors, which my lack of time management skills prevents me from sharing regularly.

This month, the equation is flipped: I have had abundant time, but little source material. Boston has had eight snow days this winter. Add that to this past week's February break (the timing of which at first felt like a joke, given that the whole month of February has been a break, but turned out to be fortuitous: The latest blizzard hit last Sunday and almost certainly would have led to another day or two of cancelled school, had there been any school to cancel), and we have had six days of school in the entire month so far.  I have seen my students only six times in February. I am currently supposed to be writing report cards comments for children whose faces I can barely remember.

Here is a subject I feel much closer to a the moment: Snow.

sidewalk in my neighborhood

It is strange how much a landscape can change over the course of a few days. I have seen icicles I can't describe. I have seen car antennas peeking out of perfect domes of snow. I have seen shoveled parking spots marked with space-savers which, after another night of snow, are themselves in need of shoveling out. Speaking of space-savers, I have seen all manner of them: milk crates, stepping stools, plastic chairs, wooden chairs, end tables, and my personal favorite for its practicality--the shovel itself. Sidewalks, where they exist, are single-file. Every commute takes twice as long as it used to; even with the roads cleared, there are fewer lanes, more accidents, and snow banks that completely obscure the view of oncoming traffic.

my foot on top of a full-sized fence

Within this new landscape, we build a new society. There are new rules to learn, new norms to establish. Which one of us steps aside on the sidewalk? Where do you put the snow you are shoveling? Is this unmarked spot really up for grabs, or will it result in a vitriolic note or a keyed car--both have happened to friends. We ruminate on the metaphysical, the moral, the morbid: how can so many microscopic flakes add up to so much? Should I help push that stranger's car out of that snow bank? Why did humans ever settle here?

Like any dystopian hellscape, it can bring out the best in people as well. Neighbors shovel for neighbors. I saw an employee of the auto shop next door hoist an old lady over a puddle like a sack of rice. It was strangely lovely.

From the inside of this weather event, I am not yet sure how to interpret it. "Weather Wisdom" weatherman David Epstein calls it meteorologically incredible. This op-ed calls it a FEMA-worthy natural disaster. My new favorite Tumblr simply lays Beckett quotes on top of it. Like the global warming that underlies its existence, it is slow-moving but not slow-moving enough, beautiful but insidious, and disproportionately harmful to the poor and the marginalized. 

From my position of relative privilege, this winter is navigable. Public transit shutdown are annoying, and cold weather is... cold. But I have enough little shops in my neighborhood to keep myself nourished and enough friends nearby to stave off seasonal affective disorder. I have sturdy snow boots.

My students think they love snow days, but they come back from each one complaining of how bored they were. Their parents stress about getting them to and from school, about arranging childcare when school is cancelled. I worry they are forgetting how to read. Roofs are collapsing. Soon the snow will turn to water, and ice. Houses will leak. Hips will break.

roof rakes are a thing

School is back in session tomorrow. Hopefully we are done with snow days for the year. It is hard to imagine, but I am told that eventually, somehow, all the snow will be gone. It will probably be August, when the new school year is starting. I will try to make time to write before then.

*   *   *

Loyal readers, as a reward for reading to the end, you are invited to play a game of  "Snow Pile or Car?":

A.

B.

C.

Answers: a) car, b) car, c) I truly do not know.