I hate the term sister-in-law. It seems so distant, so technical. Sister-in-law doesn’t describe the person who I met when she was 12, trying to decide which high school to attend. Sister-in-law doesn’t describe the 16-year-old-girl who shyly told the boy she loved him, then hung up the phone and threatened my life if I told anyone what I had overheard. Sister-in-law does not describe my roommate at the lake house during the summers I dated her brother, does not describe the young woman I would ask to be a bridesmaid regardless of her blood relation to my future husband, and does not describe the person I lost on October 29, 2006. Lyndsey was hailing a cab and was struck by the cab driver, thrown through the air, and landed in the middle of Ashland Avenue. She died days later from a traumatic brain injury sustained during the accident. The cab driver received three moving violation citations and returned to work the following day. He is currently working as a cab driver in the city of Chicago. Immediately following the accident, Lyndsey’s family got to work- saving five lives by honoring her organ donation wishes, creating a foundation in her name to channel financial support towards Children’s Memorial Hospital in lieu of flowers, and working to change taxi safety laws in the state of Illinois. In 2007 the Illinois Taxi Safety Act was passed, mandating that taxi drivers causing accidents involving pedestrians undergo drug and alcohol testing. No such evaluation took place after Lyndsey’s accident. Currently Lyndsey’s parents are working along with Representative Renee Kosel to again increase the regulations on taxi cab drivers within the state of Illinois. Amendments to the Act of 2007 include removing all taxi drivers from the road who have been convicted of leaving the scene of an accident, reckless driving, drag or street racing, manslaughter or reckless homicide within the previous three years. Did you know that the person who currently drives you to work every day could have been convicted of manslaughter or leaving the scene of an accident when a pedestrian was injured or killed? They don’t post that certification in the back of their cabs. Still, this amendment has repeatedly met opposition in the Senate. We have an expectation that you get in a cab and know it's safe, and that should be statewide," Kosel said. "There isn't a single thing I would want to scratch off the bill and then get into a cab." I stand in full support of House Bill 5486, not only to honor the memory of my sister, but to protect every prospective employee on their way to a job interview in the city, every college kid who needs a ride home from the bars, every person needing a lift after a trip to the grocery store. For every person who relies on public transportation in the city, basic safety measures must be taken. Basic safety measures that until now have gone unmentioned, unnoticed by the policy makers who have the opportunity to make a difference. To make our community a safer place to live. It is imperative that you contact your Congress members and demand that they support HB 5486. Let no more innocent lives be taken by the reckless drivers or the reckless lawmakers working for the state of Illinois.
The Secret Rules of Teachers by Becky Mentor Text: The Secret Knowledge of Grown-Ups
Grown-ups have lots of rules. I know because I am one. The grown-ups with the most rules are teachers. I know this because I am one of those too. We tell students to follow these rules because it is good for them and it makes the school day run smoother. That is not the real reason, though. I went to teachers all over the United States and asked them about their rules. They told me all their rules under one condition: DO NOT tell the students! I agreed, but after listening I couldn’t keep the real reasons behind the rules to myself. I will tell you the real reasons behind the rules under one condition: DO NOT tell the teachers I told you! Do you promise? Okay…
Rule #22: You MUST walk in a straight line in the hallway!
Official Reason Behind the Rule: Many classes will be able to get by, you will not run into anyone, and it looks nice.
Real Reason Behind the Rule: Have you ever noticed how each teacher leads their class down the same spot in the hallway each time? That teacher walks their line down a very specific path. I bet you never noticed. Why would you? You were told to follow the head of the person in front of you. You step out of line for a second and your teacher knows. Before you realized you even stepped out of line your teacher has stopped the line and is right in front of you. “Follow the person in front of you!” Your teacher doesn’t tell you the real reason why you have to follow that person, but for some reason you listen. You always think that there just has to be a good reason why your teacher gets mad at you when you step out of line.
There is a laboratory in the middle of the deserts of Nevada that assigns teachers their spot in the hallway at the beginning of every school year. They do this for every school and it is a very serious job. These are the people that get paid the big bucks and they are doing it for your well being. Remember that one kid who stepped out of line? He wasn’t paying attention and was just walking next to the kid he was supposed to be behind. Remember what happened to that kid? Right, they told you he moved…to Nevada. Suspicious. He is in Nevada, but his family did not move there so his mom could run the biggest company in the world, like you were told. He was brought to work in the laboratory in the desert.
He is at the laboratory everyday with all the other kids that could not stay in line drawing the lines on paper. You didn’t think the blue lines on your notebook paper got there all by themselves, did you? Somebody had to draw them in and they don’t even get a ruler. Day after day after day just drawing lines. Rumor is these not-able-to-walk-in-line students are the ones who started the whole going green movement. No one can be sure, but it makes sense. The less paper we use the less lines they have to draw. But I am sure the laboratory workers will find something else for them to draw lines on.
Next time your teacher reminds you to stay in line: listen, she is only trying to help…though someone needs to draw the lines on the paper.
Three shirts, two sweaters, five pairs of pants littered the floor of Rhonda’s bedroom. She stomped out wearing a blue dress, grey tights, and boots that she knew would pinch her toes before she even got off the bus. Seven boxes of cereal–Rhonda decided on Cheerios. She pulled out the box along with the jar of sugar. Why did her mom insist on getting plain Cheerios knowing they’d always end up defiled with sugar in the bowl anyways? Three sniffs of the milk before Rhonda slammed the sour carton back into the door of the fridge, then slammed the door for good measure. All that and she had to have a stupid Pop-Tart. She grabbed the crinkly silver sleeve and headed for the front door. “Rhonda,” Mom half-questioned, half-scolded from the bathroom. “Don’t you walk out that door angry. If you’re not already looking for trouble, it’ll find you.” Slam. “It’ll find you.”
Rhonda walked to her regular seat on the bus. If she sat anywhere else, she’d have to explain. She didn’t think she could explain without expelling some of her poorly pent-in rage. Rhonda hadn’t seen Lindsey at the bus stop, but she sat down next to her. No words. No eye contact, save the burning stares each of them directed at the blue vinyl of the seat in front of them. If Rhonda hadn’t been completely consumed with her own rage, she would have noticed that within a two-seat radius of Lindsey and Rhonda, no one dared speak. Except Bria. “Dang, Rhonda, what’s your problem? Lover’s quarrel? Trouble in paradise?” “Shut up, Bria,” Rhonda said in the screaming whisper Mom used whenever she fought with Dad on the phone. “Mind your own business,” Lindsey said. But that wasn’t good enough. Lindsey stood up as she said “Mind your,” and shoved Bria with “own.” By “business,” the bus pulled up to the curb and to a stop. The combination of the push and the brakes sent Bria flying backwards toward the front of the bus, but more quickly toward the grimy brown floor. The bus driver rushed to Bria’s aid, making reassuring noises while she ushered her off the bus and into the school. Rhonda scanned the bus two times from front to back, shrugged, then walked to class like everyone else, pretending nothing happened. Twenty minutes later, just as Rhonda managed to melt her anger into concentration on irregular Spanish verb conjugation, she was called down to the main office. “Can you tell me what transpired on the bus this morning,” the principal more stated than asked. “I can.” Rhonda fell into her comfortable sarcasm, but quickly thought better of it. She kept it short–Lindsey shoved, but not hard. Bria lost her balance because of the bus’s abrupt stop.
Not Alone-Part 2 Seven minutes after her initial exit, Rhonda returned to her seat in Spanish. Four academic classes, one elective, one phys ed, one lunch period, but fortunately for Rhonda, it seemed that the school had been designed to prevent fraternization among pupils. Unfortunately, since Rhonda managed to slide through the day without a single exchange of more than seven words, she failed to connect the furtive glances and hushed whispers to Lindsey’s absence until 3:07. As the door of the bus closed with the aisle-side half of her seat unoccupied, Rhonda said, “huh” inaudibly and counted the remaining twenty-two minutes til home. Two forks, three knives, four plates and two glasses into the dishwasher. Rhonda lifted the door closed as Mom hung up after a hushed, concerned phone call. “That was Lindsey’s mom,” she talked to the back of her daughter’s head. “Lindsey is transferring to Romulus.” Rhonda spun around. “The principal said it was either transfer to a new school or face expulsion. Three strikes.” Rhonda would never understand how Jeb Bush-era criminal justice had trickled its way up from southern courthouses and into her school. But life without parole was exactly how grave the situation felt. Head on her pillow, Rhonda stacked the charges against Lindsey while staring at the ceiling. 1) Shoving Bria. 2) Tripping Mike in the lunchroom. 3) . . . Rhonda was stuck. How was she supposed to survive the rest of ninth grade without Lindsey? The rest of high school? And why on earth did she have to suffer the consequences when she didn’t even know all of the offenses?
Rhonda’s eyes were red-rimmed when she stepped onto the bus in the morning. Bria’s smile was self-satisfied. Mike slid into the aisle-side seat next to Rhonda. “I know you guys are friends, but she kinda deserved it.” He said quietly. He didn’t say another word, but didn’t move until the door opened in front of the school. Rhonda followed behind him to Spanish. Followed next to him to lunch. Linked arms with him as they walked back to the bus after 6th period. Rhonda didn’t know how she felt about him, but it had to be better than being alone.
"Bomb's Away!" by Nancy Veltema A Children's Story
One sunny recess, Juan bounced the class’s red rubber ball against the playlot wall.
“You’re it,” yelled Marco, tagging Juan on the arm. Juan dropped the ball and ran after Marco.
Soon, Gaby, the fastest runner in first grade, and Hector, her best friend, joined in. The friends chased each other for another five minutes.
“Gotcha!” Hector yelled, reaching for Gaby’s arm.
“Did not!” Gaby yelled back.
“Did too, and you know it,” hollered Hector.
“Liar,” replied Gaby. “I didn’t feel a tag!”
Juan and Marco stopped next to their shouting friends.
“Who’s it?” asked Marco.
Gaby and Hector didn’t hear him above their yelling.
“You’re it so you have to chase me,” screamed Hector.
“No I’m not! You’re not my friend anymore,” Gaby screamed back.
Juan jumped in the middle of his friends.
“My dad said whenever someone is mean to me I need to fight back,” he said, picking up the rubber ball.
“You guys should have a fight with this ball – pretend it’s a bomb, like in the movies.”
“Yeah!” yelled Gaby and Hector.
Gaby grabbed the ball out of Juan’s hands and began chasing Hector. As Hector approached a corner of the playlot, he realized he had no where to go.
“Bombs away!” Gaby yelled, hurling the ball at Hector’s head. The ball bounced off his skull, and Gaby grabbed it again and threw it, this time nailing Hector in the stomach.
“Stop! Stop! Leave me alone!” Hector cried, running away with his face buried in his hands.
At lunch, Hector refused to sit near Gaby.
When they did partner reading in the afternoon, Gaby didn’t even look at Hector as she picked Jennifer for her partner.
And when it was time to walk home, Hector ran ahead with Marco instead of waiting for Gaby as usual.
The next day, Gaby and Hector continued to ignore each other all morning.
At recess, Gaby couldn’t take it anymore.
She walked up to Hector, saying “Hector I’m sorry. Can we please play tag again?”
“No,” said Hector. “I was really scared when you were throwing that bomb at me. I don’t want to play like that.”
“Oh,” said Gaby, looking at her shoes.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I was just trying to work it out by fighting, like Juan said…I guess that didn’t really help.”
“No, I think it made it worse,” replied Hector.
“Hmm,” said Gaby, with a thoughtful look on her face. “How can we make it better?”
“How about we just flip a coin?” suggested Hector. Heads I’m it, tails you are.”
“Great idea! Then we can’t get mad about it,” Gaby said, grabbinga penny out of her pocket and flipping it in the air.
“Tails,” yelled Hector, running away. Gaby chased after him, and they played peacefully for the rest of recess.
At lunch, Gaby and Hector sat together, across from Juan and Marco.
“You know, Juan,” said Gaby, “I don’t think fighting solved any of our problems. It just made us madder. Now I know why teacher always tells us to work things out with words and stay away from weapons.” The friends nodded in agreement
Governor Pat Quinn, in an effort to save taxpayer dollars, is proposing to consolidate Illinois’ school districts from 869 to no more than 300 by the 2013 school year. Gov. Quinn and other lawmakers feel that slashing the number of school districts and redrawing boundaries to implement a unit school system will magically result in the disappearance of Illinois’ $10 million debt.
Many Illinois residents, superintendents, principals, and teachers oppose Gov. Quinn’s proposal. Forced consolidation will rob Illinois residents of their voice, as well as students of the education they deserve. Research from the National Education Policy Center indicates that “state-level consolidation proposals may serve a public-relations purpose in times of fiscal crisis but are an unreliable way to save money and improve education.”
Reorganizing school districts may result in the closing of small community schools, causing their social and economic base to weaken and possibly result in desertion. School closures could adversely cause more costs for the new unified districts and the state. Through consolidation, student enrollment will increase, as will the need to travel farther to get to school, therefore increasing the costs of transportation. Similarly, amplified enrollment may present issues with security and guidance for the students, resulting in a more dangerous learning environment that could influence achievement. In an effort to control security issues, new unified school districts will have to use funds to ensure their students’ safety.
Increased enrollment means larger class sizes that would deprive students of their entitled education. According to the article Consolidation of School Districts: What Research Says and What it Means, “A sizeable body of research investigating school size has consistently found larger size to be associated with reduced rates of student participation in co-curricular and extracurricular activities, more dangerous school environments, lower graduation rates, lower achievement levels for impoverished students, and larger achievement gaps related to poverty, race, and gender.” U-46 is an example of a unified school district whose achievement levels have shown little to no improvement over the last few years on state standardized test scores and the average class size in a South Elgin elementary school has no less than 27 students.
The Illinois’ school system needs improvement and school district consolidation may be something that the state of Illinois needs to take a closer look at, but do not deprive residents of their voice. According to the Illinois Association of School Boards Position Statements 7.01 and 7.02 “any school district reorganization must be approved by a majority vote of the districts affected and that no arbitrary pupil enrollment or geographical component can be used to force consolidation.” The fact that Gov. Quinn wants to overlook the IASB’s Position Statements suggests that he is in favor of a state dictatorship. Last time I checked, we lived in a democracy where citizens were able to share their voice and vote to change legislation.
Forced consolidation is a slap in the face to Illinois residents and takes decision-making out of the people’s hands. Let us be the judge of what is best for our community and let us make an informed decision by weighing the pros and cons of redistricting. School district consolidation could save some money, but it is only beneficial if the money saved goes right back into education. The state government should not play to its residents fears of fiscal deterioration by forcing school district consolidation in order to decrease the educational debt, because it may not work. It did not work in 1985, who is to say it will in 2013?
It’s 5:20 a.m. on a snowy winter morning. A blue mini-van pulls into the dim, almost empty parking lot. Tommy slams the car door shut and hikes his oversized hockey bag over his shoulder.
“Thanks, Dad,” Tommy says, his white breath floating in the cold, crisp air. “First one on the ice, last one off the ice, bet that’s how Toews did it.” Dad replies with a smile.
“Jonathon Toews,” Tommy thinks as he is opens the glass door and walks into the ice arena. “I could never even come close to being as good as the Tazer. I’m not even a starter on my team.” In the locker room, Tommy puts on his skates. He grabs the new hockey stick his parents gave him as a Christmas present, and starts to practice. It’s a brand new, lightweight model. A great stick. Any kid would love to have it. “My parents spent a lot of money on this stick,” he thinks to himself. “I just wish I could play better.”
Twenty minutes later, Tommy’s teammates begin to straggle onto the ice. Once again, Tommy is reminded that he’s the smallest guy out there. The players form two teams and begin to scrimmage. Tommy steals the puck a few times, but the opposing team quickly regains possession. On defense, he lets two goals get by him. About an hour later, the coach blows his whistle.
“Good practice, boys. We’re done for today. The next team on the ice is away at a tournament. We have some open ice time if anyone wants to stay.” Most of the team leaves, but Tommy and three other guys stay. They spend the next half hour working on drills and playing two on two scrimmages. The coach blows his whistle and says, “That’s it for today, boys. Good work. First one on the ice, last one off the ice, that’s how Patrick Kane did it.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Tommy thinks to himself as he pulls the helmet off his sweaty head and soaking wet hair. “No matter how hard I work, I could never be half as good as Kaner. I can’t even get a starting position on my team.” As he walks out of the empty locker room, he sees his father sitting on the bench waiting for him. “Don’t even say it, I know, ‘First one on the ice, last one off the ice, that’s how Patrick Sharp did it.’” His father laughs. “I was going to say Stan Miketa, but I think you get the point.”
That evening, it is begins to snow harder than ever. Tommy thinks about the March Madness Tournament coming up. “Only two weeks away,” Tommy thinks to himself as he gets into bed and begins to fall asleep. “If only I could start in that tournament.”
Later that night he wakes up with a start. His room is full of snow, and a shiny, green hocked stick is propped against his nightstand. The note attached reads, “Hello there, Tommy. Heard you need a little help for the March Madness Tournament. Well, you’re in luck. This is a magical green hockey stick. All you need to do is use it and all your hockey dreams will come true.”
The next thing Tommy hears is his alarm clock. It is a bright sunny morning with no sign of snow anywhere in his room. “What a crazy dream,” Tommy thinks to himself. “Kinda wish it was true, though.”
Tommy shuts off his alarm clock and opens his closet door. As he reaches for his clothes, he hears a clunk. A shiny green hockey stick falls out. “What in the world…” Tommy thinks to himself. He gets dressed, eats breakfast, and packs his hockey bag for today’s game. At the last minute, he runs upstairs and packs the green stick. “I’ll just keep it in my bag,” he thinks to himself as he gets into the car.
Once again, Tommy is in the locker room, dressed and ready to go. This time it’s a real game against the Flyers, the first place team in the league. Just as Tommy is about to skate onto the ice, he goes back and picks up the green hockey stick. “You never know,” he thinks to himself.
Tommy takes his place on the bench, green stick in hand. When the coach calls him in, he is ready to go. The whistle blows and he is off. He speeds toward the puck, gets it and races down the ice. As the defensemen catch up with him, he passes it to his teammate. He shoots, and GOAL! Tommy’s first assist. He is floating on air. Somehow, he begins to skate faster, shoot harder, and make key plays. He stops three goals! As the third period buzzer sounds, Tommy’s team wins, 2-1.
Tommy is thrilled as he pulls off his sweaty helmet, walks into the locker room and high fives all his teammates. A few minutes later, the coach walks in, holding the game puck. As usual, he gathers all the players together to discuss the highlights of the game. “And now,” the coach begins, I would like to award the game puck. After months of hard work and determination, this young man seems to have pulled his game together. Demonstrating amazing speed, stamina, and skill, this player was able to make several key plays and even get an assist.” Tommy couldn’t believe his ears. “The game puck goes to Tommy.” Tommy walked up to receive the puck as his teammates cheered. He felt ten feet tall.
When Tommy got back home, he began to unpack his bag. Just then, his older brother, Tim, walks in the room. “Hey, where’d you find my old stick?” he asks.
“This is your old stick?” Tommy asks. “Yeah, it’s pretty out of date now. Too heavy compared to the newer sticks. You can keep it if you want it.” Tim shrugs his shoulders.
“Thanks,” Tommy answers, “but I don’t think I’ll be needing it anymore.” He hands the stick over to his brother.
That night, Tommy goes down to the basement with a black magic marker in his hand. He pulls out his hockey stick and writes, in very small letters, “First one on the ice, last one off the ice.”
As he walks up the stairs he whispers, “Now I’m ready for March Madness.”
My mom started acting weird a few months ago. And not just the normal I-like-broccoli-and-watching-the-news parent weird. This was different. She started cleaning out the room across the hall from me that was always filled with boxes and other things that made great places for hiding and building secret caves and castles. I keep finding her in there all by herself, looking at pictures of me when I was younger and crying.
“Oh honey, I’m not sad, I’m actually really happy,” she tells me when I go to give her a hug, but I’m not sure I believe her. Who cries when they’re happy? Parents are so weird.
And she also keeps on getting the flu. Like every day. She constantly has to pull over when she drives me to school so she can throw up on the side of the road. Gross! She keeps going to the doctor, but they must not be giving her the right medicine, because the flu keeps coming back. I told her she needs to get a new doctor.
Then one night at dinner, I saw my parents looking at each other strangely while they watched me try to find the strength to finish my carrots. And not the normal I-love-you-so-much-I-want-to-kiss-you way that adults look at one another. This was different.
“Lucy, we have a surprise for you,” my dad smiled at me as he reached for my mom’s hand.
A surprise?!? A new bike? A trip to the Disney World? That I don’t have to finish these soggy carrots? Endless possibilities rushed through my head.
“Ooh, what is it?” I asked excitedly, immediately putting down my fork.
“Well, you know how you get lonely playing by yourself sometimes? How you say it’s boring without other kids around? Well, we have something for you that will fix that problem.”
“I know, I know! We’re getting a puppy!” I squealed excitedly, searching around the room to see where they could be hiding my new best friend.
“Not exactly.” My mom glanced nervously at my dad
“But we do have this for you," she said as she opened a kitchen drawer. Not even the smallest puppy I’d ever seen could fit in there. I became even less excited when my mom pulled out a neatly wrapped, flat box. Every kid in America knows what comes inside those boxes. I bet you already guessed it yourself. Clothes. Nothing fun to play with or even a cool book, just boring old clothes that you’re supposed to get all excited about. Seriously, what’s exciting about clothes?
But I ripped open the box anyway, hoping that maybe I was wrong. No such luck. Inside was a bright pink T-shirt with some writing on it.
“Do you know what that says?” my mom asked excitedly.
Of course I didn’t. I can’t read yet and they know that. I don’t understand why adults ask questions that they already know they answer to. They’re so weird. I just shook my head.
“World’s Best Big Sister,” my dad said, pointing to the letters lined in silver glitter.
“But I’m not a sister,” I said, pushing the box away from me.
“Well, not yet, but you will be very soon,” my dad said as he grinned at me. “is a baby growing inside your mom’s stomach and pretty soon you will have a little brother! Isn’t that exciting?!?”
I was pretty sure that I’d rather have a puppy or a trip to Disney World, but my parents were acting so happy about the news that I figured that maybe this baby would be just as good, I just didn’t know it yet.
Over the next few months, everything around our house seemed to be about the baby. What color should we paint the walls in the baby’s room? What will the baby wear? When will Grandma and Grandpa come to visit the new baby? Lucy, are you excited about the new baby? I didn’t understand why everyone cared so much about something that wasn’t even here.
One day when I was walking upstairs, I stopped to look at the new baby’s room with its new blue walls. I was just about to leave when something caught my eye and I stopped dead in my tracks. There, sitting on the rocking chair were all of my old stuffed animals that I decided I was too old for when I turned five last summer. And sitting right at the front of the pack was Buttons, my favorite animal that never left my side when I was younger.
I was suddenly furious with this new baby. How dare he take my things! He didn’t even ask! I stormed into the room, grabbed Buttons, ran into my room and fell onto my bed. The tears just came out. I couldn’t stop them. I felt like everything was changing and there was nothing I could do about it.
A few weeks later I woke up to a strange smell. Not the someone-is-coming-over-and-mom-didn’t-have-time-to-clean-so-she-sprayed-air-freshener smell. This was different. I pulled Buttons out from under the covers and followed the smell to the kitchen. I was surprised to see my Aunt Emily at the stove, sizzling up some eggs and bacon.
“Aunt Em!” I squealed as I ran to wrap my arms around the knees of my favorite aunt.
“Hey munchkin!” she said as she hugged me back.
What are you doing here? Where are mommy and daddy?” I asked curiously as I peered around the corner and into the living room.
“Well sweetie, they went to the hospital last night because your new little brother is on his way. They didn’t want to wake you up, so they called me to come over and hang out with you. And of course I said yes!” she said as she gave me an extra squeeze. Aunt Em had a special way of making me feel like I was her favorite person in the whole wide world.
“So what do you say about some breakfast?” she asked as she put a steaming plate in front of me.
As we sat down and ate, we talked about everything – school, dance class, American Idol. I was having so much fun when I suddenly realized what was missing. Not once had my aunt asked me about the new baby.
“Aunt Emily,” I said, looking down at my bare feet. “What if I don’t like being a sister? I already feel like my baby brother is messing everything up and he’s not even here yet!”
“Well Lucy, you know that I was once in your shoes a long time ago. I was all by myself and then Grandma had your daddy and I became I big sister too.”
“Really?” It was weird to think of my aunt as a little girl, and even weirder to think of my dad as a baby.
“Yep. And it was a little different at first. But then I realized that there are a lot of good things about being a big sister.”
“Like what?” I asked curiously.
“Well, there is always someone to play with, even when your parents are busy. And when you’re the oldest you get to do all sorts of special things, like stay up later. And you’re the one who gets all of the brand new toys. A lot of times the little brother or sister gets the one’s you’ve already played with.”
I thought this over as I looked down at Buttons, who had fallen to the floor beside my chair.
“And my little brother grew up to be a pretty great person and gave me an awesome niece, so he wasn’t all that bad,” she said as she winked at me.
“Yeah, I guess he’s alright.” I smiled back at her.
“You know what we need,” she said. “A big sister handshake.”
“Yeah!” I squealed.
After an afternoon of creating our special code, painting nails and playing dolls, Aunt Em and I were just about to watch a movie when the phone rang.
“Are you ready to go see your parents and meet your little brother?” she asked me when she hung up the phone.
When the door to the hospital room opened, I saw my mom sitting in a bed, holding a bunch of blankets. My dad was standing beside her, looking down at the blankets too.
“Lucy! Emily!” they said when they saw us. I hugged my dad when he came over to me, and then I walked straight to the window at the end of the room. I didn’t even look at my mom or the blankets. I wanted everything to stay just the way it was just a little longer. I wanted to be my parents’ little kid, their only little kid. I wanted to have everything the way it was, the way it had always been.
After a few minutes I felt someone standing next to me. Then a hand of freshly painted nails appeared in front of me. A smiled crept across my face and I looked up to see my aunt. Slap, snap, 1,2,3. If my aunt could do this, I could too. I took her hand and she led me over to my mom and the blankets.
My mom smiled at me and kissed me on the forehead. She led over toward me and pulled back the blanket. All I could see was this little, tiny face and part of a little tiny hand. It was so small!
“This is your new brother, Brett,” my dad said to me.
“You named him after the things I put in my hair??” I asked in surprise.
“No, Brett, not barrette,” My mom said. “It’s a name sweetie.”
“Oh,” I said. “It sounds funny.”
As I looked down at my new brother, I realized that he wasn’t going to be taking my things from me anytime soon. And he was actually pretty cute. Maybe this big sister thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Hold on, I have something for him” I said as I ran over to my coat that was by the window. I lifted it up and found Buttons staring back at me.
“This is for Barrette,” I said to my mom as I handed over my past. It was time to look forward to the future. After all, I was a big sister now and I didn’t have time for any of that baby stuff!
Which One? A Pet for Linley (A Story for Children)
Part One
A large family with seven children we knew from preschool were raising house rabbits. Linley, our four-year-old daughter, wanted a pet, so they invited us over to their house to see the new litter of bunnies. When we walked through the doorway, we saw more children than bunny rabbits . . . .
There were two cages in the entryway. An older girl we knew as Francine made introductions. “This is Sunshine, the mother.” Looking into the first cage, we admired a delicately shaded, orange creature with wisps of fur coming out her ears. A little girl named Kinsey said, “Sunshine is a Jersey Wooly. I love her soft fur.”
A red-haired boy named Jayden chimed in, “Her husband Cloudy is a Mini-Lop.” Our attention was drawn to the second cage where a gray and white spotted bunny reclined with a disapproving look in his eyes. “He is not allowed out with the babies right now. We don’t know if he will eat them.”
Smiling at Linley, Kinsey asked, “Which one do you want? We haven’t named any of them yet.” The first small, furry ball with ears hopped across the tiles and bumped Linley’s foot with its wiggly nose. “Tag! You’re it!” said a young boy named Dario, from across the room. The gray spotted fur-ball hopped away, as Linley pursued Dario. Was this the one?
Which One? A Pet for Linley (A Story for Children)
Part Two
Just then, the second fur-ball, this one orange with a gray nose, emerged from the mother’s cage with some hay in its mouth. We laughed as the little rabbit chewed the piece of timothy like it was a strand of spaghetti. Was this the one?
The third gray and peach striped fur ball skidded past our feet, as Linley and twin girls named Jayda and Maya, hair flying, came running into the room, nearly colliding with us. The striped bunny kept trying to gain its footing on the slippery tiles, as it headed towards Sunshine’s cage. Was this the one?
As we were smiling at the clumsy bunny, which had made it back into the cage, a baby boy named Avery crawled into the room. Beside him was the fourth orange and gray fur ball, bouncing up and down. Dario pointed out to us, “Look, here comes Hoppy!” Was this the one?
Linley sat down near Sunshine’s cage to look at the fifth baby rabbit, a peachy fluff ball that settled cozily into her lap. Diane and Michael, the parents, came into the entry, and welcomed us into the living room where we settled into conversation about school and rabbit care. These rabbits were all trained to use a litter box, and liked to eat lots of timothy hay and carrots. We would have to rabbit-proof our house, so the bunny would not be able to chew on electrical cords. Time passed, and we realized it was time to leave.
As we went back into the hallway, we wondered which bunny would become our new family pet. There was Linley, still calmly petting the little peach fluff ball. As she looked up at us and smiled, she said, “Her name is Raspberry.” Then we knew: This was the one!
Tom woke up in Watervliet, Michigan without a care in the world. It was the beginning of another summer that he would spend with his family away from the noise and chaos of the big city. Except his father, Tom stayed in Michigan with his family from the last joyful bell of the school year to the first piercing bell of the new year. His father would drive back to Chicago during the week to work as a shoe salesman at a local shoe store that he had been loyal to his whole life. Tradition and loyalty ran through the veins of Tom’s father and everyone who knew him knew it.
For a ten -year -old boy, having a lake in your front yard for an entire summer is all the entertainment one could possibly require. The small, man-made lake was called Paw Paw Lake and Tom’s father informed him that “paw paw” is Native American and translates to “warm-water”- and boy was that water warm! Tom and his friends splashed and laughed in the over-sized bathtub for hours a day. Even when they’re fingers began to look like prunes from the over exposure to the water, they found a new game to play or adventure to embark on in the warm waters and the gentle waves. Fishing, canoeing, skiing, turtle hunting, and turtle races were just some of the daily activities to choose from. Not a care in the world, not a cloud in the sky. That is how Tom felt when he woke up every morning and peered at the lake out his bedroom window.
Tom was an adventurous boy, that’s for sure. His mother often warned him in the morning, “Stay out of trouble, Tom!” And Tom always replied, “Yes, mother” as he skipped down the stairs and out onto the wooden pier. Tom was the kind of kid that everyone wanted to be around. He was funny, smart, witty, and loyal- like his father. Tom had big dreams – like most ten-year-old boys do. Tom dreamt of being a professional hockey player, an F-16 pilot, an undercover policeman, and President of his own company one day. When Tom looked out onto the lake, he felt inspired to chase his dreams.
Tom had no idea, in fact no one would have ever predicted, that the very lake which brought endless joy and laughter to Tom’s family would take it all away in a split second.
It was Wednesday morning and the clock radio next to Tom’s bunk bed read 6:45 a.m. Although Tom did not typically wake up this early, the energy running through his body would not allow him to sleep one minute longer. Tom found his swim trunks wadded up in the corner of his room, still damp from yesterday’s adventures, and quickly put them on. He tiptoed down the hall, trying not to wake his mother. “Tom,” his mother moaned, “what on earth are you doing out of bed so early?” “Sorry mom, I couldn’t sleep,” Tom responded. “I’ll be fine, go back to bed,” Tom insisted, feeling guilty for waking his mother. Tom found his way down the creaky old stairs, through the front porch, and out the door. The lake was calling his name.
Paul O’Day was a middle-aged man who also retreated to Paw Paw Lake for most of the summer to escape the stresses of his daily life in Chicago. Paul had three children of his own whom he raised in the warm waters of the lake during the hot summer months. Paul was a private man who spent most of his time on the porch, rocking back and forth, keenly observing the action taking place on the lake.
On that Wednesday morning, Paul O’Day slowly stepped out of bed at 6:00 a.m. He had been awake since 4:10 a.m., starring at the ceiling, glaring at the walls, noticing little imperfections in his bedroom that he hadn’t ever before. Paul’s wife wanted a divorce. Sleepless nights had become regular for Paul over the past two months, along with exhaustion, regret, confusion, and loneliness.
Although Tom and Paul rested their heads on pillows only four doors away from each other, their paths had never crossed, until today.
Paul poured a cup of coffee in the quiet kitchen. He usually added cream and one scoop of sugar to his coffee but today he kept it black. He found his seat in the rocking chair on the front porch. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth … until he couldn’t sit still any longer. Paul stood up and grabbed the keys to his 97’ open-bow Ski Nautique. Paul found comfort cruising on his boat, crashing through the waves in the lake.
Paul jumped into the grey and black Ski-Nautique and turned over the key. The noise of the motor humming was peaceful to his ears, yet tears rolled down his face. Early morning boat rides used to be a tradition for Paul and his wife.
Tom wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do when he ran out of his house that morning. He grabbed his fishing pole and then realized he hadn’t untangled his line from the day before. He didn’t have the patience to deal with that inconvenience so early in the morning. Instead, Tom decided he’d go for an early morning swim along the shoreline.
Paul put the boat in reverse and backed slowly out of his boathouse and out into the open waters. Neutral. Forward… full speed ahead.
Tom walked to the end of his pier and decided to start his swim with a dive into the warm water. He curled his toes around the edge of the wood, hands over head, chin down … ready, set, go! How cold and rigid the water felt against his body that Wednesday morning immediately shocked Tom. Despite the unusual sensation, Tom put his head down and began to swim east towards Mud Lake.
With tears still streaming down Paul’s cheeks, he too headed east towards Mud Lake.
And then it happened. The true definition of a tragedy. Or should I say an accident? I guess that’s a matter of personal opinion.
Paul did not see Tom swimming free-style along the shoreline and Tom did not hear Paul’s boat as he trucked along. The propeller of Paul’s boat ran directly over Tom’s hip.
Paul immediately knew he hit something. A ten-year-old boy going for a morning swim was not what he expected. Tom was lying, helplessly in the cold water.
Ambulance rides, multiple hospitals, and numerous surgeries later, Tom lay in a hospital bed starring at a blank wall. Earlier that day, one of Tom’s doctors informed him that he would never walk again. How does a ten-year-boy even begin to comprehend the severity of his situation? How do his parents respond when Tom asks them why this had to happen to him?
Tom is now sixty-four years old. He has been married for twenty-eight years. Tom and his wife have three children and one grand daughter. Tom went to college and became the manager of a financial consultanting firm after years of hard work and commitment. The limp that makes Tom’s walk unique does not bother him because he can walk; a blessing that most people take advantage of on a daily basis. Tom raised his family in the warm waters of Paw Paw Lake where they still retreat for most of the summer. Despite the tragic incident, Tom would not stop spending his summers in Watervliet because tradition and loyalty run through his veins.
Dear Editors, As a Nationally Board Certified Chicago Public School teacher, I work hard every day to ensure that my students are receiving high interest, standards based lessons geared to develop their capacity as readers, writers, thinkers and eventual participators in our national discourse. That said, I am extremely disappointed in the Chicago Tribune’s ongoing rally to remove the professional aspects from the teaching profession. Your goals to cease payment for additional degrees, merit pay, and the dissolution of tenure set our public schools up to become places bereft of cutting edge thinking, technology, collaboration, and trust among colleagues and administrators. As you stated, Chicago teachers support longer days and years for our school program. However the success of this measure is directly tied to a further proposal you make about tenure and inherently to the negotiation of teacher evaluation processes. Longer days with an incompetent teacher will see few results. The school board needs to negotiate with the union to educate administrators and lead teachers in the use of a multifaceted evaluation process that will begin early in a teacher’s career and lead them toward tenure, continuing as they evolve in their profession and then negating the need for policies that will “more quickly and efficiently fire the worst teachers.” If we are able to assist teachers in preventing bad habits and enable them to become well-developed professionals early in their careers, many of your suggestions like severance pay inflation and merit pay will become null and void. In my ten year career, I have met teachers who were struggling, but none who thought they were actively doing a bad job. We need to build on the positives and assist those teachers to become the best instructors possible. With a solid evaluation tool in place, dismissing unprofessional teachers will become a much easier process. Sincerely, Kerry Mindeman, Chicago Public School Teacher
Field Day is the most anticipated school day for the athletic child. It is their moment to shine among their classmates. Blue ribbons become a thick stack in their hands as the day progresses. Classmates and parent volunteers congratulate them on their ability. They strut confidently to each event knowing they will succeed.
On the other hand, Field Day is the most dreaded day for the unathletic child. He or she is asked to run, catch, dodge, climb, throw until they are desperately trying to hide from each new event. Their ribbons are green…green for participation. A color that is difficult to hide outside in the sunshine for three hours, although some kids try to prepare for the defeat by wearing a similar shade of green that day in hopes of the ribbons blending in and disappearing. It doesn’t work though. Everyone knows who we are. They’ve seen us in gym class and at recess. We’ve been on their soccer and baseball teams since kindergarten. We were scouted early and have never recovered. Our label is simple. We are hopeless.
My name is Sarah and I have had the date of Field Day burned into my mind ever since the school calendar came home in September. It is easy to bury your fear when June seems so far away. There are many events during the year to look forward to, the apple-picking field trip, the Halloween party, our class play, but Field Day comes faster than you think and I promised myself that this year, I would be ready for it. I wanted my ribbons to be blue. Forget about the intermediate colors of red and yellow. I wanted blue. I wanted to know what it felt like to hold that beautiful royal color in my hands, to walk confidently to each event, to have others congratulate me.
My best friend Kylie and I decided that we would train for Field Day since this was our last one. We are in fifth grade and would be graduating to middle school at the end of the year. Middle school, where Field Day didn’t exist, but where you took your reputation from elementary school and it spread to all the students from the other schools that were blending together. You didn’t even get a chance to prove yourself in middle school. It was like you walked in with a label on your chest with your statistics printed in permanent marker for everyone to see. Honor Role student, still in Girl Scouts, horrible athlete or C-student, wet his pants in third grade, bad at math. This was our last chance.
“Okay, Kylie here is what I put together for our training schedule from now until Field Day.” Although I had been worrying about Field Day since September, it had taken me a while to put together our training schedule and I had gotten distracted over the holidays. Somehow it was already April and we only had two months to practice before the big day. I continued, “In the first column I wrote down the events. In the second column I wrote down what skill we needed to perfect to earn the blue ribbon. And in the third column I wrote down who, if anyone, would be willing and able to help us prepare. What do you think?”
There were 7 events that mattered (basketball shoot, sprint, long jump, obstacle course, rope climbing, partner ball toss, and the mile run, which was reserved solely for fifth graders). The other events were team events, and although being a liability to your team never felt good, it was much easier to hide during those events.
“You really think your brother is going to help us with the basketball shoot?” Kylie asked doubtfully.
“He said he would. He’s not so mean anymore now that he has a girlfriend. She thinks it’s cute that he has a little sister.”
My brother was a great basketball player. All the athletic ability in our family was passed down to him.
“I think it’s going to be hard to earn a blue ribbon in all of these events, especially since we’ve never gotten a blue ribbon before,” Kylie said. “Maybe we should just concentrate on a few.”
“Well the only one I know I can get real help with is the basketball shoot, so let’s talk to my brother right now.”
The conversation went well, probably since his girlfriend was in the room when Kylie and I asked him to be our coach. She loved the idea and said that she would help. He said yes because he loved the idea of looking good in front of her. So that’s how it started. Three days a week Kylie and I would practice shooting baskets with my brother and his girlfriend for an hour.
It surprised me that my brother was such a good teacher. He always seemed so annoyed when I asked him questions, but when it came to basketball, he was patient. He loved to demonstrate form and give advice. I found that my skills were improving even after a couple of weeks.
***
Meanwhile, in school the excitement started around May. In gym class our teacher, Mr. Ross reviewed the events and procedures for the day. I looked around and could see eager looks on some faces and fear on others.
“Now this will be your last Field Day class, so let’s make it perfect. From now until Field Day, I don’t want any problems. Just remember, Field Day isn’t guaranteed for anyone.”
Everyone stopped listening once he started lecturing on behavior. Our minds were far off on that June day. Some of us envisioned moments of triumph. Flawless performances, claps on the back and cheering, blue ribbons crammed like gum wrappers into pockets. While others could only picture what they knew, being the last ones to perform with most of the class already concentrating on the next event, that combination of butterflies, blushing, and dry mouth; all symptoms of hours of mortification. Kylie and I exchanged smiles. We knew that we would at least be prepared for one event and for some reason that calmed us at that moment.
At lunch that day, the talk started. Who do you think would get the most blue ribbons? Which do you think was the most difficult event? Jack Kelly, our class athlete remained quiet, although I could see a hint of a smile on his face whenever his name was mentioned.
“How many blue ribbons do you have at home?” Tara asked him.
“I don’t keep those things! They’re not like trophies or something really special. I’m not in Kindergarten,” looking disgusted by such a question. Everyone who had their Field Day shrine at home suddenly got quiet.
“I know what you mean Jack.” said Chris “Why would anyone keep those stupid things?”
“Well, you wouldn’t because all your ribbons are red,” Jack said with a smirk. There was some laughter and Chris’s face turned red.
“Very funny,” Chris said taking a big bite of his sandwich so he wouldn’t have to say more.
That afternoon I told my brother about lunch, about Jack’s bragging and teasing and everyone’s silence.
“Well, there’s always someone like him in a class,” my brother said. “You can’t let him bother you. You’re going to do great at the basketball shoot, so just concentrate on that.”
It was late afternoon and we were practicing outside. He had me shooting from all different positions around our driveway, even though on Field Day you shot from right in front of the hoop. He said that by being able to shoot from any position, I would gain more confidence. He was right. I often came outside on my own to practice and was amazed how easily I could make shots. It felt good to know I could trust the movements of my body to lead to my intended result, not like baseball where I hadn’t yet mastered how much power to put behind a throw, my tosses being hopelessly short or ridiculously too long.
“I just hope he doesn’t get all blue ribbons because he doesn’t deserve them,” I said.
***
It’s hard to believe that Field Day is finally here. Since we are fifth graders, we get to start in the morning right after the assembly. We would go through all the events and end with a picnic lunch provided by parent volunteers. The gym, where we had assemblies, was pulsing with excitement and smelled of sunscreen and sneakers. That morning, mothers had slathered their babies with enough sunscreen to protect them all day, slapping on hats, preparing water bottles, and warning of skin cancer and dehydration. Even the students who had the most to fear seemed excited. There’s always that last minute surge of hope that you’ll suddenly acquire the skill you’ve always dreamed of and that maybe this year, you’d do well. Unfortunately, it’s that false hope that makes the day’s defeat even more difficult.
This year we would be placed in groups of eight to make the day more manageable and to cut down on wait time. I felt some relief when I heard this, knowing that I would only have seven witnesses of my performance. Kylie and I were separated. I gave her a quick smile and mouthed good luck to her as we started walking outside. The lead fifth grade volunteer told each group where to begin. Our first event was the basketball shoot. I felt my stomach lurch. For some reason I had pictured the basketball shoot being my last event. At that point in the day everyone would be done with their events and a large group would begin to gather around the basketball court. I would begin shooting and the balls would sink flawlessly through the net one after the other. Awed silence would follow as everyone counted my shots in their heads. Disbelief. Wonder. When had Sarah learned to shoot so well? That picture quickly evaporated as groups moved chaotically to their assigned events. No one was paying attention to anyone else.
The basketball net loomed before us, looking 10 feet taller than our hoop at home. The sun was still warming up and there was a slight breeze. I shivered, saying a prayer in my head, replaying all the advice my brother had given me over the breakfast table.
“Sarah, you’re up,” Mrs. Loomis said. I had been lost in thought, not noticing that three people in my group had already finished. I stepped up to our starting point, farther back than last year, each grade level’s spot designated by a piece of colored tape. I picked up the ball, dribbled it a few times, said another prayer, and made the shot.
Shelly loved to pretend; she could pretend for hours. Shelly loved to pretend when she played with her Barbie’s, when she played doctor with her pretend medical kit, even when she played house with her baby dolls and stuffed animals. Often times Shelly’s pretend time was taken up by her mother. Shelly’s mother loved to shop much like Shelly and her pretending. Shelly’s mother often shopped for things she needed or wanted for the house; usually she did so on the weekends. On one particular weekend Shelly’s mother decided they needed a new rug for their new living room of the house they just moved into a few months ago. Shelly was crushed. She had wanted to stay home so she could continue playing in their backyard; she was on an adventure searching for treasure with a map she had found in her mothers’ night stand a few nights before. “Now Shelly we need to go to the store. I can’t possibly leave you here alone. Please get in the car Shelly,” Said her mother. Shelly begrudgingly stomped her way to the car. Her adventures were ruined for the day she sulked all the way to the carpet store. As Shelly and her mother entered the carpet store all Shelly could think was “dull, dull, dull!” she didn’t care for carpet and as far as she could see that was the only thing the entire store carried. Shelly couldn’t wander the toy aisle or get lost in the dessert section…well because there wasn’t one. “Shelly stay close, we will only be in here a minute,” informed Shelly’s mother. Well Shelly didn’t listen and as soon as her mother had her back turned while she was admiring a Persian rug, Shelly slipped away. Shelly wandered the store touching various rugs thinking to herself; “this is so boring.” Shelly turned the corner and as she did a magnificent rug with royal blue water, pink lilies and green sprouts of grass that swirled around the carpet stuck out and called Shelly’s name. Shelly turned to see if it was her mother that had called her but when no one was in sight; Shelly simply shrugged and kept on inching toward the carpet. The water seemed to be alive, waves splashed the lilies and the grass swayed in the wind and as Shelly stepped closer she reached out to touch the waves and fell into the carpet.
Shelly screamed for help, but then quickly realized that she could swim in this particular water. As she passed the lilies and the grass she wondered how she was going to get out of there. Soon she approached land. She started looking for signs of life. Maybe someone could help her get back to her mother. “Help!” she screamed. Out of nowhere stood a rabbit “Can I help you?” he asked. “I’m lost and I need to get back to my mother!” cried Shelly. The rabbit was confused…he didn’t understand “back,” he explained there was no going back, only forward, he explained to Shelly there wasn’t a past only a future and he kept telling her to go forward. Well Shelly didn’t quite understand the rabbit either, she never said she wanted to go into the past; she merely wanted to get back to safety where her mom was. Sure Shelly thought of their old house and her old friends, but she knew what her mom would say if she brought them up, “you will make new friends, and we have a nicer home now……” but Shelly didn’t want to hear that. Was that why she was stuck in the carpet, in this fantastical world? Shelly continued on her journey. She walked through thick grasses and fragrant lilies, same through brilliant blue waters that cascaded down some rocks into a small waterfall. She grew tired though and once again she reached some land with a large tree, “I will take a quick nap and then be on my way,” she said aloud to no one in particular. Shelly sat at the base of the tree with its weeping branches and overgrown trunk and quickly fell asleep. Moments later Shelly was awakened by someone violently shaking her. “Shelly!” the voice screamed. Shelly quickly opened her eyes and saw her mother standing before her. “Oh mommy!” she jumped up and squeezed her mother as tight as she could. “Where am I?” Shelly quickly looked around and found herself right back in the carpet store “You fell asleep dear. You had me worried. I couldn’t find you, but look at what you found!” exclaimed Shelly’s mother. As Shelly peered behind her she noticed the carpet she fell into, it was no longer moving but still just as beautiful. “It must have been a dream,” she thought to herself. “We’ll take it,” Shelly’s mother screamed in delight. As the manager, Shelly and her mother walked back to the register to make their purchase Shelly’s mother stopped Shelly. “What’s this?” her mother asked quizzically. Shelly looked down to see what her mother was talking about and found a piece of long thick grass. Shelly shrugged in embarrassment and didn’t know what to say to her mother. Her mother shrugged as well. The salesman after ringing them up winked at Shelly and told the two of them, “Enjoy your purchase!” The two of them walked to the car and drove back home. As Shelly grew older she stopped pretending as much and soon not at all, but she never forgot that moment in the carpet store, when she first saw the brilliant grand blue carpet with thick grass and pink lilies. It now lies on her floor as it did her mother’s years ago, and she often thought to herself did that world really exist? Sometimes Shelly in asking of this question would catch the carpet glimmer in the sunlight as if to say yes it did and she would nod and say “no, of course not.” That is until she caught the light scent of the lilies.
In my five years teaching, I’ve experienced very different types of evaluation processes. As a first year teacher, I was overwhelmed, stressed, and in retrospect, less-than-effective. I struggled to control my class, which constantly stood in the way of raising my students’ achievement. The entire year, I worried about my performance, since I knew nothing about the components of my evaluation. I was concerned about my job and my future at the school. Going into the end-of-the-year evaluation conference, I thought of many places I could improve, and hoped my principal would recognize them. However, that year, I received a rating of “excellent.” I remember being confused about where the rating came from, because I had never once been observed for an entire lesson in my classroom. While I knew I had potential to be excellent someday, I knew I wasn’t there yet. So, as much as I wanted to celebrate my “success,” it felt empty because I knew it was not fully true. Instead of being glad, I left that meeting confused about how to improve, and yearning for more honest, instructive feedback.
My current school, however, participated in the University of Chicago’s pilot program with the Danielson framework for teaching. At first, the shift from very infrequent (or nonexistent!) observers in my classroom to opening my classroom doors regularly for other to watch my practice seemed daunting. I worried about how I would be rated, and if the observers would like what they saw. Luckily, I then learned more about the Danielson rubric. Her framework for teaching clearly lays out the evidence of effective teaching. Her four domains list explicitly what an observer would notice in a “distinguished” classroom, and leave no room for subjectivity. The rubric also made clear what I should be doing to get better; my goals for improvement were listed plainly in “distinguished” column. No more was the case that my principal’s subjective opinion (good or bad!) would be the sole basis for the content of my evaluation. Instead, my principal comes into my room to record exactly what moves my students and I make. From there, she codes what she sees according to the rubric to find where my practice falls. In the post-observation conference, we spend time discussing what took place, how I thought it went, and then comparing it to what she noticed. The conversation inevitably leads to what I did well, but then always follows with suggestions for improvement.
The post-observation conference combines exact evidence of my teaching with the specific elements of the Danielson rubric. I get a chance to share my own thoughts and reflections, and my principal listens intently to ensure that my voice is heard. We spend time discussing specific ways to better my practice, and I leave feeling empowered to reenter my classroom as a more effective teacher. I cannot even begin to compare how much better it feels leaving these conferences than the one my first year. Now, instead of distrusting empty praise, I truly appreciate my strengths because I know they were objectively measured by descriptors of quality practice. Similarly, when I struggle, I know exactly where to look to find the path to improvement. No longer do feel confused or helpless; instead, I know exactly what it will take to grow in my profession, and that sense of empowerment makes all the difference.
For all of these reasons, I believe Chicago Public Schools should adopt the Danielson Framework for Teaching as when revamping teachers’ yearly evaluation in conjunction with the Illinois’ Performance Evaluation Reform Act (PERA). The Danielson Framework employs clear language to describe different strands and levels of teaching, enabling an impartial observer to use evidence from the classroom to make a fair analysis of a teacher’s strengths and weakness. The professional development components of the fourth domain also create a natural link between teacher evaluation and professional learning. I believe that in order for evaluation to effectively drive teacher improvement, as it should, there must be a clear link between the evaluation process and professional development, and Danielson’s framework clearly provides this link.
What are the top skills that employers really look for? The answer to that question is not test-taking skills, so why is that the focus of so many Chicago Public Schools. Today’s (and tomorrow’s) employers list communication and analytic/research skills as top priorities, followed by flexibility, interpersonal skills, organization, leadership and teamwork. Have you ever heard of anyone going on a job interview and being asked how they scored on a standardized test? Why are schools, particularly poor, urban schools so hung up on these numbers then? As a CPS teacher I am appalled by the way I have seen numbers and scores become the focus, while the achievement and well-being of children is neglected.
Last year I was in the center of a standardized test dog and pony show on the city’s Westside. My assistant principal scolded me on the third day of school for teaching a lesson on caring for books, because I was “only allowed to teach lessons with an ISAT objective.”
Worst of all, it was the only time I didn’t enjoy teaching and it wasn’t simply because my group of students never formed a caring community of learners. It was because I wasn’t allowed to spend precious test-taking preparation time on skills that are actually necessary in today and tomorrow’s workforce. Everything was about a set of numbers that would decide if the students passed the third grade.
Of course there were other problems in that school as well; such as the heat that boiled our class fish and melted our crayons, the wayward maintenance staff that once took over 45 minutes to clean vomit in our classroom, and the special education teacher who called kids “retarded.” Then there was the constant flow of students who verbally and physically assaulted each other daily, often pushing each other up against our classroom door. There were countless minutes wasted by the pounding of yelling and fighting, but that was just the school’s way and certainly no one was scolded about those issues.
Necessities such as adequate temperatures and cleanliness to a backseat to drilling skills; this took all the joy and excitement out of teaching for me. The kids only cared about the bicycles, mp3 players, and other loot that the school offered up for good test scores. They didn’t know better, but didn’t the adults?
Today’s students need to have proper time and space to think through problems, but most of all they deserve a safe place to actually experiment, discover, and learn. Teachers can’t crawl through kid’s ears and tell their brains what to do, so why would we reduce ourselves to only quick wins such as test prep?
This year I teach second grade at a turn-around school on the city’s Southside and as a ten year veteran of teaching and Chicago Public Schools. Although many of my second grade students are already considered below national standards, they are making gains and I attribute much of their achievement to our school environment.
I finally feel like I am in school where students and learning come first. While test scores are imperative in the success and growth of our new school, the overarching theme of our first year is setting a positive school culture. All of the students are expected to comply with school-wide expectations such as wearing uniforms, keeping quiet and order in hallways, and respecting others etc.
In contrast, this year I was able to use the first two weeks of school to build a positive, nurturing, and respectful community of learners in my classroom. I am Nationally Board Certified in early childhood and understand the importance of child development. I am horrified by poor, urban schools that place test scores over students’ lives. I’m even more disgusted that I’ve been a part of such an educational hoax.
Children need to be challenged and they need to learn communication and analytic skills. They need to practice leadership and teamwork. They need teachers who are willing to worry less about the upcoming tests and more about the actual lives and achievement of their students.
If we stop teaching test strategies and really teach academic and social skills, our students might just do better on the tests and in life. A couple of weeks ago I planned a very collaborative geometry project for my second graders, which involved creating model shapes out of straws and twist ties. I was beginning to sweat as some of my students begged for my help and argued over who should do what. Hadn’t I taught them to do better? I took a deep breath and said, “Sit down and think about making a trapezoid. Work with your team. You can do it” Then I left them to figure it out on their own. Before I knew it one of the girls was waving a trapezoid in the air for me to see.
They may not have straws and twist ties on standardized tests, but in life you need to know how to solve your own problems. You don’t get to pick a, b, c, or d on the job, so that shouldn’t be what school is about.
The best choice I’ve made lately is standing up for my students and giving them practical and realistic lessons, instead of just another multiple choice test.
All the Ways I Love You: A Debate between a Mother and Daughter A Children's Story by Rachel Pomykala
“Mommy, I love you this much,” the young girl stretched her arms wider than the smile she wore that morning. Her mother replied with a much intended hug and reassured her daughter, “I love you, too.”
Walking into school, the mother told her little girl, “I love you soooooooo much!” The child shied away, allowing her mother to plant kisses on her forehead.
That evening, the mother and daughter were reunited. The daughter ran to her mother faster than a kid to the ice cream truck, “I missed you so much, Mommy!” “I missed you so much my heart hurts!” clenching her daughter to her chest.
The little girl stared into her mother’s eyes as she combed her hair that night. “I love you soooooooooo much,” squeezing her mothers’ cheeks together. “Nie, ja się kocham tak dużo!” the mother replied with a sly eye. “Te amo ‘buela,” she replied with an eloquent smile.
“Mommy, I love you,” the little girl told her mother as she kissed her goodnight. Gently the words rolled off her lips, “No, my dear, I love you.” The girl pondered for a moment. “How about, we love each other?” she presented as the much needed solution. “I like that idea the best,” the mother agreed with her daughter.
The Sandman By Cathleen Sleep Slumber Shut eye Slip off to dream land Rest Rejuvenate Recharge Restart my engine for the next day Get up Get going Get ready Get it together for the day Eat Exercise Energize Entertain dogs with a walk Direct Dart Dash Drive to work Tense Tired Tanked Time for a nap already
Poem (Jenny Vaughn) Based on Langston Hughes “Dreamer”
I take my dreams And make of them a watercolor painting, And a black and white sketch With a broken mirror in its center, And a reflection in every last piece, And I ask you: Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you feel it And sometimes you say you won’t. Either way It doesn’t matter. I continue to dream.
The Writing Asylum (Inspired by Professor Tatum) By Rachel Pomykala Blank slate… Writer’s block… What to say… I thought the process was supposed to be therapeutic. The ideas seem to scurry away as the pen hits the paper, Hidden in the folds of the brain like an optical illusion. Trying to seek refuge in writing during hardship, But the words retreat faster than a hare in a turtle race. Why must this be so complicated? Finally the thoughts begin pumping the ink of desire, Like water in a drought. However, they fall in disarray, No sense of structure. I lean in to listen to that little voice inside me, Not sure what I am wanting to hear. Too choppy… Too wordy… No flow… Note to self…please revise. All I longed for, All that I sought after, Here in the mingling of my contemplations, Emerges a sanctuary. A safe haven all my own.
America is one of the most technologically advanced countries. In my lifetime alone I have seen the evolution of music from tape cassettes to CDs, from CDs to mp3s and from mp3s to iPods. I have seen this same progression in entertainment as well. Where once our televisions were huge boxes that sat on the floor, they are now flat screens that can be hung from the wall. I could go on and on with all the different technological advances that our nation has come up with and/or embraced, but there is one area where our country has stood at a standstill – oil. It’s really hard to believe that the first automobile gas engine was invented and patented in the 1880s and this is still the same energy source that we rely on today in 2011. Over one hundred years have come and gone – I could sit and name hundreds of inventions and improvements to inventions that have been created in that time, and yet this is still what we use to power our cars today.
There are so many negatives that crude oil brings about; it is definitely not worth all the hassle, damage and frustration that comes along with the use of it. While oil may be used to run our cars today, there are so many disadvantages to it at the same time. The first disadvantage to using crude oil to run our cars is the pollution that it puts off. It’s a known fact that emissions from automobiles are hurting our environment, and yet we still continue to create and produce cars that require oil in order for them to run. Another headache that oil brings with it is the fact that it is a limited resource. It’s a known fact that crude oil comes from fossil fuels, which take millions of years to recreate. Needless to say, once we use all of the fossil fuels that are at our disposal, it will take millions of years to replenish them. Frustration also comes from the fact that in order for our country to get the oil that we need, we must either drill in our own land, or be willing to sacrifice the natural environment of hundreds of plants and animals, or we must rely on other countries. One of the biggest problems that Americans are having with oil today is its price. It feels as if every day the prices of oil increases by too much a gallon only to barley decrease a couple of days later. It seems as though there is no rhyme, nor reason behind the inflation of price that we pay in order to fill up our cars, fill up our cars with essentially the same thing we’ve been filling them up with over the past hundred years.
It’s time for Americans to start realizing how much we rely on an energy source that is limited as well as damaging to our environment. It’s time that we begin to seriously look into fuel alternatives and stop wasting our time and money on an energy source that was created for our ancestors. We need to stand up and realize that we’re headed in the wrong direction as long as we continue to pursue oil and use it to fuel our cars. Until we do those things, we have no right to complain when the price at the pump makes us uncomfortable!
Dear Editor,
ReplyDeleteI hate the term sister-in-law. It seems so distant, so technical. Sister-in-law doesn’t describe the person who I met when she was 12, trying to decide which high school to attend. Sister-in-law doesn’t describe the 16-year-old-girl who shyly told the boy she loved him, then hung up the phone and threatened my life if I told anyone what I had overheard. Sister-in-law does not describe my roommate at the lake house during the summers I dated her brother, does not describe the young woman I would ask to be a bridesmaid regardless of her blood relation to my future husband, and does not describe the person I lost on October 29, 2006.
Lyndsey was hailing a cab and was struck by the cab driver, thrown through the air, and landed in the middle of Ashland Avenue. She died days later from a traumatic brain injury sustained during the accident. The cab driver received three moving violation citations and returned to work the following day. He is currently working as a cab driver in the city of Chicago.
Immediately following the accident, Lyndsey’s family got to work- saving five lives by honoring her organ donation wishes, creating a foundation in her name to channel financial support towards Children’s Memorial Hospital in lieu of flowers, and working to change taxi safety laws in the state of Illinois.
In 2007 the Illinois Taxi Safety Act was passed, mandating that taxi drivers causing accidents involving pedestrians undergo drug and alcohol testing. No such evaluation took place after Lyndsey’s accident. Currently Lyndsey’s parents are working along with Representative Renee Kosel to again increase the regulations on taxi cab drivers within the state of Illinois. Amendments to the Act of 2007 include removing all taxi drivers from the road who have been convicted of leaving the scene of an accident, reckless driving, drag or street racing, manslaughter or reckless homicide within the previous three years. Did you know that the person who currently drives you to work every day could have been convicted of manslaughter or leaving the scene of an accident when a pedestrian was injured or killed? They don’t post that certification in the back of their cabs. Still, this amendment has repeatedly met opposition in the Senate.
We have an expectation that you get in a cab and know it's safe, and that should be statewide," Kosel said. "There isn't a single thing I would want to scratch off the bill and then get into a cab."
I stand in full support of House Bill 5486, not only to honor the memory of my sister, but to protect every prospective employee on their way to a job interview in the city, every college kid who needs a ride home from the bars, every person needing a lift after a trip to the grocery store. For every person who relies on public transportation in the city, basic safety measures must be taken. Basic safety measures that until now have gone unmentioned, unnoticed by the policy makers who have the opportunity to make a difference. To make our community a safer place to live.
It is imperative that you contact your Congress members and demand that they support HB 5486. Let no more innocent lives be taken by the reckless drivers or the reckless lawmakers working for the state of Illinois.
C.W.
The Secret Rules of Teachers
ReplyDeleteby Becky
Mentor Text: The Secret Knowledge of Grown-Ups
Grown-ups have lots of rules. I know because I am one. The grown-ups with the most rules are teachers. I know this because I am one of those too. We tell students to follow these rules because it is good for them and it makes the school day run smoother. That is not the real reason, though. I went to teachers all over the United States and asked them about their rules. They told me all their rules under one condition: DO NOT tell the students! I agreed, but after listening I couldn’t keep the real reasons behind the rules to myself. I will tell you the real reasons behind the rules under one condition: DO NOT tell the teachers I told you! Do you promise? Okay…
Rule #22:
You MUST walk in a straight line in the hallway!
Official Reason Behind the Rule:
Many classes will be able to get by, you will not run into anyone, and it looks nice.
Real Reason Behind the Rule:
Have you ever noticed how each teacher leads their class down the same spot in the hallway each time? That teacher walks their line down a very specific path. I bet you never noticed. Why would you? You were told to follow the head of the person in front of you. You step out of line for a second and your teacher knows. Before you realized you even stepped out of line your teacher has stopped the line and is right in front of you. “Follow the person in front of you!” Your teacher doesn’t tell you the real reason why you have to follow that person, but for some reason you listen. You always think that there just has to be a good reason why your teacher gets mad at you when you step out of line.
There is a laboratory in the middle of the deserts of Nevada that assigns teachers their spot in the hallway at the beginning of every school year. They do this for every school and it is a very serious job. These are the people that get paid the big bucks and they are doing it for your well being. Remember that one kid who stepped out of line? He wasn’t paying attention and was just walking next to the kid he was supposed to be behind. Remember what happened to that kid? Right, they told you he moved…to Nevada. Suspicious. He is in Nevada, but his family did not move there so his mom could run the biggest company in the world, like you were told. He was brought to work in the laboratory in the desert.
He is at the laboratory everyday with all the other kids that could not stay in line drawing the lines on paper. You didn’t think the blue lines on your notebook paper got there all by themselves, did you? Somebody had to draw them in and they don’t even get a ruler. Day after day after day just drawing lines. Rumor is these not-able-to-walk-in-line students are the ones who started the whole going green movement. No one can be sure, but it makes sense. The less paper we use the less lines they have to draw. But I am sure the laboratory workers will find something else for them to draw lines on.
Next time your teacher reminds you to stay in line: listen, she is only trying to help…though someone needs to draw the lines on the paper.
Not Alone
ReplyDeleteThree shirts, two sweaters, five pairs of pants littered the floor of Rhonda’s bedroom. She stomped out wearing a blue dress, grey tights, and boots that she knew would pinch her toes before she even got off the bus.
Seven boxes of cereal–Rhonda decided on Cheerios. She pulled out the box along with the jar of sugar. Why did her mom insist on getting plain Cheerios knowing they’d always end up defiled with sugar in the bowl anyways?
Three sniffs of the milk before Rhonda slammed the sour carton back into the door of the fridge, then slammed the door for good measure. All that and she had to have a stupid Pop-Tart. She grabbed the crinkly silver sleeve and headed for the front door.
“Rhonda,” Mom half-questioned, half-scolded from the bathroom. “Don’t you walk out that door angry. If you’re not already looking for trouble, it’ll find you.”
Slam.
“It’ll find you.”
Rhonda walked to her regular seat on the bus. If she sat anywhere else, she’d have to explain. She didn’t think she could explain without expelling some of her poorly pent-in rage.
Rhonda hadn’t seen Lindsey at the bus stop, but she sat down next to her. No words. No eye contact, save the burning stares each of them directed at the blue vinyl of the seat in front of them. If Rhonda hadn’t been completely consumed with her own rage, she would have noticed that within a two-seat radius of Lindsey and Rhonda, no one dared speak. Except Bria.
“Dang, Rhonda, what’s your problem? Lover’s quarrel? Trouble in paradise?”
“Shut up, Bria,” Rhonda said in the screaming whisper Mom used whenever she fought with Dad on the phone.
“Mind your own business,” Lindsey said. But that wasn’t good enough. Lindsey stood up as she said “Mind your,” and shoved Bria with “own.” By “business,” the bus pulled up to the curb and to a stop. The combination of the push and the brakes sent Bria flying backwards toward the front of the bus, but more quickly toward the grimy brown floor. The bus driver rushed to Bria’s aid, making reassuring noises while she ushered her off the bus and into the school. Rhonda scanned the bus two times from front to back, shrugged, then walked to class like everyone else, pretending nothing happened.
Twenty minutes later, just as Rhonda managed to melt her anger into concentration on irregular Spanish verb conjugation, she was called down to the main office.
“Can you tell me what transpired on the bus this morning,” the principal more stated than asked.
“I can.” Rhonda fell into her comfortable sarcasm, but quickly thought better of it. She kept it short–Lindsey shoved, but not hard. Bria lost her balance because of the bus’s abrupt stop.
Not Alone-Part 2
ReplyDeleteSeven minutes after her initial exit, Rhonda returned to her seat in Spanish. Four academic classes, one elective, one phys ed, one lunch period, but fortunately for Rhonda, it seemed that the school had been designed to prevent fraternization among pupils. Unfortunately, since Rhonda managed to slide through the day without a single exchange of more than seven words, she failed to connect the furtive glances and hushed whispers to Lindsey’s absence until 3:07. As the door of the bus closed with the aisle-side half of her seat unoccupied, Rhonda said, “huh” inaudibly and counted the remaining twenty-two minutes til home.
Two forks, three knives, four plates and two glasses into the dishwasher. Rhonda lifted the door closed as Mom hung up after a hushed, concerned phone call.
“That was Lindsey’s mom,” she talked to the back of her daughter’s head. “Lindsey is transferring to Romulus.”
Rhonda spun around.
“The principal said it was either transfer to a new school or face expulsion. Three strikes.”
Rhonda would never understand how Jeb Bush-era criminal justice had trickled its way up from southern courthouses and into her school. But life without parole was exactly how grave the situation felt.
Head on her pillow, Rhonda stacked the charges against Lindsey while staring at the ceiling. 1) Shoving Bria. 2) Tripping Mike in the lunchroom. 3) . . .
Rhonda was stuck. How was she supposed to survive the rest of ninth grade without Lindsey? The rest of high school? And why on earth did she have to suffer the consequences when she didn’t even know all of the offenses?
Rhonda’s eyes were red-rimmed when she stepped onto the bus in the morning. Bria’s smile was self-satisfied. Mike slid into the aisle-side seat next to Rhonda.
“I know you guys are friends, but she kinda deserved it.” He said quietly. He didn’t say another word, but didn’t move until the door opened in front of the school.
Rhonda followed behind him to Spanish. Followed next to him to lunch. Linked arms with him as they walked back to the bus after 6th period. Rhonda didn’t know how she felt about him, but it had to be better than being alone.
"Bomb's Away!" by Nancy Veltema
ReplyDeleteA Children's Story
One sunny recess, Juan bounced the class’s red rubber ball against the playlot wall.
“You’re it,” yelled Marco, tagging Juan on the arm. Juan dropped the ball and ran after Marco.
Soon, Gaby, the fastest runner in first grade, and Hector, her best friend, joined in. The friends chased each other for another five minutes.
“Gotcha!” Hector yelled, reaching for Gaby’s arm.
“Did not!” Gaby yelled back.
“Did too, and you know it,” hollered Hector.
“Liar,” replied Gaby. “I didn’t feel a tag!”
Juan and Marco stopped next to their shouting friends.
“Who’s it?” asked Marco.
Gaby and Hector didn’t hear him above their yelling.
“You’re it so you have to chase me,” screamed Hector.
“No I’m not! You’re not my friend anymore,” Gaby screamed back.
Juan jumped in the middle of his friends.
“My dad said whenever someone is mean to me I need to fight back,” he said, picking up the rubber ball.
“You guys should have a fight with this ball – pretend it’s a bomb, like in the movies.”
“Yeah!” yelled Gaby and Hector.
Gaby grabbed the ball out of Juan’s hands and began chasing Hector. As Hector approached a corner of the playlot, he realized he had no where to go.
“Bombs away!” Gaby yelled, hurling the ball at Hector’s head. The ball bounced off his skull, and Gaby grabbed it again and threw it, this time nailing Hector in the stomach.
“Stop! Stop! Leave me alone!” Hector cried, running away with his face buried in his hands.
At lunch, Hector refused to sit near Gaby.
When they did partner reading in the afternoon, Gaby didn’t even look at Hector as she picked Jennifer for her partner.
And when it was time to walk home, Hector ran ahead with Marco instead of waiting for Gaby as usual.
The next day, Gaby and Hector continued to ignore each other all morning.
At recess, Gaby couldn’t take it anymore.
She walked up to Hector, saying “Hector I’m sorry. Can we please play tag again?”
“No,” said Hector. “I was really scared when you were throwing that bomb at me. I don’t want to play like that.”
“Oh,” said Gaby, looking at her shoes.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I was just trying to work it out by fighting, like Juan said…I guess that didn’t really help.”
“No, I think it made it worse,” replied Hector.
“Hmm,” said Gaby, with a thoughtful look on her face. “How can we make it better?”
“How about we just flip a coin?” suggested Hector. Heads I’m it, tails you are.”
“Great idea! Then we can’t get mad about it,” Gaby said, grabbinga penny out of her pocket and flipping it in the air.
“Tails,” yelled Hector, running away. Gaby chased after him, and they played peacefully for the rest of recess.
At lunch, Gaby and Hector sat together, across from Juan and Marco.
“You know, Juan,” said Gaby, “I don’t think fighting solved any of our problems. It just made us madder. Now I know why teacher always tells us to work things out with words and stay away from weapons.”
The friends nodded in agreement
Dear Editor,
ReplyDeleteGovernor Pat Quinn, in an effort to save taxpayer dollars, is proposing to consolidate Illinois’ school districts from 869 to no more than 300 by the 2013 school year. Gov. Quinn and other lawmakers feel that slashing the number of school districts and redrawing boundaries to implement a unit school system will magically result in the disappearance of Illinois’ $10 million debt.
Many Illinois residents, superintendents, principals, and teachers oppose Gov. Quinn’s proposal. Forced consolidation will rob Illinois residents of their voice, as well as students of the education they deserve. Research from the National Education Policy Center indicates that “state-level consolidation proposals may serve a public-relations purpose in times of fiscal crisis but are an unreliable way to save money and improve education.”
Reorganizing school districts may result in the closing of small community schools, causing their social and economic base to weaken and possibly result in desertion. School closures could adversely cause more costs for the new unified districts and the state. Through consolidation, student enrollment will increase, as will the need to travel farther to get to school, therefore increasing the costs of transportation. Similarly, amplified enrollment may present issues with security and guidance for the students, resulting in a more dangerous learning environment that could influence achievement. In an effort to control security issues, new unified school districts will have to use funds to ensure their students’ safety.
Increased enrollment means larger class sizes that would deprive students of their entitled education. According to the article Consolidation of School Districts: What Research Says and What it Means, “A sizeable body of research investigating school size has consistently found larger size to be associated with reduced rates of student participation in co-curricular and extracurricular activities, more dangerous school environments, lower graduation rates, lower achievement levels for impoverished students, and larger achievement gaps related to poverty, race, and gender.” U-46 is an example of a unified school district whose achievement levels have shown little to no improvement over the last few years on state standardized test scores and the average class size in a South Elgin elementary school has no less than 27 students.
The Illinois’ school system needs improvement and school district consolidation may be something that the state of Illinois needs to take a closer look at, but do not deprive residents of their voice. According to the Illinois Association of School Boards Position Statements 7.01 and 7.02 “any school district reorganization must be approved by a majority vote of the districts affected and that no arbitrary pupil enrollment or geographical component can be used to force consolidation.”
The fact that Gov. Quinn wants to overlook the IASB’s Position Statements suggests that he is in favor of a state dictatorship. Last time I checked, we lived in a democracy where citizens were able to share their voice and vote to change legislation.
Forced consolidation is a slap in the face to Illinois residents and takes decision-making out of the people’s hands. Let us be the judge of what is best for our community and let us make an informed decision by weighing the pros and cons of redistricting. School district consolidation could save some money, but it is only beneficial if the money saved goes right back into education. The state government should not play to its residents fears of fiscal deterioration by forcing school district consolidation in order to decrease the educational debt, because it may not work. It did not work in 1985, who is to say it will in 2013?
S.K.
March Madness
ReplyDeleteA Children's (youth) Story
It’s 5:20 a.m. on a snowy winter morning. A blue mini-van pulls into the dim, almost empty parking lot. Tommy slams the car door shut and hikes his oversized hockey bag over his shoulder.
“Thanks, Dad,” Tommy says, his white breath floating in the cold, crisp air.
“First one on the ice, last one off the ice, bet that’s how Toews did it.” Dad replies with a smile.
“Jonathon Toews,” Tommy thinks as he is opens the glass door and walks into the ice arena. “I could never even come close to being as good as the Tazer. I’m not even a starter on my team.” In the locker room, Tommy puts on his skates. He grabs the new hockey stick his parents gave him as a Christmas present, and starts to practice. It’s a brand new, lightweight model. A great stick. Any kid would love to have it. “My parents spent a lot of money on this stick,” he thinks to himself. “I just wish I could play better.”
Twenty minutes later, Tommy’s teammates begin to straggle onto the ice. Once again, Tommy is reminded that he’s the smallest guy out there. The players form two teams and begin to scrimmage. Tommy steals the puck a few times, but the opposing team quickly regains possession. On defense, he lets two goals get by him. About an hour later, the coach blows his whistle.
“Good practice, boys. We’re done for today. The next team on the ice is away at a tournament. We have some open ice time if anyone wants to stay.” Most of the team leaves, but Tommy and three other guys stay. They spend the next half hour working on drills and playing two on two scrimmages. The coach blows his whistle and says, “That’s it for today, boys. Good work. First one on the ice, last one off the ice, that’s how Patrick Kane did it.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Tommy thinks to himself as he pulls the helmet off his sweaty head and soaking wet hair. “No matter how hard I work, I could never be half as good as Kaner. I can’t even get a starting position on my team.” As he walks out of the empty locker room, he sees his father sitting on the bench waiting for him. “Don’t even say it, I know, ‘First one on the ice, last one off the ice, that’s how Patrick Sharp did it.’”
His father laughs. “I was going to say Stan Miketa, but I think you get the point.”
That evening, it is begins to snow harder than ever. Tommy thinks about the March Madness Tournament coming up. “Only two weeks away,” Tommy thinks to himself as he gets into bed and begins to fall asleep. “If only I could start in that tournament.”
Later that night he wakes up with a start. His room is full of snow, and a shiny, green hocked stick is propped against his nightstand. The note attached reads, “Hello there, Tommy. Heard you need a little help for the March Madness Tournament. Well, you’re in luck. This is a magical green hockey stick. All you need to do is use it and all your hockey dreams will come true.”
March Madness (part 2)
ReplyDeleteThe next thing Tommy hears is his alarm clock. It is a bright sunny morning with no sign of snow anywhere in his room. “What a crazy dream,” Tommy thinks to himself. “Kinda wish it was true, though.”
Tommy shuts off his alarm clock and opens his closet door. As he reaches for his clothes, he hears a clunk. A shiny green hockey stick falls out. “What in the world…” Tommy thinks to himself. He gets dressed, eats breakfast, and packs his hockey bag for today’s game. At the last minute, he runs upstairs and packs the green stick. “I’ll just keep it in my bag,” he thinks to himself as he gets into the car.
Once again, Tommy is in the locker room, dressed and ready to go. This time it’s a real game against the Flyers, the first place team in the league. Just as Tommy is about to skate onto the ice, he goes back and picks up the green hockey stick. “You never know,” he thinks to himself.
Tommy takes his place on the bench, green stick in hand. When the coach calls him in, he is ready to go. The whistle blows and he is off. He speeds toward the puck, gets it and races down the ice. As the defensemen catch up with him, he passes it to his teammate. He shoots, and GOAL! Tommy’s first assist. He is floating on air. Somehow, he begins to skate faster, shoot harder, and make key plays. He stops three goals! As the third period buzzer sounds, Tommy’s team wins, 2-1.
Tommy is thrilled as he pulls off his sweaty helmet, walks into the locker room and high fives all his teammates. A few minutes later, the coach walks in, holding the game puck. As usual, he gathers all the players together to discuss the highlights of the game. “And now,” the coach begins, I would like to award the game puck. After months of hard work and determination, this young man seems to have pulled his game together. Demonstrating amazing speed, stamina, and skill, this player was able to make several key plays and even get an assist.” Tommy couldn’t believe his ears. “The game puck goes to Tommy.” Tommy walked up to receive the puck as his teammates cheered. He felt ten feet tall.
When Tommy got back home, he began to unpack his bag. Just then, his older brother, Tim, walks in the room. “Hey, where’d you find my old stick?” he asks.
“This is your old stick?” Tommy asks.
“Yeah, it’s pretty out of date now. Too heavy compared to the newer sticks. You can keep it if you want it.” Tim shrugs his shoulders.
“Thanks,” Tommy answers, “but I don’t think I’ll be needing it anymore.” He hands the stick over to his brother.
That night, Tommy goes down to the basement with a black magic marker in his hand. He pulls out his hockey stick and writes, in very small letters, “First one on the ice, last one off the ice.”
As he walks up the stairs he whispers, “Now I’m ready for March Madness.”
Buttons and Barrettes (Part 1)
ReplyDeleteby Lauren
My mom started acting weird a few months ago. And not just the normal I-like-broccoli-and-watching-the-news parent weird. This was different. She started cleaning out the room across the hall from me that was always filled with boxes and other things that made great places for hiding and building secret caves and castles. I keep finding her in there all by herself, looking at pictures of me when I was younger and crying.
“Oh honey, I’m not sad, I’m actually really happy,” she tells me when I go to give her a hug, but I’m not sure I believe her. Who cries when they’re happy? Parents are so weird.
And she also keeps on getting the flu. Like every day. She constantly has to pull over when she drives me to school so she can throw up on the side of the road. Gross! She keeps going to the doctor, but they must not be giving her the right medicine, because the flu keeps coming back. I told her she needs to get a new doctor.
Then one night at dinner, I saw my parents looking at each other strangely while they watched me try to find the strength to finish my carrots. And not the normal I-love-you-so-much-I-want-to-kiss-you way that adults look at one another. This was different.
“Lucy, we have a surprise for you,” my dad smiled at me as he reached for my mom’s hand.
A surprise?!? A new bike? A trip to the Disney World? That I don’t have to finish these soggy carrots? Endless possibilities rushed through my head.
“Ooh, what is it?” I asked excitedly, immediately putting down my fork.
“Well, you know how you get lonely playing by yourself sometimes? How you say it’s boring without other kids around? Well, we have something for you that will fix that problem.”
“I know, I know! We’re getting a puppy!” I squealed excitedly, searching around the room to see where they could be hiding my new best friend.
“Not exactly.” My mom glanced nervously at my dad
“But we do have this for you," she said as she opened a kitchen drawer. Not even the smallest puppy I’d ever seen could fit in there.
I became even less excited when my mom pulled out a neatly wrapped, flat box. Every kid in America knows what comes inside those boxes. I bet you already guessed it yourself. Clothes. Nothing fun to play with or even a cool book, just boring old clothes that you’re supposed to get all excited about. Seriously, what’s exciting about clothes?
But I ripped open the box anyway, hoping that maybe I was wrong. No such luck. Inside was a bright pink T-shirt with some writing on it.
“Do you know what that says?” my mom asked excitedly.
Of course I didn’t. I can’t read yet and they know that. I don’t understand why adults ask questions that they already know they answer to. They’re so weird.
I just shook my head.
“World’s Best Big Sister,” my dad said, pointing to the letters lined in silver glitter.
“But I’m not a sister,” I said, pushing the box away from me.
“Well, not yet, but you will be very soon,” my dad said as he grinned at me. “is a baby growing inside your mom’s stomach and pretty soon you will have a little brother! Isn’t that exciting?!?”
I was pretty sure that I’d rather have a puppy or a trip to Disney World, but my parents were acting so happy about the news that I figured that maybe this baby would be just as good, I just didn’t know it yet.
Over the next few months, everything around our house seemed to be about the baby. What color should we paint the walls in the baby’s room? What will the baby wear? When will Grandma and Grandpa come to visit the new baby? Lucy, are you excited about the new baby? I didn’t understand why everyone cared so much about something that wasn’t even here.
Buttons and Barrettes (Part 2)
ReplyDeleteOne day when I was walking upstairs, I stopped to look at the new baby’s room with its new blue walls. I was just about to leave when something caught my eye and I stopped dead in my tracks. There, sitting on the rocking chair were all of my old stuffed animals that I decided I was too old for when I turned five last summer. And sitting right at the front of the pack was Buttons, my favorite animal that never left my side when I was younger.
I was suddenly furious with this new baby. How dare he take my things! He didn’t even ask! I stormed into the room, grabbed Buttons, ran into my room and fell onto my bed. The tears just came out. I couldn’t stop them. I felt like everything was changing and there was nothing I could do about it.
A few weeks later I woke up to a strange smell. Not the someone-is-coming-over-and-mom-didn’t-have-time-to-clean-so-she-sprayed-air-freshener smell. This was different. I pulled Buttons out from under the covers and followed the smell to the kitchen. I was surprised to see my Aunt Emily at the stove, sizzling up some eggs and bacon.
“Aunt Em!” I squealed as I ran to wrap my arms around the knees of my favorite aunt.
“Hey munchkin!” she said as she hugged me back.
What are you doing here? Where are mommy and daddy?” I asked curiously as I peered around the corner and into the living room.
“Well sweetie, they went to the hospital last night because your new little brother is on his way. They didn’t want to wake you up, so they called me to come over and hang out with you. And of course I said yes!” she said as she gave me an extra squeeze. Aunt Em had a special way of making me feel like I was her favorite person in the whole wide world.
“So what do you say about some breakfast?” she asked as she put a steaming plate in front of me.
As we sat down and ate, we talked about everything – school, dance class, American Idol. I was having so much fun when I suddenly realized what was missing. Not once had my aunt asked me about the new baby.
“Aunt Emily,” I said, looking down at my bare feet. “What if I don’t like being a sister? I already feel like my baby brother is messing everything up and he’s not even here yet!”
“Well Lucy, you know that I was once in your shoes a long time ago. I was all by myself and then Grandma had your daddy and I became I big sister too.”
“Really?” It was weird to think of my aunt as a little girl, and even weirder to think of my dad as a baby.
“Yep. And it was a little different at first. But then I realized that there are a lot of good things about being a big sister.”
“Like what?” I asked curiously.
“Well, there is always someone to play with, even when your parents are busy. And when you’re the oldest you get to do all sorts of special things, like stay up later. And you’re the one who gets all of the brand new toys. A lot of times the little brother or sister gets the one’s you’ve already played with.”
I thought this over as I looked down at Buttons, who had fallen to the floor beside my chair.
“And my little brother grew up to be a pretty great person and gave me an awesome niece, so he wasn’t all that bad,” she said as she winked at me.
“Yeah, I guess he’s alright.” I smiled back at her.
“You know what we need,” she said. “A big sister handshake.”
“Yeah!” I squealed.
After an afternoon of creating our special code, painting nails and playing dolls, Aunt Em and I were just about to watch a movie when the phone rang.
“Are you ready to go see your parents and meet your little brother?” she asked me when she hung up the phone.
When the door to the hospital room opened, I saw my mom sitting in a bed, holding a bunch of blankets. My dad was standing beside her, looking down at the blankets too.
Buttons and Barrettes (Part 3)
ReplyDelete“Lucy! Emily!” they said when they saw us. I hugged my dad when he came over to me, and then I walked straight to the window at the end of the room. I didn’t even look at my mom or the blankets. I wanted everything to stay just the way it was just a little longer. I wanted to be my parents’ little kid, their only little kid. I wanted to have everything the way it was, the way it had always been.
After a few minutes I felt someone standing next to me. Then a hand of freshly painted nails appeared in front of me. A smiled crept across my face and I looked up to see my aunt.
Slap, snap, 1,2,3. If my aunt could do this, I could too. I took her hand and she led me over to my mom and the blankets.
My mom smiled at me and kissed me on the forehead. She led over toward me and pulled back the blanket. All I could see was this little, tiny face and part of a little tiny hand. It was so small!
“This is your new brother, Brett,” my dad said to me.
“You named him after the things I put in my hair??” I asked in surprise.
“No, Brett, not barrette,” My mom said. “It’s a name sweetie.”
“Oh,” I said. “It sounds funny.”
As I looked down at my new brother, I realized that he wasn’t going to be taking my things from me anytime soon. And he was actually pretty cute. Maybe this big sister thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Hold on, I have something for him” I said as I ran over to my coat that was by the window. I lifted it up and found Buttons staring back at me.
“This is for Barrette,” I said to my mom as I handed over my past. It was time to look forward to the future. After all, I was a big sister now and I didn’t have time for any of that baby stuff!
Which One?
ReplyDeleteA Pet for Linley
(A Story for Children)
Part One
A large family with seven children we knew from preschool were raising house rabbits. Linley, our four-year-old daughter, wanted a pet, so they invited us over to their house to see the new litter of bunnies. When we walked through the doorway, we saw more children than bunny rabbits . . . .
There were two cages in the entryway. An older girl we knew as Francine made introductions. “This is Sunshine, the mother.” Looking into the first cage, we admired a delicately shaded, orange creature with wisps of fur coming out her ears. A little girl named Kinsey said, “Sunshine is a Jersey Wooly. I love her soft fur.”
A red-haired boy named Jayden chimed in, “Her husband Cloudy is a Mini-Lop.” Our attention was drawn to the second cage where a gray and white spotted bunny reclined with a disapproving look in his eyes. “He is not allowed out with the babies right now. We don’t know if he will eat them.”
Smiling at Linley, Kinsey asked, “Which one do you want? We haven’t named any of them yet.” The first small, furry ball with ears hopped across the tiles and bumped Linley’s foot with its wiggly nose. “Tag! You’re it!” said a young boy named Dario, from across the room. The gray spotted fur-ball hopped away, as Linley pursued Dario. Was this the one?
Which One?
ReplyDeleteA Pet for Linley
(A Story for Children)
Part Two
Just then, the second fur-ball, this one orange with a gray nose, emerged from the mother’s cage with some hay in its mouth. We laughed as the little rabbit chewed the piece of timothy like it was a strand of spaghetti. Was this the one?
The third gray and peach striped fur ball skidded past our feet, as Linley and twin girls named Jayda and Maya, hair flying, came running into the room, nearly colliding with us. The striped bunny kept trying to gain its footing on the slippery tiles, as it headed towards Sunshine’s cage. Was this the one?
As we were smiling at the clumsy bunny, which had made it back into the cage, a baby boy named Avery crawled into the room. Beside him was the fourth orange and gray fur ball, bouncing up and down. Dario pointed out to us, “Look, here comes Hoppy!” Was this the one?
Linley sat down near Sunshine’s cage to look at the fifth baby rabbit, a peachy fluff ball that settled cozily into her lap. Diane and Michael, the parents, came into the entry, and welcomed us into the living room where we settled into conversation about school and rabbit care. These rabbits were all trained to use a litter box, and liked to eat lots of timothy hay and carrots. We would have to rabbit-proof our house, so the bunny would not be able to chew on electrical cords. Time passed, and we realized it was time to leave.
As we went back into the hallway, we wondered which bunny would become our new family pet. There was Linley, still calmly petting the little peach fluff ball. As she looked up at us and smiled, she said, “Her name is Raspberry.” Then we knew: This was the one!
Warm Water
ReplyDeleteby Sarah
Tom woke up in Watervliet, Michigan without a care in the world. It was the beginning of another summer that he would spend with his family away from the noise and chaos of the big city. Except his father, Tom stayed in Michigan with his family from the last joyful bell of the school year to the first piercing bell of the new year. His father would drive back to Chicago during the week to work as a shoe salesman at a local shoe store that he had been loyal to his whole life. Tradition and loyalty ran through the veins of Tom’s father and everyone who knew him knew it.
For a ten -year -old boy, having a lake in your front yard for an entire summer is all the entertainment one could possibly require. The small, man-made lake was called Paw Paw Lake and Tom’s father informed him that “paw paw” is Native American and translates to “warm-water”- and boy was that water warm! Tom and his friends splashed and laughed in the over-sized bathtub for hours a day. Even when they’re fingers began to look like prunes from the over exposure to the water, they found a new game to play or adventure to embark on in the warm waters and the gentle waves. Fishing, canoeing, skiing, turtle hunting, and turtle races were just some of the daily activities to choose from. Not a care in the world, not a cloud in the sky. That is how Tom felt when he woke up every morning and peered at the lake out his bedroom window.
Tom was an adventurous boy, that’s for sure. His mother often warned him in the morning, “Stay out of trouble, Tom!” And Tom always replied, “Yes, mother” as he skipped down the stairs and out onto the wooden pier. Tom was the kind of kid that everyone wanted to be around. He was funny, smart, witty, and loyal- like his father. Tom had big dreams – like most ten-year-old boys do. Tom dreamt of being a professional hockey player, an F-16 pilot, an undercover policeman, and President of his own company one day. When Tom looked out onto the lake, he felt inspired to chase his dreams.
Tom had no idea, in fact no one would have ever predicted, that the very lake which brought endless joy and laughter to Tom’s family would take it all away in a split second.
It was Wednesday morning and the clock radio next to Tom’s bunk bed read 6:45 a.m. Although Tom did not typically wake up this early, the energy running through his body would not allow him to sleep one minute longer. Tom found his swim trunks wadded up in the corner of his room, still damp from yesterday’s adventures, and quickly put them on. He tiptoed down the hall, trying not to wake his mother.
“Tom,” his mother moaned, “what on earth are you doing out of bed so early?”
“Sorry mom, I couldn’t sleep,” Tom responded. “I’ll be fine, go back to bed,” Tom insisted, feeling guilty for waking his mother.
Tom found his way down the creaky old stairs, through the front porch, and out the door. The lake was calling his name.
Warm Water
ReplyDelete(part 2)
Paul O’Day was a middle-aged man who also retreated to Paw Paw Lake for most of the summer to escape the stresses of his daily life in Chicago. Paul had three children of his own whom he raised in the warm waters of the lake during the hot summer months. Paul was a private man who spent most of his time on the porch, rocking back and forth, keenly observing the action taking place on the lake.
On that Wednesday morning, Paul O’Day slowly stepped out of bed at 6:00 a.m. He had been awake since 4:10 a.m., starring at the ceiling, glaring at the walls, noticing little imperfections in his bedroom that he hadn’t ever before. Paul’s wife wanted a divorce. Sleepless nights had become regular for Paul over the past two months, along with exhaustion, regret, confusion, and loneliness.
Although Tom and Paul rested their heads on pillows only four doors away from each other, their paths had never crossed, until today.
Paul poured a cup of coffee in the quiet kitchen. He usually added cream and one scoop of sugar to his coffee but today he kept it black. He found his seat in the rocking chair on the front porch. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth … until he couldn’t sit still any longer. Paul stood up and grabbed the keys to his 97’ open-bow Ski Nautique. Paul found comfort cruising on his boat, crashing through the waves in the lake.
Paul jumped into the grey and black Ski-Nautique and turned over the key. The noise of the motor humming was peaceful to his ears, yet tears rolled down his face. Early morning boat rides used to be a tradition for Paul and his wife.
Tom wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do when he ran out of his house that morning. He grabbed his fishing pole and then realized he hadn’t untangled his line from the day before. He didn’t have the patience to deal with that inconvenience so early in the morning. Instead, Tom decided he’d go for an early morning swim along the shoreline.
Paul put the boat in reverse and backed slowly out of his boathouse and out into the open waters. Neutral. Forward… full speed ahead.
Tom walked to the end of his pier and decided to start his swim with a dive into the warm water. He curled his toes around the edge of the wood, hands over head, chin down … ready, set, go! How cold and rigid the water felt against his body that Wednesday morning immediately shocked Tom. Despite the unusual sensation, Tom put his head down and began to swim east towards Mud Lake.
With tears still streaming down Paul’s cheeks, he too headed east towards Mud Lake.
Warm Water
ReplyDelete(part 3)
Tom kept swimming.
Paul kept driving.
Tom was still cold.
Paul was still crying.
And then it happened. The true definition of a tragedy. Or should I say an accident? I guess that’s a matter of personal opinion.
Paul did not see Tom swimming free-style along the shoreline and Tom did not hear Paul’s boat as he trucked along. The propeller of Paul’s boat ran directly over Tom’s hip.
Paul immediately knew he hit something. A ten-year-old boy going for a morning swim was not what he expected. Tom was lying, helplessly in the cold water.
Ambulance rides, multiple hospitals, and numerous surgeries later, Tom lay in a hospital bed starring at a blank wall. Earlier that day, one of Tom’s doctors informed him that he would never walk again. How does a ten-year-boy even begin to comprehend the severity of his situation? How do his parents respond when Tom asks them why this had to happen to him?
Tom is now sixty-four years old. He has been married for twenty-eight years. Tom and his wife have three children and one grand daughter. Tom went to college and became the manager of a financial consultanting firm after years of hard work and commitment. The limp that makes Tom’s walk unique does not bother him because he can walk; a blessing that most people take advantage of on a daily basis. Tom raised his family in the warm waters of Paw Paw Lake where they still retreat for most of the summer. Despite the tragic incident, Tom would not stop spending his summers in Watervliet because tradition and loyalty run through his veins.
Dear Editors,
ReplyDeleteAs a Nationally Board Certified Chicago Public School teacher, I work hard every day to ensure that my students are receiving high interest, standards based lessons geared to develop their capacity as readers, writers, thinkers and eventual participators in our national discourse.
That said, I am extremely disappointed in the Chicago Tribune’s ongoing rally to remove the professional aspects from the teaching profession. Your goals to cease payment for additional degrees, merit pay, and the dissolution of tenure set our public schools up to become places bereft of cutting edge thinking, technology, collaboration, and trust among colleagues and administrators.
As you stated, Chicago teachers support longer days and years for our school program. However the success of this measure is directly tied to a further proposal you make about tenure and inherently to the negotiation of teacher evaluation processes. Longer days with an incompetent teacher will see few results. The school board needs to negotiate with the union to educate administrators and lead teachers in the use of a multifaceted evaluation process that will begin early in a teacher’s career and lead them toward tenure, continuing as they evolve in their profession and then negating the need for policies that will “more quickly and efficiently fire the worst teachers.”
If we are able to assist teachers in preventing bad habits and enable them to become well-developed professionals early in their careers, many of your suggestions like severance pay inflation and merit pay will become null and void.
In my ten year career, I have met teachers who were struggling, but none who thought they were actively doing a bad job. We need to build on the positives and assist those teachers to become the best instructors possible. With a solid evaluation tool in place, dismissing unprofessional teachers will become a much easier process.
Sincerely,
Kerry Mindeman, Chicago Public School Teacher
Field Day
ReplyDeleteby, Nicole Jackson
Field Day is the most anticipated school day for the athletic child. It is their moment to shine among their classmates. Blue ribbons become a thick stack in their hands as the day progresses. Classmates and parent volunteers congratulate them on their ability. They strut confidently to each event knowing they will succeed.
On the other hand, Field Day is the most dreaded day for the unathletic child. He or she is asked to run, catch, dodge, climb, throw until they are desperately trying to hide from each new event. Their ribbons are green…green for participation. A color that is difficult to hide outside in the sunshine for three hours, although some kids try to prepare for the defeat by wearing a similar shade of green that day in hopes of the ribbons blending in and disappearing. It doesn’t work though. Everyone knows who we are. They’ve seen us in gym class and at recess. We’ve been on their soccer and baseball teams since kindergarten. We were scouted early and have never recovered. Our label is simple. We are hopeless.
My name is Sarah and I have had the date of Field Day burned into my mind ever since the school calendar came home in September. It is easy to bury your fear when June seems so far away. There are many events during the year to look forward to, the apple-picking field trip, the Halloween party, our class play, but Field Day comes faster than you think and I promised myself that this year, I would be ready for it. I wanted my ribbons to be blue. Forget about the intermediate colors of red and yellow. I wanted blue. I wanted to know what it felt like to hold that beautiful royal color in my hands, to walk confidently to each event, to have others congratulate me.
My best friend Kylie and I decided that we would train for Field Day since this was our last one. We are in fifth grade and would be graduating to middle school at the end of the year. Middle school, where Field Day didn’t exist, but where you took your reputation from elementary school and it spread to all the students from the other schools that were blending together. You didn’t even get a chance to prove yourself in middle school. It was like you walked in with a label on your chest with your statistics printed in permanent marker for everyone to see. Honor Role student, still in Girl Scouts, horrible athlete or C-student, wet his pants in third grade, bad at math. This was our last chance.
“Okay, Kylie here is what I put together for our training schedule from now until Field Day.” Although I had been worrying about Field Day since September, it had taken me a while to put together our training schedule and I had gotten distracted over the holidays. Somehow it was already April and we only had two months to practice before the big day. I continued, “In the first column I wrote down the events. In the second column I wrote down what skill we needed to perfect to earn the blue ribbon. And in the third column I wrote down who, if anyone, would be willing and able to help us prepare. What do you think?”
There were 7 events that mattered (basketball shoot, sprint, long jump, obstacle course, rope climbing, partner ball toss, and the mile run, which was reserved solely for fifth graders). The other events were team events, and although being a liability to your team never felt good, it was much easier to hide during those events.
“You really think your brother is going to help us with the basketball shoot?” Kylie asked doubtfully.
ReplyDelete“He said he would. He’s not so mean anymore now that he has a girlfriend. She thinks it’s cute that he has a little sister.”
My brother was a great basketball player. All the athletic ability in our family was passed down to him.
“I think it’s going to be hard to earn a blue ribbon in all of these events, especially since we’ve never gotten a blue ribbon before,” Kylie said. “Maybe we should just concentrate on a few.”
“Well the only one I know I can get real help with is the basketball shoot, so let’s talk to my brother right now.”
The conversation went well, probably since his girlfriend was in the room when Kylie and I asked him to be our coach. She loved the idea and said that she would help. He said yes because he loved the idea of looking good in front of her. So that’s how it started. Three days a week Kylie and I would practice shooting baskets with my brother and his girlfriend for an hour.
It surprised me that my brother was such a good teacher. He always seemed so annoyed when I asked him questions, but when it came to basketball, he was patient. He loved to demonstrate form and give advice. I found that my skills were improving even after a couple of weeks.
***
Meanwhile, in school the excitement started around May. In gym class our teacher, Mr. Ross reviewed the events and procedures for the day. I looked around and could see eager looks on some faces and fear on others.
“Now this will be your last Field Day class, so let’s make it perfect. From now until Field Day, I don’t want any problems. Just remember, Field Day isn’t guaranteed for anyone.”
Everyone stopped listening once he started lecturing on behavior. Our minds were far off on that June day. Some of us envisioned moments of triumph. Flawless performances, claps on the back and cheering, blue ribbons crammed like gum wrappers into pockets. While others could only picture what they knew, being the last ones to perform with most of the class already concentrating on the next event, that combination of butterflies, blushing, and dry mouth; all symptoms of hours of mortification. Kylie and I exchanged smiles. We knew that we would at least be prepared for one event and for some reason that calmed us at that moment.
At lunch that day, the talk started. Who do you think would get the most blue ribbons? Which do you think was the most difficult event? Jack Kelly, our class athlete remained quiet, although I could see a hint of a smile on his face whenever his name was mentioned.
“How many blue ribbons do you have at home?” Tara asked him.
“I don’t keep those things! They’re not like trophies or something really special. I’m not in Kindergarten,” looking disgusted by such a question. Everyone who had their Field Day shrine at home suddenly got quiet.
“I know what you mean Jack.” said Chris “Why would anyone keep those stupid things?”
“Well, you wouldn’t because all your ribbons are red,” Jack said with a smirk. There was some laughter and Chris’s face turned red.
“Very funny,” Chris said taking a big bite of his sandwich so he wouldn’t have to say more.
That afternoon I told my brother about lunch, about Jack’s bragging and teasing and everyone’s silence.
ReplyDelete“Well, there’s always someone like him in a class,” my brother said. “You can’t let him bother you. You’re going to do great at the basketball shoot, so just concentrate on that.”
It was late afternoon and we were practicing outside. He had me shooting from all different positions around our driveway, even though on Field Day you shot from right in front of the hoop. He said that by being able to shoot from any position, I would gain more confidence. He was right. I often came outside on my own to practice and was amazed how easily I could make shots. It felt good to know I could trust the movements of my body to lead to my intended result, not like baseball where I hadn’t yet mastered how much power to put behind a throw, my tosses being hopelessly short or ridiculously too long.
“I just hope he doesn’t get all blue ribbons because he doesn’t deserve them,” I said.
***
It’s hard to believe that Field Day is finally here. Since we are fifth graders, we get to start in the morning right after the assembly. We would go through all the events and end with a picnic lunch provided by parent volunteers. The gym, where we had assemblies, was pulsing with excitement and smelled of sunscreen and sneakers. That morning, mothers had slathered their babies with enough sunscreen to protect them all day, slapping on hats, preparing water bottles, and warning of skin cancer and dehydration. Even the students who had the most to fear seemed excited. There’s always that last minute surge of hope that you’ll suddenly acquire the skill you’ve always dreamed of and that maybe this year, you’d do well. Unfortunately, it’s that false hope that makes the day’s defeat even more difficult.
This year we would be placed in groups of eight to make the day more manageable and to cut down on wait time. I felt some relief when I heard this, knowing that I would only have seven witnesses of my performance. Kylie and I were separated. I gave her a quick smile and mouthed good luck to her as we started walking outside. The lead fifth grade volunteer told each group where to begin. Our first event was the basketball shoot. I felt my stomach lurch. For some reason I had pictured the basketball shoot being my last event. At that point in the day everyone would be done with their events and a large group would begin to gather around the basketball court. I would begin shooting and the balls would sink flawlessly through the net one after the other. Awed silence would follow as everyone counted my shots in their heads. Disbelief. Wonder. When had Sarah learned to shoot so well? That picture quickly evaporated as groups moved chaotically to their assigned events. No one was paying attention to anyone else.
The basketball net loomed before us, looking 10 feet taller than our hoop at home. The sun was still warming up and there was a slight breeze. I shivered, saying a prayer in my head, replaying all the advice my brother had given me over the breakfast table.
“Sarah, you’re up,” Mrs. Loomis said. I had been lost in thought, not noticing that three people in my group had already finished. I stepped up to our starting point, farther back than last year, each grade level’s spot designated by a piece of colored tape. I picked up the ball, dribbled it a few times, said another prayer, and made the shot.
“The Carpet”
ReplyDeletePart I by Tiffani Kuhn
Shelly loved to pretend; she could pretend for hours. Shelly loved to pretend when she played with her Barbie’s, when she played doctor with her pretend medical kit, even when she played house with her baby dolls and stuffed animals. Often times Shelly’s pretend time was taken up by her mother. Shelly’s mother loved to shop much like Shelly and her pretending. Shelly’s mother often shopped for things she needed or wanted for the house; usually she did so on the weekends. On one particular weekend Shelly’s mother decided they needed a new rug for their new living room of the house they just moved into a few months ago. Shelly was crushed. She had wanted to stay home so she could continue playing in their backyard; she was on an adventure searching for treasure with a map she had found in her mothers’ night stand a few nights before. “Now Shelly we need to go to the store. I can’t possibly leave you here alone. Please get in the car Shelly,” Said her mother. Shelly begrudgingly stomped her way to the car. Her adventures were ruined for the day she sulked all the way to the carpet store.
As Shelly and her mother entered the carpet store all Shelly could think was “dull, dull, dull!” she didn’t care for carpet and as far as she could see that was the only thing the entire store carried. Shelly couldn’t wander the toy aisle or get lost in the dessert section…well because there wasn’t one. “Shelly stay close, we will only be in here a minute,” informed Shelly’s mother. Well Shelly didn’t listen and as soon as her mother had her back turned while she was admiring a Persian rug, Shelly slipped away. Shelly wandered the store touching various rugs thinking to herself; “this is so boring.” Shelly turned the corner and as she did a magnificent rug with royal blue water, pink lilies and green sprouts of grass that swirled around the carpet stuck out and called Shelly’s name. Shelly turned to see if it was her mother that had called her but when no one was in sight; Shelly simply shrugged and kept on inching toward the carpet. The water seemed to be alive, waves splashed the lilies and the grass swayed in the wind and as Shelly stepped closer she reached out to touch the waves and fell into the carpet.
“The Carpet”
ReplyDeletePart II by Tiffani Kuhn
Shelly screamed for help, but then quickly realized that she could swim in this particular water. As she passed the lilies and the grass she wondered how she was going to get out of there. Soon she approached land. She started looking for signs of life. Maybe someone could help her get back to her mother. “Help!” she screamed. Out of nowhere stood a rabbit “Can I help you?” he asked. “I’m lost and I need to get back to my mother!” cried Shelly. The rabbit was confused…he didn’t understand “back,” he explained there was no going back, only forward, he explained to Shelly there wasn’t a past only a future and he kept telling her to go forward. Well Shelly didn’t quite understand the rabbit either, she never said she wanted to go into the past; she merely wanted to get back to safety where her mom was. Sure Shelly thought of their old house and her old friends, but she knew what her mom would say if she brought them up, “you will make new friends, and we have a nicer home now……” but Shelly didn’t want to hear that. Was that why she was stuck in the carpet, in this fantastical world? Shelly continued on her journey. She walked through thick grasses and fragrant lilies, same through brilliant blue waters that cascaded down some rocks into a small waterfall. She grew tired though and once again she reached some land with a large tree, “I will take a quick nap and then be on my way,” she said aloud to no one in particular. Shelly sat at the base of the tree with its weeping branches and overgrown trunk and quickly fell asleep.
Moments later Shelly was awakened by someone violently shaking her. “Shelly!” the voice screamed. Shelly quickly opened her eyes and saw her mother standing before her. “Oh mommy!” she jumped up and squeezed her mother as tight as she could. “Where am I?” Shelly quickly looked around and found herself right back in the carpet store “You fell asleep dear. You had me worried. I couldn’t find you, but look at what you found!” exclaimed Shelly’s mother. As Shelly peered behind her she noticed the carpet she fell into, it was no longer moving but still just as beautiful. “It must have been a dream,” she thought to herself. “We’ll take it,” Shelly’s mother screamed in delight. As the manager, Shelly and her mother walked back to the register to make their purchase Shelly’s mother stopped Shelly. “What’s this?” her mother asked quizzically. Shelly looked down to see what her mother was talking about and found a piece of long thick grass. Shelly shrugged in embarrassment and didn’t know what to say to her mother. Her mother shrugged as well. The salesman after ringing them up winked at Shelly and told the two of them, “Enjoy your purchase!” The two of them walked to the car and drove back home.
As Shelly grew older she stopped pretending as much and soon not at all, but she never forgot that moment in the carpet store, when she first saw the brilliant grand blue carpet with thick grass and pink lilies. It now lies on her floor as it did her mother’s years ago, and she often thought to herself did that world really exist? Sometimes Shelly in asking of this question would catch the carpet glimmer in the sunlight as if to say yes it did and she would nod and say “no, of course not.” That is until she caught the light scent of the lilies.
Fadwa Rantisi
ReplyDeleteBedtime Fun
Mom yells out, “It’s time for bed.”
Splish Splash…… is the sound I hear when I’m playing with my rubber ducky in the tub.
I get excited about bed time because……
Bed time
Bed time
It can be a fun time
Time to sleep
Time to sleep
Time to lay our heads down and sleep
Swish Swash…… is the sound my toothbrush makes when I’m brushing my teeth.
I get excited about bed time because……
Bed time
Bed time
It can be a fun time
Time to sleep
Time to sleep
Time to lay our heads down and sleep
Vroom Vroom……reads daddy as he’s reading my favorite book.
I get excited about bed time because……
Bed time
Bed time
It can be a fun time
Time to sleep
Time to sleep
Time to lay our heads down and sleep
ZZZZZZZZZZZ……is the sound you hear when I fall asleep.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteLetter to Rahm Emmanuel
ReplyDeleteby Laura M.
Dear Mayor-Elect Emmanuel,
In my five years teaching, I’ve experienced very different types of evaluation processes. As a first year teacher, I was overwhelmed, stressed, and in retrospect, less-than-effective. I struggled to control my class, which constantly stood in the way of raising my students’ achievement. The entire year, I worried about my performance, since I knew nothing about the components of my evaluation. I was concerned about my job and my future at the school. Going into the end-of-the-year evaluation conference, I thought of many places I could improve, and hoped my principal would recognize them. However, that year, I received a rating of “excellent.” I remember being confused about where the rating came from, because I had never once been observed for an entire lesson in my classroom. While I knew I had potential to be excellent someday, I knew I wasn’t there yet. So, as much as I wanted to celebrate my “success,” it felt empty because I knew it was not fully true. Instead of being glad, I left that meeting confused about how to improve, and yearning for more honest, instructive feedback.
My current school, however, participated in the University of Chicago’s pilot program with the Danielson framework for teaching. At first, the shift from very infrequent (or nonexistent!) observers in my classroom to opening my classroom doors regularly for other to watch my practice seemed daunting. I worried about how I would be rated, and if the observers would like what they saw. Luckily, I then learned more about the Danielson rubric. Her framework for teaching clearly lays out the evidence of effective teaching. Her four domains list explicitly what an observer would notice in a “distinguished” classroom, and leave no room for subjectivity. The rubric also made clear what I should be doing to get better; my goals for improvement were listed plainly in “distinguished” column. No more was the case that my principal’s subjective opinion (good or bad!) would be the sole basis for the content of my evaluation. Instead, my principal comes into my room to record exactly what moves my students and I make. From there, she codes what she sees according to the rubric to find where my practice falls. In the post-observation conference, we spend time discussing what took place, how I thought it went, and then comparing it to what she noticed. The conversation inevitably leads to what I did well, but then always follows with suggestions for improvement.
Letter to Rahm Emmanuel (cont.)
ReplyDeleteby Laura M.
The post-observation conference combines exact evidence of my teaching with the specific elements of the Danielson rubric. I get a chance to share my own thoughts and reflections, and my principal listens intently to ensure that my voice is heard. We spend time discussing specific ways to better my practice, and I leave feeling empowered to reenter my classroom as a more effective teacher. I cannot even begin to compare how much better it feels leaving these conferences than the one my first year. Now, instead of distrusting empty praise, I truly appreciate my strengths because I know they were objectively measured by descriptors of quality practice. Similarly, when I struggle, I know exactly where to look to find the path to improvement. No longer do feel confused or helpless; instead, I know exactly what it will take to grow in my profession, and that sense of empowerment makes all the difference.
For all of these reasons, I believe Chicago Public Schools should adopt the Danielson Framework for Teaching as when revamping teachers’ yearly evaluation in conjunction with the Illinois’ Performance Evaluation Reform Act (PERA). The Danielson Framework employs clear language to describe different strands and levels of teaching, enabling an impartial observer to use evidence from the classroom to make a fair analysis of a teacher’s strengths and weakness. The professional development components of the fourth domain also create a natural link between teacher evaluation and professional learning. I believe that in order for evaluation to effectively drive teacher improvement, as it should, there must be a clear link between the evaluation process and professional development, and Danielson’s framework clearly provides this link.
Thank you for your time,
Laura Meili
Part 1
ReplyDeleteDear Editor,
What are the top skills that employers really look for? The answer to that question is not test-taking skills, so why is that the focus of so many Chicago Public Schools. Today’s (and tomorrow’s) employers list communication and analytic/research skills as top priorities, followed by flexibility, interpersonal skills, organization, leadership and teamwork. Have you ever heard of anyone going on a job interview and being asked how they scored on a standardized test? Why are schools, particularly poor, urban schools so hung up on these numbers then? As a CPS teacher I am appalled by the way I have seen numbers and scores become the focus, while the achievement and well-being of children is neglected.
Last year I was in the center of a standardized test dog and pony show on the city’s Westside. My assistant principal scolded me on the third day of school for teaching a lesson on caring for books, because I was “only allowed to teach lessons with an ISAT objective.”
Worst of all, it was the only time I didn’t enjoy teaching and it wasn’t simply because my group of students never formed a caring community of learners. It was because I wasn’t allowed to spend precious test-taking preparation time on skills that are actually necessary in today and tomorrow’s workforce.
Everything was about a set of numbers that would decide if the students passed the third grade.
Of course there were other problems in that school as well; such as the heat that boiled our class fish and melted our crayons, the wayward maintenance staff that once took over 45 minutes to clean vomit in our classroom, and the special education teacher who called kids “retarded.” Then there was the constant flow of students who verbally and physically assaulted each other daily, often pushing each other up against our classroom door. There were countless minutes wasted by the pounding of yelling and fighting, but that was just the school’s way and certainly no one was scolded about those issues.
Necessities such as adequate temperatures and cleanliness to a backseat to drilling skills; this took all the joy and excitement out of teaching for me. The kids only cared about the bicycles, mp3 players, and other loot that the school offered up for good test scores. They didn’t know better, but didn’t the adults?
Today’s students need to have proper time and space to think through problems, but most of all they deserve a safe place to actually experiment, discover, and learn. Teachers can’t crawl through kid’s ears and tell their brains what to do, so why would we reduce ourselves to only quick wins such as test prep?
Part 2
ReplyDeleteThis year I teach second grade at a turn-around school on the city’s Southside and as a ten year veteran of teaching and Chicago Public Schools. Although many of my second grade students are already considered below national standards, they are making gains and I attribute much of their achievement to our school environment.
I finally feel like I am in school where students and learning come first. While test scores are imperative in the success and growth of our new school, the overarching theme of our first year is setting a positive school culture. All of the students are expected to comply with school-wide expectations such as wearing uniforms, keeping quiet and order in hallways, and respecting others etc.
In contrast, this year I was able to use the first two weeks of school to build a positive, nurturing, and respectful community of learners in my classroom. I am Nationally Board Certified in early childhood and understand the importance of child development. I am horrified by poor, urban schools that place test scores over students’ lives. I’m even more disgusted that I’ve been a part of such an educational hoax.
Children need to be challenged and they need to learn communication and analytic skills. They need to practice leadership and teamwork. They need teachers who are willing to worry less about the upcoming tests and more about the actual lives and achievement of their students.
If we stop teaching test strategies and really teach academic and social skills, our students might just do better on the tests and in life.
A couple of weeks ago I planned a very collaborative geometry project for my second graders, which involved creating model shapes out of straws and twist ties. I was beginning to sweat as some of my students begged for my help and argued over who should do what. Hadn’t I taught them to do better? I took a deep breath and said, “Sit down and think about making a trapezoid. Work with your team. You can do it” Then I left them to figure it out on their own. Before I knew it one of the girls was waving a trapezoid in the air for me to see.
They may not have straws and twist ties on standardized tests, but in life you need to know how to solve your own problems. You don’t get to pick a, b, c, or d on the job, so that shouldn’t be what school is about.
The best choice I’ve made lately is standing up for my students and giving them practical and realistic lessons, instead of just another multiple choice test.
Sincerely,
Lisa Rudin
All the Ways I Love You:
ReplyDeleteA Debate between a Mother and Daughter
A Children's Story by Rachel Pomykala
“Mommy, I love you this much,” the young girl stretched her arms wider than the smile she wore that morning.
Her mother replied with a much intended hug and reassured her daughter, “I love you, too.”
Walking into school, the mother told her little girl, “I love you soooooooo much!”
The child shied away, allowing her mother to plant kisses on her forehead.
That evening, the mother and daughter were reunited.
The daughter ran to her mother faster than a kid to the ice cream truck, “I missed you so much, Mommy!”
“I missed you so much my heart hurts!” clenching her daughter to her chest.
The little girl stared into her mother’s eyes as she combed her hair that night.
“I love you soooooooooo much,” squeezing her mothers’ cheeks together.
“Nie, ja się kocham tak dużo!” the mother replied with a sly eye.
“Te amo ‘buela,” she replied with an eloquent smile.
“Mommy, I love you,” the little girl told her mother as she kissed her goodnight.
Gently the words rolled off her lips, “No, my dear, I love you.”
The girl pondered for a moment.
“How about, we love each other?” she presented as the much needed solution.
“I like that idea the best,” the mother agreed with her daughter.
The Sandman
ReplyDeleteBy Cathleen
Sleep
Slumber
Shut eye
Slip off to dream land
Rest
Rejuvenate
Recharge
Restart my engine for the next day
Get up
Get going
Get ready
Get it together for the day
Eat
Exercise
Energize
Entertain dogs with a walk
Direct
Dart
Dash
Drive to work
Tense
Tired
Tanked
Time for a nap already
Poem (Jenny Vaughn)
ReplyDeleteBased on Langston Hughes “Dreamer”
I take my dreams
And make of them a watercolor painting,
And a black and white sketch
With a broken mirror in its center,
And a reflection in every last piece,
And I ask you:
Do you understand my dreams?
Sometimes you say you feel it
And sometimes you say you won’t.
Either way
It doesn’t matter.
I continue to dream.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteThe Writing Asylum
ReplyDelete(Inspired by Professor Tatum)
By Rachel Pomykala
Blank slate…
Writer’s block…
What to say…
I thought the process was supposed to be therapeutic.
The ideas seem to scurry away as the pen hits the paper,
Hidden in the folds of the brain like an optical illusion.
Trying to seek refuge in writing during hardship,
But the words retreat faster than a hare in a turtle race.
Why must this be so complicated?
Finally the thoughts begin pumping the ink of desire,
Like water in a drought.
However, they fall in disarray,
No sense of structure.
I lean in to listen to that little voice inside me,
Not sure what I am wanting to hear.
Too choppy…
Too wordy…
No flow…
Note to self…please revise.
All I longed for,
All that I sought after,
Here in the mingling of my contemplations, Emerges a sanctuary.
A safe haven all my own.
Dear Editor,
ReplyDeleteAmerica is one of the most technologically advanced countries. In my lifetime alone I have seen the evolution of music from tape cassettes to CDs, from CDs to mp3s and from mp3s to iPods. I have seen this same progression in entertainment as well. Where once our televisions were huge boxes that sat on the floor, they are now flat screens that can be hung from the wall. I could go on and on with all the different technological advances that our nation has come up with and/or embraced, but there is one area where our country has stood at a standstill – oil. It’s really hard to believe that the first automobile gas engine was invented and patented in the 1880s and this is still the same energy source that we rely on today in 2011. Over one hundred years have come and gone – I could sit and name hundreds of inventions and improvements to inventions that have been created in that time, and yet this is still what we use to power our cars today.
There are so many negatives that crude oil brings about; it is definitely not worth all the hassle, damage and frustration that comes along with the use of it. While oil may be used to run our cars today, there are so many disadvantages to it at the same time. The first disadvantage to using crude oil to run our cars is the pollution that it puts off. It’s a known fact that emissions from automobiles are hurting our environment, and yet we still continue to create and produce cars that require oil in order for them to run. Another headache that oil brings with it is the fact that it is a limited resource. It’s a known fact that crude oil comes from fossil fuels, which take millions of years to recreate. Needless to say, once we use all of the fossil fuels that are at our disposal, it will take millions of years to replenish them. Frustration also comes from the fact that in order for our country to get the oil that we need, we must either drill in our own land, or be willing to sacrifice the natural environment of hundreds of plants and animals, or we must rely on other countries. One of the biggest problems that Americans are having with oil today is its price. It feels as if every day the prices of oil increases by too much a gallon only to barley decrease a couple of days later. It seems as though there is no rhyme, nor reason behind the inflation of price that we pay in order to fill up our cars, fill up our cars with essentially the same thing we’ve been filling them up with over the past hundred years.
It’s time for Americans to start realizing how much we rely on an energy source that is limited as well as damaging to our environment. It’s time that we begin to seriously look into fuel alternatives and stop wasting our time and money on an energy source that was created for our ancestors. We need to stand up and realize that we’re headed in the wrong direction as long as we continue to pursue oil and use it to fuel our cars. Until we do those things, we have no right to complain when the price at the pump makes us uncomfortable!
KC