The DAP Monster.

There are not many topics I get fired up about. I am not an argumentative person. I avoid confrontation at all costs. Yet, here I am, stirring a pot in education. The fact is, some pots NEED to be stirred. Otherwise, things can get burned. 

Let's call this pot the "Developmentally Appropriate Practices Pot." For those of you who do not know what DAP means, stop and read basically everything on THIS website.

Sounds excellent, doesn't it? It's what you picture when your child is away at school. Let me tell you something terrifying--right now in early childhood education, what you picture couldn't be further away from the truth. 

As a society, we have believed the lie that "sooner is better," which results in a "shove it down their throats" teaching philosophy. (Think that's harsh? Stop by a local kindergarten classroom where most of the time children are all but told to sit down at a desk, shut up for hours on end, and complete worksheet after worksheet well above their development [often times academic, also] level. Oh! And if they don't finish in the allotted time. You'll see them still sitting at their desk while their classmates go out to recess. It's a shameful time.) This creates a big problem. If your child does not meet these ridiculous requirements at extremely early ages, you are told something is wrong with them--they need: 
(1) to be put on an intervention plan, 
(2) more kill and drill style teaching while their peers move forward, and 
(3) more homework to practice the skills they're "behind" on. 

I beg to differ. They need more developmentally appropriate instruction.

Let's take a look into my personal experience as a student and then as an educator. After all, it is what I know best.

Well before Common Core or Oklahoma's lovely Reading Sufficiency Act, I went to school. I didn't attend pre-kindergarten. Why? They didn't exist. (I LOVE pre-k! When early childhood education is done correctly, it's a BEAUTIFUL thing. I'm not knocking pre-k, not if it's a developmentally appropriate environment). The first time I stepped into a public school was for a half-day kindergarten program. (How old school!!! No, how APPROPRIATE!) I did not receive any formal reading (or any other kind) instruction in Kindergarten. I played with my friends and sang lots and lots of songs on a rug. 

At home I had two incredible parents who read to me often. My mom says I loved books. I initiated the interest and what do you know? I began to read in kindergarten. (Plot twist?! Nope. Just reinforcing that learning happens best when DAP lead). My parents were not teachers. They actually did not attend college. They just followed my lead with learning. I continued my love for reading throughout school. I scored a 34 on my ACT in Reading. Can you even believe I did not complete a reading worksheet until first grade? What a genius! (Actually, by today's standards I learned on time--then I was early!) No, it's called developmentally appropriate learning. 

More formal reading instruction was introduced in first grade, although I would point out it honestly is what we see the first semester of kindergarten now. First grade is where my sister learned to read. She would be considered a late bloomer, like Leo, today. My parents and her teacher did not panic. They let her learn on her pace. Guess where she is now! Kicking rocks? I mean, she did learn to read "late." What a failure! NO! She's kicking tail in a doctorate program. 

Fast forward to college where I was instructed by the queen of DAP and student taught under an expert. It took me a while to get the hang of it, because it is not natural. Natural is taking the easy route. Natural is asking for a teacher guide to a curriculum and living in the copy machine room. The easy route is glorified babysitting, where you attempt to look like you are teaching through DAP--your students are playing with last month's centers and you are sitting on your rump.

A teacher in a DAP classroom is never still. He/she is busy finding HANDS-ON activities that meet standards, resetting the dramatic play center with new props, and making new sensory items for the sensory table. When students are at these learning centers, she is up walking around to not only manage the classroom, but to question and encourage children. He will lead them through questioning to think deeper. She will point out problems and offer solutions. Students' creativity, problem solving skills, and confidence will soar. Instruction is individualized for each child's needs, therefore the teacher must not just create engaging activities for the majority of the class, but turn the same activities into enrichment for some yet be able to simplify it for those struggling with the concept (The key to DAP in the classroom is the teacher meeting children where they are--some setting the curve, some well-above the curve, and some not even hitting the chart.) The teacher will observe and informally assess students day in and day out. This is difficult. It takes a lot of hard work. The outcome is worth it. The teacher will know more about each child--their social, emotional, and academic levels--than ANY test score would ever share. 

I was SHOCKED to find these practices are not prevalent in the average early childhood classroom. I had lived in the perfect DAP bubble and thought it was unanimously accepted. POP. Teachers who believe wholeheartedly in DAP are thought of as crazy, behind the times, hindering their student's growth with trivial play time. That thinking could not be more wrong. As Fred Rogers said, "Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood."

I can already hear the doubters. "What do you know? You only taught for 3 years." 

Research proves this over and over (I've linked some of my favorite articles throughout. They should show up as bright green words). Although, I don't need science to convince myself of what is right. I saw the effects of inappropriate instruction every single day of my short-lived time in the classroom. Students cried because they did not want to come to school. They lacked imaginations and had no problem solving skills. The littles' and their parents' stress levels were over the top. They did not enjoy learning and what they did learn was not lasting--that is the saddest part of all. 

My first year I threw out the lesson plan when a student spotted a spider in the doorway on our way to recess. We studied spiders the rest of that day. I followed their lead often after that--incorporating their new interests into lesson plans and using their excitement to meet various standards. On the last day of school, most of them could read/write simple sentences, really KNEW most of their sight words, and recognized the numbers 1-20 (all perfectly acceptable for kindergarteners) despite my frequent breaks from the cultural norm. (They came to me on very different levels and left all further along than where we began.) That wasn't my favorite part, though. My favorite part was their excitement when they saw a spider and started rambling off facts about orb webs months later. Learning, true learning through DAP, is fun, yes, but most importantly--lasting. 

Some may say Oklahoma has the 3rd grade reading test and RSA laws because of ideas like mine or our country, as a whole, is behind countries like Finland because of these silly ideologies. I dare to say our problems began when we deviated from Developmentally Appropriate Practices. It is well passed time to return. 

Who's with me?! 

"Every child has a right to his fifth year of life, his fourth year, his third year. He has a right to live each year with joy and self-fulfillment. No one should ever claim the power to make a child mortgage his today for the sake of tomorrow."

Sole Purpose.

Valentine's Day marked six months into my first year of being a teacher (and when I first began typing this blog...time has gotten away from me, but decided today it needed to be shared); I am now ten days shy of nine months and the completion of my first year. I think I have experienced about all I can--the good, the bad, the fun, and the not so fun. I have learned thousands of lessons, reflected on many situations, made tons of decisions, and had several epiphanies on my purpose as an educator. One of those epiphanies has been stirring around my heart since the AHA! moment occurred. I would say it is my main purpose in the education field. Something so profound, if I recall it in every moment and practice it as my sole purpose each and every day, it will always keep me from simply being just "a teacher".

As early as Kindergarten, I remember being asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would simply respond, "A teacher." I could not give anyone a reason for my choice. I had no exact purpose behind the plan. No one in my family was in the education field. I had only been in school for less than a year, but that was what I desired to be. 

There were only three times I thought I was going to change my mind. The first time was in fourth grade. My cousin was graduating from high school and was headed to pharmacy school. I wanted to be exactly like him and someone said something about lots of money. When I found out about all the math and science in my future, I quickly ran back to "a teacher" (no one told me about those lovely elementary math courses at SWOSU).

In high school I deviated from the plan by saying I wanted to go into the medical field. I do not do blood. I do not do puke. I do not do snot. I do not do waste of any kind. (I know, I know. I will have to handle it one day in my classroom and in my own home; the Lord will have to give me the strength is all I can say). After passing out from watching a video of an incident I would potentially deal with in the medical field, I went back to the plan of being "a teacher."

I had a quarter life crisis in the middle of my college years. I changed my major for a whole two weeks to social work because I did not think being "a teacher" was enough. God, in His great faithfulness, put me back on track a couple of weeks before I found out my college was no longer offering a social work degree. That was the end of second-guessing my career choice. I had run out of time. I was going to be “a teacher.”

Looking back, even as far back as fourth grade, I chose another career that the world would deem more meaningful, more important, or more significant. Deep down, I knew that was an incorrect assumption. I knew being “a teacher” had an essential purpose—even if I could not adequately put it into words. After all, teachers do FAR more than just teach. I had seen it first hand. 

As a follower of Christ, I know I am called to ministry--no matter what occupation I have. My mission field happens to be an elementary school in rural Oklahoma. Of all things Christians possess to share and show to the world, the greatest is love.

Had my wedding been normal and not in the middle of a tornado, the familiar love passage would have probably been read. Although, this passage of scripture is not just for the husband and wife. It is for everyday life—including in my workplace, my classroom. (I will be the first to say I am the furthest from perfection in exhibiting this real love to my students. This post is for me more than anyone).

Love is patient and kind…even when I did not receive the amount of sleep I needed, a child is ruining my lesson plan, and the Kindergartener inside of me wants to call names back and throw a fit in the middle of the rug. 

Love does not envy or boast...even when my children failed that test and the teacher’s class next door rocked it, or when my children were perfect all morning. Chances are, it had NOTHING to do with me (and just wait until afternoon).

Love is not arrogant or rude…even when that whole day went just as expected or I have repeated myself one thousand times in the first two minutes.

Love does not insist on its own way…even when it would be easier to go on and pretend they all are listening and understand. I may just need to stop and listen.

Love is not irritable or resentful…even if this is the fifth time to say that kid’s name and it is only 8:20am. I must wipe the slate clean every second.

Love does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth…even when it is hard to discipline. I cannot leave a child where they are; I must teach them the right way.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

When a teacher shows this real love in the classroom, the children thrive. They know someone will fight for them, believe in them, wish the best for them, and never give up on them. The children will recognize the teacher will ALWAYS love them, even when they are no longer in that classroom.

During my undergraduate studies, a person in the education field tried to convince me that loving children is matter-of-factly not a reason to pursue a degree in education. My argument is when you mean the kind of love discussed in 1 Corinthians 13, there is absolutely no better reason to pursue a career as “a teacher.”

If I have the best classroom management skills, perfectly elaborate and efficient lesson plans, the highest test scores, and countless professional development hours but have not love, I am nothing. My students and I gain nothing. Love is a teacher’s sole purpose.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends." 

1 Corinthians 13:1-8.

Wild About You!

Ryan and I have been going nonstop as of late. As much as I have loved the holidays and all that comes with the break, I was close to being exhausted of the continual traveling and lack of normalcy. I missed having my husband to myself. I missed my bed. I missed my dog being able to be free all the time. I missed my routine. I missed my Kinders.

Towards the end of last week, Ryan came down with one of the many somethings going around. All weekend, I took care of him (trying to not get it at the same time). I needed to prepare things for Monday. Even though, I had tried my best to leave my classroom ready for me to walk in the door and be back into our routine we have worked hard to master since August. Every time I sat down to get my last minute things together, as I would on typical Sunday evenings, Ryan would need me (Which I am not complaining about. I love my husband. I hate when he is sick. I try my best to shorten the sickness by helping and serving him). In the midst of the ups and downs, I forgot to make a mental note of books to read to my littles on Monday morning.

I read to my kids often. Personally, I believe it is the single best thing I can do for them, aside from telling and showing them I love them. I read to my students several times a day, and I try to be intentional with the books I read aloud. I try to pick books on topics that my students have shown interest in, books that are apart of our theme, or character building books to have mini lessons with. Sure, sometimes I let my kids pick or I reach back in the drawer and grab whatever catches my eye, but usually, I am intentional. Not today. Nope. That part of my day had completely slipped my mind during the chaos.

There we all are, about to begin Daily 5, on the first day back from a two-week Christmas break, trying to remain in routine as best as possible, and Mrs. Russ forgets to pick a book to read. Way to go, Russ, way to go. I try to not panic and begin to slowly search the rug for the books my students have found to read for the day.

Aha! Wild About You! is sitting in a little’s lap with zebras, giraffes, and monkeys present in the illustrations. "That book goes with our classroom theme," I thought, "making it not completely random." I did what anybody would do in the same situation, I asked the child if I could read it to the class. He gave me the okay, and I took a big sigh of a relief. Those few seconds were too close to ruining my otherwise normally flowing morning. (Side note to my teacher friends that are still reading this: 99.9% of the time I follow the teacher law that demands reading books BEFORE reading them aloud to the class. I know I broke the law this time. I know, and I am sorry. I hope it does not happen again, but it honestly might. I am a first year teacher. It still is all a little hectic).

I open the book and begin reading… Instantly, I am reading about a zoo, a zoo full of babies; every animal has a baby, except for the pandas and the tree kangaroos (whatever those are). The pandas and tree kangaroos are upset because they have not been blessed with a baby. That is, until the zoo gets in an egg that nobody wants. Every bird in the zoo rejects the egg. The tree kangaroos step up. They adopt the egg, watch it hatch into a penguin, and love her completely. They need help, though; they do not have the slightest clue about raising a penguin. The rest of their animal friends jump in to lend a hand.

Later on in our children’s book, the pandas adopt a few kittens. They, too, end up confused and troubled on how to adequately raise a baby that is not at all like them. Again, the zoo friends step up and help them out. After all, it takes a whole zoo to help raise a baby (Or is that how that saying goes?).

Adoption. I, unknowingly, picked a book about adoption, something extremely near and dear to my heart. (Another side note: Usually, I turn into a crybaby reading about adoption. I was in full Mrs. Russ mode. Mrs. Russ cannot cry because then all my Kinders would cry, and we would get nothing accomplished. I chose to hold it together). 

On the way home, I let what seemed to be such a minuscule moment turn into the monumental occurrence that it absolutely happened to be. I have been convicted lately of keeping times like these minuscule, chalking it up to coincidence (like it could just randomly happen or something), not giving praise to the One who is majestically monumental. God sovereignly orchestrates these occurrences for me to slow down, remember why I am even where I happen to be, and praise Him. In these sweet, kind, "small" moments, God reminds me of these enormous, awe-inspiring truths: He is in control. He is sovereign. He sees me. He knows me. He cares for me. He loves me. He is "wild about me." 

I did not really take on a New Year’s resolution, because His mercies are new every single morning, not just on January 1st of each year. Although, after this morning, I resolve to allow the minuscule to become monumental each day, to see His hand in the mundane and the craziness, and to give Him the praise He rightfully deserves even when the instance may seem insignificant. I challenge you to do the same. 

P.S. If you would like to add the book I referenced to your children’s library (parents, teachers, or people of any sort), you can find it here.

Sleep and Sunrise.

My mother has always said that I require more sleep than the average human being. She has told me countless times that I am the person who keeps the average number of hours needed up to eight. Growing up, if I did not get my much needed rest, I would be sick in a matter of days, inevitably. It has been a way of life. I get this from my dad, who is the only farmer I know that would not get out of bed until after 8:00am.

This being said, I hate waking up, especially early. I am NOT a morning person. I just do not care for mornings. They have been my least favorite part of the day all of my life. My mom had to work extra hard to wake me up when I lived at home, and Ryan can attest to my cries of agony every morning when my alarm goes off. Mornings…they are just for the birds.

You could understand the horror when I realized how early I would have to get up to get to work this fall. School starts early. I live an hour away. I am a lady; it takes me an hour to get ready and out the door. Yikes. That is early. And that realization hit me about August 1. I began to panic. HOW ON EARTH WILL I SURVIVE WAKING UP AT 5:30AM?!?! I only know of one 5:30 during a 24-hour period. I was positive there just could not be another. And I was wrong.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. I begin to sob. Ryan tries to tell me something about mornings being great and I drag myself to the bathroom to get ready. An hour later I am getting into my car, bags and purse in hand that I had purposefully packed the night before because I knew I would not know what was what at 5:30am. I begin to drive…in the dark. That is another of my not-so-favorite things: leaving the house before the sun comes up. It should be against the law. It is technically not “day” time until the sun shows up, but unfortunately, no one asked me.

Once I get going, I realize I am much more awake than I expected (thanks to my morning Mountain Dew), but I am still super cranky about this whole driving in the dark thing. I grumble, complain, and whine to myself for about thirty minutes. As I drive passed this small community, I look off in the distance. It is by far one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. It is a sunrise. 

Before you laugh, I can honestly tell you before this day, I had seen less than a handful of sunrises and I can assure you they did not have this same effect on me.

My breath was taken away. The grumbling, the complaining, and the whining instantly stopped, and I became filled with awe of the Creator of the sunrise. Many scriptures began to flood my mind:

"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above declares his handiwork." Psalm 19:1.

"From the rising of the sun to its setting, the name of the LORD is to be praised." Psalm 113:3.

"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:22-23.

All in an instant, my outlook of these early mornings changed. Since then, I hop out of bed (most days), and I race out the door to find a different viewpoint for this daily display of God's splendor. I start to smile as I can see the sun peeking above the horizon. For me, it has been the most tangible way to feel his new mercies every morning. Every single sunrise, I am reminded how God cares about the small things. He showed me just how amazing early mornings can be. He did not have to bring my attention to the beauty of His creation, but He did. He never stops wooing us, even after years of knowing Him. He is beautiful, my friends. 

Even in the simple, silly, mundane, everyday, sleep-and-sunrise-type-of-things, He is beautiful. He is faithful. He is merciful.

"Great is Thy faithfulness," O God my Father, there is no shadow of turning with Thee; Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not, as Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest, sun moon, and stars in their courses above, join with all nature in manifold witness to Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth, Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide; strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside.

"Great is Thy faithfulness!" "Great is Thy faithfulness!" Morning by morning new mercies I see; all I have needed Thy hand hath provided-- "Great is Thy faithfulness," Lord, unto me!

Teach.

Last week I attended the Oklahoma State Department of Education’s Vision 2020 Conference: Stepping Up. It was a refreshing week of professional development, where I learned a few more things before I begin my entry year of teaching. While I was there, I ran into two of my high school teachers/coaches. We reminisced of the days when I was their student, which welcomed a time of reflection the next couple of days of my entire educational experience and all my previous educators.

As an education major, I was always given a hard time that my major was a blow-off, easy, and pointless choice. People always joked with me that all I did was color and play in my early childhood courses. I was never given a coloring sheet as an assignment and playing is not just playing—it is how young children learn. Nevertheless, what bothered/bothers me most to hear is the ignorant quote: “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.” What ignorance! I know there are a few teachers out there who we can thank for such a stereotype. I was a student of some. The number of good educators I encountered outweighed the number of poor ones greatly, though.

So, this post is for those educators of excellence I had the honor and privilege to learn from—the ones that I will strive to be like through my career, the ones who could have done anything, but CHOSE to teach, and the ones who LOVE to teach. They do so much more than we realize.

(DISCLAIMER: This blog is approximately 18 years in the making; I know I will forget lessons and stories about some of the most amazing teachers. If I wrote about every one, this would be considered a book.)

Teachers teach.

In kindergarten, I learned the importance of hand washing thanks to my teacher who had us place our dirty, playground hands into slices of bread that we hid away for a few days. When we pulled them out, I will never forget what I saw. GROSS! To this day, I am extremely conscious about germs and regularly washing my hands. My kindergarten teacher also receives the credit for teaching me the difference between the words “but” and “butt.” I am sure she would be happy to know I still laugh about that week of sight words. It was a life-changing lesson that is for sure.

A teacher I had in seventh grade had us keep a lexicon journal. We learned a new word every day. I still use several of the words today, including “parched.” She developed my love of language and my vocabulary by the lexicons, but I would have to say that those were not the most important lessons she shared. No, the most important ones were the life lessons she gave throughout knowing her—whether in her classroom or driver’s education. One lesson I regularly think about was a lesson on being comfortable with silence. As a person who enjoys talking, I realized on that day that it is okay to be quiet. It is okay to be comfortable in silence with the person I am with. (My husband probably greatly appreciates that I was taught this lesson then).

Teachers encourage.

As a second grader, I decided I liked to write. During my free time at school, I would jot short stories down in my notebook. Most of them were addressed to my teacher. I would take each one up to her to read. She had twenty other children to tend to, a ton of tasks to be completed, and a tray of papers that actually had to be graded, but she read them. She wrote little notes back to me about each one. Her little notes of encouragement perhaps are the reason I still enjoy writing today and have this blog.

I had a coach early on in high school that had an interesting way of encouraging me. I ran track for him and his love for track and field was contagious. I had never enjoyed running “for no reason” prior to knowing him. During practice, he would time my races and record my long jumps. He would always shed two seconds from my run time and nearly add a foot to my distance. Two seconds is a huge difference in the 200 meter dash and twelve inches is a monumental difference in a long jump. The crazy thing is, I believed him. I thought I was as fast as he said and jumped as far as he said. I noticed the discrepancy at actual meets later on, but by that time, I had realized his tactic had given me much needed self-confidence in a land of girls with very long legs. I was a regional champion in long jump as a freshman thanks to him.

Teachers broaden horizons.

English classes had always come easily to me and became my favorite subject early on. I thought since I loved English, I was supposed to hate Math. I came into my Geometry class with a poor attitude towards Math. After having the teacher I did for Geometry, Algebra II, and Trigonometry, I began to like it. He was a quirky Math teacher who was not afraid to answer my one million and one questions and explain just why I needed to know this for my daily life. Even though I cannot remember any of the reasons now, I know he believed in what he was teaching me, which made me much more apt to listen.

Another teacher throughout high school took it upon himself to teach me anything and everything about the agriculture world. As a farmer’s daughter, I only thought I knew a lot. He definitely expanded my horizons by teaching me several lessons I would have never learned from anyone else. I can recognize different breeds of pigs, sheep, and cattle. I still recite the FFA Creed on occasion and know how to weld without burning my bangs off my head.

Teachers love.

My first grade teacher went through a not so fun experience with me while I was in her class. From the week before spring break to the last day of school that year, I made myself sick every single morning so that I may not have to stay at school. Instead of letting me leave every day, she gave me a can of Sprite and a packet of crackers and would hold my hand in moments of fear to keep me there. She would not let one poor teacher ruin my entire experience. I am forever grateful for the love she showed. If not for her, I would probably not have liked school for the remainder of my time and definitely would not have been inclined to choose the profession I have.

Although I learned many, many things from my fourth grade teacher (like the 50 states and capitals that I still know today thanks to her jingles), I remember her love the most. She greeted each student outside her door every morning with a hug or handshake. She created personal “happy birthday” songs for each of her students. (Mine included a line about dodo birds!) Oh! And she had the most creative way of getting rid of the hiccups... She was absolutely outstanding!

Teachers care.

Coaches often come and go rather quickly in small schools. My first two years of high school basketball, my team won one game. It was not fun. I dreaded game days. I dreaded practices after losing by fifty points. I dreaded another season of the same ol’, same ol’. Well into the summer before my junior year, we did not have a coach. Who would want to take on this challenge? One guy did. He asked for my team—my team of misfits. It was not Burger King; we could NOT have it our way, but his care to take the challenge of coaching us was inspiring to me. After all, he asked for us. He wanted to coach us. He was not made to do it. My senior year we made it to the regional tournament for the first time in over a decade all because he chose to care.

In college, I took a general education course where the professor had multiple sections with over sixty students in each. She made it her goal to get to know every one of her students’ names. I was a non-major who, even after years of exposure, did not care for the content area she taught; that did not matter. I enjoyed going to her class because I knew she cared about me as a person. After the semester I had her in class, she would still stop me across campus, calling me by name, having meaningful conversations about life. At graduation, as I was walking off the stage from receiving my diploma, she called me by name. She gave me a congratulatory hug and told me how proud she was of me. She cared.

Teachers prepare their students for the real world.

I had the same science teacher all four years of high school. He was a great teacher that helped me actually understand science by his intriguing stories. Having him four years in a row, we heard the same stories on the same topics each year. By our senior year, all of us students would just giggle uncontrollably each time we heard a familiar line. He is the high school teacher that prepared me for college the most. He formatted his lectures in the exact same way most of my college courses did. Thanks to him, I knew what to expect.

I was a one-girl track team the majority of high school. Not many people want to work with just one person. One coach did. And although I thought he was unfair and mean when he told me I had to work out twice a day (athletic hour and after school), it made me better. I contemplated quitting every time he made me do the same workout as the boys and I would get smoked, but it made me better. He taught me how to push limits that I had placed on myself. He taught me how to persevere, even when I did not want to.

Teachers become friends.

Administrators can make or break a school. I would say the best administrators involve themselves in their students’ lives. I had a superintendent that left his door open. Anyone could waltz in when he was not busy, have some candy, and talk about anything. We talked about the day, the weather, the news, the game the night before, my family, life’s big decisions, etc. He became a part of my family. I literally call him “Uncle.” He calls and leaves me a voicemail every year on my birthday and I call him to help me make decisions.

Some teachers I was not able to have in class, but I still developed a relationship with. They would spend their lunchtimes or planning periods just listening to me ramble on and on about my life. In junior high, any thing that happens feels like the end of the world. They did not push me or any of my peers away. They just listened. They were friends.

Teachers go above and beyond.

One day in junior high, I was wandering the halls, trying to remain the invisible 7^th grader that I was when tons of freshmen started to approach me. “Why did you scratch our English teacher?” they asked. “Um, uh, uh…I didn’t. I have no idea what you are talking about,” I managed to stammer out. Soon after, I hear a voice calling me to her door. “I am so sorry for the confusion, I forgot to tell my class that I have a cat named Madison.” Instant connection. We bonded immediately. I had her for three classes during high school. She attended every sporting event she could of her students to take pictures for the yearbook; she even caught a shot of me crossing the finish line at a track meet that proved I deserved the gold medal instead of the silver. I graduated. She retired. We still keep in touch. She has not missed celebrating any of my special moments. I receive the sweetest cards and gifts upon every special occasion. There is nothing that says she has to do that, yet she still does.

I can easily say that every teacher I had changed my life. They each taught me a lesson that I still can recall to this day or a skill that I still use. One professor in college became my mentor. She is a genius of early childhood education. She has taught me more than she will ever know. I often find myself thinking “WWCD?” when I cannot figure out exactly what to do for my classroom. I can call her, text her, run into her at the store and she will just share her experiences and wisdom with me. I want to be just like her. I really do.

These are only a few lessons I learned and stories of some of the most superior teachers on the planet! They do not receive the credit they deserve. I am PROUD to be entering into the greatest profession possible. I hope to teach, inspire, encourage, and love my students the way my teachers demonstrated to me.

I could have been a brain surgeon.

How do I know?

A teacher told me I could.

I will change the world by being a teacher.

How do I know?

A teacher showed me I could.

Just a Teacher...

I heard you say the other day,

“Oh, you’re just a teacher anyway.

You laugh and play your day away.

You’re free at three, have your summers off.”

You snickered softly and even scoffed.

I’m sad to say, that you just don’t see,

What being a teacher means to me.

Sure, I laugh and play my day away…

Because learning is fun and that’s just my way.

If I were free at three and had my summers off,

I’d too snicker softly and even scoff…

Unfortunately my paycheck does, but I do not.

But you see Good Sir, Ma’am, Madam, or Miss

Being just a teacher is much more than this.

I just teach your child to read and write,

To just explore and question,

To just think and be bright.

I just dry their tears when they’re having a bad day.

I’m just there for them in each and every way.

Your most precious asset just deserves a lot.

And being just a teacher, I am not.

I dare you to just take a closer look.

For being just a teacher doesn’t come in a book.

It comes from the heart and it’s a passion, you see.

So, being JUST a teacher is fine by me!