There was absolutely no doubt that when I left teaching first grade the last time, I was done. My last class of first graders had 23 students including a chronic pants wetter, a student that missed 43 days, and two children that thrived on chaos and tormenting their classmates. And of course I didn't have an aide, what kind of silly question is that. What I did have was a mom who when confronted with the fact that her child had wrapped a rope around another student's neck and drug him around the playground, asked me, "Well, are you sure they weren't playing?" I had a student that would pee in her pants and then stand up to slap the urine that was sitting in the chair so it splashed. I had boys who pissed up the wall, and girls who were shitting in the sink. I had an administrator who provided zero support and sexually harassed me. Thankfully, I didn't have one of the twins belonging to the woman occupying my husband's time, but I had exactly zero fucks left to give about EVER teaching first grade again. Life is funny that way...letting you think you packed up and moved on to greener pastures. That teaching experience was a decade ago. Since then, I've come to realize, I really LOVE teaching six year olds. Now, let's not get carried away and think I love every single thing about it. Booger eating makes me gag...even to talk about it. 🤢 There are days the noise really gets to me, and I do not allow shrieking...EVER. Whining has never won my heart. I am sure my own children would attest to that. I dislike slobbery anything, especially clothes, and honestly parents Velcro or GTFO. But here I am teaching first grade again. First graders aren't that different than before. They are wild and unbridled in their zest for life. They revel in singing and dancing. Their spirits and curiosity knows no bounds. And yes, they misbehave. They hit and touch and slap and have to be told 5000 times to line up. They are all that is possible in the world folks. When you look at them, you can see glimpses of the person they are becoming. It is a magical time in their lives. Over the course of first grade they will transform...but they will probably still be picking their noses. I was facing real burnout when I came to Norway, and I was actually only hoping that teaching littles would be a way to fall back in love with teaching or at least learn a little about myself. Then it really happened. I DID fall back in love with teaching, and I DID learn that I was a completely different person than when I taught first grade before. This year as I start my second year back with the little ones, I realize I am still just as tickled to be their teacher. There really is nothing much more adorable than a group of six year olds chanting, "Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin!" Unless it is the way they react when they see you, the pointing and running to greet you. The parents share how happy the kids are as well. I had one mom tell me when she asked who his teacher was he said, "The beautiful one." Just so you know, that Norwegian honesty cuts both ways. I had a parent tell me they had only dared to hope that their daughter wouldn't be terrified of me, so they are over the moon that she really and truly enjoys going to school. This new group already has my heart, though. I'm loving that I can understand so much more of what they say, but it is even beyond that. I learned so much more about that connection between a student and teacher that going beyond words last year. It is their passion and curiosity. It is their ability to be true to themselves. It is the wonder in their faces. It is that chance to be their cheerleader that keeps me falling in love with my job. These are my ripples. I've done this a dozen years before, but I don't think I have appreciated the full consequences or given it the weight it deserved. What an awesome and tremendously humbling bit of knowledge. My impact on these fifteen little lives is going to reverberate into the world. So tomorrow, we will dance, sing, explore, and love life a little more together because that is what being six is all about.
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These last couple of weeks, I have had a few conversations about age and accomplishments. If you look through Tony's and my camera rolls, you'd think I was six. The tiniest things amuse me, and often I cannot contain my excitement at sites. Immaturity reigns at times, and I love a good laugh. Dirt is a consistent companion, and I am always up for a wrong turn. The worst that will happen is that I have to turn around. But it took me a long time to get to this point. For so long, I wrapped and twisted myself into the shape society accepted...or at least I tried. At times it seemed like I was in a hurry to complete the "checklist". Married...check. Kids...check. It never dawned on me that I could have my own timeline let alone that I didn't HAVE to check all of the boxes. Parts of my life have been lived at both ends of the achievement spectrum. I was early on some major events, but late on others. Anyone that knows me knows that I very much believe everything in my life prepared me for now. Doesn't mean I think it is always easy to accept this, or that occasionally I don't consider past events with twinges of regret. It does mean that I attempt to fully appreciate what I have and what led me here. I mean, here I am living my best life, in Norway, and in my first truly healthy romantic relationship...at 46. I'm not sure when we become convinced these arbitrary age limits dictate when to be married and when to have children and when we should have a career chosen, but I wish we could live with more grace. Apparently everyone has this idea of when we are too old to order happy meals (fucking never) and when we are too old to wear pajamas with feet (again, never!). There seems to be an age limit attached to every major life event. I get it. I've felt the pressure of "if I don't _____ by this age I should give up" or "finding love at ___. You missed your chance." You know we even begin to push these limits as soon as a child is born. Are they lifting their head? Sitting? Crawling? Walking? Talking? While some of it makes sense from a developmental viewpoint, do we all really need to be writing our own name by five in order to be successful in life? This is really something I have spent a lot of time thinking on after living in cultures with very different views of a life timeline. In the US, the pace of life is sooo much faster. Amazon delivers overnight, and we've all fallen into that expectant behavior that we can have our needs met immediately. Why wait do it now! Sometimes I think this attitude follows us into life choices. Why wait for the perfect spouse? Get married now. Who cares if you don't want to be a teacher in five years? College is during high school, so you better choose now! Fact of the matter is, we don't live in a time when mid life is 15. We can afford to wait a bit. Probably the biggest let down to adulthood is how much you naively anticipated the freedom to never have time to nap, to always have bills due, and to go to work...every. damned. day.
In schools this is so much more evident. Almost as soon as a student enters the doors, states mandate learning outcomes and milestones to be reached sometimes in opposition to established developmental milestones. Students are tested, assessed, remediated, reassessed, and wrung dry of creativity and enthusiasm for learning. Many are left thinking it is a system to be dealt with instead of a journey of discovery. From a teacher's perspective, this is sad. In Norway, the focus for young children is independence, problem solving, and self sufficiency. Quite honestly, I'll take a kid that can pack his crap at the end of the day over a kid that can list the presidents in order. HA! Besides, Norwegian students narrow the chasm and in many cases, even surpass American students by the end of formal schooling. This mirrors life. There isn't such a rush to marriage with some people even entering their thirties unwed. It isn't uncommon for couples to be well established before deciding whether to have children, and Amazon doesn't overnight ship here. So see, there isn't just one right way. Really, life has a funny way of working out and going on with, and even without, us. It is rarely easy but always a personal journey for sure. Where does this leave us? Well, here are my final thoughts. I have more regret for chances I didn't take than ones I did. Don't give up on dreams and hopes. Nothing gets easier by ignoring and accepting. Give yourself grace and space to flail and fly. Love yourself on purpose. You are worth it. The beginning of the school year is much like giving birth in that you know it is hard and you will struggle, but you've forgotten enough of the pain and finer details to convince you to attempt it again. Added to that this year is the reality of COVID measures. So I sit here having survived that week and having watched the weekend dissipate like fog in the morning sun waiting for week two and all that comes with that. I've got this...I think..but holy shit I am tired. Writing is much more difficult when my mind is here, but really, writing has been difficult much of the summer for myriad reasons.
Lately I have noticed that I struggle to keep myself in check with my opinions because I differ so much from many important people in my life that it spirals quickly out of control when conversations are attempted. Thank goodness I adore my oldest because he tries my patience like no other when we discuss issues. Kudos to him for being bold and forming his own opinions even if he was raised by a liberal asshole. In reality, even scrolling Facebook takes a tremendous emotional toll as I read the thinking of people in my feed. This is true to the point I consider breaking from social media regularly even though it is my only means of connecting with some people while living overseas. That's rough folks. So today I decided I am going to explain the why behind some of my beliefs and values. This is maybe the harder conversation to have because so much of this I guard with the ferocity of Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades. I dislike sharing this about myself because inevitably, there is pity or the off handed "emotional plea is not debate" comment, but here goes. At the core, I am guided by a compulsive need to love and accept people for where and who they are. Believe me, I know people will take advantage of that. It is human nature, but by far, more people want to do right than to abuse that. Any social program will be gamed. Kind people will be seen as gullible and taken advantage of, but that isn't the rule. It is the exception. I will never regret helping someone and being taken advantage of, but I would carry deep sorrow to know it was within my power to help and I ignored a need. I can also tell you exactly where this comes from. Growing up, we were poor. Not the "I had no idea how poor we were" poor, the "drink a glass of water to fill up if you are still hungry" poor. My clothes were handmade or hand me downs, and they were not washed often enough. My sisters and I bathed together to save water for far too long, and I did not have access to personal care items for proper hygiene. Getting my period was a nightmare because I was well aware that I needed to take care of that and also that we didn't have extra money to care for things like that. My family was also extremely racist, and I grew up with an understanding of "my place" and who I could or could not be friends with. Racist language was normalized and is deep seated in my vocabulary and memories. It has taken and continues to take much work to have these attitudes in check. Unfortunately in looking back, I did not learn enough early enough to impact my children to the degree I wish I had. Plus it didn't stop at racism. There was a negative attitude toward anyone that was different including sexuality and class. My gay uncle was considered a blight on the family, and of course, since we were poor, we were considered less than in the eyes of some of the more successful members. I'm brushing broad strokes here, there were of course strong men and women in my family and friends groups that helped me see outside the box I was being raised inside. The biggest point to take from this is that the victimization I experienced and witnessed impacted me on a deep level. I am highly empathetic and sensitive. I have always and will always be completely in tune with people's feelings and actions. That is Survival 101 when you are raised in an abusive family and marry into the same cycle. Your safety and well being are completely dependent upon your ability to read those things quickly and correctly. Anyone who has ever lived this and recovered to a healthy level knows that the very last thing you want is for anyone else to have to experience what has shaped you. THAT. Let me say it again for those in the back...anyone who has ever lived this AND recovered to a healthy level knows that the very last thing you want is for anyone else to have to experience what has shaped you. Under everything we share our humanity, and I truly believe there is greatness in all people if they are given the opportunity to discover and handle it. That is how I teach. I look at each student and help them to imagine all they can be and become. I love them for every little quirk that makes them, them. That discovery of self and connection to others is invaluable, especially now in light of how global our civilization has become. Not to mention I teach in an international community. The idea that there is one god, one ideology, or one superior language is just nonsense. We celebrate our diversity and seek to understand how we can enhance ourselves through that discovery. It crushes me to see people compare trauma like it is a goddamn contest to be won. My blood boils when I see absolutes applied to thinking. The selfishness I see daily is appalling, and disappointment abounds when I read something cruel come from the mind, fingers, or mouth of someone I see as a level headed compassionate person. Before you say that I could stop scrolling Facebook, I am as aware of this as I am that people could also stop posting and perpetuating the nonsense going on. There is already plenty of scrolling on and ignoring these days when I scroll. But I have a friend that always asked me, "What are you doing about it?" Sometimes that stuck in my craw because I had no real answer. How can I possibly impact global issues in a meaningful way? But here's my answer. I raised two of my own children that are one or two steps away from cyclical abuse and poverty. For thirteen years, I have guided groups of children to choose love and celebration of each other over negativity and divisiveness. I continue to examine my own views and values to keep myself in check and growing instead of stagnant. I encourage adults to look within while holding them to high standards. Most importantly, I dream, imagine, and hope for a better world. In the meantime, I will go back to my classroom and celebrate the wonder of six year olds and their endless view of the possibilities. They will tackle tough issues with compassion and a wide view with many angles. They will explore, learn, and prepare to inherit and lead. And they will be the bright spots I cling to when my mind has had enough of what is out there. and I would ride 500 more. This past weekend, tablet and calculator in hand, Tony and I discovered that we have ridden over 2500 km (1550 mi) together on the motorcycle. As you can see by the map screenshot, that is enough to travel the entire length of Norway. So of course I was curious how much more I have traveled in Norway.
I mean I have ridden with friends, driven myself, taken trains, and walked. I have to admit the thought of how many kilometers of walking made me giggle. How much can a person possibly walk in a year anyway, right? Imagine my surprise to have almost matched the kilometers on the bike with 2300! This week, I am racking up the mileage on my brain. The new job has a pretty steep learning curve, and I am quite sure I have thought enough thoughts to power a television through a regulation hockey game by now. And don't even ask me about the Blues. While I am happy hockey is having an abbreviated playoff, my boys are not doing me proud right now. Even though COVID has that part of the year thrown off, not everything is off track. It is August, so that means a new school year. This time of year, I often find myself reflecting on how I spent my summer and dreaming of all the possibilities for the new group of students. This year promises to be challenging with COVID, my new role and responsibilities at school, and balancing more personal life in the mix, but I am ready for it. That isn't to say I am 100% confident just that I know by now that I can handle what life tosses to me. I'll fail. I'll succeed. Most importantly, I'll keep going and learning. As hard as it is to believe, just one year ago I embarked on a different adventure. This is becoming a theme, maybe even a lifestyle. But, the thinking drags my mind a Kid President video (click to watch...totally worth it) my fifth grade team used to inspire the kids to take risks in their learning and journeys. We had fantastic results inspiring the kids in this way. There is one girl in particular, Laura, who wrote me a letter about having the courage to have a clean slate in sixth grade and to start over with no limits. Watching her find her courage, her tribe, and her confidence changed me. Even though she doesn't know, she planted a seed that sprouted in my mind and blossomed into a wild, vining desire to have that kind of conviction when facing the world. It simply took a couple of years to grow to a level of stifled and restless that could not be ignored. Typically teachers are left waving goodbye as their kids walk away to their next destination, but this time I was the one looking back to wave and say see you later. That view was foreign and uncomfortable. I have never looked back to reflect in a meaningful way while making such a huge transition myself. Sure things have changed in my life before, that is the nature of being human, but many times it is all too easy to passively absorb forward motion in life. In times of uncertainty and facing unknowns, it is normal to cling to what we have known and what has been successful. Unfortunately, I was in short supply of successful outcomes to inspire my actions this time, but still looking back maybe that was for the best. At first when I glanced back on my road, I know it was with trepidation and wondering if had I chosen correctly. At times it was looking back and longing for what was known and comfortable. Now it is amazement at how far I have come. I am still surprising myself with the achievements, the choices, and the terrain I have navigated. Let's be real, it hasn't been a smooth path. I have climbed and stumbled. There were nights I cried myself to sleep from missing my kids or from being overwhelmed with it all. Friends fell out along the way, but I have made new ones as well. Immigration paperwork left me mired waist deep, and COVID left some deep scratches and scars. Definitely got lost a few times and had to double back, but never alone and never for long. I simply had not idea what to expect when I came here, and honestly didn't want to limit my experience with my expectations. But now, I know what equipment to pack and the company I want to keep even if I don't know my final destination. Maybe the best part of all of it is that now I do carry expectations again. I have bigger goals to chase and I think I have a good start on my five year plan again. Soon I will be bound down with work and tedium, but what a wonderful summer and first year I have had here. I love that I can look back on these posts and see my thinking and growth as well. So once upon a time, I DID take the road less traveled and it HAS made all the difference. There is one thing for sure, though, I am not done exploring. Not done with Norway, not done with learning, and not done with Nellie. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep." This week, I am really at a loss for a topic that I can write passionately and honestly enough about without burrowing under people's skin. So I have decided to share with you a couple of anecdotes I have collected from teaching over the years. This should get me good and geared up for the coming school year.
Some of you may not know this, but I began helping in two kindergarten classrooms the year Brendon started kindergarten. I was basically a full time aide, and the kids thought of me as a third teacher. It was there I learned that children will tell you every. thing. Like the child that asked me did I dye my hair like his mom to cover all the "hideous gray hair". And they have hilariously awesome perspectives of how the world works like the child that told me he was going to tell his dad I was bad because his dad was older than me. Kindergarten and first grade are absolute gold mines of comedic relief. I once had a student that crawled around the floor picking up pieces of glitter and eating it. In those moments, you also realize how bad your habit for saying, "What in the actual fuck?" really is. I looked at him and I said, "What in the....heck are you doing down there? You cannot eat glitter from the floor." Sigh...and honestly, that might be one of the tamest reminders I have had to give students. "Don't pick your nose and eat it. Don't wipe your boogers on ______. Don't lick _____. You cannot take your penis out at school. No, you must go inside to pee even if mom lets you pee on trees. You cannot poop in the sink." I think you get where I am going with this. Imagine anything you have heard a parent say to a kid. Now think about how teachers have this collaborative learning group of 15-30 little brains working together for these crazy ideas. So here are a few of my favorite stories in no particular order. One creative genius managed to lure sixteen...SIX. TEEN. of his classmates to the coat area (hidden by bookshelves) and used his show and tell shark to bite their finger. Once you pushed the shark fin, the mouth would close, so the harder you push the fin, the harder the shark bit. By the time one of the little darlings finally tattled, I could still see the bite marks on four fingers! One student taught me a big lesson in a simple answer. A district curricular assessment required students to explain the purpose of a fireman, policeman, and postman. When I asked one boy what a postman was he replied, "Well, when you're building a fence, he lays the posts on the ground so the holes are dug in the right place." Perspective and normal can be situational, and to be fair, we call them mailman in that part of Kansas. I also had another challenging student that decided on the day the principle gave a speech about teacher appreciation that she would put me in my place. After a meltdown, I was carrying her to a safe place and she said, "You are an asshole, and I do not appreciate you." Girl, I feel you. We teachers do have high expectations. When I taught first grade, I had a boys and girls restroom in my classroom. Things got so bad that the custodians played rock, paper, scissors to decide who had to answer clean up calls, and one custodian even showed up at my classroom door with a magazine under his arm, knocked on the door, and said, "I hear this is THE place to poop." One year I had boys that taught me pissing contest really means "let's see who can pee up the wall the farthest." I had several students that I could not convince to flush the TP after wiping. The sink was clogged on multiple occasions, and the coat area was coated in urine, twice. I even had a girl poop in the sink. Speaking of poop, one recess in first grade, a student comes to me and says there is poop in the slipper slide. Now, we aren't talking one of those metal straight down slides. I mean the tube type slide with the curve about halfway down. I call the office and they send out the 65 year old custodian. Come on! So I take the rag and spray bottle and climb up the ladder. Cleaning is going well once I finally figure out how to wedge myself effectively into the slide. Once I have the poop cleaned up, I let myself slide down. I only see the huge pile of poop right before I slide through it. I climb up from the bottom of the slide to clean it..again...then bend over the slide so another teacher can get most of the poop off of my jeans. I live 15 miles in the country, and I don't have extra clothes at work. So with my hastily cleaned butt, the stench of crap, and a jacket tied around my waist, I finished my day so I could rush home to shower. It isn't only the little kids that traumatize a teacher with poop stories. One day in fifth grade I was walking in from recess on a particularly muddy day. Kids were not wiping their shoes, and the hallway was just a wreck. I leaned down to grab one large chunk of mud before it could get smeared all over the floor necessitating a call to the custodians. Let me just remind you how obvious the smell of feces really is. Yup, it happened. I grabbed a chunk of shit straight off the floor. By the way, moral of the story is always use gloves. I used this lesson the day there was a ball of poop on my floor in math class. All of the sudden kids started yelling and I could see the abandoned epicenter of the classroom. I assumed a fart and was a little cranky when I told them to quiet down and get back to work. One brave soul came to tell me in a voice barely above a whisper that there was a "poopball" on the floor. You have got to be shitting me, right? (couldn't resist) I walk over and sure enough, there is poop on the floor. Y'all they do not have Poop in the Classroom 101 in college. All this poop talk reminds me of teaching my sixth grade students about spices from the silk road. I brought spices to class so they could smell and in some cases taste. It makes learning more authentic. There were several spices spilled in the class that day, but by far the anise smelled the worst and lingered the longest. The next day, you could still smell it. One student walked in and said, "Ms. Hill, I can still smell the anus in here." At that same school, we shared detention duty. This can be tough if you don't know the students, and I had a couple of days in particular that didn't go so well. There was a girl who was assigned detention because she didn't do her homework, so I was doing my best to get her to sit down and get it done. While she was at my desk, she got so frustrated that she stabbed her pencil into my leg. I wasn't hurt, but I spoke with her SPED teacher about her frustration and was told after the fact that she shouldn't be pushed too far. The next day when she returned to detention, she motioned me to lean in close to her. I was about half afraid she was going to bite me or something, but I leaned in anyway. She whispered in my ear, "I have to apologize because Mr. B says so. I'm sorry you made me stab you with my pencil." Those pants went to Goodwill with a pencil mark that never did wash out. My list of stories inspiring, funny, sad, memorable, or a combination of emotions could go on to fill a book. I aspire to be a teacher that can see the positive in all of her experiences, and I can truly say I have learned so much from these experiences and small people. As you are gearing up for your next year, what students and stories come to your mind? |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
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