Another One Bites the Dust

photo Pixabay CC/NA

It had been a terrible mix of freezing rain, sleet, snow, and rain all day. When I stepped out in the morning, the sleet felt like little stinging needles on my cheeks. Coming down hard early,  it never let up, just changed form. From sleet to shower-glass like coating of ice, to pouring down 'sideways rain'.

Since I was on break and the fact that some porch pirates had stolen a package off of my front porch while I was doing dishes earlier in the week, I was keenly aware of when my postal carrier was most likely arriving at my doorstep. When I saw him approaching our porch, my intent was to minimize the carriers exposure to the elements and relatedly my mail, to the bucket-filling rain. I was not expecting the response.

The carrier handed me my mail and then called me by name. Not the name on the envelope, "Mr Johnson" I was still processing the seemingly out of place recognition. It was similar to when you encounter a student in the grocery store or street fair. Out of context or a familiar surrounding, recognizing a student, parent, or co-worker is not always instantaneous or a given.

The voice was familiar, but the face mask, thermal hat, and zipped high collared coat didn't give me any hints as to who certainly knew me. Even after his bearded face was revealed, it took me a second to register the letter carrier's self-identification.

A former classmate in our Transition to Teaching cohort and a co-worker at my first school. After my first year, he was to take over my first-grade class and I moved to his fourth-grade class at the request of our administrators. I left the charter school shortly before the start of the new school year to join a larger, more stable district. I saw him a couple of years later at a meet-and-greet for  conference presenters where he was playing  keys for the night. Teaching and loving it.

A gifted and kind teacher, I assumed he was picking up some extra work during the holidays. I was wrong. We lost another one. A teacher who couldn't hold on. I don't know what the specific reason was, but it really doesn't matter.

We lost another one. To the Post Office. A teacher who would rather work in the rain, sleet, and snow, and on this day all in the same day, than suffer through the low pay, disrespect, shifting priorities from politicians, and high-stakes testing.

We lost another one. It breaks my teacher heart.

Thanks for reading.

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"I'll hold my own hand."

The photographer was trying to find the shot. The one that separates amateurs and professionals. The difference between a snapshot and photo is small; an elusive detail that comes from years of experience and thousands of throw away shots. In the days of 35mm film, the old rule of thumb was that if you got one "keeper", a shot worth printing, out of a 36 exposure roll you were coming out ahead. Digital photography allows today's photographer the freedom to just keep shooting. Capture the moment then sort 'em out later, but taking a good photo still requires a good setup, subject, and a trained eye.

Today's subjects were growing a little weary of the photog's seemingly constant requests to turn, shift, look to the left/right/up/down, and tricks to conjure up a memorable smile. Dressed in their "Sunday best", the two girls-five and seven, would have much rather been somewhere, anywhere, playing and doing 5-year/7-yr old stuff.

Instead, as the photo session was winding down, the older girl was being asked to do something that seemed foreign to her. "Only" seven, she already possessed an uncommon sense of independence.

"Hold your sister hand"

A glance to her younger sister and quick moment of reflection.

"I'll hold my own hand."

A remarkable statement. The response was without defiance or stubbornness, but stated with confidence and assuredness. She realized, and clearly had been taught, that it was not only okay, but expected that she state her preferences. Isn't this how we want our kids to think? Don't we want them to become self sufficient and recognize that they can be independent thinkers?

Hopefully this first grader will land in a classroom where her differences are respected; a classroom not based in compliance or where the classroom culture supports the teacher's comfort zone and work flow. A classroom where she doesn't have to ask permission to sharpen her pencil.

Hopefully her assignments will give her choices on how she demonstrates her learning. A classroom environment where she doesn't have to worry about a behavior report for "non-compliance" or a "zero" if she doesn't complete the assignment the way in which her teacher prescribes.

Let this child keep shooting, she's a keeper.

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Thanks to Mrs. Freeman who told me the story behind this picture in her office as she graciously gave me time on her last day, retiring,  after being an educator for 35+ years.