brian

Haiku #13

As an alternative means of capturing my thoughts and reflections, I write haiku about my teaching practice. This is the 13th post in the series.

Over the last several months, my writing has slowed. I noticed, but did nothing. So many impactful moments from inside my classroom and out have come and gone. Instead of grabbing them, holding them, and unpacking them through my writing, I let them go.

Writing here has always given me permission to slow down and uncover meaning from the constant blitz of teaching. As a result, this blog has helped make teaching sustainable. By forgoing the opportunity to reflect on the transition from last year to this year, I have created a void.

I’ll never know all that has passed me by. ∞

My hidden story
All that I failed to notice
Felt but never seen

Over 22 hours

When you teach at a small high school, like I do, you where a lot of different hats. There’s a ton of stuff that needs to get done and are fewer people to do it. Naturally, everybody is asked to do a little more, especially teachers.

But what happens when your responsibilities as a content teacher take a back seat to your other commitments around school? Even worse, what happens when these commitments are handed down to you by school leadership?

Of the five math teachers at my school, I am the only one who teaches a full course load of mathematics. The four other teachers teach math, but they also have inherited a host of other teaching responsibilities, including study hall, advisory, and non-math electives. One math teacher teaches computer science and another does robotics.

This means that out of a possible 25 class periods available each day for math instruction by licensed math teachers, only 19 are dedicated to pure mathematics. With 45-minute periods, this translates to over 22 hours of math instruction that is lost per week due to programming alone.

I’m not saying that my colleagues’ current teaching responsibilities aren’t important to our school community. Advisory, when done right, is invaluable to the social and emotional well-being of stduents, which schools often neglect. Computer science and robotics are outstanding opportunities for students and we’re fortunate to offer them.

Nor am I saying that programming 30 teachers and 500 students is easy. It’s highly complex, with a lot of moving parts, especially when space is limited, as is the case at our school. If I asked around, perhaps I would discover that other core teachers function similarly and this isn’t a math-specific issue.

All of these concerns are valid. However, this doesn’t negate the reality that our students are offered far less math instruction than what is optimal. If students as a whole are doing less mathematics throughout the day, they will learn less mathematics as a result. Despite all the challenges, can’t we do better? ∞

Bracelet and Paperplane Awards

In an effort to celebrate small moments of engagement, hard work, and kindness this year, I have been giving out Bracelet and Paperplane Awards (BPAs). But these aren’t just any old bracelets and paperplanes. Oh no! My very own son and daughter make these during the week, which I turn around and award to my students on Friday. The BPAs represent my latest act of community.

How does a student earn a BPA? All the usual things qualify. Working hard. Showing up to tutoring. Helping peers. But there are countless other ways that students have earned one. One student was there for a friend in a time of need. Another potted our class plant during their free period. For another student, they received a BPA for no other reason than it being their birthday. There aren’t any formal criteria I have come up with for earning a BPA other than “being a good human and doing the right thing.” I award them spontaneously but thoughtfully.

Each week, one bracelet and one paper plane are awarded per class. In one of my classes, we’re building up to the idea of the students handing out the BPAs to each other. The thought of that brings me great joy. I hope we can get there.

Because the bracelets and paperplanes are crafted by the hands of my very own kids, the BPAs are a heartwarming crossover between my home and school lives. The personal and professional merge yet again. The awards are cheesy but loveable, and I think my students appreciate them. ∞

bp

A dozen years at MƒA

This month, I had the opportunity to apply for renewal of my MƒA Master Teacher fellowship. It has been a staggering twelve years(!) since I was awarded my first fellowship, and what has followed since has been nothing short of extraordinary.

Being an MƒA teacher has been one of the greatest privileges of my professional life. I hold it in high regard. It has allowed me to step into leadership roles that have defined (and redefined) who I am as a teacher. It has affirmed and validated me. It has made space for my ideas and offered me community when I had none. MƒA continually fills me with a sense of regeneration and growth.

More than anything else, however, MƒA has trusted me. In education, trust isn’t easy to find. The stakes are too high for teachers to be given the reins with no strings attached. There are so many changing faces and titles that being a teacher forces you to rebuild relationships often. Not with MƒA. Whether leading a PD, advocating for them on a podcast, or designing a summer conference, the folks at MƒA have never wavered in their belief in me. They continually make me feel like I am worth it.

I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t sometimes take generosity MƒA for granted. MƒA is an endless sea of resources, so it’s easy to take and take often. The debt I owe the organization is far too large to repay throughout my career, and remembering to give back can be tricky. With or without a renewal fellowship, I hope the organization feels I have contributed to the community during my tenure as a Master Teacher. For all I have gained, it’s the least I can do. ∞