Throwback Piece: Letter to my students after the Sandy Hook tragedy

I sat in the auditorium last week, with the doors wide open, listening to a student read.  As he was reading I lost concentration.  I had a flash moment thinking if a person entered with a gun right now I wouldn't have time to save this child.  What would I do?  How could I protect him?  Where would we go?  I was instantly reminded of the teachers and students of Sandy Hook - their bravery, love, and loss in the community.  I was reminded of this letter, and thought I would share it on this upcoming anniversary._
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Dear Sixth Graders,
There are no words I can say to help you to better understand what happened this past weekend. I don't understand myself. I wish I had a reason - a reason why this has happened. With reasons, we have answers; but without answers we are only left to question. 


Here is what I can tell you:

Each moment you are here in school there are adults that will always do our very best to keep you safe and protected. These adults will always put your safety - physical and emotional - before our own, and we will always look to improve our safety procedures. Let me promise you that we are doing that now and everyday.

You are loved. You are not just loved at home by your family, but by your teachers here at school. When you think of the people that love and care about you, please don't forget about your teachers. Don't forget that you inspire me to be a better person each and every day. Don't forget that I think about you long after you have left my classroom at 3:30. Don't forget that when you are at home relaxing on the weekend, I am wondering how I can make school a better place for you - academically, socially, emotionally, etc. Don't forget that so much of a teacher's heart is made up of her students.

Don't forget that teaching is not my "job", and it is not even my "career", but it is my life. It is every bit of who I am, and what I want to be. Without each and every one of you, I wouldn't be me. 

Remember that we practice drills here in school - not to scare you, but to prepare you. It is important to take those practices seriously.

Don't forget to see the greatness in the world around you - the beautiful sunset, the stars at night, the kindness of strangers, and the compassion each of you exhibit every single day.

Make the world a better, safer, place to live. YOU are the next generation. YOU are the ones that can make a difference in this world. 

Take care of one another. Your kind act can make all of the difference in someone's day. Years from now you may not remember every moment of sixth grade, but you will remember the people that helped you and took care of you when you were feeling the lowest. You will remember that someone cared. 

Don't be afraid of what could happen; but rather be excited about all the world has to offer. Live each day to the fullest. Each and every single one of you has the potential for greatness. Reach for the stars, and work hard to fulfill all of your dreams. 

Love, Miss Sisto

How Do You Manage The Stress of Life?

My eye is twitching.  It has been for two weeks.  One of my students asked me this morning if I could stop my eye from "twitting" back and forth when he talked to me.  Yesterday it started drooping a bit.  For some people this would seem a bit alarming.  Not for me (but is should be).  This is just the run of the mill, stressful reaction in my life.  This is when I know I have reached my max - and yet in these moments I am so far deep that I can't get out.  Needless to say, I don't balance my life well.

It has become overwhelmingly apparent in the last couple of years how my body reacts to stress.  The early signs are often as typical as tension headaches in the back of my head and neck, tightness in the chest when I am at my most relaxed, and much more irritable.  Many of you can probably relate to these experiences, and agree that these are typical to someone during their most heightened levels of stress.  These are the moments I should listen to my body and find a way to back out of the stress.  But I don't.

What often comes next is the lack of sleep, or twilight sleep, as my mother calls those moments.  But they aren't moments - they go on all night long for months.  These are the moments when my brain is constantly active - I am dreaming about school, students, parents, meetings, songs and dances, presentations...  That usually happens from September until November.

Next becomes cognitive and speech delays.  These are the most frustrating and challenging - these are the scariest.  I struggle to find the right words, and stutter through my sentences.  Getting half way through a sentence and not being able to find the right word, when you talk all day long, used to be when I would get nervous and panic.  Now I know it is when I need to focus more than ever.  The other day I was with my sister and my mother and I was struggling so much to find the words to ask a question.  I could feel my shoulders slip down and that defeating feeling of being different started to surface again.  Later, I was checking out at Target and needed to get my wallet from my car.  I ran out I had no idea where I had parked and started to worry about holding up the line.  I got outside and realized I wasn't even in the Target I was envisioning - I was five miles away from where I thought.  Does this happen to you?

This morning is the day of our first performance here in sixth grade.  The students are excited and ready to celebrate - but we are still putting out the little fires that occur regularly in teaching and in performances.  It was in this moment of lost costumes, changing performance times, and excited sixth graders that I wished I had a method for reducing my stress during the day.  It was while I was holding my had over my eye in the hopes to calm it down, that I wished I had a method for handling life better than I do now.  The eye is new.  This is not a consistent reaction my body has had in the past to stress.  But that is the point - my body is always developing new outlets to manage stress.  Each of these outlets are damaging to my body, so I have to work on this more than ever.  It is scary to envision what will happen to my body, to my health, if I choose to ignore these signs.  

I know there are obvious answers - workout more often, meditate, take a walk, WRITE...  I try.  But it seems that when we are in our most stressful and anxious moments, we take care of our ourselves last.  Why is this?!  We all know it is wrong.  I have autoimmune diseases and I still take care of myself last.

So, I wonder... How do you take care of yourself in the most stressful moments?  What do you do if you have five minutes to pull yourself back from the brink of stress?

Nana - Your Final Gift

One year tomorrow will be the last day that I heard her strong voice, not her only voice, but her strong voice.  One year tomorrow will be the last day that I spoke normal words to her, celebrated with her, and heard her cry.

I grew up in a world where extended family was as important as your immediate.  My cousins were my first best friends, and my aunt and uncles were the next step after Mom and Dad.  My one grandmother lived with me for years, and my other grandparents were a part of my everyday being.  While I wasn't as lucky as my cousins to have them live across the street, we were together many summer days, every holiday, and their beliefs were a part of our very soul thanks to my father and mother.  I was often reminded of the importance of family - "Family comes first" - "We might fight, but we don't let anyone fight with us - you always defend your brother and/or sister".  And, in all honesty, my family lived by that motto.  On more than one occasion Frankie and I would be battling each other, and then fighting whomever chimed into defend us.  On more than on occasion I was competing with my cousin, and then be playing together moments later - and now she is a person I admire and aspire to be.  Actually, I often look at her and see one of the closest versions of Nana - her intelligence, compassion, faith, inquisitiveness... She was lucky enough to spend hands-on years with Nana, and she is the closest replica of her that I know.

Saying goodbye to my grandpa was devastating.  And I did what every emotionally immature, devastated, person does.  I pulled away.  I visited often while he was sick, rubbed his legs, sat with him in the sun, said goodbye, and only returned to the house twice after his passing.  I wasn't as good as my cousins, whom repeatedly returned to show Nana support.  I would offer to swing by and take her to the cemetery or the grocery store... I would call and check-in, or drive her to the lake.  But I couldn't sit in the house because Grandpa wasn't sitting on the chair.  And so I was selfish, let my own comfort stand in the way of further developing my relationship with Nana.  Somewhere, deep in my heart though, I am reminded of my favorite part of my family - that no matter how far or close we are geographically/socially/emotionally - we are always reminded that we come first, our family & our love.    

And so it was August 7th of last year that I called Nana from summer school to tell her that I was engaged.  Her voice sang through the other side of the line, as excited as I, and giggling in a way that she did only when she was at her giddiest.  "Oh, Nic, he's a good man... He's a good man."  I instantly felt comforted, as if she knew a secret, and could see a bit of my future that was only known to her and her faith.  Years ago I had promised myself that when I went wedding dress shopping I would bring Nana with me, even though her vision was almost completely gone, because I knew that she would love that moment.  So, as I listened to her voice, I envisioned me in "The Dress" and her sitting beside me touching the dress to have the best understanding.  My bridal shower flashed into my head, with her sitting their nodding her head and happy with all of the great gifts I would receive.  I pictured ordering her corsage, and watching her biggest smile - the smile she saved when she was happiest with and for her grandchildren.  We ended our celebratory conversation with her final words, "Make it be soon, Nic.... Make it be soon."

It's funny how easy it can be to brush off someone's words, and how quickly they can come back to bite you in the ass.  It never occurred to me then that she knew something that we didn't.  It didn't occur to me that she was, in fact, living in pain or feeling unhealthy in any capacity.  It didn't occur to me those words would be the final time I would HER voice.  It was only a matter of days before she was in the hospital, with the 24 hour care from her children she deserved.  And while she had coherent moments with her children, and many grandchildren, I was never privy for those moments - I believe that was her last gift to me.  She left me with the gift of remembering our last words - that our last words were celebrating the most exciting moment of my life.  She left me with reassurance, excitement, and trust.

In true form, she was still giving me gifts in her final days...
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   **This post was started a couple of weeks ago, and finished today.  1 year and 1 day since she has passed.  Nana, I'm so glad that you have taken the journey to be back with Grandpa.  I can't think of a couple whom deserve to be together more than the two of you.  Missing you everyday.  Love, Nicole

The Wedding Day I Swore I Would Not Blog About

So, I promised myself that I wasn't going to blog about my wedding.  I swore that this forum was for communicating the practice of teaching, the promise of our students in the future, and the hard work and dedication teachers and students do each and every day.

I lied.  I lied that I could separate myself from teaching - teaching is who I am in the profession and as a person.  I lied to myself that the wedding wouldn't be perfect.  I lied to myself that no one else cared about the details.  And I lied to myself when I said it was only a day.  I am exactly 3 weeks in and have forever to go, but I can tell you that this was way more than a single day.

"What time is it?" I inquired from my cousin, Kathie - we were sharing a bed like we did as kids.  "It's 4:00 in the morning... You NEED to go back to sleep."  And so I did.  At 5:30 I flipped and flopped in the bed feeling guilty for being restless, and yet not being able to stop.  I wanted to talk, to bounce, to dance, and to say "I DO."   "What time is it now?"  I tried again.  "It's 6:00,"  she said with a smile and a sigh.  "Can we PLEASE talk now?"  I requested.  And as Kathie always did, she gave in to her big cousin, even though she probably would have loved a few more hours of kid-free sleep.

I bounced and plotted all morning. Rewriting the programs, creating a list of last minute places to go, and making plans with my mom. I be-bopped around until 10:00.  My mother, Kathie, and I walked into Rumor's Salon & Spa to all of my bridesmaids, a private room, and mimosas waiting.  I sat with my "Mrs. French" zip-up sweatshirt unable to understand that it was finally My Turn.  I watched in awe as my friends' hair was whipped into updos, my niece's curls became a Princess mane, and a tiara was placed on my head.  Make-up was finished on everyone, and they all sat and waited for the finishing touch - the veil.  As Jordan placed the veil on my head, I took a deep breath.  It was my turn to marry my best friend.  I couldn't wait to walk down the aisle to Kevin.

In a whirlwind of chatter, strapless bras, and and plum dresses I watched everyone prepare for the wedding.  Their smiles and excitement were contagious, and yet I still felt like I sat on the outside watching.  I didn't quite know my role - wasn't I supposed to help someone else get dressed, fix someone's hair, apply their lip gloss, or fluff their dress?  This had to be a dream.  I sat alone for a minute taking deep breaths, trying to figure out who I was on this day...  And then the photographer arrived, and with a flurry I was in a dress being fluffed, zipped and buttoned.  Ericka was applying my lip gloss and buttoning my dress, Lisa was snapping away as Patti went under my dress to sort through the 5 layers.  Kathie was checking on my mother and father, as my sister assured me that Kevin was going to fall in love with me all over again.  Justine and Shannon were like giddy little kids - I think they had waited for this day longer than me.  Alexis seemed to be at my beck and call, knowing what I needed before I even said the word.  My sisters-in-laws were waiting downstairs as I walked down the stairs, and my brother stared with tears in his eyes.  It was finally my turn to say, "I do."  

Pictures went by in a flash, and I was as awkward in front of the camera as I always am - I just wanted to get on that bus and head to the church.  As the giant purple Giddy Up school bus arrived, everyone shook their heads, cheered and laughed.  There is no better transportation for a wedding in Saratoga, with a teacher as the bride.  The next 45 minutes seemed to last an eternity, and I couldn't wait to see my soon-to-be husband.  With shaking hands, I grabbed my dad's arm, and began my last journey with the name Sisto.  There seemed to be all of these faces standing of the way of me and Kevin.  I felt like I was supposed to see them and smile, but I just wanted to see him - to stand next to him.  Thank goodness there was music playing by the band, orchestra, and music teachers at my school - it helped me keep to a beat, otherwise I would have sprinted!     

Amongst some nerves, tears, and laughter we said our vows, "I do", and had our first kiss as Mr. & Mrs. French.  As we sat down for communion a former student sang the song, "I Will Be Here".  It brought many of the guests to tears (including myself) and earned her many cheers in this Roman Catholic Church.  I am hoping to upload the video to share as it is truly one of the most touching moments I've had as a teacher.  We headed outside, hand-in-hand as newlyweds, and were greeted soon after by a handful of former students that brought Samson to the church for photos with us.  When I had spotted so many of them in the church, I literally gasped and caught my breath - with tears in my eyes, I was grinning at them from ear to ear.  I even watched one of them mouth, "She saw us."  That is the thing about teaching - these people become the people that sing at your wedding, the few people in the world that you trust your pets with - they become a piece of your world and a huge piece of your heart. 

Over the next seven hours the party bus arrived and we celebrated, pictures were taken, speeches and blessings were delivered, and lots of laughter and hugs were shared.  When I tell you that I have never felt so much love and happiness in a room, I am telling you the honest truth.  If we bottled it all up and shared it across the world, I think we could dominate nuclear weapons.  The food was wonderful, the outdoor venue was gorgeous, the Super Moon was shining, band playing, Mother Nature was on our side - you could not have scripted a better evening.   It was the fairytale I had always dreamed of, and never thought I would have.  See, throughout the planning process, I had been a bride that repeatedly said, "Things will go wrong.  And when they do, if Kevin and I end up happy and married at the end of the day, then nothing else matters.  Everything else is just stuff."  I recommend this mantra for all brides, because when something goes astray (and it will), hopefully you will not get caught in it for too long.  If you remember who you are there for, and why you are there, then nothing else can take your day. 

Our families and friends intertwined and became one that day, just as we did as a couple.  The bridal party laughed and danced, and it was easy to see how lucky and blessed we were to be a part of their lives.  At one point I looked up at Kevin and said, "How can all of these people be here for us?  How can they all love us so much?"  And all he could do was shrug his shoulders and shake his head.

In all of the dancing and happiness, I don't remember who I danced with, or who I had long conversations with... I never made it to the slider station, and didn't remember to even look at the dessert station, but I do remember one thing - I have never seen my husband look more handsome or happy as he did on that day, and even in our darkest days I hope to always remember him in that light. 

The End of The School Year Breakup

I was driving in the car today and I had a tight pang in my heart thinking of a recently graduated sixth grader and his family.  It was a moment where I missed this little man and his tight little hugs.  I missed looking into his eyes because he believes I can do no wrong.  I was once again reminded that these kids leave the doors of my classroom, of the building, but they never leave my heart.

I sat at dinner tonight and spoke of one of my former girls.  Her kindness, compassion, and strength were indescribable.  I shook my head trying to imagine my classroom without her next year.  Doing the dishes today I thought of a student and got so excited that I get to see him in the summer program next week.  I thought of his last words in my classroom, "I'm so glad I don't have to say goodbye to you today.  That would just be terrible."  I finished doing the dishes with tears in my eyes, missing all of my kids.

See, parents, what many of you don't realize is that we fall in love with your children.  We know their voices, their laughs, their mischievous ways... We know their tears, their temperments, and their fears.  At the end of the year it is no longer about their math skills, reading abilities, or writing.  That social studies test is long forgotten, and the grade on that chemistry lab is no longer in our minds.  We are thinking of saying goodbye.

The end of the year for many kids and teachers is like a bad breakup.  We want to teach them the final lessons they need to carry themselves throughout life... And yet, they are not in a place to listen.  Some of them cling tighter and become more needy, holding onto the last bit of stability they have before they venture into middle school; more hugs are given, and more smiles are shared.  While others become bolder and test the waters knowing that there isn't much left you can do to keep them in line.  Teachers like me ride a bit more of an emotional roller coaster.  The goodbye hug and tears, coupled with me yelling at you for sneaking off and screaming swears in the bathroom, can be a bit confusing for a child (and for me, too).  I wish they knew it came from a place of good... Frustration, but also good. 

Sometimes the hardest part of this breakup comes after the summer, and later on into the following school year and life.  It comes when the teacher is reminded of a student who never stayed in touch and never came back to visit.  When you wonder if they are changing the world the way you hoped, or if they are hitting rock bottom because you didn't do the saving you intended.  It comes to the student who comes back to visit, but hasn't changed at all since elementary school, leaving the teacher confused about how to relate to this adult child.  Sometimes the hardest part is when they do come back to visit, and you realize that you have just played a small part in their greatness, and they don't and didn't really ever need you.  Teachers try to "follow" their former students - they ask other educators, friends, and coaches how their kids are doing, and yet none of the messages do justice to their true life experiences.
  
The night before school starts in September is the worst.  Not because summer vacation is coming to an end, but because teachers across the country try to envision their new school year without the love and laughter that walked out in June.  Don't get me wrong - we are definitely excited about a new batch of kids - but we once again mourn the graduates.  Usually, on my first day, I drive to school thinking of my former students entering junior high for the first time.  I worry about them, smile thinking of them, and say a special prayer for their success.  See, once you have loved someone they become a piece of you... And whether you want to, or not, you carry their thinking, perspective, and experiences inside of you somewhere.  Thank you, Class of 2014, for making me a better teacher, and person.  I belt this out and think of you every single time is comes on my radio:

O' The May Madness

May Madness.  In a school the madness doesn't come in March as it does the rest of the country.  It comes in May.  May is the month of sunshine, trees budding, flowers blooming, bees buzzing, and complete and utter chaos in most classrooms in the North East.  O' The May Madness.

Quickly after Spring Vacation, teachers continue the game of state testing.  The prep, or the fight to not prep, smacks every teacher in the face (repeatedly).  The redesigning of the classroom (because all posters that could pertain to any information that may or may not appear on the test need to be removed from the walls, ceilings, floor, etc.), faculty meetings with devotion to testing administration, along with frequent emails fill your mornings.  Tightening of the chest, and midnight wake ups, associated with testing spread throughout the region.  O' The May Madness. 

Once NYS testing has concluded, it is our job to remind student that teaching and learning is still important.  It is important to impress on them that "Yes, we STILL have curriculum to teach before I send you on to the next grade."  Trying to explain to the students why they are learning material AFTER the state assessments, that was ON the state assessments, is always a difficult task.  And somewhere in our mental filing cabinet we try to store the fact of which topic was tested that wasn't yet taught.  O' The May Madness.

You begin to say things like, "Next years teachers...."  or "The Junior High School...." or "There is one of your future teacher - show them your greatness."  The idle threats are always meant with good intentions:  Maybe they will appreciate how good they have it right now?  Maybe they'll walk a bit straighter, or a bit quieter, in the hallway?  Maybe they'll stop swearing at each other the minute I walk away?  Maybe they'll step it up, FINALLY?  But in the mean time, we end up TERRIFYING the kids that are ready for the next step, and the ones who aren't ready are not listening, anyway.  O' The May Madness.

It is in the month of May that life at recess begins to fall apart.  I often wonder if it is because of the seemingly endless winter - did they just FORGET how to play, NICELY, together?  Is it because they are big fish in a small pond at this point, and just beat up on each other?  (Much like siblings.)  These are the moments, each day, that every teacher hopes that when the principal wanders down the hall, that he is NOT stopping into his/her room to report the newest "incident".  Our shoulders, literally, slump over, heads dropped, and deep breaths are taken.  Not only because this generally means more work - finding work for the students to cover during in-school suspension or detention, phone calls to be made home, etc... But mostly, it is because each time a student has a problem like this, it is a reminder that they may not be ready to leave us, and still have so much left to learn.  It is a feeling of inadequacy - like if I had done my job better, this wouldn't have happened.  O' The May Madness.
 

The countdown begins - for teachers and kids - until summer vacation.  Student effort, generally, begins to decline and the occasional students says "that seemed too hard, so I didn't bother trying."  Despite the beautifully enticing weather, recess and lunch detention is on the incline.  Panic sets in for teachers- we still have 2 more math units, graduation rehearsal to prepare for, awards assemblies, student speeches to be given, graduation speeches to be written, future class lists, faculty meetings, SLO tests (which change the whole schedule), finals, the Bronx Zoo, track meet, and Spring Fling...  How is it possible that the year is coming to a close so very quickly?  Assemblies are squeezed into the schedule, fire drills (which always seem to happen in the 30 minute pee-break you get a day), and scheduling meetings to prepare for the following year.  Yet, my mind hasn't wrapped itself around this one.  O' The May Madness.

The hugs get tighter - because teachers and students don't want to let go.  The laughter gets louder, and lasts longer, because you start to appreciate each other in a manner that is different than before.  The concern grows deeper, because your time to teach them all that they need to learn for next year, and in life, has significantly reduced.  And the tears brim a bit more often, because no matter how many times I wanted to bang my head on the wall, I do love each of you and preparing to say goodbye often takes my breath away.  O' The May Madness.

You Taught Me More Than I Taught You

(Please forgive the post about teaching and learning outside of a classroom)

I sit here overwhelmed by the stages of finality in the next few of months of my life.  Starting with this weekend I will say goodbye to 5 young women that I have had the opportunity to mentor, next month say good bye to my sixth grade family of the year, and then good bye to single-hood.  I will say hello to 5 new young women, hello to summer, and hello to a being a wife and having a husband.  While all of these welcomed "hellos" are exciting, there are moments to sit and appreciate the journey along the way.

It strikes me most now because I have been struggling with how to say goodbye to these young women who have not only impacted me, but the City of Albany, and hundreds of kids in the community (and beyond).  In 2008 I was given the opportunity to participate in the Tulip Queen and Court Selection Committee for the City of Albany.  At the time I didn't really have a true understanding of the program, but I knew it had to include great young women as a former roommate of mine had previously been crowned Queen.  When the rest of us were "living it up" at college, she was getting up early to be a Big Sister, volunteer for programs, and take care of her nieces and nephews.  I was curious, and so I accepted. 

Each year I was overwhelmed by what these young women had accomplished in their lives prior to reaching the "Tulip Family" and more overwhelmed by how to narrow the selection down to 5.  I would often sit in interviews and feel as if I was just a bump on a log in society (as an educator) because what these young ladies do is far beyond me.  As each year came to an end, and we heard about their greatness, I would cry in pride that I got to be a part of a team that selected young women that changed the world.  Despite the vast age difference, they inspired me to be a better person personally, and remind my students that they could change the world.

This year I got the honor of co-chairing this committee with a truly beautiful person.  Originally, I thought this just meant running the selection interviews (which run about 3 months per year), and a couple of meetings throughout the year.  When I realized that I had the opportunity to be a part of the year-long journey these young women would have I was eager to participate, and nervous with the anticipation of what the year would bring.  These are the moments that those closest to me think I am nuts.  They often question my sanity and how much I can handle between school, the musical, district committees, planning a wedding, family/friends, etc.  (You get the gist - we all do a lot).  But what they didn't understand was that this was less about the girls, and more about me.  I could only imagine what I was going to learn so much from these 5 young women, and be a part of a journey that was well-worth the hours volunteering.  It was time to give the City of Albany just a little bit more of myself, as these women gave so much.

These 5 young women did programs in countless schools in the City of Albany.  They worked with students to believe that they would go places beyond what they could have ever imagined (inspired by the one and only Dr. Seuss).  These young women transitioned from Mayor Jennings to Mayor Sheehan and were so eager to let her see their greatness and value to the community.  When a local family had a series of fires and lost everything, these young ladies put on a benefit concert to raise funds to help them get back on their feet.  When they came to us with a very large task of creating a video for the local Children's Hospital at Albany Medical Center, and we were concerned with the extensive undertaking this would require, they basically told us they believed in this project, and it would happen.  As a team, they pulled even closer together, and with help from many organizations- they made this happen.  Dunkin' Donuts donated $1 for every view, up to $10,000.  They reached that number before the video was even posted a month. Tulips & Albany Med Video

These young women read and chatted with seniors, greeted people at many festivals, and were amazing ambassadors for the City of Albany.  They worked with young boys at Straight Shooters and advocated for the use of technology in their program to assist in literacy development.

There were moments when I pushed these young ladies - hard.  There were times when I knew that what I would say was going to sting, and had to put my faith in them that they would learn the lesson I had intended.  Moments of frustration passed, and energy and compassion for others remained.  I watched them overcome hurt from the past, obstacles in the future, and develop an indescribable bond.  Mostly, I was enthused by their diversity and dreams.  I was inspired.   

Tomorrow I will watch as these young ladies say their final good byes to the City of Albany (at least in this role), and welcome in 5 new young women.  These 5 new women have big shoes to fill, but a lot of potential and energy.  I can't begin to thank the former Mayor Jennings, and  current Mayor Sheehan for seeing value in the program that runs with 60+ years tradition, bringing more awareness to the City of Albany, and letting these ambassadors make a difference.  Marcus Pryor brought me into the "Tulip Family" (extended family, but family) and has modeled service, awareness, and caring for others.  Amy Kaplan stood beside me as we watched these women grow, and shared laughter and tears with me during the journey.  But Kate, Meghan, Alexis, GiGi, and Fendi - you have taught me more than I ever could have hoped to have taught you.  You have changed the lives of children and our community more than you can even begin.  Despite the long year, I am not ready to say good bye quite yet.

A Series In Testing (Part 2): I Was A Student With Test Anxiety

I remember very well the first time after I had taken a standardized test, being praised by my mother.  "You read as well as a twelfth grader!" my mother exclaimed, looking at the test results.  I had never been so proud of myself.  I loved reading, and it was the number one connection I had with my father, so this meant more to me than anyone ever could have imagined.  I wasn't just a good reader... I wasn't just a "Blue Jay"... I was better than high school readers!  In my head, it actually made perfect sense.  I was always a child with a book in my hand, racing through a text.  My father was an avid reader, and so clearly we were a lot alike. 

The very next year I took standardized tests, and was beyond ecstatic.  I was good at these tests!  I could read anything!  After all, I was reading at a 12th grade level.

I'll never forget the moment when my mom got those results.  I had qualified, and was going to be attending, remedial reading.  I didn't understand.  I still don't.  How had I gone from reading at a 12th grade level in 3rd grade, to needing remedial services in 4th?  And I was the only child in the family that LIKED to read - what did this mean for that connection I had with my Dad?  Although I wasn't thrilled about attending, I went, and only because the teacher was so kind.  Within months I was discontinued from services.   I didn't understand why.  I still don't.

I don't remember performing as well as I was capable on a single test after fourth grade.  I'm sure I did adequate, but I don't remember doing well. I do remember always questioning what was really being asked.  I was never a child that could rule out more than one answer on a multiple choice test.  And I always second-guessed what I knew and did the opposite.  I would suddenly lose all confidence in myself when any form of a test was placed in front of me.   

I vividly remember sitting in Global Studies 10 trying to take a final.  I had written my name on the test, but beyond that I couldn't remember a single word.  I didn't know about the times and places that were being tested - I had sat in class every single day, and had studied several nights in advance, and yet, none of this sounded familiar.  Global Studies was an area that was challenging for me to begin with, and I knew that I needed to perform well because I had struggled on all of the previous tests. I could feel the teachers glare, as I often had, perusing the room.  Panic set in, and it was all I could do to fight back tears.

I climbed into my mom's Black Cherry minivan, and the fear, frustration, and defeat poured out of me.  "I don't understand why I can't remember anything when I take tests.  I failed.  I can't remember any of the words she has said all year."  I cried the full thirty minutes home, and my mom instantly got on the phone with a psychologist in the hopes to figure out what was going on with her youngest (and favorite) child, as I prepared for attending summer school.   

After a multitude of tests, and conversations with an amazing psychologist, she deemed that I struggled with anxiety - specific at this point was test anxiety.  She was a bright woman who understood more than I ever said, and I imagine, foresaw the struggle with anxiety that would come in the future.  She put into place a plan where I had extended time on regular tests, and an alternate location.  My all girls, private, high school was more than willing to assist with this accommodation, and I quickly saw my grades begin to improve.  I was touched by my Physics teacher, who on more than one occasion would come and check on me and my progress.  She would reword questions if I didn't understand the language, or tell me to stop and think.  She believed in me, and with that helped me to overcome some of the anxiety I had associated with testing.  By the time I headed to college, I knew that I could and would be more successful.  I knew that I would never do as well as my peers on a summative assessment that was typical to a classroom, but I had figured out enough to express my thoughts on anything written. 

I still struggle with anxiety.  I am prone to the tightening of the chest, and sleepless nights, during high stress situations.  But I watch the occasional student, whom at the mere age of 11, can't put into words their struggle.  I watch them understand, participate, and correctly complete their classwork and homework... And then I watch them fall apart on the tests.  I hear his words when he says, "I know it until the test.  And then everything... well, I just forget it all." I hear her words when she says, "They put so many words for each question, and on each page.  Then I start to think I must not know the answer.  I don't know what they're say and I forget everything I know, just trying to figure out what they are asking.  Then I forget everything for the whole test."

It has been many years since I sat in school taking standardized tests.  It is confusing to me that the same mistakes are being made at a state and a national level.  Why have they not figured out that a standardized test is not the most informative measure of student ability?  That in fact, it only measures that student, on that day, given the tested skill/strategy that the test creators deemed was most important? 

A Series About Testing: NYS Says I Am Nothing More Than A Number

This piece was written last September in a reaction to student test scores and teacher evaluation.  

"You all get A+++!" I exclaimed to my students sitting all along the floor in front of me.  I sat down on the pink velour chair feeling really great about myself as a teacher.  None of my students ever spoke during instruction or talked back, their answers were always right, and they were all great friends.  I knew looking at Teddy, Froggy, Raggedy Ann, and Prima Ballerina that I was meant to be a teacher.

Unlike other teachers, I wasn't the model student.  I was never disrespectful, but certainly known as a "Social Butterfly".  I didn't memorize my multiplication facts, making division near impossible, and I had a tutor at the mere age of 9.  It never mattered to me that I wasn't the perfect student; I still wanted to be a teacher.  I thought all of my teachers were amazing.  Mrs. Dakota was my first grade teacher.  She was the first African-American woman I was really close to, and she would speak French!  I remember feeling like she was one of the smartest women in the world.  Mrs. Mahoney, my third grade teacher, who always smiled and helped me with a very gentle voice- I knew she loved all of her students.  Mr. Harvey challenged me and questioned my thinking, but he valued my strengths.  Mrs. Van Buren in sixth grade really listened to what I had to say.  Ms. Gleason encouraged me to take physics despite the principal telling me it was too hard and to drop the class.  She took the time to read my tests to me 1:1, afterschool, to ensure my anxiety stayed under control.  Being a teacher in a small private school, she made it clear that she was never in teaching for the money.  She challenged us to think about real world issues that we were always taught were "wrong" and "sinful".  Ms. Gleason was the first woman to teach me that it was okay to stand-up and fight for what you believe in - that as women we owed it to one another.  She believed in me, and taught me more about being a teacher who loves and respects her students than any other single individual.  I went off to college to be trained to be a teacher.  I believed in my heart I was meant to be a teacher, and to this day I don't question that my purpose in this world is to educate.  I don't envision a second career, or another place in the world where I am more passionate. 

However, no college program in the world could have prepared me for the actual nuances of education at this time.  It never would have occurred to me that one of the noblest of professions would be radically questioned and so violently disrespected. 

See, last week I became a number.  Last week, my students became a mere score.  Every teacher became a label, and panic set in.  I allowed a number to dictate my feelings about myself, about my profession, and most tragically - my students.  I began to use words like "effective" and "highly effective", "developing" and "ineffective". 

The assumption that I was defined by a mathematical equation was insidious.  I began to question everything I believed as a teacher.  I began to wonder if I had wasted countless lunch periods relating to my students, and helping them solve their personal issues, because that wasn't added into my equation.  How many Saturdays had I spent at softball, baseball, football, and basketball games just to see them shine outside my classroom?  That didn't help my confidence interval at all.  Questioning whether or not to keep our students with special needs in my class in the future raced through my head because their "growth" might be less.  I was spewing out factual data about the growth of remedial readers versus the complexities of the test.  Analyzing my former students test scores, and comparing my current student tests scores began making my chest tight. 

With my head in my hands, alone in my darkened classroom, I just sobbed.   

And for a moment, I believed that the state was right.  I was just effective.  I would never want an "effective" doctor.  I would never want an "effective" pilot.  I would want the best for me, and my loved ones, and I want the best for my students.  This equation made me question myself, and whether or not I was best for my students. 

And then I remembered sitting on the pink velour chair, and knowing in my heart that I was meant to teach.  I remembered getting my first job, and knowing that I had finally found my soul mate - teaching.  I remembered that I am an individual that is willing to learn how to be better, but will also stand up for what I believe.  Most importantly, I remembered the 25 faces that sit before me each and every single day, whom need a teacher who believes in herself, and is confident in her teaching. 

I will take my score, and my label, from NYS.  I will read about my confidence interval and how that changes the scores, and follow the arrows on the flow chart, to eventually lead to my label.  But, I will not let this define me.  I will not let a highly ineffective group of non-educators decide who I am - not today, or any day.  I will continue to do research and inquiry into best teaching practices.  I will continue to be reflective about what my students need.  I will be a teacher who develops every single day because that is what we SHOULD do, rather than putting that label on an evaluation with negative connotation.  Shouldn't we all, as professionals in all areas, be developing every single day?  I will take the words "highly effective, effective, developing, and ineffective" out of my vocabulary, and choose to find words that describe me as an educator, just as I do my students. 

I encourage accountability.  I don't believe teachers should be immune to being held to a standard.  However, speak to the professionals.  Hear our words.  Listen and debate with us, rather than against us.  Meet our students - see these children.  Find out where they come from, and not just their standardized test scores.  Ask parents what they want for their children in life, and how you can assist.  Ask educators what we need to see the improvements necessary - we will be very honest.  Set standards for all associated with children.  Acknowledge the facts about literacy in the early years, before children even enter our school system. 

I encourage you, Governor Cuomo - come into my classroom.  Come speak to our teachers.  We don't want to be your target, we want to work together and possibly even be a team.  Didn't anyone tell you that it takes a village to raise a child?  Certainly not just a teacher. 

A Child's Words Can Change The World: The Journey of Teaching Activism to 6th Graders

There is nothing more invigorating for a teacher than a child who is passionate about what they are learning.  Standing back in a classroom filled with chatter about students' topics, curriculum, or learning inspires each teacher to continue that excitement day after day.  Unfortunately, as every teacher knows (or any person whom has attended school), our best laid plans and intentions do not always come to fruition, and the energy of one day does not guarantee eager to learn the next.  My hope over our extended December vacation was to come back with a writing unit that would engage all students for an extended period of research, writing, and learning.   Isn't that every teacher's hope, at every opportunity, during the year?  But that time to think, and reflect, and panic, and research brought me to an article that inspired me as an educator to further inspire my students.

Digital Magazine: It's Called Stress 

Digital Magazine: Violent Video Games: Why We Don't Need Them 

After much time thinking, reflecting, and panicking I came across an article on the National Writing Project website.  "Ten Ideas That Get Kids Writing": http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/nwp/ten-ideas.html  It was in this article that I read about a young girl whom had been struggling with Anorexia.  She wrote about her journey with this disease and wanted to ensure that other students did not go through the same experience.  It sat with me - that message that a child's words can change the world.  I had often told my students of this important message, but rarely had I given them the opportunity to truly practice.  This needed to be more than an entry or a final draft they created just for me, but there needed to be a way to share this message with the world.  It amazes me how as a creator, and that's what we are as educators - a creator of lessons, once you are inspired you feel this overwhelming excitement and desire to keep going.

Digital Magazine: The Importance of Individuality and Listening to Within, Not Around

Digital Magazine: Is Football Too Dangerous?

We embarked on the first day back creating lists and short entries about things in the world we wanted to change.  I was beyond impressed by the variety of answers.  Everything from animal abuse to school stress to (my personal favorite due to the sheer humor and innocence) "Boys with long hair.  I mean seriously... What are they trying to say?!"  I reflected with them on the importance of their voice, and the next day we defined the word activism/activist as a class.  For quite some time I had been talking, fruitlessly, about being a "passive learner" - this was the perfect opportunity to reflect on wanting to change the world, or watching the world change.  This was the perfect opportunity to teaching them all of the reasons why their voices matter.

Digital Magazine: Inclusion 

Digital Magazine: School Vacations 

The librarian/media specialist and I gave the students the freedom to select their own topics, responsibly.  This invokes some natural elementary school teacher fear, as it often requires the move from database searching to true Google searching.  However, these students live in a world where technology is in their faces all of the time, and at some point we have to teach them to search responsibly.  Our students spent a couple of weeks researching their topics on the databases, and those that couldn't find enough supportive information, were taught how to "Google responsibly".  The librarian and I closely monitored their progress, and bounced important lessons off of one another and the students. 

Digital Magazine: Is Texting Killing The English Language? 

Digital Magazine: Negative Effects of Standardized Testing 

The second struggle was WHAT to do with these pieces.  It was important to me that they not only feel that they had a voice, but that they understood that other people would hear their voices - that's how you change the world.  And so I found glossi.com.  While I'm sure glossi.com never intended on being a website for educational purposes, it became clear that it was very user-friendly and, better yet, it was free.

Digital Magazine: School Food: Brilliant or Bust? 

Digital Magazine: Bullying

We had previously created a singular GMail account where each student had their own folder on google docs and created any writing that moved through the drafting process.  This made it most easy for my co-teacher and me to revise and conference with students online.  We had the opportunity to offer feedback, students had the opportunity to make revisions, and we instantly knew which students we needed to check-in with at the start of class.  Google docs had given me a sense of sanity during our fiction unit (where sixth graders often feel compelled to write a novel), and was once again one of the most useful tools in my writing class.  Drafting began, online conferencing ensued, and I felt like I had a grasp on the progress of each of my students.  In ten years of teaching, I have never been able to say that I had an understanding of the status of all students during a writing assignment.  Google docs has changed that for me as an educator, and more importantly, for my students.  It was easy to determine where students needed more research, more voice, grammar and punctuation assistance, etc. 

Digital Magazine: The Moments of Silence Needed for Many Of Our World

Digital Magazine: Benefits of Recess 

As soon as we began drafting, I did a brief lesson on how the glossi.com account worked.  I explained to the students that I was showing them the most basic steps in creating the digital magazine, but that they were really going to need to play with the site to figure things out.  In the initial presentation I gave them assigned pages for the layout; these were later taken away as I saw that by giving them a minimum I was ensuring that most students would only do the bare minimum.  By broadening the assignment, and giving them many options, many students pushed themselves beyond what I had originally assigned.  In addition, taking more time to research, write, and revise encouraged the students to really focus on the message for the reader, and take more pride in this assignment than your typical research project completed in sixth grade.  As students asked me questions about the site I often sent them to another classmate for help, or told them it was their job to play around with the site until they figured it out.  (Part of this was because of my lack of knowledge within the site, and part of this was teaching this practical technique).  When more than one student expressed a fear of making a mistake, I explained that there is always a back button, and that sometimes you have to make a mistake to learn how to do something correctly.  To this day, I don't know how one student made his cover page of soldiers' hats move, or another made his background shimmer an orange sunset, but I watched them teach their classmates and I watched them motivated to make their digital magazine the best.

Digital Magazine: Gender Equality 

Digital Magazine: Dogs Being Outlawed 

As in all units, and teaching, nothing is perfect.  While we spent a lot of time having them document their resources on their bibliography, in the future we will need to spend more time having them accurately quoting where their research was received.  Also, a skill that I continue to struggle teaching, and the students continue to struggle learning is putting things into their own words.  At the age of twelve this seems to be a hard skill to maintain throughout the whole piece.  These will be skills and strategies I will work toward improving throughout the rest of this year, and figure how to address when I complete this assignment with next year's students.  With that being said, my favorite moments in teaching continue to be the moments when my students' motivation to learn exceeds the hand holding and teacher-driven instruction they are so accustomed to at this young age.  Teaching them that their words matter and can change the world is the first step in giving them a sense of power through the written language.         

All In A Day's Work - The Emotional Rollercoaster We Call Teaching

Please excuse the bullets that have become my writing on this day.  They seem to be the best way to express the emotional roller coaster that is called teaching nowadays.  This is the just the surface of today, as I would never feel comfortable really disclosing the tough days of my students.  In teaching we have to be very respectful of their confidentiality and privacy.  If you don't feel like reading the whole page, scroll to the bottom - that's the best part. 

• Writing is cancelled today because today is the day that the students receive exposure to German.  Normally this would be frustrating to me, but as I listen to this amazing teacher (that is only in the building for 6 weeks - 4 at this time) speak in only German I am touched by the way the students respond.  They follow her every move, stand up and sing the alphabet and other songs, and really respond to her.  I am reminded of the value my school district puts on multi-culturalism and developing the whole student.

• As a grant proposal my class was granted 5 I-Pads yesterday - I don't know who is more excited me or the kids.  Probably me.  The students divide into groups based on the math concepts they have struggled with the most, and begin to create flipped-learning videos on the app Educreations.  Their goal is to teach other students how to solve these most difficult concepts, while teaching themselves.  It was in this moment I realized how ineffective the binder system was this year, despite the fact the pages are meant to come out of the text.  Oops!  Guess I need a better system next year.

•  I begin to explain to the students that they have earned their award for our behavior management system and we will have a PJ/Breakfast party.  I anticipated telling my students the menu: pancakes, bacon, fruit salad, and donuts, and receiving great appreciation.  Never did I expect them to put in requests: "Can you make chocolate pancakes?"  "I would like pineapple."  "How about I bring in waffles instead?"  Ummm... How about thank you?  I explained to them that I was sad, and they had made me feel very unappreciative - when someone is doing something kind, and being generous, you just say "Thank You."  I thought the message was clear - I was wrong.  

• Every year we hold a "field day" much like other schools.  It was later in the day that I heard some of my students complaining about the events from the previous year.  I stood there appalled.  I once again explained that "field day" was a privilege and many teachers, myself included, had worked hard to plan that day.  We discussed that while they may not have loved every event, sometimes it is better to just be appreciative for what you are given.

• These last two bullets lead to this a version of this conversation (lecture):  "You know I love each of you very much, but today as a class I was sad.  I have made a decision to continue with the PJ Party and movie time, but I will not be buying and making you breakfast.  You may bring in your own small snack for yourself during that time, but I do not feel very much like giving you anymore than what you already have inside of this classroom.  I am here to teach the whole student, and this lesson is different than the typical math, writing, or reading lesson.  I am sorry to those of you whom appreciated from the very beginning."   One student raised his hand an apologized, while the others sat very serious.  What I love about my students is that they listened, but they didn't seem upset with me... It was like they knew it was coming. :)

• At the very end of the day a former student walked into my room.  I hadn't seen her in years, and now that she was in 11th grade it was fun to just catch-up with her.  She got tears in her eyes when I said I was engaged, and we spent a lot of time talking about the joys of being an aunt.  Her visit touched a place in my heart, and I was once again reminded how lucky I am to be able to watch these amazing people grow beyond my classroom.

• And now for one of my TOP favorite moments in the last ten years:  As this young women walked with me toward my next meeting, an additional former student was waiting for me.  He gave me a big hug, and said "I came to invite you to something.  What are you doing May 18th?"  I told him I wasn't sure and it may be a bridal shower off of the top of my head.  He looked at me and said, "I wanted to invite you to hear me sing at Carnegie Hall."  I don't think there are words to express the moment when you know one of your "kids" is doing something above and beyond the norm, and even greater when they include you in the moments. 

Most days in teaching are a roller coaster.  You watch the kid who doesn't get food at home, and know that his only meal is the one for breakfast or lunch in the school... The kids who wear all of the name brands, but are just screaming for attention at home, or at school... The ones who could care less about education, or just want to play video games/ or sports... You watch the kid fighting off the urge to cut, or flip the desk, because life is harder for him/her than the rest... The one who sails into the school day always trying their best... And the one who struggles just fighting off and covering their disability.  And you teach them all with love.
But every once in a while, you end up with a visit from Carnegie Hall.  

Teaching Has Saved Me

On more than one occasion teaching has saved my life.  In those moments when I found it hard to breath, to get out of bed and face life, I have walked into my classroom and forgotten the outside world.  When my heart has been smashed into small pieces, or those that I loved have disappeared from my life... When I have been beyond disappointed in myself, or couldn't stand my own thoughts... Teaching has saved me. 

This was not that different just a few weeks ago.  I was in a place where I couldn't understand life, and was hurt, angry, and frustrated with fate for taking a friend, and piece of my future, from my life.  I was overwhelmed with concern for my future husband, as he had suddenly lost a best friend whom was more like a brother.

I spent more than one day looking through my students, unable to really listen to their words, and understand the conversations.  I was going through the motions of teaching - something I don't believe in, and yet we've all experienced.  I vividly remember a friend saying, "How were your kids today?" and I was befuddled.  I didn't have an answer, except to say honestly, "I don't know.  I mean I guess they were fine, but I don't really know what happened today."  What I love about teaching sixth graders is the honesty we can have with one another.  My students knew that a dear friend had passed, and were sensitive to the time and space I needed.  Telling them the truth, and requesting from them some patience and understanding (as well as good behavior and hard work) really allowed me to take care of what I needed to in my personal life.  I wasn't able to see their concern for me in those moments, but it came through in the days that passed. 

They asked if they could help me pick out the substitute that would be teaching in the days that followed (partly because they do not like having substitutes, and partly because they knew they would behave and have fun if it was someone they like).  When I returned from two and a half days out ( 1.5 for services, .5 for a meeting), one student asked if I was his teacher again.  When I smiled and nodded, he wrapped his arms around me (in a hallway of about 65 sixth graders) and told me he was so glad I was back.  It is in those moments that teaching saves me from my own thinking.  It is in those moments that I can breathe again. 

We dismissed early that day, and the next day was a potential snow day that led to an extended vacation.  It was hard for me to wrap my head around saying goodbye to them for the vacation after so few hours together, and still deal with the world outside the school building.  As I took a deep breath, and walked toward my desk, I noticed an envelope on my desk with a note on the outside:

Dear Miss Sisto, 

Your students were very worried about you, and wanted to write you some notes.  So sorry to hear of your friend.   Try to enjoy your vacation.

Nancy

Nancy is our building support teacher, so she is familiar and loves all of the staff and students at our school.  I smiled with tears in my eyes knowing this had come from not only her, but my co-teacher whom had been checking in on me all week.  This was exactly what I needed.  I packed it in my bag, eager to get home from the never-ending snow falling outside the windows.  I needed to be in my own home, and in my own space, before I read any of these letters.  

I don't have to explain how or why teaching saved me in this moment, because there are simply no words.  It's all in the letters. Take a look below and you'll understand.  I write this with one disclaimer: Walk away from reading this article with the understanding that these letters aren't about ME.  These are letters each educator that listens and loves their students receives.   

The Benefit of Sporadic Vacations

Yes, I know I am a teacher and I am beyond lucky at my vacation schedule.  NO TEACHER in the world should argue the fact that we are lucky to have three week-long vacations, as well as July AND August off.  I will absolutely agree with you.  I know I am a better educator because of these days, and often wonder why other professions don't follow a similar path.

Snow days?!  I will promise you that we love those days as much, if not more, than the kids.  Sorry. I know that as parents you hate those days - childcare, snow, screaming children, ice, screaming children, sledding, snow, screaming children... I don't argue that you are amazing people as parents.  As I am in the safe comfort of my home, cleaning my floors, catching up on my laundry, or snuggling with my dog I do think of you and your children.  (90% serious, 10% gloating) 

More important than snow days, though, are these sporadic vacations.  No, these are not important because I get time away from your children, and away from my job.  Because if you really know a teacher, you know that they are NEVER really away from their job.  You know that we wake up dreaming about lessons, and students.  You know that hugs from your children are as significant as those from our own family.  You know that we are grading and/or planning at almost all times, if not in person than in our heads.  And yet, the importance of vacation IS about time.  It is about the space from chaos to clear my head of the minutia.  It is about taking the time to figure out what I can do to make myself a better teacher, and a better person. It is about reflecting on what I have already taught, what has worked well, and what I can alter in the future.  Vacations allow me time to sit and think about how to help "Bobby" because what I am doing is not working, and that is not an option for me.  That time is not given during the school day, and amazingly enough, life is in full swing when any teacher gets home.  I do not mean, for an instant, that you do not have these same issues in your career.  You have a work problem that you are focused on while you sit at dinner with your children chattering on... You have an argument with your spouse that really stems from aggravation at work.  Teachers are no different than others, except that, we are. 

We are different because we work with your children each day.  We are different because we have to be so careful with our language, because young learners will easily become unmotivated and shut down in learning.  When children shut down on learning, we shut down OUR future.  We are different because what we do each day, with each student, will affect who they are in their future.  We are different because we have to teach them to read, be kind, write, use your manners, math, compassion, science, respect, history, perseverance, etc.  We are different because we are teaching future doctors, custodians, servers, philanthropists, lawyers, teachers, criminals, and so much more.

We are different because we often cry with your children, when you don't even know they are crying.

Before you sit and judge teachers for their time off, think of the benefits of giving teachers these sporadic vacations.  After ten years of teaching, I came back from Christmas vacation more rejuvenated than ever about a new unit - Activism - for my students.  I needed the time and space to reflect and research this topic (and it took me a full two weeks).  My students came back and worked harder than ever.  I learned from this unit that I had been underestimating them for quite some time.  During this most recent vacation I got to visit my parents.  I will be a better teacher because I had the time and space to be grounded with those that first taught me strength, morals, and hard work.  I watched my retired father work endless hours (including traveling for 4 days) to improve the healthcare system.  I was reminded that no matter what stage of life, you are never done learning and working towards your true passions.  I watched as my mother doted on me, and took care of me as only a mother can.  I was reminded of how much love you each have for your children.  Thank you for trusting me with them each and every day.   

As this vacation comes to an end, I am eager to see my students.  I missed laughing with my students, watching the light bulb go off, and those moments of genuine caring.  This point in the year is one of my favorites - my sixth graders begin to prepare themselves for seventh grade, and yet they hold onto us tighter than ever.  I have missed my students and will be a better teacher because of my week off.

On Monday I will enter my classroom, and take a deep breath, feeling a place of comfort, safety, and home.  How many of you can say that after a week off from work?

The Variance In The Philosophy Of The Teaching Of Writing

From a young age we are taught to "do as we say".  I don't have my own children, but I watched my parents and now my siblings, set the examples as members of positive and functioning members of society.  It was in these moments I learned forgiveness, patience, strength, courage, and the kindness of our words - through watching their practice.  It was then that I learned that to teach, I had to practice.

The teaching of writing in this country has always baffled me - in so many ways that a singular blog entry post does not apply, nor does it give it justice.  One of the most intriguing ways, however,  is the philosophy of writing as educators.  As an elementary teacher, I have the overhwhelming priviledge of teaching students in several content areas.  I currently teach reading, writing, and mathematics.  This is fascinating to me for two reasons: 1.) Seeing students' brains function in different capacities, with different strengths and 2.) Reflecting on the practice of teaching, different content,  in very different ways.

Ask most people in this region if they are a reader, and you will get a variety of answers.  Many will say something like, "I don't read often, but I certainly can read and understand".  A few might say, "I read everything I can get my hands on... If it's of interest to me" or a resounding, "Yes!"  And a smaller few may admit to not being a reader in "any capacity".  When you look at teachers, however, this is different.  Most teachers are in the previous groupings.  They read - many genres, and often.  But most importantly they read their content.  They do not assign a new text without thinking and analyzing the piece, much like a science teacher doesn't assign a lab without practicing the lab on their own; much like a math teacher doesn't begin teaching without refreshing their minds, and practicing statistics.

That thinking always  leads me into the area of writing.  The area that is most contradicting to all other practices.  Why is it that we, as educators and a society, are willing to challenge ourselves to read, to solve a math problem, to analyze social nuances, and yet we are unwilling to challenge ourselves to write.  Teachers of writing have actually defined themselves as "non-writers", or "scared to write".

When I plan for math I very often have to analyze each problem.  Which ones apply?  Which ones can I skip?  Which ones will I have to slow down and work through step-by-step?  And the most challenging questioning of - The HOW?  I have to anticipate every step.  And yet, if you are not a practicing "writer", how do you truly know which skills really apply to that writing assignment, beyond your assumptions?  Which ones were challenging?  Where did you get those resources?  Where will students stumble?  And once again - The HOW?

My life changed as a person and, more importantly, as an educator in September 2008.  I came off of a summer spent with other educators analyzing teaching, but more importantly writing.  I sat in a group, of which originated as strangers, and shared through written word my deepest secrets and inner-most thoughts.  It was in those moments that I learned how truly vulnerable writing was; and how often I was asking my students to be vulnerable, without ever putting myself out in return.  It was my first step in understanding that I can't ask my students to do something that I am unwilling to practice myself.  I was then reminded - "do as you say." 

As we embarked into the chaos of September 2008 and a couple of years after, I accepted the inner challenge of writing every single time my students were writing.  While I soon realized that this was impractical because I was struggling to evaluate each students' understanding of the written word, I did develop a classroom of writers.  They came into my room and expected that I would write, and so they wrote.  They knew it was valued, and they knew it was expected.  They knew that to write you had to be brave, and that writing was an experience in and of itself - an experience that changed you and your thinking.

In the most recent years, my teaching has had to change and adapt, but my philosophy of writing has remained the same. With the Common Core Standards, this has been a struggle, but I refuse to let my standards and philosophy of teaching little people change... People of all sizes need to learn and think through writing.  All of us need to define ourselves as "readers" and as "writers."

My philosophy as a teacher of writing, and I challenge you to join me, is to "teach as you say".  My Standards: 1.) Before you challenge your students to an assignment and project, practice it yourself.  Hurdle through the unexpected easier times, and struggle through the hard times.  See how long it takes you, as an educated adult, and multiply that - BY A LOT (your struggling students will appreciate that moment more than any other).  2.) If you reach the point in an assignment or project where you have lost stamina - assume that your students will too.  Either adapt your teaching, or change the assignment.

I guarantee you will not have a true understanding of what is difficult or challenging for a student until you make that practice yourself, and you will know how to help them because you have struggled through it on your own.  You will not understand true vulnerability until you have given yourself, and your thinking, to your students.    I do guarantee that your teaching will change, and your classroom community will shift, when you "practice what you preach" and "do as you say."  My favorite quote last week was, "Miss Sisto, what are you doing your project on?"  Not only were they curious, but they knew I was teaching and learning along them on the journey.

Unseen, She Stood Beside Me

I sat, over Christmas break, completely baffled about what to do with my sixth grade writers when we returned in January.  It wasn't just one sitting that I contemplated and analyzed this concept.  It had been prior to vacation, and all throughout.  We had just finished a fiction unit - the one unit 95% are most eager to participate in due to their love of fantasy, mystery, and/or drama.  But now I was stuck... How could I get them as excited about any other piece of writing as they were about the genre of Fiction?  Sitting in the sushi restaurant where I do my planning (yes, I find that lesson plans over sushi is much easier than planning at home), I had an instinct that spoke to me louder than ever about where to find my answer.  The National Writing Project.  Of course.  How could I not have gone there two weeks ago when I was stuck?  It is the place of endless creative ideas.  It is the place of security, and like-minded people.  I can't tell you what I searched, but within moments I had the emotional connection I was looking for in my teaching.  I read of a high school student whom had written a report on eating disorders because she wanted to change the world, and ensure that no other young woman or man encountered the same debilitating disease she had been suffering with for years.  At the end of her research, she checked herself into a hospital-setting for rehabilitation.  She had begun changing the world by educating herself.  I knew my students were capable of the same.

Activism.  I was going to challenge my students, and myself, to change the world with knowledge and passion.  This was not an easy task since they are 11 and 12 years old.  Knowing full well my school librarian would be eager to participate, I began to brainstorm what this would look like as a teacher, and as a student.   After a few lessons of listing and writing what makes you angry, what needs to change, what makes you sad, who is an activist from history/in your life, and how to create a strong angle the students picked their topics and we headed to the library.  The librarian had taught them several lessons about databases, and safe searching, and was eager to collaborate with me on this unit.

It was during my second class that I looked around and had a deep feeling of familiarity.  Despite having never done this assignment, the enthusiasm and passion from my students made me feel that I had been here before, and yet I hadn't.  And then I had my flashback.

I was sitting in Provence with my still intact writing group - PWC (Professional Writing Cohort).  Each of us were sharing what we most wanted to explore and learn about as educators.  Kathryn expressed a great desire to share with her students the need to delve into information, research, to learn more about a given topic.  "I want my students to WANT to learn more about the world around them... I want to say we are going to do research, and watch their eyes light up, rather than the groans heard around the room.  They need to know that it is important to want to learn more and go deeper with your thinking.  I am going to spend this time writing and reflecting on different strategies to motive students as researchers, learners, and writers."  It was in that moment that Kathryn was in my teaching.

See, Kathryn passed a mere 8-months after this conversation.  It was truly a devastating to blow to our writing group.  She didn't have ample time to delve into this critical area of teaching and learning.  We as a writing group didn't have ample time to have her depth of thinking and questioning.  But as I stood in the library, watching my students, I felt her standing beside me, nodding her head, and telling me we were onto something, and pushing me to keep going.  Kathryn may be gone from our physical world, but her dreams and lessons continue to live on in the world of teaching.