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.