This is part of a "blog exchange" program of dozens of educators around the country through the month of November. I will be posting many other posts with the theme of gratitude from guest authors on a special GUEST BLOGGERS PAGE, and highly encourage you to go read their work and check them out! As a 23 year old kid fresh out of UW-Stevens Point, I entered a job market relatively high on supply and low on demand for Social Studies teachers. Wisconsin had just passed legislation to cripple the powers of the Teachers Union and it was a time of great uncertainty for the profession in our state. Math and Science were the hotly recruited positions, but I knew the reality was any openings for a Social Studies teacher would mean my resume would be one of hundreds on an administrator’s desk. I took a calculated gamble: risk looking like an unprofessional goofball that was too young and lacked the seriousness for the job by encouraging anyone thinking about hiring me to look at my crappy parody music videos on YouTube.
Somehow, some way, Beloit Turner called and said they wanted me to come down for an interview, and as I sat there rehearsing canned lines in my ill-fitting JCPenney clearance rack suit, an important looking man walked by, stopped, turned to face me and said “you’re General Dan Sickles!” referring to a “mockumentary” I had made for a college assignment that was posted on my YouTube channel (which you can watch here). It was fun to make, but we’re talking about scenes with the stock Windows MovieMaker grainy black and white effect while my roommate threw a basketball at my leg to simulate Civil War cannon fire. It definitely risked making me look like an unprofessional goofball that was too young and lacked the seriousness for the job. “Dennis McCarthy! I’m the Superintendent,” he said as he extended a hand for me to shake. “This is either really good, or really bad,” I thought to myself. Turns out, it was a really good thing that I led the administrative team of Beloit Turner to my YouTube channel, because they wanted someone that was willing to get creative, think differently, and do whatever it took to engage kids. They held true to that for the entire seven years I taught there, and I received nothing but guidance, encouragement and support. I did some dumb stuff, don’t get me wrong… like, thinking I could use Nacho Libre to help demonstrate the physical geography of Mexico-level dumb stuff, but they seemed to recognize the intent was in the right place and didn’t want me to stop trying new things. I will always be grateful for Superintendent McCarthy. As a 23 year old interviewing for the job, he made me feel like despite his position and title, he would be approachable and work with me as teammates rather than a boss, and for the entire 7 years I was at Turner, he stayed true to his word. He took time to connect on a personal level, and I had countless discussions about football with him. His daughter was in my class for the first three years of my career, each a different subject and grade, each the first time I had ever taught it, and he saw firsthand some terrible rookie mistakes, but never said a single negative thing about it. This anecdote is actually only a small window into my experience with administration over 7+ years as a professional educator. However, as I reflect on my experiences with all of the administrators I have worked with, I’ve realized how common it has been for my administrators to treat me with the same levels of respect, friendliness and collegiality. I may be lucky, and I may be the exception, but in the month of November with gratitude and thankfulness on our minds, I feel it is appropriate to show gratitude to my own administration. Administration… In the lexicon of educators, this is often a swear word to be spit out with disgust and contempt. Everyone in education has heard administration horror stories. At its worst, administration can be a roadblock to common sense solutions, a wet blanket to creativity and passion, an ineffective middle-man for contact with the community, or a pusher of bad ideas. The very definition of the word administration refers to running a school. I’ve been a classroom teacher for 8 years and have not once experienced any desire to become an administrator. But just because I don’t want to become an administrator doesn’t mean I have experienced those horror stories first hand. I cannot think of a single administrator I’ve worked with that hasn’t made me a better teacher in some way. I cannot think of a single administrator I’ve worked with that hasn’t earned my respect. I am unbelievably blessed and I genuinely feel bad for educators that do have those horror stories about their own administrations. Thinking about the struggle that happens between administrators and teachers reminds me of the song "Know Your Enemy" by Rage Against the Machine. Yes, I know my enemies! They're the teachers who taught me to fight me Compromise, conformity, assimilation, submission Ignorance, hypocrisy, brutality, the elite All of which are American dreams Sometimes teachers think administrators are pitting us against each other, forcing us to compromise, fit into a box of how they want things to go, all while ignoring the realities of the situation. I admit, I've thought of it that way before... But those thoughts never remained permanent. That's not what any of my administrators have actually believed and followed through on. There are plenty of ACTUAL enemies to what we are trying to do in the classroom. Poverty, hunger, parent and student apathy, broken homes, lack of resources and funding, social distractions and pop culture, the list goes on and on and on. Administration is not the enemy. Don't misdirect your rage against the machine of your school district. There are other machines involved.
34 Comments
When I was in 5th grade, my parents sold our house and built a new one, meaning I would be going to a different middle school in 6th grade than all my previous classmates. I was not moving cities, but I was going to be "the new kid". Everyone was trying to reassure me that 6th grade was a perfect time to make the change because EVERYONE would be the new kid in 6th grade. There were multiple elementary schools feeding into the middle school and lots of kids would be in the same boat.
That sounded nice, but I encountered a much different reality on day one of 6th grade. Sure, there were multiple elementary schools feeding into the middle school, but instead of encouraging us to meet new people, it made the insecure, self-absorbed 11 and 12 year olds of Carl Traeger Middle School cling even harder to the friends they established from elementary school. The school policy of assigned seats at lunch did not help. Pick wherever you want to sit and whoever you want to sit with on day one... and then it's locked for the first nine weeks of school! No Pressure... this just determines who you're going to be spending the largest single period of free social time in your day with... but I digress. Long story short, my stomach turned every single morning on the way to school. and every single night as I thought about the next day. Since it was 1999, I could not text or snap my buddies from elementary school to stay in touch. I was miserable and trying to float by each day without making any waves or directing any attention toward myself. I was afraid to reach out and build relationships. I was afraid to show my personality for fear of being rejected. This all culminated in a phone call to the school counselor from my mom... which is some top-level middle school embarrassment, especially considering I was unaware she had done it and got called into her office with no warning or time to prepare. If I knew I was going to be talking to the counselor, I probably would have tried to convince her I was floating by just fine and suppressed all my actual thoughts and feelings. The problem is, she knew I was lying when I originally said I was doing fine and got me to break and spill the whole story with minimal follow up. That information led her to pull some strings and change my lunch seating to be around kids I was playing YMCA football with. That information led her to encourage (or basically force) me to join student council where I worked on setting up and tearing down school dances with some kids I had never talked to before. That information led to her saying hi to me and calling me by name every time I passed in the hallway, and not allowing me to pass without saying hi back. I was reluctant to go along with all of it at the time, but in hindsight, it limited the social and emotional damage I was inflicting upon myself and caused me to go make friends. Now, I'm the new kid again but in the role of school staff, not student. After becoming incredibly comfortable at Beloit Turner Middle School over the last 7 years, I am living in a new house, going to a new school, surrounded by new people with new responsibilities, just like in 6th grade back in 1999. Sure, I am nervous about a couple things but I know the experience will be fantastic. Instead of dreading all the new people, I am excited about it. That has never been easy for me, but my 6th grade experience taught me that it's not supposed to be easy to reach out to new people... it's supposed to be worthwhile. This is the attitude I bring to the 2018-19 school year. If you are a student or parent reading this, I think it's important for you to know. As seventh graders, every student that walks into my classroom on day one will be a new kid in a way... new to the middle school building and new to the middle school experience. The biggest reason for me putting this out there is so you know two things: I have been through this before, and I am going through it again. Hopefully I can play the same role that my school counselor did and encourage you to branch out, join activities and experience all the great stuff middle school has to offer. Perhaps more importantly though, I can go through this new experience together with all of you. Are you ready to get lost in the hallways together? Are you ready to try and figure out the bell schedule together? Are you ready to be the new kid together? I know I am! Let's do this thing! If you're reading this blog right now, I am sure you have realized that this is quickly becoming a landfill for all my emotional waste that must be dumped. I'm not trying to make anyone cry except myself. I'm trying to get to the Ariana Grande point of having no tears left to cry... I'm not there yet but a couple more deep reflections on the end of the school year should do it! I wrote before that I wanted to leave Turner with "No Regerts", especially regarding the relationships I've built over the years. I feel like I was pretty successful over the last week of school and I got to give a lot of final hugs, take lots of pictures, and sign lots of yearbooks (see gallery below). I had an awesome time playing kickball this year and my hand was literally in pain by the end of Thursday from the marathon session of yearbook signing. I made it through my awards, two video tributes, and numerous conversations and goodbyes with one small welling of tears in my eyes being the only outward evidence of the emotional storm inside. On Friday I sat in the student section of the auditorium on purpose, because I've realized over the years that I feel like I belong there much more than standing in the back with other adults. I even sat next to Morgen not realizing she would be gone at softball a good chunk of the afternoon... a sure sign I wasn't going to miss out on talking to ANYONE! I played soccer with "Da Boys", I sat in a circle of 7th grade girls and heard ALL the social drama of the day, then a few boys joined and I somehow ended up demolishing an ant that had the misfortune of crawling on my leg and telling them what my favorite book was. (Actually, that sounds like a completely normal day teaching middle school). We caught the end of that song from the Fast and the Furious on our way back inside and we did Fortnite dances to it instead of getting all sad and mopey. I got to sign a boatload of yearbooks that I didn't get to on Thursday. My phone is loaded up with a ton of pictures out in the circle drive (again, see gallery below). I ended the day missing 4 or 5 pairs of sunglasses, and I'm totally OK with it. #NoRegerts! Really? No Regerts?Ok, so the last week of school was too short to have absolutely NO Regerts. Here is a list of things I could do over: 1. Katie and Rebecca Schildgen, I saw you at lunch Friday, had a couple minutes to chat, should have gotten a photo with one of my all time favorite sibling duos! 2. Cam Boudreaux, I should have made sure you knew I was leaving before the last couple days 3. Rest of the freshman boys... where were you? Nah, half of you live in my neighborhood and the other half practically lives in my neighborhood. I'll see you around. 4. Completely forgetting to bring a legit prize for the #classcomp champions... WHOOPS! 5. Jaelyn Rudolph... where have you been? Forget the last week, I haven't seen you in forever! On top of this, there is the crushing weight of Regret for how I approached much of the middle of the year. Teachers get burned out by testing too guys. It's a thing. It happens. And this year, I think all the meetings about how to change lessons and give interventions to students and implement this and that and the other thing to raise iReady scores was getting to me more than I realized. I was flat out grumpy in the winter, and it took Mrs. Dudgeon (bless her heart) talking about how she is pushing all that aside and focusing on teaching kids as HUMAN BEINGS to snap me back to reality a bit by early March. If you want one massive regret, it's that I got away from my bread and butter as a teacher for a few months and I didn't even realize it. I was going through the motions, trying to not be annoyed, lacking much inspiration for any innovative lesson ideas. You all deserved better, and that's my biggest regret of the year. But like I said, for the most part I feel like I went out the way I wanted, and I have an entire gallery of photos to prove it (which in case you haven't realized yet, you can see below). I can leave Turner happy overall. So... you're over it now?Well, NO! I made it through my awards, two video tributes, and numerous conversations and goodbyes with one small welling of tears in my eyes being the only outward evidence of the emotional storm inside. Then 3:15 hit, kids found their buses, and the sidewalk became emptier and emptier. The pit in my stomach became more and more apparent and I could feel some strain in my eyes. Nadilee asked a pretty innocent question along the lines of "Will you miss us?" or something... a straightforward question with a straightforward answer. But saying "Of course I'll miss you" out loud while looking around at the nearly empty circle drive brought on a few of those darned tears. That started a chain reaction, including Kacy, who I was sure had reached the Ariana Grande point by then, but apparently I was mistaken. When the last buses were loaded and headed out, I walked into the building with my wonderful wife and children that had come to pick me up. We made our way to Room 17 and basically everything I predicted from the last blog post happened. I looked around and tried to figure out if there was anything I needed to pack, and realizing the desks were all empty for good, all I could do was sit at my desk and let it all out. Correction, not ALL of it was let out. Like I said, I am not over it. Friday night brought more tears reading letters from students telling me it's "Not a goodbye but just a see ya later". I couldn't handle being alone with my thoughts on Saturday morning for an hour and a half with the droning of a Honda pushmower, or when Leah asked if I would miss "my friends" at school Monday since I still had to go. It brought a tear to my eye standing on the beach in Lake Mills only a few minutes from starting a triathlon and hearing "Home" by Phillip Phillips. It brought tears to my eyes sitting at a stoplight in Madison on Sunday hearing Leah talk about how she will miss her friends from Powers and likes our green house. Reading The Berenstain Bears: Moving Day to the kids has been a bit tough. And it definitely got em flowing writing this. Truthfully I don't know if I'll EVER completely get over leaving Turner. Being happy leaving Turner and having no regrets about how I leave Turner should not be confused with me being OVER IT. Turner has such a big place in my heart and that isn't going to go away just because I move schools. I hope to continue many of the wonderful relationships I've built, and as many of you pointed out, Turner will still be home and I will still be part of the Turner family forever. Many of the 8th grade letters I received from Transitions classes made that VERY clear and I don't think the kids that wrote those words know how much that truly means to me. And that is one of the many things I can smile about through this all, because seriously, how lucky am I to have been to be part of that family the last 7 years? The Class of 2021 Squad gave me a binder full of letters they wrote, and on the cover it says "How Lucky Am I To Have Something That Makes Saying Goodbye So Hard". They gave it to me during a surprise party they threw on Wednesday morning. I couldn't bring myself to even open it until Friday night. I saved it, because I figured I'd break down immediately as I read anything they wrote, and then if I had to face them at school again on Thursday or Friday it would all come back. For the most part though, I was wrong. Sure, there were tears. Some big ones at times. Like when one of them reminded me how I had told them just one year earlier that the middle school and high school were physically attached and they had no reason to be sad on the last day of 8th grade, which made me feel like a huge liar. However, I found myself laughing several times, swelling with pride and feeling some positive closure on my Turner years. They shared some great memories and left me happy overall. Many of those same kids were nothing but smiles and every day small talk on Friday at school. Especially those that showed quite a bit of sadness and emotion when I first said I was leaving. That makes me realize that it's OK for me to sit in my basement bawling while blogging (hey, that sounds like a great new possibility as a title for this blog if I decide to ONLY do sappy emotional ones... "Bawling while Blogging"... I like it). It's OK to let it out in big chunks and reflect back on it all and write about all my experiences, because (in theory) I will get through the sad phase more quickly and move on to thinking about all the good things and smiling. I went through the sad phase with the Freshman Squad back in early May when I first told people I was leaving. By last week we were in my room eating a giant cookie talking about trying to track down a pair of pajamas used on the set of Girl Meets World. Again, don't confuse that with being "over it", but it allowed for lots of laughs and happy memories rather than tears and sadness. I think the same can be said about the pile of 8th grade Transitions letters I got from my mailbox Monday morning back at school. I read them all Monday night thinking it might be another cathartic exercise to read them all at once and perhaps push some more of those stubborn tears out. Turns out, I was smiling and chuckling the whole time! There were the serious pieces like the reminders that Turner would always be home, but there were also memories of flicking scissors around, things that Grind Your Gears, recess football, and making sure I "take an L" if Turner Track ever faces my new school. Perhaps I am getting closer, but I haven't gotten completely through the overall sad phase yet. This is a three day work week at Turner, including the dreaded "classroom workday" Wednesday... AKA, pack away all the memories you're taking with you and leave all the memories behind that the next teacher will need. Whenever Ms. Vickie goes over the PA system and says we are all free to leave and to have a wonderful summer, the place will clear out in 3 minutes. I will probably still be there for a bit. Believe me, there is still quite a bit of sad phase to go and that might be an opportune time to drain the tanks and finally reach Ariana Grande status. I shouldn't feel the need to wear sunglasses through it all and try to cover it up though. I'll be able to get to a point where I can look back and HAPPILY reflect on how lucky I've been this past 7 years that much sooner. I won't necessarily be over it, but I will be excited about the next chapter and smile looking back on the last one. "I love you all... class dismissed" -Mr. Feeny
My wife and I have been talking about moving to the Madison area for a couple years. We are not natives of the state line area. We went to school in Stevens Point. Our families live about 2 hours away by car, and most of our best friends are anywhere from 2-3 hours away. We need to be closer to all of that as our kids grow up. Because of this, I accepted a job at Waunakee Community Middle School to teach 7th grade Social Studies. We are moving after teaching at Turner for 7 years. Please believe me when I say that it was 7 of the best years of my life, because I absolutely mean it. I loved my time here, I love this district, I love my neighborhood and I love the kids I've had the privilege of teaching. I don't want to leave with anything left on the table. As Eleanor said in track last season, "NO REGERTS!" I'll be an absolute mental and emotional wreck on the last day of school, so I want to prepare now and give one big explanation, and officially invite you to become an emotional wreck right alongside me if you wish. When the news first went out a couple weeks ago, it was harder to deal with than I expected. Some seventh graders learned what was going on, told other people in the middle school, texted siblings in the high school, and before you know it a parade of freshmen showed up to my room in Titan Time to stare at me like I had a terminal illness. "What's going on?" "He's leaving..." "........... is this a prank?" I couldn't hold it together and the school day ended with me going to track practice a sobbing mess. BUT... I was able to get some of those initial emotions out of my system and be normal again the next couple weeks. I even held it together when Nadilee gave me a stuffed donkey, which doesn't sound like a sweet gesture on the surface but it was truly one of the most genuine acts of caring any student has shown toward me. Now there is one week left though. I've been telling myself to keep it light-hearted, positive, smiley, happy and fun. Focus on what's to come. Be excited about Waunakee and all the great changes it will bring. Look forward to new challenges and new relationships. But when I think about all the new relationships, I can't help but dwell on the roughly 1,000 individual student relationships I have already built at Turner. Building relationships is what I have always seen as my biggest strength, but right now it is turning into a huge emotional weakness. That weakness is about to be on full display... I WILL BE AN ABSOLUTE WRECK ON FRIDAY JUNE 1ST! As I write this, Owen is looking at my homemade yearbook and asking "is this thing gonna have a bunch of tear stains on it?" Yes... Yes it will. Luckily, many of you seem to already understand this. I just talked to two kids in Titan Time about how we can all cry together on the last day. Nobody needs to feel left out! Heck, I'm even predicting where and when I'll cry because it's a pretty full day packed with plenty of opportunities. I'll be fine right away in the morning, and I'll probably have kids bustling in and out of my room to check out the 8x10 photo of the #classcomp champions that will be displayed on the Honish wall of Fame and Immortality. I'll probably be fine when everyone goes down to the auditorium for awards, except there is the issue of me going up to give MY awards. Heck, I almost got a little choked up last year and bailed on a plan to give a little speech to the 8th graders because I didn't know if I could handle not seeing them so much any more. (You can read all about that HERE... I'm not sure which of these two blog posts is sappiest, but I'm sure it will be great party reading when Sam Wells could be getting LIT instead). Then there's the talent show. I think I'll be fine through all 7 renditions of "Titanium". Lunch should be no problem, and I'll probably be signing yearbooks the whole time. Sidenote: BRING ME YOUR YEARBOOKS. Yes, I write a lot. No, it's not just because I am leaving. I spent at least the last 180 days with you... you deserve to hear about it a little bit. Dance and activities time? That depends. I want to see as many people as possible, have one last little chat and give some well wishes. Take me up on that and there could be some tears. Sometimes high school students are roaming around in between finals. I cannot OFFICIALLY condone coming to the middle school in the middle of what is technically a school day, but come find me. I will make myself available. Once the dance and activities are over, everyone mills around the courtyard by where the buses come through. I will try to smile for pictures, and sign as many yearbooks as possible as I mentally cling to the last hour of my Turner career like a climber on a crumbling cliff edge. The buses will load, you will all go home, and then it's gonna get BAD. I will walk back into what is always an eerily quiet school building. Seriously, the place is so WEIRD. It's full of nothing but noise and rowdiness for 9 months and then it's like the building exhales deeply and settles in for a 3 month nap. I will go back to my room and pretend to pack or something. Will I REALLY have anything to do? Probably not, and I'll be coming back the next week for inservice, so it will be some thumb twiddling and nervous pacing. I will open my door and know for sure that students will never enter MY Room 17 again. I will see the empty desks and know I won't see them filled again. It is at this point I will reflect on my last week and decide if I have any regrets. I want my yearbook and photo album on my phone to be full. I want to feel like I had a productive last conversation with people I care about. I want to make sure I didn't MISS anyone in the process. If all goes well, I will be able to stay true to Eleanor's "NO REGERTS!" mantra... so in order to make sure that happens, I need your help.
4 school days remain. Come find me. Come sign my yearbook and give me yours to sign. Let's talk about that one time that one kid did that one thing. Let's talk about that one weird fact I said in class and promptly forgot about, but you still remember. Let's talk about where you want to go to college and what you want to do with your life. I needed to get the news out that I was leaving with enough time for people to find out and for me to come to terms with it. Now I need to invite you to spend a few minutes with me AT SOME POINT this next week. If I don't see every one of the approximately 750 students in this building I have taught, I can understand that. That's not realistic. But if you wanted to come visit and never did because you thought it was going to be a hassle or bother me or you're a high schooler that shouldn't be in the middle school, I could not forgive myself. So please... come bother me at your earliest convenience. "Education and remembrance are the only cures for hatred and bigotry." -Miriam Oster "That is the quote I put on my screen, asking 120 7th graders to tell me what it means on day one of the unit. We do it on day one to establish purpose for the following three weeks. Although it is Geography class, we are diverting from the usual plan of studying a certain area of the world. On the surface, it seems like a history unit. If you look deeper, you'll find the Geography Standards about culture, cooperation, conflict. migration, government structure and others.
But make no mistake, this unit is not about raising test scores associated with standards. It's about raising a generation of decent human beings. It is a unit about the Nazi Holocaust. I was a World War II geek as a young child, and I knew about the Holocaust by the time I was in about 2nd or 3rd grade. I went through a Holocaust Unit in my own middle school too, but I really only have a couple memories of it. One happens to be a project I now look back on in disgust. 3 friends and I had to create a skit involving some aspect of the Holocaust, and we turned it into a comedy of errors with a lackluster Nazi officer trying fruitlessly to track down a Jew that had been in hiding trying to escape. A tasteless attempt at 7th grade humor, right down to the cheesy German accent on our Nazi officer character as he did things like attempt to roll his window down in an open-air cockpit of a plane and missing obvious clues to the whereabouts of the Jewish escapee. "C-... I get what you were going for, but try not to joke about a topic as serious as the Holocaust" wrote Mr. Moore, the single greatest middle school social studies teacher ever. Ouch. C-, my lowest grade of pretty much my entire life, and handed down by the guy I wanted to be someday. He was a goofball, a 12 year old in an adult body, and he told us we shouldn't joke about it. We didn't think we were causing any harm. We were even making the Nazi character look extra dumb. What we didn't realize at the age of 12 though, was that it didn't matter. The Holocaust was not a laughing mater... period. There just isn't an acceptable way to goof around about 11 million people being murdered. In college I had the opportunity to participate in a summer study abroad course in Germany, Poland and the Czech Republic. The course? Nazi Germany and the Holocaust. An intense look at the Nazi's rise to power and the systematic way they carried out genocide, complete with tours of 5 concentration camps. This was not a survey, this was deep. I can honestly say that besides my wedding (to a fellow study abroad student that I met on the trip, coincidentally) and the birth of my two children, it was the most profound and emotional experience of my life. We were in the former Jewish ghetto of Krakow, we touched the gate of Dachau, we found our way through the tunnel maze of Theresienstadt, and we walked across the selection platform at Auschwitz. Every camp we went to was different in location, size, original purpose and unique history, but they all had something in common. Deafening Silence. It's not that there wasn't any noise. There were tour guides telling stories and pointing out landmarks, the crunch of the ground beneath our shoes, the occasional backpack zipper, but I don't think any of that noise really registered with me. All around us was that deafening silence, hanging over each camp, eliminating all distraction so we could focus intently on learning the biggest lesson of our entire school careers. "Education and remembrance are the only cures for hatred and bigotry." I swore that I would make a point of educating everyone that walked through my classroom door someday that I would educate them. I promised myself I would make sure the Holocaust was remembered. I wanted to be part of the cure. I've been teaching a cross-curricular Holocaust unit paired with reading "The Diary of a Young Girl" by Anne Frank in Ms. Clarke's Language Arts class. I try to show students how Adolf Hitler and the Nazis were able to twist Germany's situation in the 1920's and 30's in their favor to gain power and influence, and how they built up steadily to a point where they could efficiently carry out the genocide of over 11 million innocent people. One of the most common questions I get is "Why didn't anyone stop Hitler before this happened?" I tell them all the time that the "What If?" game is interesting, but not especially helpful in history. Could someone or something have stopped Hitler before things got to the point of genocide? Of course! His rise to power is littered with examples where it could have been his political or literal demise. Heck, he was drowning as a small child and a Priest saved him! But I tell them "None of that matters... because he WASN'T stopped. The Holocaust DID happen." We are not able to travel back in time and prevent the Holocaust. We ARE able to educate ourselves, remember what happened, and make sure that whenever or wherever we see hatred or bigotry rearing its ugly head in our own lives, we DO something about it. I'd like to think that everyone that goes through our unit has a better understanding of their role in it all. I would hope that these 12 and 13 year old kids would be equipped to recognize hatred and bigotry and stand up to it. It is my greatest wish that no matter what their Math and ELA test scores are, they at least leave 7th grade as a caring human being. Sadly, I know that won't always be the case. I have found a Swastika etched into a desktop with eraser. Students have heiled Hitler because they think it's funny. Those isolated instances infuriate me to no end, but I must remember that I played the role of a slapstick, hapless Nazi officer in 7th grade too... all to try and get laughs. These kids haven't been to the camps. They still think they're immortal. They don't understand that each of those 11 million people was a unique individual. They don't know how beautiful and fleeting life is. Heck, even Anne Frank's diary will go over most of their heads because she had a perspective on life that (luckily) none of these seventh graders have. No matter how many images, video clips, diary excerpts or stories I share, it's unlikely I will reach everyone on a deep enough level. Heck, I don't even fully grasp what happened. I don't think anyone can unless they were there. Yet, I would not give this unit up or replace it with anything else. I will continue trying to arm them with as many Holocaust resources as possible so they can explore as far and deep as they want to. I will continue sharing stories of my own camp visits. I will continue stressing that regular Germans allowed this to spiral out of control, even if they weren't directly responsible for the genocide. That could be anybody. That could be us. That's why this is the most important lesson of the year. My job is to educate them and make them remember... because I firmly believe if a cure for hatred and bigotry exists, that's it. Part three of this series focuses on the events of Thursday 9/21.
19:45 The kids were in bed and Mrs. Honish was at work. Thursday of Homecoming week, the standard night of maximum mayhem, and it was up to me (and the dogs if they were awake) to defend #FortHonish. Blinds open, lights off, and the waiting game ensued. 20:15 A steady stream of high schooler-owned vehicles, easily identifiable by their bad mufflers, was making the rounds in our neighborhood. The same vehicles would come by my street as many as 4 times in a 15 minute span. I had my doubts about Thursday bringing much action, but it was clear that my neighborhood would be crawling with young adults for a couple hours. The question I had no answer to yet was if #FortHonish would be passed over due to leftover TP from previous assaults, or if we would be targeted once again. Preparing for the worst, I slipped around the deck and unspooled the garden hose to achieve maximum defensive range and mobility, then went back inside to continue the waiting game. 20:58 I spotted a car that turned off its headlights as it came down the street toward my corner and slowed down. My heart raced, assuming it was a poor attempt at being stealthy on their approach. However, as the car slowed to as top at the corner, I recognized the Town of Beloit Police Department markings on the door. REINFORCEMENTS! Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Part of me wanted to watch this officer bust a bunch of hooligans, but another, MUCH BIGGER part of me wanted them to feel the wrath of my hose. 21:04 The headlights flashed on and the squad car took off down the street, only to stop two doors down. I peered though the neighbors trees and saw the brake lights firmly on and the squad not moving. After a minute or so, the brakes released and it peeled out of the neighborhood, and a group of girls who had presumably just been assuring a police officer they had no intentions of mischief came strolling down the street... and into my yard. 21:05 I slipped out the sliding door and crouched down on my hands and knees and began slowly making my way to the deck gate and the hose that lay just beyond it. As I crawled, I could hear them unzipping backpacks and making audible plans for their vandalism. I opened the gate as delicately as I have ever done anything in my life and snuck down the steps to the hose... but I had been too conservative before and left the water off. I tried to turn the nozzle as slowly and quietly as possible, but of course it made a squeaking noise. Now fully loaded with H2O, I turned to find the yard empty. I crept around the corner of my front bushes and saw the same girls doing a bad job of hiding in my neighbors pine trees, looking into my yard. A standoff began. 21:15 Most likely bored with my refusal to go inside, the would-be attackers decided to walk down the street in the opposite direction and abandon their plans, at least temporarily. Bored with their lack of aggressiveness and sporting a few new mosquito bites, I pulled the hose back and strung it over the deck railing so it would be ready to go at a moment's notice if I needed it in the future. I took one more look over the railing and saw they had turned the corner and were still retreating, so I headed back inside. 21:37 My phone rang. Mrs. Honish was on the line telling me she was on her way home from work. As we proceeded with the typical small talk, I continued to monitor the situation outside our windows. "Hold on, we've got visitors!" I said as I noticed several more students walking in our direction from two houses down. "Oh perfect, I'll be pulling in the driveway in like 2 minutes" she said. I rushed outside, grabbed the hose and laid behind the cover of our grill in a prone position. I listened for the voices, and heard something unmistakable... Freshmen. 21:44 I was positively giddy. The same girls that agreed with my assessment of the cowardice and dishonor by Allison Hoffman's crew during their refusal to abandon an attack on Tuesday had come for #FortHonish themselves. I kept glancing down the street for Honda CR-V headlights indicating Mrs. Honish's arrival, but as they came into the yard, I hoped she would not make it in time. They sent Sam Wells around our biggest pine tree while the rest remained near the road. Sam was no more than 8 feet from me and completely unaware of my presence. She was about to be drenched... 21:45 CR-V headlights... NO! The girls in the street called her back and began to act casual once they realized who was in the car and which driveway she was pulling in to. I could hear a verbal exchange as Mrs. Honish got out of the car. "It's ya girl, Liv! Say hi to Leah for me!" The garage door closed, but I wasn't abandoning my post because I knew exactly what they would do next... pretend to continue walking down the street, then come right back to attack. 21:46 They came into the front corner of our yard by a much smaller tree... MUCH further from the deck and my hose. My best opportunity had perhaps been squandered, but I was hopeful they would come back to roll the giant pine tree and step right into my line of hydro-fire. Then Mrs. Honish emerged from the sliding door and came up behind me on the deck. Would she call me off for being childish again? "What are you waiting for? They're in our yard!" I love this woman. "I'm hoping they'll come back closer, I would have to run out to them right now and they could bail. Will you feed me the hose as I run?" What was said/not said next will likely be a topic of heated debate for at least a generation. What I swear I heard was "Yeah, I got the hose" so I took off to surprise our intruders. 21:48 Hydrofury spewed forth from my gardenhose and I know I scored hits on at least three different targets. They retreated to the street to try and stay out of range, but I pursued... until I felt like a dog reaching the end of its leash. I turned back to find Mrs. Honish pulling the hose telling me to come back because I was going to ruin her plants by pulling the hose through it with no regard for what was being crushed, or something like that. Another defensive action was halted by what is likely the only true adult in our house. 21:57 I dutifully returned the hose to the side of the house as the Freshmen moved along down the street. I figured they would return later, but wagered the damage would be limited since I heard them talking about how they needed to be picked up at 10:30, plain as day, as they approached the first time. I went inside having done all I could realistically do and claiming at least a moral victory for finally being able to use the hose effectively on someone. #FortHonish came away from the week-long shenanigans bruised but not beaten. Nothing even close to the draping of 2016 occurred. I write this now basking in my semi-success, and hoping for a safe, fun night at the ACTUAL homecoming festivities for all the students (TP-attackers included) tonight. Part II of this series focuses on the events of Tuesday 9/19 and Wednesday 9/20. 9/19- 19:57 Mrs. Honish came upstairs and I settled into a spot by the window with my phone to partake in a Twitter chat with fellow Geography teachers. As she told me I was overreacting for sitting in the window, I thought to myself "It's a good thing she doesn't know I already unraveled the garden hose so I have maximum defensive range." The forecast called for thunderstorms Wednesday night so I was prepared to battle TONIGHT. I didn't need to wait long... 20:52 Shadowy figures were spotted darting across my driveway from right to left. I sprang to my feet. "They may take our pine trees, but they will never take... OUR FREEDOM! (or something equally as heroic probably)" I yelled as I burst through the front door. I grabbed the hose which I had coiled in a strategic position and started moving around the side of the garage toward the enemy... but then Mrs. Honish emerged from the doorway. 20:53 "PUT THE HOSE BACK NOW" "Why? They're right around the corner!" "No, this is childish, leave them alone!" "They're asking for it!" It was at that point she started reeling the hose back in toward the house... and a game of tug-of-war ensued. 20:55 I relinquished the hose. Happy wife, happy life as they say. However, I did convince her to let me creep around the side to scare the living daylights out of our attackers. Mrs. Honish turned all the outside lights off and I waited a minute to lull them into a false sense of security, then proceeded to make my way around the garage. As I side-stepped around the pine tree, one of them began walking right towards me, oblivious I was there yet. "YAAAAAAHHHHHHH" I yelled with my hands up in the air. "EEEEEEEEP! Oh my God, Honish, you totally scared me!" ...Allison Hoffman, Sophomore, Class of 2019, was leading a band of the least likely kids to ever TP a house into battle in my yard... for the second consecutive year. "YOU GUYS AGAIN? YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING! Get outta here!" I yelled. ...all was silent except their TP in the branches... "OK, fun's over, you got caught red handed" Still no movement, so I picked up a roll of their own ammo and chucked it at Nate Draeving, making it clear I would like them to leave my property... except they didn't. 21:02 (the surrender?) I returned to the front of the house and reported to Mrs. Honish that they were just continuing their assault, despite being outed. "So what? Just let them be," she said. "So that's it? You're waving the white flag? Surrendering #FortHonish?" "Uhh, it's not surrendering because it's not an actual battle... and stop calling it #FortHonish." 21:12 I had returned to the front window, dejected and "defeated" by my own Commanding Officer. I had technically won the battle based on every long-standing unwritten rule of homecoming. If you get caught, you're supposed to bail. That's how the game works. The TP assailants were finished rolling the house, but they had one more metaphorical rubbing of salt in the wound as they strolled down my driveway much too casually, "By Honish... Thank You!" WEDNESDAY 9/20 Since we all but surrendered #FortHonish last night, and since the lighting was coming fast on a night where the temperatures still hovered well above 80 (much too warm for black hoodies and backpacks, right?) I figured it was time to kick back and just watch the season finale of Big Brother. 19:17 Leah had already been put to bed, Jackson was crying in his room not feeling well, and I casually glanced out the window... at fresh TP along our deck and in our front tree. Barely after 7pm and we had been smoked! Maybe it was all going to end early and everyone would return home before the lightning got worse? Or maybe they were calling it an early night before hitting the school Thursday? Whatever the case, at least it was over now and I could just enjoy Big Brother. 19:30 Knock, Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock..... Knock, Knock! Ok, Jackson is still not feeling well and is barely asleep. We've clearly been hit already... and yet, you have the audacity to come right up to the door? It's on now... ... except it wasn't, because whoever knocked turned tail pretty quickly and didn't stay around to partake in any meaningful skirmish. 20:50 A parade of high schoolers came not-so-secretly down the street, announcing their presence to literally anyone within a quarter mile I am sure. This was clearly not a strike force... or at least not one I would have to take seriously, so I mosey'd out onto the deck to watch. Mrs. Honish, out of genuine curiosity at who would honestly make that much noise while carrying TP through a well-patrolled neighborhood during homecoming week made an astute observation. "Wow... quite the pottymouths". Indeed they were, as we heard many expletives mixed in with the stories of who had been hit by flour and how it was LITERALLY insane. 21:27 Thoroughly disappointed with the finale of Big Brother (wow jury... salty at Paul much for getting you all out with no blood on his hands?) and with the lack of legitimate attacks on my house, the lack of permission to defend my house from attack, and the lack of respect for being caught by a bunch of sophomores, my thoughts turned to Thursday night... the last battle. Or would there even be one? My house was already marked, most of their efforts would likely go to coating the trees in front of the school, and what's the use in driving away a group of kids when they don't actually leave when they're busted? Maybe Mrs. Honish is right and maybe #FortHonish should become a thing of the past... or maybe Thursday night will be absolute mayhem... Mrs. Honish warned me of this when we first decided to move a block away from the school, but every year there is a week-long battle that rages in my front yard during homecoming. Last year #FortHonish withstood several small attacks from underclassmen early in the week, only to be completely caked in TP on Thursday night by the Seniors. As I awoke to the carnage in my trees that Friday, I vowed that 2017 would be different. Follow the blog for daily updates... Above: Destruction in the aftermath of a strike by the Class of 2017 Monday 9/18 Monday of Homecoming Week is a mixed bag. Will we be attacked early? Will they hold off? Either way, constant vigilance is the name of the game. At 19:30, the blinds were only partially closed and I remained in the living room... Mya and Max, the not-so-fearsome guard dogs asleep nearby. 20:34- Mrs. Honish pauses Netflix. ¨Do you hear that?¨ she asks. ¨No, what...¨ ¨Footsteps in the street. They´re coming already.¨ I scrambled toward the window, sliding headfirst along the carpet, tucking my head under the curtain and peering outside. ¨You won´t be able to see anything unless we shut the lights off, but they´ll see you,¨ Mrs. Honish pointed out. She flicked the lights off and I remained at the window until approximately 20:41, but spotted nothing. 21:27- Lights out, time to pack it in for bed. I feel confident that night 1 will pass with no attack. If they have not come out by now, I doubt they will. Besides, there is a concerted effort by the Town of Beloit Police Department and the Administration of the school to crack down on shenanigans this year. Perhaps the high schoolers are feeling a bit timid... maybe the light being left on at the football field behind my house is an effective deterrent. Ahhh, a full night of rest so I can prepare for potential future onslaughts. 22:11- Mya growls... the growl turns into a couple small barks. What time is it??? I couldn´t have been asleep longer than half an hour or so by this point but it´s time to scramble. Mrs. Honish is already on her feet, following Mya to the living room. I wait for a report... ¨3 or 4 of ´em were darting through the front corner, but they headed across to the park. I don´t see any TP... we might not have even been the target.¨ I stand watch in the living room for several more minutes, but feel confident enough to return to sleep after a Town of Beloit Squad Car rolls by. I drift to sleep by about 22:35. Tuesday MorningMrs. Honish took the dogs for a walk around the neighborhood and reported very minor TP way off to the side of our yard.
The attack was clearly abandoned in a fit of cowardice, as only a few rogue strands of paper were found. The attackers must have failed to consider the weather as well, with most of the TP that had made it in the branches the night before now plastered to the ground, half disintegrated by a light rain that passed through in the early morning hours #FortHonish sustained very little damage, and we live to fight another night. Our dogs will most certainly be on high alert, and our defenses have yet to truly be tested. Yet, it is only Tuesday... The battle continues... I've fielded the same question about a dozen times over the last two weeks, and I suspect many of my colleagues are in the same boat. Maybe my colleagues have fought the urge to loudly and obnoxiously point out the inaccurate assumptions made by this question just like I have as well... "So, are you glad it's summer break?" The question comes in a few slight variations ("I bet you're glad for summer vacation huh?" "Are you glad to be out of school?") and they all make inaccurate assumptions. Inaccurate assumption #1: Once kids are done with their regularly scheduled school year, I am also done with my regularly scheduled school year. This year, the last day of school for students was Friday June 1. I went to Teacher inservice from Monday June 4 through Thursday June 7th. Also... there is no such thing as a "Regularly scheduled school year" for teachers. Sure, school is in session Monday through Friday, September to June. However, my mind never completely shuts down from school mode, and every summer I make wholesale changes in everything from unit plans to the entire structure of my class. For instance, this summer I am expanding from a 4th quarter trial run of gamifying my class into a full-scale, year long program. To do so, it requires a more individualized and thematic program that I am creating from scratch. Then of course there are parody video ideas, alignment to Standards Based Grading (which I have already written about here and here) and website updates to make, including reflecting on my practice (what up Charlotte Danielson???) here in this blog. Inaccurate assumption #2: Oh, I forgot about in-service, and I guess you probably have to go to school in late August too, but at least you have two and a half months in between, right? Wrong. Summer School started Monday June 11th... 3 days after in-service ended. Summer school is 5 days a week through mid-July, with the exception of a long weekend around the 4th of July holiday. Plus, remember that whole "my mind never completely shuts down from school mode" thing I just mentioned? Yep, still applicable here. Inaccurate assumption #3: Well, at least summer school is easier, right? Yes and no... I teach extension classes that students join by choice, but whether it's their choice or their parents' choice is often up for debate. There are no grades which make things easier in theory, but also provide at least some sense that the class doesn't really matter to the kids. Students have plenty of energy to burn in the summer, and I often struggle to get much productivity out of them when they are asked to do tasks on a computer with no true accountability for the final product. Not to mention the fact that I am a 7th and 8th grade teacher, and one of my summer school sessions is 3rd through 5th grade, adding another challenge. Granted, summer school ends at noon, not 3:15... and YES, I do get paid an extra hourly wage for my time. To sum it up, summer school isn't necessarily "easier" than regular school, it's just different. Maybe if they let me "teach" conditioning class I'd say it was easier though :) Inaccurate assumption #4: I bet you're ready for a break from all those students, right? You think I became a teacher because I want to get away from the kids as soon as possible??? Where is the logic in that? I'm sure once the NBA season ends, everyone says to NBA players "well, at least you don't have to play basketball for awhile"... yeah... right. There might be some teachers out there that don't particularly enjoy working with kids, but I am not one of them. Also, don't you remember I teach over a month of summer school? I'm not getting a break from the students anyway! Inaccurate assumption #5: It must be sweet to get paychecks over the summer while you're not working I could remind you how I AM still working, but by this point it's getting repetitive, so I'll take a different angle and describe a typical week during track season when I get paid my typical salary amount as well, despite missing dinner and bed time with my kids due to away meets, time on the weekends diverted to assessing student work and planning because there is none left on the weekdays, and my wife constantly shuffling her schedule as the best dang realtor in Rock County to accommodate my 60 hour week. A construction worker might get huge checks in the summer when they work ridiculously long hours, then much less in the winter if there is less work to be done. I have the same peaks and valleys in hours, but the checks come in equal amounts. OK... TO BE FAIR: The people that ask me those questions DO make several inaccurate assumptions, but the fact that school is not fully in session for 12 weeks is undeniable. The LAST thing I want to do is be another one of those teachers that seems ungrateful, unsatisfied and unhappy with my profession. In my experience, that attitude hurts the image and perception of teachers, and at this point in time, the image and perception of teachers can't take much more damage. So even though I just told you how wrong you are when you ask me about my summer break...
...sigh... ... you're right. Summer break is more of a break than some teachers care to admit. I mean, I just went into full defensive mode up there telling you how hard teachers work over the summer and all the things I do that turn my "break" into a glorified period of working from home. However, the fact of the matter is I have more time in the summer to relax, get re-charged and do things just for ME. I get to play in the sprinkler and kiddy pool with my kids. I will make new meals and take more of the cooking burden from my lovely wife. I can change the oil in my car. I am training for 3 triathlons in August. I am even a few seasons deep into a Madden 08 Franchise Mode on my PS2 for cryin' out loud! People that assume teachers get 3 months off annoy me. One of the only things that might annoy me more is teachers that look for sympathy by rattling off every "overworked, underpaid" mantra in the book. I don't point out the incorrect assumptions about summer "break" so you can feel sorry for me and call your political representatives to demand better pay for teachers (although if you did, that would be like, really awesome of you)... I do it so you realize my summer probably isn't the vacation many imagine. I don't need your sympathy though, because I biked 10 miles this morning, ate breakfast with my son and made breakfast for my daughter, and this afternoon I think we'll play with some toy cars, go to the park if weather permits, and make some tacos with avocados and black beans... All while Mrs. Honish is able to freely schedule showings. So to all the teachers out there, enjoy your Summer "Breaks", and try not to be too hard on the people that make so many of those incorrect assumptions. To all the students out there, enjoy your Summer Break... no quotation marks needed... you have no idea how much free time you have on your hands right now, or how quickly it will disappear. Because of that, I urge you to not waste the whole summer on video games... ...unless it's Madden 08. Dear Class of 2021,
I was too cold on the last day of school. Too emotionless. I didn't properly show all of you what you really meant to me, and I don't know why I didn't. Maybe because I feel like it's my job to hold it together at school. After all, sappiness and sentimentality is not really part of my persona. Plus, there's the unwritten rule that teachers aren't supposed to have favorites. So I'll start with an apology for not finding the time to tell all of you about the impact the Class of 2021 had on my career and my life while we were still at school. I went up to the podium at the awards ceremony with every intention of delivering at least a brief expression of how awesome you really are and how much I will miss you... but when I got to the part where I was going to directly address you all, sitting out there in the center of the auditorium, I froze up. There was an awkward pause and I said "and THAT'S IT" and exited the stage faster than I should have. Since I totally blew my opportunity to address you all in person, I'll try my best to put it all out there now. The thing is, I don't possibly know how to tell all of you everything I'm thinking. I went to the last day of school suppressing lots of different emotions: pride in knowing how much you've all learned, grown and matured, excitement to see what you'll accomplish in high school over the next four years, anxiety about what the school will be like when you're gone, and incredible sadness at the realization that you will not set foot in Room 17 for class again. Summer break is great, don't get me wrong... but the start of this summer break feels like it may have come too soon... due to the undeniable fact that I am not ready to see you go. I haven't felt like this about watching 8th graders transition to high school since my very first class of seventh graders, the graduating class of 2017, moved on from the middle school in 2013. They were my guinea pigs and showed me how much I had to learn about teaching, but also affirmed for me that I had chosen the correct profession. I had never invested so much time, energy, thought, emotion and even real money into a group of 125 people before. Watching them go was harder than I thought it would be. And yet, our middle school is physically attached to our high school. PLUS, administration had me teach a section of Freshman Global Studies in 2013-14. I quickly realized that it was irrational to "miss" the class of 2017... I was actually more than ready to break my ties with them and let them move on to other teachers by the end of their freshman year. Having been through that experience, I figured future 8th grade classes would not cause me much mental or emotional anguish when they inevitably moved on. For 3 straight years I was right... but I already had a feeling it would be different in 2017. I don't know what exactly makes your class stand out so much to me. I have tried to figure it out so many times. Were you smarter than the previous classes? Funnier? Did you work harder? Were you more responsible about turning work in? Were you better behaved? I don't believe any of those things can be objectively judged in a group of 120-something unique individuals directly compared to a different group of 120-something unique individuals. None of those are the reason. To be honest, I still don't know what the reason is... but for WHATEVER reason, I have so many deep bonds with so many kids in your class that it makes it tough when you all walk out the door together one last time. Moving on to high school is natural. I suppose wanting to hold on to all the positives from the last two years is natural too... It just sucks to think that they're no longer daily activities and are instead being shuffled to the memory banks. So here I go, filing them away... into the happiest storage area of my brain. I'll always remember the academic things... the first M.U.N.A.F.L. project, the land bridge, Saving the world from the impending zombie apocalypse, Colonizing Africa, as well as taking the role of Africa's farm families, The first ever season of FANschool, PSA's about what to do with the Amazon Rainforest, Some of the best food in the history of the Cultural Fair, Taking a Europe learning celebration in heavy metal clothing, Debates over which World War II era aircraft or weaponry was best in various scenarios, Study Hall grade checks, Trench Warfare dodgeball, And DBQ Essays! But school... ESPECIALLY middle school... is about so much more than academics. All the little things matter just as much as your academic success. So even more so than everything we learned in the Geography curriculum, I'll remember how we got to know each other as people. I'll remember your interests, your stories, and how you got to know me even better than I got to know you. I'll remember the goofy things, the extracurriculars and the laughs. I'll always remember... Discussions of the NBA's G.O.A.T. with more evidence and reasoning than any school essay, and I remember laughing at the constant assertion that Brian Scalabrine and JaVale McGee belonged in the conversation, Food taxes, and getting generous chunks of Reese's broken off for me, Talking about everything from hip hop to which cars are coolest on bus rides from Brodhead, Coming to 5th hour drenched in sweat because I was a card-carrying member of Team Try Hard at lunch recess football or basketball, The critical advice that before one forms an alliance, one must squad up first, Tristianity, The Peanut Gallery, My fist-bump buddy, The crime-procedural drama called "Betley and Key", The Disney Channel original series called "Abby and JuJu", Quizzes about who's birthday is coming up when, Wagering classcomp points on deep shots with the Nerf hoop, Finding Donald Trump in the Little Rascals, Haircuts like Iceman from Top Gun, Grey's Anatomy parody videos, COUP, Risk, Exploding Kittens, Pandemic, Settlers of Catan, Ticket to Ride, and every other thing we played in strategy club... and watching "Important Videos" on YouTube when we weren't playing, Cordell's Corner, Twin Life, and everything else from WTMS Channel 17 Season 1, Throwing my own shoulders back and high jumping vicariously through you, An Instagram scavenger hunt at the Milwaukee Public Museum, A night at Club 17 (which I guess could also be considered academic), Writing an iSpy Cold War parody together, Fart noises from the other side of my backyard fence, Playing with my kids at the park and sitting next to them at football games, and perhaps the best way to sum you all up (at least for your 7th grade year)... Happy Adventures I'm sorry we didn't have more time to talk about this when we had the time at school, but I do truly appreciate all the gratitude and emotion many of you shared with me before the year ended. At first i made me feel worse about not sharing everything on my mind when I had you all sitting right in front of me, but in the end it is what inspired me to write this and make sure you knew how I felt. Even compiling a list this long, there's no way I got even close to everything I love about you all. What did I miss? Comment below... I'd like to make sure that the files in my memory are as full as possible now that these will no longer be daily activities for us. |
AuthorJohn Honish: Archives
June 2021
Categories |