The Art of Teaching Children, page 26
I shook my head, then tossed him a grin. “We do it because we love our kids.”
“You have kids?” he asked, surprised. The children knew I didn’t.
I chuckled. “Our students.”
Sylvia piped up. “If you need money, just get a credit card. That’s what my mom does.”
“Mine too,” Ella added.
Half grinning, I pretended to not understand. “Really? How do they work?”
“Easy,” Ella said. “You just put the card in the machine, and it buys whatever you want.”
* * *
When I started teaching, I knew I’d spend a lot of time at school, but I had no idea that I’d spend so much of it in a store. Teachers are always shopping. In the beginning of the school year, we’re buying supplies on Amazon, checking out what’s new in Target’s Dollar Spot, and searching for things we can use in our classrooms on Facebook Marketplace. In the fall, we’re in Goodwill hunting for Halloween costumes and standing in line before stores open for their Black Friday sales. In the winter, we’re using the gift cards that our students gave us for Christmas and grabbing DayQuil and NyQuil to battle the bugs we picked up from our kids. We’re also at Walgreens buying conversation hearts and pink Hershey’s Kisses, then back into the store when all the Valentine’s Day candy is 50 percent off. In the spring, we’re getting the deals at Michael’s and Barnes & Noble for Teacher Appreciation Week. At the end of the school year, we’re picking up wine for the school secretary, colleagues who are retiring—and ourselves, to get through the last week of school.
Sometimes when we’re shopping, we run into our students. Whenever this happens, a child will do one or more of the following things: (A) She will stare at you because she hasn’t considered that you shop for food; (B) She will not speak, which will surprise you because in class she does not stop talking; (C) She will follow you around the store, dodging behind endcaps and peeking from around corners like you are both in a Matt Damon spy movie. The next day at school, she will tell you that she saw you at the store, as if you do not remember. Once, I ran into one of my third graders at the grocery store, and, the following morning, she walked into the classroom and announced, “You wear jeans!” Warning: If you do meet your students in the supermarket, they will memorize everything in your shopping cart and report to the class that you drink Budweiser.
Stores love teachers. Contrary to what you might think, they do not put their back-to-school supplies out for children and parents. They put them out for teachers. Stores know our weaknesses. They’re aware that teachers can’t resist plastic tubs or colored file folders or see-through bins that we can put fancy labels on after we’ve run them through the laminator. They know that teachers lose their self-control when it comes to pens, bulletin board borders, and those cute miniature erasers in the shapes of apples, pencils, rainbows, letters, pizzas, globes, and jack-o’-lanterns that fit perfectly inside the squares of our Halloween bingo cards. Even if we try to be strong, we can’t help ourselves. (I am not spending any more money on my classroom! Wait! Are those jungle animal erasers?!?) Stores are also wise to the fact that teachers love a good discount, so they lure us in with special deals just for educators. Once these stores get us inside, they know that we will fill up our shopping carts with all sorts of goodies. They’ve figured out that a teacher who steps into a store to pick up one pack of markers will leave having spent hundreds of dollars. All the stores are in on this: Target, Walmart, Staples, Rite Aid, Costco, Office Depot, the Container Store. They’re all in cahoots.
But these stores aren’t the worst. For teachers, the worst store of all is Dollar Tree, otherwise known as “Teacher Heaven.” Teachers go absolutely crazy in this place. Who cares if you don’t need swimming pool noodles or glow sticks? So what if you don’t need any more tissues or sandwich bags or boxes of elbow macaroni for kids to glue onto their papers to represent apostrophes, commas, and quotation marks? Everything is only a dollar! And what does it matter that you don’t know what you would do with five hundred clothespins, a dozen rolls of crepe paper streamers, and ten bags of colored pompoms? You’ll figure it out later.
Teachers also lose their minds in the children’s sections of bookstores. We love these places because they’re everything we want our own classroom libraries to be: shelf after shelf of crisp and shiny kids’ books, all with that delicious new-book smell and wrapped in wrinkle-free, smudge-free, and tear-free dust jackets that haven’t had to undergo surgery yet with the tape dispenser. Teachers delight in opening up a brand-new book and hearing the faint crackling sounds that let you know you’re the first to open it. To me, opening up a new book is like stretching out your arms in the morning right after you wake up—a little stiff and crackly. Some people have a weakness for clothes, purses, or shoes. For teachers, it’s children’s books. They’re our kryptonite.
And I’ll let you in on a secret: MANY TEACHERS ARE CLOSET CHILDREN’S BOOK HOARDERS. The books you see on classroom shelves are just part of our collections. These books are there to throw you off the new-book scent coming from the cupboards. Our book hoarding is the real reason teachers have locks on the cabinets. We’re hiding our habit. A friend of mine buys so many picture books for her classroom that her husband told her she needed an intervention. During the pandemic, he also suggested that she “social distance” from Amazon. Didn’t happen.
Teachers get weak-kneed at garage sales too. Life doesn’t get much better than leaving a Saturday morning garage sale with a big stack of children’s books that you got for next to nothing. Once, Jill and I held a sale together. We were both getting rid of things we’d bought for our classrooms that we didn’t need anymore. Well, I learned that was a bad idea. Jill and I ended up buying each other’s stuff! (Tip: When you’re at a garage sale and find things that you can use in your classroom, say that you’re a teacher. There’s a good chance you’ll get a deal.)
One day I stopped at an estate sale where I came across five or six boxes in the back of a garage. Someone had passed away. As soon as I opened the boxes, I knew immediately that they had belonged to a teacher. They were full of old flash cards, bingo games, and well-worn lesson planners. There were grade books, seasonal decorations, and faded construction paper crafts that the teacher had obviously made to show her kids before they started making their own. It was a lifetime’s worth of work.
In one of the folders, I found dozens of old class photos, several black and white, on which the teacher had written the name of each student so that she wouldn’t forget. In each photo, I saw the owner of the boxes. For several years, she sported a high bouffant hairdo. As I looked through the images of the kids, I tried to figure out who her pistols were. When I finished going through the boxes, I picked up a few items and walked over to a woman taking money. I asked her what was going to happen to the things that didn’t sell, and she said that most likely it would get dumped. My heart sank. It killed me to think of a teacher’s life being thrown away like that. It felt so dishonoring. These things need to be saved! I bought all the boxes.
Every year, teachers spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars out of their own pockets to purchase all kinds of things for their classrooms. Oftentimes, they are not reimbursed. Once, I found a shopping list in a cart at Walmart. It read: disinfectant wipes, address labels, highlighters, folders, index cards, jumbo crayons, sidewalk chalk, pretzels, Advil, and 3 boxes of Apple Jacks. I knew instantly that the list had to have been written by a teacher. The dead giveaway was the cereal. It’s a staple classroom treat. Someday we’re going to find out that there are more boxes of cereal in classroom cupboards across the country than in cupboards at home. The fact that teachers spend their own money is almost expected. Heck, it’s even in the tax code. Educators get a deduction. Most teachers just accept it as part of the job, but that doesn’t make it okay. It shouldn’t be this way. Imagine if you worked in an office, and your boss told you to bring in your own pencils and Post-it Notes! Why is it that teachers spend so much of their own money like this? Why do we buy books and manipulatives, posters and pocket charts, ant farms and butterfly kits with our own money? We do it because we know that classrooms full of these things are good for children, and we’d rather spend the money than deprive our kids.
When it comes to classroom supplies, the teachers who have it the worst are the new ones. Besides getting some wobbly desks and chairs and maybe an old, gray file cabinet, new teachers usually inherit a basket full of dried-up markers, a can of stiff paintbrushes, some rainy-day games that are missing pieces, and desk drawers full of rubber bands, paper clips, thumbtacks, a whistle, and a box of those brass fasteners with the pointed prongs that no teacher knows what to do with. Except for some money they might get from the PTA, the reality is that they will end up purchasing much of what they need on their own dime. To help out the newbies, I think we should start throwing them teacher showers. Why not? Mothers-to-be get showers when expecting a child. It only makes sense to throw one for a teacher-to-be who is expecting thirty. Come to think of it, teacher showers could be pretty fun. The games could be played using multicolored sticky notes. The favors could be boxes of No. 2 pencils. The prizes could be Mr. Sketch scented markers. And teachers could register at Dollar Tree! Actually, one of my third graders came up with a good solution for helping out teachers. One day Lauren looked around the classroom and asked, “Where do you get all this stuff? Do you buy it, or does the school give it to you?” I thought, That’s an insightful child. Most kids wouldn’t think about that. “Well, actually,” I replied, “I bought most of it myself. Most teachers do.” Then, matter-of-factly, Lauren said, “You need to start a GoFundMe page.”
When shopping, teachers can be pretty choosy. We like a certain kind of dry erase marker (Expo Low Odor Chisel Tip) and have strong opinions about the best pen for correcting (Paper Mate Flair, Pilot G2 Retractable Gel). We prefer a particular brand of hand sanitizing wipes (Clorox) and are even partial to certain fragrances of air freshener (Glade Clean Linen). In terms of things that teachers buy, there is one that we are extremely finicky about. And that is our Halloween pumpkin.
One October day when I was teaching in Budapest, I went to the store with my Hungarian friend Gábor to pick out a couple of pumpkins for my class. We would be carving them into jack-o’-lanterns. Gábor had never bought a pumpkin for Halloween before. At that time, Hungarians were just starting to celebrate it.
At the store, we found the pumpkins in a large cardboard crate that looked like a giant playpen. Gábor grabbed one of the pumpkins and started to set it into the shopping basket.
“Stop!” I said, putting my hands up. He froze. “You can’t just take the first pumpkin you see!”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing it needs to have a good color.” I surveyed the pumpkins and pulled out another one. “Like this.” I ran my hand over it. “See how nice and orange it is.”
Gábor looked back into the crate. “They’re all orange.”
“But this is a deeper orange. Yours is too light.”
Gábor raised his eyebrows, put back his pumpkin, and grabbed another one. “Is this one okay?”
Cringing, I shook my head.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“It doesn’t have a stem.”
“So what?”
“It has to have a stem,” I declared. “Otherwise it looks like it lost its hat. And try to find a stem that curls. They’re cuter.”
Gábor rolled his eyes and put it back. Then he took out a pumpkin with a stem and set it into the basket.
I made a face.
“Now what?”
“It’s lopsided. Plus, it’s bumpy. A pumpkin must be nice and smooth. And it has to be round.”
He handed me the pumpkin and said, “Why don’t you pick them?”
As I started going through the crate, I realized that it was pretty slim pickings. Most of the pumpkins were bumpy or lopsided or stemless. I figured another American teacher from my school had already been here and grabbed the good ones. Eventually, I found three that fit all the requirements.
Just as Gábor and I were about to leave, a man and a woman stepped up to the crate with a shopping cart. In it were two young boys dressed in matching striped shirts. They each had a buzz cut. The man asked me how much the pumpkins were, and I told him. His accent told me he was Hungarian.
“Are you going to carve them?” I asked. He didn’t seem to understand carve, so I picked a different word. “Cut,” I added.
“Ah yes,” he answered. He smiled at his boys. “It’s our first time. We have never cut a pumpkin for Halloween before.” Then he reached into the bin and pulled one out. It looked like a Cyclops.
I cringed and glanced at Gábor. He knew what was coming. I turned to the dad. “Uh… pardon me, but that one isn’t good for cutting.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Well…” I looked at the boys. They can’t carve that for their very first jack-o’-lantern. It will look terrible! I quickly scanned the crate. I knew they wouldn’t find a good pumpkin in there. Then I eyed my three round, smooth, bright-orange pumpkins with cute, curly stems. Gábor was grinning. I reached into the cart and handed the largest pumpkin to the man. “Here,” I said. “Take this. For the boys. And Happy Halloween.”
Personal Teaching
I’ve never met a child who didn’t like making paper chains. For kids, there is something special about taking a strip of construction paper, forming a loop, gluing the end, holding it for a few seconds until it’s dry, slipping another strip of paper through it, then repeating this over and over again. Every December I let my students make paper chains to decorate the classroom, and every year the same thing would always happen. After handing out the green and red strips, the children would start putting together their chains individually. Soon one child would connect his to a friend’s, and, before long, all the kids in the room would be attaching theirs to make one giant chain that they’d excitedly stretch from one corner of the room to the other and sometimes even out the door.
Teaching, like those paper chains, is all about connection. Teachers help children connect to the material. We connect lessons to previous ones. We help our kids connect to one another. We make connections with parents and colleagues. And, of course, all day long we foster connections with our students. As I discussed in the chapter “The Fourth R,” education is powered by connection. For children to meet their greatest learning potential, they must connect with their teachers.
Teaching is an intensely personal profession. So it makes sense that one of the best ways to spark connections with kids is to practice what I call “personal teaching.” Personal teaching is when you let children in on your life. All students want to know their teachers. They crave it. Just witness what happens when kids discover their teacher’s middle name, for example. They act like they’ve just learned the greatest secret—then tell everyone else in the class. Sharing your life with children makes you more human, welcoming, and real. Students like the teachers they know, and if they like you, they are more apt to trust you, work for you, and believe in what you wish to accomplish.
There are many ways to teach personally. If you ask kids to fill out All About Me questionnaires in the beginning of the year, fill out one yourself and share your answers with your students. They will remember everything you say better than their times tables. When children discover that they like or dislike the same things as their teacher, they feel an instant connection. If you’re taking any kind of course outside of school, tell your kids about it, and explain that you also have to write papers, study for tests, and do homework. It’s good for children to see their teacher as a student. They not only connect with you as a learner, but they also see that learning never ends. They will like that you have homework too. Years ago, I used to study French with a tutor. I wasn’t very good, but I enjoyed it. Every so often, I’d teach my kids some French words, and they’d repeat them back to me with cute French accents.
Also, if you saved any of your schoolwork from when you were a child, definitely share it with your students. Growing up, I saved quite a bit of mine (for playing school), and from time to time, I would show my kids. I shared my old artwork and stories, even the first “book” I wrote after a visit to the fire station when I was in kindergarten. One paper was from second grade. My mom sent it to me when I began teaching. It started like this: “Someday I want a golden retriever. Someday I want my own bedroom. Someday I want to become a teacher.” I always kept that paper on my classroom wall. Whenever you show students any of your schoolwork from grade school, they will crack up at your sloppy penmanship, bad drawings, misspelled words, and your punctuation errors. Children take great delight in seeing that their teachers didn’t put their periods in either.
Another way to let kids in on your life is to share your hobbies and passions. It personalizes you. If you love books, bring in one you’re reading and show your class. It doesn’t matter that the book is beyond them. You’re showing them something that brings you pleasure. If you studied an instrument, play it for your kids. If you knit or crochet, give a demonstration. If you like to go fishing, share some snapshots of a trip. I remember when I was in fourth grade, my teacher grew bonsai trees and brought them into class. To this day, whenever I see one, it takes me right back to grade four—seated in the back of the room near the movie projector, sporting that David Cassidy haircut.
One of my passions is classic movie musicals, and every year my students learned that I am crazy about them. When it rained, I’d croon, “I’m singin’ in the rain…” and my kids would beg me to stop. I wouldn’t. When teaching cursive, I taught my kids my own call-and-response. I’d call out, “Give it flair!” and my kids would chorus back, “Like Fred Astaire!” It made me happy. Once, when I mentioned the name of the famous film star and singer Judy Garland, a student asked, “Who’s she?” I grabbed my chest, staggered a few steps, and fell onto my desk. After I “recovered,” I called the class over to my computer and showed them some clips of her films. It became our inside joke. From then on, whenever this group wanted to tease me, they’d say (while smirking), “Mr. Done, who’s Judy Garland?” and I’d pretend to get upset. Sometimes I’d play “Name That Tune” with my kids as they were leaving at the end of the day. For their exit ticket, I would sing the beginning of a song, and they’d have to tell me the name of the show that it came from: “Doe, a deer, a—” “The Sound of Music!” “You may go.”
