The Literate Teacher's Manifesto

This week, Target offered a teacher discount of 15% on classroom supplies-- notebooks, writing utensils, cleaning supplies, and so forth (but not books-- a post for another time). Predictably, there was much rejoicing among the teachers in my PLN, but there was also a not-insignificant amount of pushback. Many teachers in different social media groups advocated a spending freeze; teachers should not spend their own money on classroom supplies. Only by refusing to spend our own money to fund our classrooms, they insisted, could we ever expect to force the state's hand. Others went so far as to imply that it was insulting that Target would even offer the discount, that it was a dismal picture of what the expectations are for educators. I have always been willing to spend my own money to make my classroom what I want it to be. I know that even if some miracle occurred, and funding levels were suddenly restored to pre-Recession levels, it would still not be enough to fund my classroo

I got sucked into a huge Facebook discussion this afternoon. It all started when a teacher asked the question, "When reading out loud to the class and the n-word appears, do you say it or not?" 334 responses later, and I'm not sure whether the original poster's question has been answered or not. It seems like an innocuous question, right? Any teacher who has ever done a read-aloud has probably been faced with a word that made them pause and think, "Will I say this word?" But the answer here is not as simple as reading a hell , a damn , or even a fuck . There are words that come with their own emotional baggage, that are so heavily weighted with history and policy and society, that's there's not such a simple answer. Ten years ago, before I was the teacher I am now, before Twitter and PLN's and social justice, I was that teacher. The one asking that question. We were preparing to read To Kill A Mockingbird , and I knew that the n-word was coming

Home "Mid pleasures and palaces tho I may roam/ Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." I cannot count how many times  I have watched the road unwind before me, awash in sun and promise, or how many times I have seen that promise fade behind me in the glow of taillights. I cannot count how many times I have gazed out a window at a patchwork of unfamiliar fields and hills, on the crashing descent of a mountain waterfall, across a snow-covered wonderland with white-coated trees and frozen lakes, or past sun-bathed vineyards basking in Old World charm. I cannot count how many times I have traversed the last rise of that familiar hill, travel-worn, heartsick, weary, to see home rising in the distance. And felt my spirits lifted, my soul, renewed. I have waited for the white fence, the cornfields, the familiar length of a red barn,, and the white house, reigning peacefully over this small kingdom. Bringing bac

Most days in the summer, you can find me in this chair. It's my weeding chair. I'd be lying if I said that I enjoy spending time in this chair, but it does give me a lot of time to think. During the school year, everything gets filtered through the lens of my classroom, but the summer gives me the time and space to filter my classroom through the lens of other activities. My Paw Lackey and my Mamaw Grace both taught me that there are lessons to be learned from a garden, and I value the time I spend in my garden for the clarity it gives me. This morning, I was thinking about weeds. Every gardener hates weeds. The battle against them is time-consuming and ongoing, and you never really win it. You may reach a temporary truce if you hit a dry spell or if your hubby sneaks into your garden with Roundup (usually doing more harm than good), but eventually, the weeds will come back. They always do.  So it is with bad ideas in education. I have never been in any other c

I want to start this post with a small story. My family went to dinner with some friends on Friday night, and I wanted to make a real, concerted effort to be present, without my phone. And it turns out, if one person makes that effort, it seems to spread and be contagious, because we were at dinner for about an hour and a half and phones only made an appearance twice. Once, because we were trying to remember "tan George's" real name (George Hamilton... thanks Google), and once because my son got so tickled trying to tell a story that my husband had to take a video of his struggles--they were truly epic. Both of these were good reminders that technology can enrich our time together instead of distract us! And now for the real update: my tracking app predictions were just about right. On average, over the course of the last 5 days, I pick my phone up 40-60 times a day, and spend 3-4 hours on it per day. Ugh. Just seeing it written down there makes me feel even worse. A

Day Four Update: I am not suffering DT's yet. These first days of the 30-day phone breakup are mostly about paying closer attention: to when you grab your phone, to how you're feeling before and after, and about being mindful to think about WHY you're picking it up before you actually do. I have noticed several patterns already. First, I always reach for my phone while I'm driving--a terrible habit just waiting to turn into a disaster. I have also noticed that I reach for my phone when I am purposelessly sitting somewhere public; like waiting for someone or for something to start. I think it stems from the need to look busy, like I'm not just sitting there like a lame duck. I am an important person with important things going on. I have noticed that phones are contagious, like yawning. You can observe this phenomenon in any public space. When one person picks up his/ her phone, the motion spreads across the crowd. It's crazy. I reach for my phone when I

Do you ever get the feeling that your entire existence is dictated by whatever sound your phone makes? In my case, every time I hear a snippet of the Harry Potter theme song (dum-dum da-da-dum da-duumm-duumm), I drop what I'm doing and grab my phone. I've been pretty convicted over the last few months that I need to do something to get this addiction under control, and to take back the reins of my own time. I just finished reading How to Break Up With Your Phone  by Catherine Price. The 30-day plan laid out in this book, compounded with its focus on mindfulness, seems to be exactly what I'm looking for. So, I'm taking thirty days to regroup on my relationship with my phone. And I'm devoting some of the extra time I'll have to writing more on my blog (probably about how the breakup is going).  This post will serve as both an introduction, and an update on the first two days. The first question the book poses is, "What do you want to pay attention to

Well, April draws to a close. After two months of two back-to-back challenges, I am ready to take some time off to think and write in my notebook. I have sadly neglected it in trying to write and rewrite content for this daily challenge. I'm looking forward to writing more about my classroom again and reflecting on how this year has gone (but NOT daily)! But before the month of April officially ends, here's one last poem of the day. Landscape in Neutral You speak of promises of love unfaithful. You speak in syntax of Corso. I see you now in a field of neutral Helter skelter to trees below. Your image floats down crashes up sharp-edged stones submerges under white foam surfaces over a still blackness. I lean over the bridge, feeling like a muse as freezing water laps my boots. I am the vestal lady on Brattle. The grey-edged pond and white sun suck the color from my flowers, leaving a blank canvas. You ask me for this chip on my should

Waiting for Catharsis Roethke said that in a dark time,  the eye begins to see. There are no stars gleaming under the Milky Way tonight. Two days ago we buried you. Under the roots of a magnolia tree, your still white body takes hold; Plans painstakingly laid for the decline and fall of my southern civilization. I weep for the loss of you. For a  boy who never knew me for a father crumbling away for a grandfather gone. For it all. My demons have come to a head. They are frothing, screaming, Tearing away at the walls I have built to hide them for so long. I am stalled, stalled. These are crises the mind cannot solve, and my heart, torn to pieces, is unreliable. I feel the shadow of Death lie weary over me; a dark arm reaching to sweep all into the forgiving sea Leaving behind only the wasteland the left-behind stasis in the sunlight of reality. This poem is a companion piece to The Gathering. Read it here .

Paw's Garden The tommy-toe vines are taller than me,                 laden with gleaming red gems of bursting light. Their delicate stems brush my cheek                 filling the summer air with the mineral scent of tomatoes in full bloom. Red dirt sticks to my tennis shoes,                 the brown paper lunch sack crinkles in my hand and bulges at the sides as I greedily throw more in. Paw never makes me stop picking.                 If I fill up one sack he'll give me another one, but it hardly seems necessary as I eat                 almost as many as I pick. We move on to the cornfield,                 sweet-smelling, rustle-y, silk fronds wave gently in the afternoon breeze--I don't like the corn. It is too tall,                 Too secretive,                                Too filled with bugs and worms lying in hidden places. Our last stop is by the persimmon tree.                 We gaze into the branches where

Memories of Japan Honey pours slow like New Orleans Drips on my leg- a brown memory of tongue in skin and poetry-- The calligrapher bends over my feet inscribing the first book of you. You could fall in love with me of the painted hands and back like a broad scroll. I rise through symphonies of lightning to meet you. I surface near your sun-- Too like Icarus, I fall. Brown feathers dot the sky, Punctuation for unwritten sentences.