Ms. Bixby's Last Day Blog Tour

I think I always knew I was going to be a teacher.

I think knowing my destiny made me a little more attuned to thing my teachers were doing for my peers and me, too. Or, maybe this is better attributed to growing up as the daughter of two passionate and committed educators. Either way, I knew what teachers were doing for kids, and for better or worse, I always positioned my teachers on a pedestal.

This is to say: I understand where Topher, Brand, and Steve are coming from in John David Anderson's new novel, Ms. Bixby's Last Day when the boys embark on a day-long quest to give Ms. Bixby the "last day" they thought she most deserved. When Ms. Bixby's health deteriorated and her "last day of school" came sooner than expected, the boys felt robbed of their opportunity to show their appreciation for the impact she had on their lives. And even though their personal motivations varied, their commonality was this: Ms. Bixby saw each of these boys for the people they were and she responded to their needs.

I could say kind words and share recollections of many teachers who made an impression on me along the way--I guess I'm lucky like that--but to me, the invitation to participate in this teacher appreciation blog tour in honor of Ms. Bixby's Last Day is for commending the Ms. Bixby's of our lives, and for me, my Ms. Bixby was Mrs. Vanier.

Mrs. Vanier was our interactive drama advisor. The main purpose of the extra-curricular club was to create and deliver open-ended skits about hot topic issues that allowed for audience interaction and participation at student awareness programs throughout our region and beyond. The club met on an as-needed basis, but we seemed to "need to meet" a lot. Although Mrs. Vanier and I never shared the traditional student-teacher relationship (that is, I was never a name on her class roster, and she was never responsible for teaching me content), she is arguably the teacher who taught me the most.

She educated me.
Quite literally, she took me out to practice driving when I was nearing my driver's test, and she taught me more than I'd care to admit about friendships and relationships. But of greater significance, she educated me about solving my own problems by listening, probing, reflecting back, and questioning. Her door was always open and she made opportunities for me to sort through whatever needed sorting so I could make my own best decisions. When my perspective was too narrow or too shallow, she broadened it. She modeled hard work and respect for the students she served.

She empowered me.
She instilled confidence. When I was looming beneath ugly middle school self-doubt and high school intimidation, she continued to make time for me, communicating through her actions that she saw something in me worth believing in. She guided me with gentle direction, but she always let me be the one making the choices. And I knew that whatever my choice was, her support was there.

She inspired me.
When you have the opportunity to be shaped by someone the way I was by Mrs. Vanier, you hope with your whole heart that the universe will allow you to pay it forward. I knew one day I would be a teacher. But the kind of teacher I aim to be--not only educating students, but empowering and inspiring students to be kind and compassionate and their fullest selves--that has more to do with my mentor and model. I hope my students, given the chance to read Ms. Bixby's Last Day, would agree.

Mrs. Vanier was my Ms. Bixby: the teacher with whom one less day would have been too few. She is a teacher with whom I felt I had a close relationship. She knew me when it seemed nobody else did. I was her favorite. But I'm sure everybody thought themselves to be, because that is how she made each of us feel.

I can't remember the last time I spent with Mrs. Vanier, except I know it most certainly wasn't long enough.
If I had to think up Mrs. Vanier's Last Day, I'd make all our plans. (I always did.) I'd drive, she'd ride shotgun, and maybe I'd let some old friends ride along, too. We'd blast Pat Benetar and the theme from "Friends" on the stereo and stick our arms out the rolled down windows, flapping them to pretend we were flying. We'd go to my tree. The one standing tall and exposed in the field on it's own, apart from all the clustered pines. We'd shop for scarves and sunglasses (ahem, with a more colorful name), and we'd make something crafty (probably not a wall-sized mural this time, but maybe), mistakes included. We'd reminisce about little jokes and memories, things that seemed big and life-dependent 20 years ago but would be mildly humiliating now (at best), things a lot like this that would make little to no sense to anyone else. And there would be laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.

Whose face do you see when you think back on the Ms. Bixbys of your life? 

Comment below with a memory shared with your Ms. Bixby by July 5. One lucky comment-leaver will win a copy of Ms. Bixby's Last Day, generously donated by Walden Pond Press.

Congratulations, Brenda! You win!

Looking for more about Ms. Bixby's Last Day?
Read an excerpt of Ms. Bixby's Last Day.
Read John David Anderson's Nerdy Book Club post about Ms. Bixby.
WaldenTV has posted a video on their YouTube channel.
Connect with author John David Anderson on Twitter or Facebook.

The Importance of Yes - #celebratelu

[The Celebrate Link-up is hosted by Ruth Ayres on her blog. Join in each Saturday with your own post about celebrations.]

Yesterday, Linda Urban joined my students’ RIF Pizza Party. It was, easily, one of the highlights of their year. They’ll never forget that she said yes.

You don't have to spend a lot of time with Linda to recognize that she is a special person. If you’ve met Linda, you know what I mean. She radiates energy and positivity. (Every time I talk to her, I find myself hoping a little will rub off on me!) When you talk to Linda, you know she is listening. When you listen to Linda, you hear her genuine nature. She is honest, humorous, and respectful of young people. This is a stand out quality. She appreciates kids. (It’s no wonder she is able to capture their hearts and minds so adeptly in her work.) I’ve been fortunate to connect with Linda and to share my students with her. She has helped me to make their literate lives richer.

My students have come to know Linda through email exchanges over the last five months. She has shared writing experiences and excerpts related to her books and her current work in progress with them. They have sent her notes of encouragement in this long stage of revision, offered their opinions as readers, and posed questions as writers—about everything from suggestions for revision to wonderings about critical friends to curiosities about the publishing process.

However, as the students became more involved in the writing exchange and their enthusiasm built, they began to voice an inevitable wish, and addressing it had been an unspoken concern of my mine. When, they wanted to know, could they meet Linda? Would I invite her to come to our school? (It didn’t help that a recent email had highlighted Linda’s school visits in Michigan and California!) I danced my way through explaining the real world of author visit fees and lack of funding for such visits at our school. And mostly, it seemed, they understood. Until weeks later when we were composing an email to Linda and our class had just been announced the winners of the RIF reading contest. As the winning class, they would be treated to a Pizza Party, and…HEY! Couldn’t they invite Linda to come?!

If you’re chuckling to yourself or even laughing out loud, then maybe you understand my reaction to their request. My adult mind was swarming with imagined ideas about how busy Linda probably was and about how dismissive of her schedule and position as an author it might seem to make such a suggestion. To this point, I had done really well at transcribing their actual words and responses to her in our emails, no matter how tempting it was to “fix it up” and insert adult politeness. To be entirely honest, if not for the other support staff that were present that day, I probably would have made an excuse for why it wasn’t appropriate to ask. But in the end, I honored the students’ wishes, and though my mouse hovered over the “send” button for a long while (Imagine the thickening anticipation of my students!), I did send the email that invited Linda to the students’ Pizza Party. And then I immediately started preparing them for possible disappointment.

I admit: when Linda’s response came, I peeked. 
And then I grinned.

She had found a just right answer for my 27 hopeful ten-year olds.

The next day when we opened the email together and read her answer, the students whooped with excitement at her suggestion that she make her own pizza and join their party through Skype. They floated with untethered joy, balloons popping up one after the other. “She said YES!” they cheered at me, maybe respectfully saying, I told you so.

Yesterday, Linda Urban joined my students’ RIF Pizza Party. Their Skype was comfortable and easy-going. They smiled a lot (I smiled a lot) and the candidness with which shared their literacy lives with her reflected to me they felt important, valued, special. Linda is an author they appreciate and respect, and she made time to talk—and listen. They’ll never forget that she said yes.

And now I'm thinking... Do I say yes as often as possible? Do I let my "adult" voice inhibit opportunities? In what ways could I grow more hope and inspiration if I said yes more often?

Today I celebrate this:

• I celebrate the growth my students have made as readers and writers through the discovery of favorite authors and books.
• I celebrate the generosity of Linda and other authors who truly appreciate the value of connecting to readers and what students have to offer.
• I celebrate the importance of saying “yes” at the right time, to the hope that “yes” inspires, and the sense of worthiness “yes” provides to our students.

On Mentorship, For Teacher Appreciation Week

[The Celebrate Link-up is hosted by Ruth Ayres on her blog. Join in each Saturday with your own post about celebrations.]


This Teacher Appreciation Week, I'm thinking about my own teachers. I smile as memories come back to mind from primary classrooms, through middle school and high school and college.
Playing Sarah Josepha Hale in my 2nd grade play.
Begging to print banners in PrintShop during 4th grade computer club.
Interviewing a local farmer for my 8th grade speech about potatoes. (Yes, potatoes. Don't ask.)

But then, when I traced my story along its line to the present, I reached a place where conditions of the road changed, and the images of my "teachers" were those of my colleagues, those who mentored me and guided me towards the teacher I am today.

In August 2001, I started my first teaching job. I was so very green. I was lucky to be given a chance to stand on my own with a very real (in every sense) classroom of 5th graders. Sure, I was an attentive undergrad student, and some might say I have teaching in my blood, but I'm not sure any number of credit hours or characteristic in my blood would have prepared me for for all I encountered in my first year of teaching. I was enthusiastic, hopeful, optimistic, and...to be truthful...naive.

I found the company of a more seasoned teacher as my neighbor and teaching partner when I began working with Gail. Though never formally designated as such, Gail quickly and naturally became my mentor. The hours of time she gave to me and will never see again would make for a stark infographic. She embraced me from day one, offering that anything that was hers was also mine. She quite literally equipped me with what I needed to get started: books and materials. She guided me through the important things I wouldn't have known were important when I was still learning how to evaluate and prioritize.

In collaborative work, Gail would pose a question to introduce a topic. And then she would listen to my thinking. And even though I'm sure she always spotted the holes or glitches in what I was saying, she was patient and thoughtful about leading me to find them for myself. She was careful about offering advice or about informing me of how things were to be done. If she didn't agree with the direction I was going or knew better, she didn't let on. Rather, she'd encourage me to try, and then would be there again with another chance to talk it out when I came back wondering aloud about what didn't work and what I could do differently.

When she wasn't listening to me and reflecting back my thinking, Gail mentored me by example. In her likeness, I learned that it's ok to build relationships with students, and you do so by respecting who they are as individuals. I learned kids need more than what is in the curriculum, and typically those needs are more important. I learned that even on my worst days, my kids depend on me and look forward to the consistency I offer. I learned it was ok to disagree with a colleague, and respect them still. I learned to seek first for understanding, then to be understood (particularly in relation to parent contact, but really, isn't this just good practice all around?).

Eventually I grew up from that baby-teacher I once was. I gained courage, perspective, experience, and maybe a little respect. Yet, Gail continued to mentor me as the years passed, in and out of the classroom. When I began to take risks in the greater school community--Drama Club, whole-school initiatives, committees and book studies--Gail was always there to back me up. She rallied behind my causes and supported my contributions. In doing so, she gave me confidence. Her actions said, "Go for it, You can do it, and I'm going to do what you need me to do, even if that's just to listen." This was always true. Through the last two years while I labored through my pursuit of National Board Certification, Gail spent a number of afternoons or evenings putting aside her work or piling my work on top of her own to assist, even though she had nothing to gain through my achievement. She would help me sort out my thinking, reflect, process, and gain and new or improved vantage point. She could help me to strip down all the frustrations and emotions around my entries and help me set back to it with hope and confidence. She would gently dig around inside what I was saying and coax those inner assets to the surface after they were sunk.

Gail retired from teaching last summer. In preparation for the inevitable, I had always trusted that I would be ready when the time came for our professional lives to part ways, and I was. It was ok. That's not to say I don't miss Gail (I most certainly do) or that her absence isn't felt (it most certainly is). But it was a gift to have Gail as a mentor for twelve years. I will always be appreciative of the way Gail walked with me to a place where I stand more assuredly; she was significant in my professional journey.

It was time for a new phase. The vacancy of Gail's position necessitated the hiring of a new teacher. Our school has rarely seen the opportunity to hire, with positions often filled through transfers. However, Gail's position was filled by a first-year teacher, fresh out of college and new as could be. And now guess what I get to do?

Mentor.

In August 2013, Katie joined our staff. And throughout the year, I've been given a special opportunity to repay the profession for the mentorship Gail offered me. Though I haven't been able to give the same quantity of time Gail always gave selflessly, I hope I reflect a likeness to the compassion, kindness, and patience Gail always showed. Her influence courses through me in many exchanges I have with my new neighbor. The beauty of this new phase is: by slowing down and listening to Katie, by talking with her and responding to her wonderings, I am deepening and strengthening my own practice. In her early career development, Katie is keeping me thinking and reflecting...and learning.


This Teacher Appreciation Week, I'm thinking about my own teachers. I smile as memories come back to mind. I appreciate the great fortune of a generous and talented mentor. And I celebrate the opportunities to return the favor, and to continue to learn in the process of mentorship.