Why I Write: Students Need Writing Mentors

My mother recently found and sent me a photo of myself at 18 months, sitting in a highchair at the kitchen counter in our first apartment. Blank pages before me, one heck of a grip on a pencil, and a beam of pride on my face. My mother's familiar handwriting on the bottom of the polaroid reads, "Writing Letters!"

I've always been a writer.

Who I am as a writer and what I know and understand about writing has changed, though. And so has writing instruction in my classroom.

I'd be fibbing if I attributed the change in my perspective to one single factor over the last few years. Truthfully, I can name three very specific events. But the one of these three that is most easily replicable is this:

I write.

What I write ranges from short bits of fiction to poetry to book reviews to professional pieces. Most of what I write lives inside of notebooks and my hard drive, has never (and probably will never) be seen or consumed by readers. What I write doesn't matter so much. It matters more that I do.

Writing regularly (or, close...ish) changed my perspective. When I looked at writing instruction in my classroom through my teacher-writer eyes, I could hardly look away from the incongruence of my writing workshop and my own writing life. So, while I write for a lengthy list of purely personal reasons, too, these reasons #WhyIWrite are some of my most important:

I write because every day I face forty-five apprenticing writers, and it makes all the difference when I can say to them over their notebooks and my own, "Yeah, me too."

I write because my students need writing mentors. Students should learn by engaging with a writer who has plentiful and practical experience in this thing they are learning to do.

I write because my own tendency to shield and protect my writer-heart from criticism and judgement reminds me of the need to be kind with my students' writer-hearts, too.

I write because experiencing that the process of writing changes for me with everything I try to write nags at me to be flexible and open to students' writing needs and paths to "publication" that don't look like mine.

I write because relationships are born of risk-taking and bearing ourselves, and if my students are going to trust me, I must take chances first.

I write because my students encourage me and inspire me.

I write because they want to know what happens next.

And so do I.

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.

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.