The Robot Initiation

For the third time in not very many weeks, I am watching the sunrise through a school bus window. I am taking about a dozen kids on a two hour bus ride that begins before the day does so we can do our first testing of our robot on an actual game course.

This is where I have been the last two months.

Way back last spring, I asked a couple kids if they would be interested in doing the Team America Rocketry Challenge. I got one wishy washy maybe. The other kid said he was kind of more into robots now, so I shelved that particular project.

Sometime this summer, I received some information about the BEST Robotics competition, so, on a whim, I went to my principal in August and asked if we could start a Robotics Team.

Now, I totally expected him to be cautious, tell me to wait a year, find out more about the program.

He said, "Sure, go for it."

Um...okay...right...I need a team.

Well, lucky (?) for me, I was coaching cross country at the time. So sitting around after practice one day, I recruited a good number of my runners to join my robotics team.

Looking back, I can't believe they all said yes. I was going into this blind and had no true information to give them about what we would be doing.

Kids: What are we going to do?
Me: Build a robot.
Kids: How?
Me: I don't know.
Kids: What does the robot have to do?
Me: I don't know.
Kids: How long will it take?
Me: I don't know.
Kids: What else do we have to do?
Me: I don't know.
Kids: Awesome! Let's do it!

Seriously, I had no idea what all was involved. I had no idea what all it took to build a robot. I had no idea that you had to do other things in addition to building the robot.

What I had was an amazing group of kids who were willing to follow me on this adventure and were totally okay with all of us learning together.

Our motto this year: "We'll figure it out..."

Teaching "Those Kids"

Warning: Rant ahead.

We have a teacher in our Modeling group who has been grating on my nerves for two years now*. His voice is a constant murmur in the back of the room that never turns off. Kind of like the air conditioner fan.

But that's not what has me upset with him.

We were having a discussion about how to guide our kids through the labs and help them draw conclusions that are close to where we want them to go. Now the whole idea here is that we don't make it obvious that we are guiding them, but that they come into these ideas on their own.

Walk into my room at any hour on any given day and you will generally find about half of my kids have an IEP. Most of the others will be considered at-risk. I don't have books. I have had kids who misspell their own name.

What I have is an engaged (mostly) class.**

My class population has had this profile for several years now and while some teachers in my situation would simply curl up under their desks and cry,*** I decided that this was NOT going to do me in. I was going to persevere and triumph!

So back to the guy in class. His argument was that some of his kids wouldn't be capable of learning without him stepping in and explaining every little thing in detail. They simply couldn't do it.

Please.

This is not a student problem. This is a teacher problem. You as a teacher must drop ALL preconceptions you have of any one student or any one disability. These are kids who have been told throughout their education that they can't do it. They aren't smart enough. They're stupid. And they believe it.

Well, I am here to tell you: They can. They are. And no, they are not. Now I am not going to tell you that I have found some magic key that automatically unlocks every child's potential, as much as I wish I could.

What I can tell you is that you (YOU THE TEACHER) are the one that has to convince them otherwise. Never, ever allow a student to get away with calling himself "stupid" or "dumb" or "not smart enough to do this work". It is simply not true.

This is not easy. This is exhausting. Are you going to reach every kid? Nope, sorry. Is it going to matter to one child that you were willing to look past what everyone else sees and help him see himself in a more positive way? Yes. Yes, it will.

*Our awesome Modeling Institute has follow-up online meetings once per month.

**Our English teacher was complaining at lunch one day about having to teach a Remediation class that is a perfect mirror of my regular classes. Welcome to my world :)

***Wait, that was me in 2004.

Teacher Tip #6

Never.

Ever.

Under any circumstances...

...sponsor more than one activity at the same time.

How To Destroy a Really Good Idea

Present it in a powerpoint presentation with 293 slides.

The Battle for Next to Last

Several years ago, I was inexplicably talked into taking on the job of coaching cross country. I was a sprinter in high school and college, so the only thing I knew about distance runners was that they:

a. Left practice for long periods of time.

b. Ran outside in ANY weather.

c. Were more often than not, just a little bit weird.

"Just go run" was heard quite a bit that first year. I have since made it my job to know everything there is to know about aerobic conditioning, anaerobic conditioning, tempo runs, intervals and fartleks.*

Caught unawares, I was a stranger in a strange land at my first cross country meet. You want to see some intense competition, head over to the Wamego Invitational on the second Saturday in September. Simply amazing.

I had coached volleyball and basketball the few years before this, and was unprepared for the radical beating my coaching philosophy was about to take. At a volleyball tournament, my team had been smothered by an unbelievable group of eight girls whose coach never even spoke to them during the entire match. The girls knew what to do. They pressured each other. The corrected each other. They substituted themselves. Their coach had them trained.

Of course, being young and dumb as I was**, I jumped at the opportunity to talk to this coach in the hospitality room. He described his practices and philosophy. I can remember asking him if every girl in the school wanted to be a part of his team and whether or not he had to cut anyone. He said, no, he didn't have to worry about that because he created such an intense atmosphere that they cut themselves. I can remember thinking what a great idea that was and how that was the type of team I wanted to create. I even scribbled a note on the program about it.

Fast forward to me now in charge of a completely different world. I was digging through one of my many "Idea" file folders where I found that old program. I can remember that tournament like it was yesterday. I can see the faces and hear the voices. I can remember how I felt when I thought I had figured out the secret to a great team. I sat down in my chair and stared at that paper and thought, "what an idiot I was."

And then I thought, "what a jerk he was."

Being a part of what I am now, I can't imagine treating kids in the way that coach obviously did. I can't imagine putting a child in an environment where she felt like a loser whose only option was to quit something she once loved.

Now, I will grant you that cross country is not exactly a team sport, so the dynamics involved are somewhat different. But I will also tell you that everyone, everyone, is welcome on my team. I don't care what size or shape you come to me, you have a home here.

This year, I have Nate. Nate should be a part of our offensive line, but hated playing football. As you may well imagine, he is not one of my top runners. He is my bottom runner. Actually, he is everyone's bottom runner. Nate routinely finishes last. He's okay with that, and I'm okay with that. I put an immense focus on personal records (PRs) for my kids and would rather they improve in every race than medal***.

This year, there is a boy from a neighboring school who runs just about at Nate's pace (think turtles, only slower). This makes for some incredibly interesting finishes. The last race of the day. Everyone else is finished and possibly even cooled down. And here come the two last place finishers.

Cross country, I have found, is a sport where everyone encourages everyone else, no matter what uniform they are wearing. There is something about running several miles in a row that just makes people want you to do your best. So the scene at our last meet was just incredible. A hundred or so kids and adults lining the course, cheering on the two people left out there. Nate would surge ahead. The other boy would take back the lead. Nate would make his move. Kids are screaming. Arms are flailing. You would have thought it was for Olympic gold. It was one of the most intense sporting moments I have ever witnessed. 

When it was all over, I heard not a single negative comment. Both kids were congratulated. Both kids came away feeling like they gave it their all and did the best they could do. There were no snide remarks about the last place finisher. There was no one making fun of the "big, fat kid who can't run*."

There is hope for our future.

*To become a true distance coach, you must be able to tell a group of adolescent boys to go run a fartlek and not crack a smile.

**Oh, alright, often still am.
***Don't get me wrong, I love medals and winning, but for some kids, winning is defined in looser terms.
*This is how Nate describes himself.

A Late Thunderstorm

It is happening again.

Today we whiteboarded the first worksheet over density. We had discussed our lab yesterday and talked about what the relationship was between mass and volume.

The grumblings have started. I didn't teach them about density! That thirty minute discussion we had yesterday? Oh, we were supposed to pay attention to that?

The good news is that this particular rumbling is occurring a whole ten days later than last year! And it wasn't so much a mutiny as it was just general complaining.

So at this rate, in about 17 years, I shouldn't get any grumbling until after school breaks for the summer. I can't wait :)

All in all, this year is going so much better than last year. I think there are several reasons for this, not the least of which is that I feel much more comfortable with the environment I want to create. Last summer my Modeling class ended in July and I rushed in and, well, just rushed in. I hadn't taught "real" chemistry in several years, so was a bit out of practice and at the same time trying to radically change how these kids expected to be taught. This year, I at least am familiar with the material and the process and have been able to go into class with an actual plan. And I think word got out from last year's group and so the kids' expectations were different coming in.

I know it's early in the year, but I still don't have my classroom climate where I would like it to be. We were in the middle of a discussion today when an administrator knocked on my door and had to talk to me RIGHT NOW. I asked the class to continue on and come to a consensus. Um, yeah, that didn't quite happen. The discussion apparently came to a screeching halt and uncontrolled chaos reigned.

I can handle that. There is something about having a specific problem to tackle, even if you aren't sure how.

I'm just glad that this year my kids aren't openly plotting my demise.

Larger Than Life

Isn't it sad that the only time I will ever know who truly loves me will be at my funeral?

We said good-bye today to a man whose full influence can never possibly be measured.

I talked Bud into taking the head track coach position a few years ago and truly had no idea what I was getting into. Bud was a unique mix of old school football coach and teddy bear. He loved his teams and he loved the competition. And he wasn't afraid to let you know either one. His pregame pep talks often ended in tears when he talked about what he believed you could do.

As we waited around the football field for his final farewell, I watched as hundreds of people gathered in memory of a person who had been so important in their lives. It was an amazing site, though upon reflection, not entirely surprising. It often took us half an hour to walk across the parking lot to get to a track meet. The man knew every coach in the state.

It's days like this that remind me of one of the most amazing (and frightening) aspects of this job. All of those eyes that are always watching me. Those kids who sit in the back and never make a sound. Kids who eagerly sign up for any activity you decide to sponsor. All it takes is one inadvertent comment about something totally unrelated. That one comment could lift a child up. Or it could tear him down. And I might never even know it.

I'm not sure I can ever hope to leave anywhere near the legacy that Bud left behind. I was blessed to have been able to coach with and learn from him. I, like so many others, am a better person because he touched my life.

And I have no doubts that he is up there, right now, teaching the angels to play football.