Finding my Voice

I've spent a few years in a bit of a professional rut of sorts.  One where I felt like my wheels are spinning.  Like my job isn't that important.  But seriously-ask that one student who went to a school counselor with that one giant thing they couldn't tell anyone else, how important the school counselor is.

Pretty damn important.

The truth is, I've lost sight of my professional identity.  It has been whittled away by scheduling, paperwork, office moves, assignment changes, chasing after new positions that were not attained, others' attitudes, and by allowing those outside of myself to define my professional worth.

That ends now.  I have been at this job for seven years.  Nearly eight at this point.  (I mean, it is the second semester, so that counts for something, right?)  Not to mention the four years of teaching English.  I have had enough of waiting for value to be placed on what I do.

Ask the students who have graduated while I've held their hands through mountains of correspondence classes, career tech applications, open enrollment paperwork, and found them homes because their parents kicked them out.  They will tell you how vital my job is.

Ask the students who came to see me when they felt no one else on this planet even knew they existed. But I did.  Ask them if school counselors matter.

Ask the students who slip notes under my door about their (ex boyfriends, stepfathers, moms, brothers) abusing them because they are not able to say it aloud.  Yet they cannot take it anymore.  See if a school counselor was important to them.

Talk to the teens who used to cut, but instead come and hang with me when the urge hits.  Or the ones who have relapsed and confess this tearfully, only to hear me say "It's okay.  We will start over.  Today is new.  You are not a bad person." Ask them if school counselors are important in their recovery.

Call the parents who keep me on the phone with questions about the teenagers who baffle them because just yesterday they were perfect elementary students who listened and today they are sullen and sulky with crazy dyed hair and kohl lined eyes.  The parents who see me after graduation and thank me for being there when their students would only talk to me and no one else.  Ask those parents if school counselors matter.

I am tired of being asked "just what do you do?"  I am tired of being relegated to a minor role.  I will no longer let this happen.  Because I am important.

I am your child's biggest cheerleader.

I am your child's ray of light on their worst day at school.

I am the advocate for each student, no matter who they are.

Unearthing from Holidays

First order of business, I know...I had a giveaway. I am a bad blogger and failed to announce the winner! Congrats Lista! I will be in touch soon to get you your beautiful piece of glass that is currently in my office.

Second order of business, I have been um, well, um, BUSY. Who's idea was it to have Clarkmas, Christmas Eve, and Christmas stacked on top of each other? I mean, come on fates! We cooked and cleaned and mixed drinks like no ones business. Don't get me wrong, I love, love, love having family and friends over but I may have slightly lost my mind during the process. Not to mention we packed up Blanche and drove to the East Coast to visit the stepdaughter and her husband. It was a whirlwind! I am not certain what happened, but I know in the past few weeks we have seen the new Martin Luther King Jr memorial, opened gifts from Santa, had a Clark family viewing of the film Lawless, got a tour of stepson-in-law's naval ship, watched some bowl games, baked cookies, filled toys with batteries, and built some lego models.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Oh, sorry. That was just me recovering from one of the spontaneous naps that seem to overtake me at a moment's notice. I hope they pass soon.

Now that the busy season has passed at home, I am moving into the busy season at work. Scheduling, career tech center applications, parent student conferences, orientations, planning for next year and trying to coordinate a move into a newly remodeled building at the end of it all. I'm kind of geeked out about the last part. Ever since I was hired at my current district I've been a state of moving. Like the military family of school counselors. I kid you not, in the seven years there I have had six offices. Rumor has it that this new one may be permanent. I am plotting and planning for it. I want decorations that aren't taped to the walls. A Keurig with my favorite k-cups. A floor lamp that doesn't wobble like it is about to come apart just from turning it on and off. A place where students feel they can come and feel warm and welcomed. Where parents feel comfortable to talk. Homey and professional. I. Can't. Wait.

How are is every one else's New Years going? I hope well. I haven't disappeared, promise. Just buried. I will keep writing! See y'all soon!

 

Of Teaching and Learning

Like many of you, I've been glued to my social media outlet of choice on and off since Friday, staring at the television news, and trying to tear myself away from the side of my five year-old son.  I've been trying to rationalize away my fears, to explain what may have gone so horrifically wrong in the mind of a young man, and to have some comprehension.  I've thought about what I would write here.  I've thought about many different things, but quite simply I don't want this space to be about what happened in Connecticut, because I am not part of the story.  It wouldn't be right for me to write about people I do not know, and experience I have not had, when I am not a trained journalist writing for assignment.

Then this morning we had on our usual CBS Sunday Morning in the background and I heard a story about a public school music teacher and a principal harpist in The Atlanta Symphony Orchestra who had formed a group for youth-The Urban Harp Youth Ensemble.  I listened to the story as I dressed for the day, and it got the wheels in my head turning.  Teachers like Roselyn Lewis changed my life.  From kindergarten through junior high school I was a shy and, okay I'll admit it, dorky kid.  I had a few friends, but never was a social butterfly.  I envied those girls.  The ones who had perfectly matched outfits.  The ones who played some mysterious game of tag by the fire escape on the playground.  The ones who sat with the boys on the junior high school bus.  The ones who got to wear cheerleading sweaters to school on game days.  I was always buried in a book, giant glasses slipping down my nose, hair never quite right, re-wearing the same quasi-cool sweater to school.  Then I discovered band.  I started by playing the flute.  Worked my way through the level books early on.  By high school I was fully-immersed in the world of band nerds.  If my entire day could've been spent in that band room, which occupied its own floor in my first high school, I would have been thrilled.  These were my people.  Music was my language.  I was finally in a place where I felt appreciated. Loved.  Accepted.

During my sophomore year of high school my dad started working at a high school just for kids like me.  A music & performing arts magnet school.  He tried to get me to go in 10th grade,  but I wouldn't budge.  Don't ask me why, but one day the bug bit, and I found myself auditioning for a spot.  Little did I know it would be the single most important decision I have made on the fly.  I may have started there with the intention of becoming a concert flutist, but I left having discovered my voice.

My choir director Basil Kochan, my band director Steve Hadgis, my English teacher Mary Styslinger, and many others were beacons of light for a young, awkward girl.  I hadn't ever sung a note outside my bedroom before Mr. Kochan.  I hadn't ever played a solo on my flute before Mr. Hadgis.  I hadn't ever written my own words for publication before Ms. Styslinger.  Suddenly I blossomed.  They provided me the confidence I needed to move forward in life.

There are teachers out there in this world that do the very same thing every day.  Teachers, principals, counselors, coaches, and many others who work with our young people that inspire greatness in many ways.  These people are willing to do whatever it takes to help them on the path to their own destiny.  Even if it means sacrificing their own.  Tomorrow I will head back to my office in a school building.  I will not be fearful.  I will love my students even more than I did last week, or the week before.  I am one of many surrogate caretakers they have while they are in our presence.  Just as my son will enter his classroom tomorrow and his teachers will care for him in the same way.  We will carry on.  We will continue to work to build a safer country for our children.  It is what must happen to honor those who have gone before.

The School Counselor's Corner

As a school counselor, I dispense oodles of advice. The population I work with is 7-9th grade students and our career technical group. I love em. Lots. They keep me up to my elbows in drama, fresh from the trenches of junior high and early high school. I'm talking good stuff here. The old fashioned "she said he said she said and then they all said" kind of stuff.

I know. You're jealous. It's okay. Not everyone is cut out for my line of work.

Of all the sessions I have with students, all the crises I've navigated students through, all the applications for career center programs and summer camps I have completed, all the academic advisement I have dealt there is one thing, one singular piece of advice I seem to dispense on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis.

Kill em with kindness. You know, take the moral high ground.

It seems simple in theory. But in practice, hoooo boy! Not so simple. I have students who never seem to master the concept that we are all human beings, inhabiting the same planet. And as such, if you treat every person with kindness, people will see you are good and treat you well in return.

Notice I did not say be everyone's friend. I never recommend that. But that does not stop you from treating your enemy with some modicum of decency. This gives you the moral high ground. The ability to look yourself in the mirror and know you did your best-no matter what.

Oddly enough, boys seem to grasp this concept better than their female counterparts. I have had several female students in my office of late. The drama usually goes something like this:

"She is so mean to me! I haven't done anything to her!"

"Why don't you give me some background? Tell me about your history with this girl..."

"Well we used to be friends. Then I got my boyfriend and she just got, like, um, all weird. Then he asked her to the dance! But she didn't tell me! (insert throat noise only teen girls can make) So I wouldn't let him dance with her. Then she tried to jump me at the bus stop. Whatever. Who needs her? I have better friends. But she keeps looking at me in the hallway. I want her to leave me alone. Ugh."

"So let me get this straight. You had/have this boyfriend who went behind your back and asked another girl to the dance and you hate her for it and not him?"

Long pause. Silence.

"Yep. That's about right."

Right around that point I want to smack my forehead. Girls and ladies-why don't we punish the skunks who do these things instead of each other?

Back to my students. I tell these girls to treat the girl who is looking at her with kindness no matter what. This way she stays out of trouble and her other friends will follow her lead. Rarely do my young grasshoppers take my advice, but I keep giving it. Someday, in a perfect society, girls won't gang up on each other over boys who play them against each other. And they will be nice to each other. Until then I will find a place to smack my forehead into. And possibly make a T-shirt with my advice on it to wear every day.

It will save me much in the way of time.

Wednesday Randomness

My brain turns to mush at this point in the week.  I lose my drive to push through the challenge of the days and long for sleep.  My newly-formed allergies are getting the best of my poor eyeballs and sinus cavities.  I'm not really focusing on any one task well.  This is me today:



"Squirrel!"

I'm back. Here are a few things from my plate today.

1. I can't turn off The Weather Channel's coverage of Isaac. I am a weather fanatic. I am alternately terrified and fascinated by it.  I will be the first to hide in the basement when it is storming here, but the last to turn off coverage of a hurricane.  Don't ask me to analyze this. 

2. If you want to do something to help those affected by Hurricane Isaac, I strongly urge you to check out ISOH/IMPACT. They are a local charity here (Toledo, Ohio) but help victims of disaster worldwide.  Their bucket brigade is an easy way to provide specific help for people who need it.  From buckets filled with food relief, cleaning supplies, pet aid, baby care needs, and more.  What is better is that ISOH/IMPACT makes it easy to help-you can print this PDF and fill a 5 gallon bucket to drop off as a donation.  Or, if you aren't in the Toledo area, you can donate online and sponsor a bucket. 

3.  Tell your loved ones you love them.  Take care of your health.  Please.  And remember that no matter how crummy your day is going, it isn't nearly as awful as what is happening next door to my office right now.  Today a student lost her parent unexpectedly.  Today this student's other parent had to make a drive here to tell their child they lost their parent.  Today this family's life is changed forever.  I know I will head home, hug my son tighter, kiss my husband one more time.  I will say "I love you" more than I normally do.  Because I am lucky enough to do so.  And I will try not to feel like my days are so awful.  At least I still have days to spend.

Have a fabulous rest of the Wednesday, readers.  Do something lovely with the remaining hours.  Then kick it into gear and end the week well.  We can do this!

The Long Goodbye

We are in the homestretch of the school year here.  I look at my 60-day planner on my office wall and see that I have only May left (and a teensy-bit of April).  For me, May is a crazy, hectic, mad dash of a month.  You blink and it is over.  You start your day with a to-do list five miles long and end your day with a to-do list that is ten miles longer.  As a school counselor who serves students in grades 7, 8, 9 and all of our career tech kids (that would be 10-12 grades for those of you who aren't in the school business) I am in the middle of excitement, elation and sadness. 

My youngest group remind me of the ping-pong balls in a lottery machine right now-all bouncing against the clear glass furiously as each tries to shoot up the cylinder into importance.  The 7th grade teens know in a matter of moments they will rule the building.  They will carry the mantle of seniority.  The 8th graders want to blast into high school with aplomb-some dragging their junior high popularity with them, some dreaming of remaking their image in a new setting (even if it is mere steps next door).  Oh to be fourteen...

The ninth grade students are anxious to shed the freshman label and move right into the category of experience and knowledge.  They wish to be bored sophomores, with that "been here, done that" air.  The ones who stand idly by during pep rallies rolling their eyes and folding their arms.  The class who rarely, if ever, wins a cheer contest.  They have conquered the freshman year and are so over it.

Now, my teens at our career tech school are upperclassmen-affixed with the sense of responsibility and purpose.  They see the end is near.  Some wish to grasp that ring and fling themselves into the world yesterday.  Some are terrified of it.  Tomorrow I will be meeting with this fantastic group of students for the final time of the school year and I will see all of this in their eyes.

My last large group meeting is always bittersweet for me.  I have had some of these students since they were little thirteen year-old seventh graders.  Entering that world of junior high, filled with anxiety.  Tomorrow's stated purpose is to discuss prom, post prom and graduation information.  But for me it is also a chance to see all of their faces at one time, for one last time.  I end this meeting with just my seniors-having sent the juniors on their merry way.  When I tell them it is the last time we will all be in a room together as a group, I always get emotional.  I feel like their mother hen.  I am bursting with pride over their accomplishments, yet once they leave the nest of school, we lose track of them-not getting to see all the wonderful things they do in the world.  This is what makes me wistful and a bit sad.

May is truly a long goodbye for those of us in the school business.  Yes, it is filled to the brim with activity, ceremonies, events and more.  Yet it is also a month where we do everything "one last time."  I may get frustrated with my students, irritated, fed up, but this month I am reminded again why I do what I do.  And it is because I want nothing more than to be a cheerleader on the sideline of their lives.  Hoping to be a little part of who they become as they step out of childhood and into the wide, wide world of adulthood.  So May, bring it.  I can totally do this (again).  Just bring a few boxes of tissues with you.

Orentating

When you do something over and over you tend to forget the unique newness of events.  Today is registration for high school freshmen.  I, as the ninth grade counselor, am spending my day in a computer lab, doing a lot of hand holding, question answering, and assisting them as they choose their very first classes. 

And I am answering the same questions over and over and over and over and over and over and...

Well, you get the picture. 

But what I have to keep reminding myself is that they are on the cusp.  The cusp of high school.  Buzzing with anticipation over the newness of it all.  Watching them rush around this lab, course request sheets in hand, asking questions of their friends is rather endearing.  I remember this age so well.  Nervousness blended with excitement.  When I was in my Junior English class, my teacher told us one day that she envied us our teenaged ability to emote.  That we were so intense-intensely in love, intensely in hate, intensely nervous, happy, sad, or even simply intensely bored.  We were just extreme beings.  I didn't get it then.  Yet now, watching my students in this room I completely understand what she said.  The girls squeal about choosing classes.  The boys howl with laughter over bodily functions.  There is not a student who simply sits down. They plop, flop, slam, leap, slide, slink.  It is an entirely different energy.

While I am so frustrated answering the same questions over and over-this is my sixth year of orientating fourteen year-old students to the newness of high school-I also understand that they are new at this.  I am the old and learned one.  I may understand the intricacies of credits, graduation requirements, prerequisites, eligibility and more but they do not.  And this is only the mundane academic part.  This isn't the important stuff of high school life.  Just wait until August when locker assignments go out, complete schedules are distributed, homecoming week schedule is announced, cafeteria tables are claimed, positions in athletic teams and band/choir are posted...that is what matters to the life of our students.  The exterior of teens may look different, but after being an observant educator and school counselor for eleven years I can say that high school is exactly as you remember it. 

Bully Pulpit

I've been tweeting lately (for those of you who follow me) about doing training at work on a bullying prevention program at school-The Olweus Program.  It is a fantastic, research-based, program that addresses bullying head-on and works to stop it at its source.  Our hope is that with the implementation of this program, our students (all of them) can begin to feel safer and more at ease in their school.  Because after their homes, they spend more time here than anywhere else!

But bullying goes beyond the school years, doesn't it?  I was one of those kids who was a victim.  I can remember elementary school and being tormented by a girl who was bigger than me (they all were-I was a shrimp!) and who loved nothing more than name calling and put-downs.  There was even one day she pulled my pony-tail so hard I fell to the ground, in an attempt to get me off "her" swing.  She moved, thankfully, away from my school when we were in junior high.  But it didn't fix the problem, because there were others.  Students who teased me for my body shape.  Teased me for my brains.  Teased me for the activities I took part in and the ones I did not.  By no means was school a place I felt unsafe, but I certainly never felt at ease.  And to make matters worse, I never had the confidence to stand up for myself. 

As an adult I am what you might call passive.  When conflict arises, I will do anything to escape its path.  Run. Hide. Laugh it off. Avoid.  I think I have an allergy to conflict.  I also think adult bullies sense this in me, and use it to their advantage.  What I don't understand is why this exists in adult life.  We abhor our children getting bullied, yet tolerate it in our workplace, our social circles, our families, even from strangers.  I'm just tired of allowing my own actions empowering those who I allow to intimidate me.  Yes, they are at fault for acting poorly, for not treating people with kindness and with respect.  But at the same time, I allow it to continue by not standing up for my own well being.  Does this mean I will begin to engage in conflict?  No.  (can't...I'll go into anaphylactic shock) But what I will do is to remain calm, give a minimal response to the bully, and simply walk away.  Their behavior deserves no emotional reaction from those whom they are attempting to intimidate anyhow. 

As an adult who works closely with adolescents, I believe it is my duty to model this type of behavior.  Both to be a good citizen and treat each person I come into contact with, with respect and kindness; and to also treat myself with respect and kindness.  This means no more cowering in fear from bullies and those who try to use their loud mouth, their attempts to talk over me, or their mean spirit to bruise my spirit.  It is time to bring kindness back, and it starts with me.

Life as a School Family

I know I've told you many times what my day job is (school counselor) so I'm finding myself this time of year back to "school" again.  But I am part of a school family.  My husband is a school administrator.  Our son is entering his final year of pre-school.  I grew up the daughter of an educator.  I don't know what life is like off the school calendar.  Summertime is when we recharge our batteries to face yet another year of nothing but go-go-go.  My job is filled with crazy-busy days, but I am lucky that I get to leave it at work most of the time.  Well, except when there is a crisis.  Don't get me started on those days. 

Because I'm married to a school administrator our evenings and weekends are filled with events.  Sporting events-football, volleyball, cross country meets, basketball, wrestling tournaments, baseball, softball, and track.  Then there are the concerts, awards ceremonies, pageants, and plays.  And of course dinners that are late for meetings and committees.  It is just part of the cycle of this crazy life.  But the benefits of it are innumerable.  Our son attends school in the same district where my husband works.  He is growing up in the same way I did.  The school buildings are his playground.  We swing by in the evenings to check on progress of various building maintenance projects, and he gets to climb stairwells in the dim evening light, run empty hallways, yell into an empty gymnasium to hear his echo, stand at the edge of an empty football field and imagine what it will look like when it is filled with action.  We attend school functions and he feels as though the faculty is an extension of his family.  I remember that same feeling at his age whenever I set foot in my dad's buildings.  The older students were like older, cooler siblings to me.  The teachers, custodians, bus drivers, secretaries, and cooks like aunts and uncles to me.  It was a giant, safe nest outside of our home.  I loved it.  I can see that same feeling on our son's face. 

Last night at open house, one of the counselors asked Jack if he lived at school.  His immediate response was "yes."  We all laughed and watched as he skipped around the hallway.  But I knew immediately what he meant.  That school feels just as much like home as our house does to him.  And that makes me happy. 

Welcome back to school everyone!  Sharpen your pencils, grab your boxes of crayons, have ready your scissors and glue.  It is going to be a fantastic year!

Itching to leave, dying to stay

Sorry if the posts over the next week get sappy, but in the business I'm in, this time of year tends to lean to the emotional side of life.  Today I sat in our school's commons area for a bit while our seniors were taking their final final exams.  They were all a bit twitchy.  Legs jiggling, bodies wiggling, arms flying across papers and bubble sheets.  As they finished they would dash up to the table to turn in their exams, pronouncing with glee they were finished, "finally."  But then a look of almost wistfulness would wash over each and every one of their faces.  Finally.  Finally done with childhood.  Finally done with carefree days of youth.  Finally done with these days of merriment.  For some they are truly happy high school is over.  For some they are holding on with all of their might, though they are loathe to admit it.  Yet, in each and every one of my students there is a little boy or girl who is a bit wistful today because it is done.  Yes, they have graduation practice yet to come.  And on Sunday they'll cross the stage in their black cap and gown with teary-eyed parents and teachers watching them.  Yet somehow the realization sinks in on a balmy May morning while they're wearing their uniform of school casual, hair mussed, and flip-flops that they know it is done.  These child adults may be itching to leave, but so much of their inner child is dying to stay. 

These are days

Starting tomorrow I will be sitting in a wide variety of senior recognition ceremonies for my career center kids.  Each ceremony is exactly the same format, hands out the same awards, is framed by the same pomp & circumstance, and ends with These are Days by 10,000 Maniacs.  Even when I'm not sitting in that darkened auditorium, watching my seniors file past me, whenever I hear that song come on the radio I get that same feeling of pride wash over me.  I know that towards the end of the last two ceremonies on Tuesday evening/Wednesday afternoon I'll start feeling my foot tap with impatience, wish I could get a signal on my iPhone, and feel a bit bored because I've been doing this for three straight days.  But I love those teens so much.  For two (and with a few...three) years I've worked with them.  I've watched over them like a mother hen.  I've sweated out failing grades, signed off on summer school applications with fingers crossed, I've lectured about interim reports, I've talked about poor choices.  I've also high-fived, fist-bumped, hugged, and cried it out with many of them.  These next three days are my reward.  To watch this group of kids receive their career passports and awards is my own pat on the back for a job well-done.  It is my gateway into a summer where I'll prepare for my new crop of teens to fret over.  I know I'll cry a little because I'll miss some of these teens.  But I'm just so gosh darn proud of them.  Many of these kids have come into this place at-risk, needy and worried that graduation was a far-off dream.  This week they stand tall, proud, graduates of high school and entering the workforce (and many entering college!).  I just feel lucky enough to have been standing on the sidelines of their lives to witness their growth.


Congratulations Class of 2011.  Go forth and conquer!