The History Teacher 2.0: 2015

Goals for the Spring

Sometimes these posts really are meant to be shared. I want them read by as many eye-balls as can read them because I believe that there is an important message. And sometimes, this blog is simply my online place of reflection, and I could care less if my parents and wife were the only ones to click on the link. This post is the latter. So if you're uninterested in reading my personal journal, save yourself the time and keep surfing the web!

***

A mentor of mine, Jason Steliga, advised me at the start of my second year of teaching that I needed to know what I wanted to teach the kids, not so much in terms of content but in terms of the bigger life lessons. That year, I came up with organization and two others that I don't remember. Clearly they were significant.* Each year after that, I've tried to think more about the bigger things that I want to teach; the things that my kids will (hopefully) remember when they think about our classroom as adults.

*Not really.

One of those goals that I've decided to focus on is empathy/kindness/respect. History is all about stories. Those stories are often about people who look and think and act and pray differently than you do. If you are unable to practice empathetic thought, you're more likely to dismiss the other as dangerous, savage, uncivilized or whatever other negative connotation you can come up. This ability to empathize is especially important for teens as they are learning how to think about the world around them. I believe that these lessons in empathy are more important than any lesson about the French Revolution.

One of the side effects of having a kid is that I never got around to taking the time to sit down and think about specific goals for the year. I knew that empathy was one and I knew that organization was one. But I did not take the time to think through how I would weave those themes into my lessons throughout the year. It's something I've done each year since Jason talked to me, but not this year.

When I think about the six groups of kids that I have, it's pretty hit and miss when it comes to the progress that we've made as a group. Four of my classes have been incredible. The kids are active and participate. They like each other and, with some small exceptions, are kind and respectful of each other. But the other two are decidedly not successful when it comes to empathetic thoughts and actions. There are regular incidents where kids are rude towards each other.

I handle the situations as they arise. I've called more parents in these two classes combined than I have in the other four in an effort to adjust behavior. I've started implementing elementary-level behavior plans for specific students who really struggle.

More than anything else, though, when I think about these two classes I think about the amount of time that I feel that I struggle with them. I can feel the frustration well up inside of me just thinking about it. I know in my heart of hearts that these two classes need my love and time and understanding, as well as my discipline and my sternness. It is the ultimate balancing act, which I know that I have failed for the first four months of the school year.

And that's why I needed the break. I need to be ready to start fresh with these classes because I know that my tone effects their attitudes. Towards the end of the year, those two classes knew that I was frustrated with them as a group and this affected how they behaved. It was a classic lesson in how the expectations of the teacher effect the real behavior of the students. Students who are expected to misbehave, will, more often than not, misbehave! Students who are expected to excel will likewise often excel!

A Chanel and Shanell sandwich selfie!

I was thinking over break about other careers. That's easy to do as you sit and talk to (in my case, a very large) family about their lives and what they do each day. It's easy to know the paycheck, see the perks. But each career I thought about, I wondered how I could teach as a part of that career.

I love to teach. I get taken away from teaching in my classroom through things that I cannot control (standardized testing, students' emotional needs, etc...) but often when I get away from truly teaching is when I get emotionally overwhelmed. To really teach a topic, you have to love the topic and you have to love the student. You can get by without loving one of those two, but it won't be teaching at its best.

Often during my breaks, I will recharge on both of those. I listen to a lot of NPR, which I would do about 15 hours a day if I had the choice. I read a lot of TIME Magazine and Politico articles and peruse the web for different things related to what's happening in ours and other governments. I have awesome friends on Facebook who link fun historical stuff to me all the time. I am able to fall back in love with the topics that I teach in class.

And probably more importantly, I'm able to fall back in love in with my students. I am able to remember the wonderful things that they do that get lost in the sludge. I get a chance to look through my Twitter and Instagram feeds and remember the wonderful pictures I've taken with and of my kids. The classes that have been frustrating - I get a chance to reflect on why with a little less passion and a little more logic. The student that I've wanted to scream at - I am able to think more clearly about how to get that student involved in the learning in my classroom so that they don't hate every minute that they are in my room.

One of my government classes during finals week, trying to decompress the stress!

I had the pleasure of traveling with the Center Youth in Government Delegation to Jefferson City again this year.

With all that in mind, here are my three goals for this semester:

1. Don't get angry or yell at a student. Once.

2. Involve organization in the lesson every single day.

3. Continue to teach empathy and compassion. Continue growing with the four classes that are going well and win over the two classes that are not.

4. Work with every 9th grader to write a coherent, logical, strong argumentative essay.*

*Woof

I'll come back to this post in May and see how I did!

What are your goals for the Spring?

***

Thanks for reading this blog! I hope you'll consider taking a moment to comment below and turn this into a conversation. Whether you are an educator or not, we have all had common experiences with education both good and bad. I want to hear what you think!

About Me:

My name is Alec Chambers. I am a high school history and government teacher at a small, urban public school in Kansas City called Center High School. We regularly kick tail. Among many awards, we were named a National Blue Ribbon School in 2014. I don't just teach at Center- I also graduated from Center in 2006 after attending Center Schools K-12. I have a degree in Political Science, a second degree in International Relations, a third degree in Education and a Master's of Arts in Teaching. I have an unofficial degree is soccer. All of those degrees have led me to the high-paying teaching profession! I have a newborn daughter and am married to the most awesome woman on the planet. Seriously. It's a proven fact.

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Memory Eternal, Papou

My birthday is in two days. I’m going to turn 28 and, among other emotions, that utterly blows my mind. I had a conversation with two of my younger cousins, probably 10 and 7, but their ages jumble in my mind in a big family like mine. They were holding my daughter, Kate, all of 7 months. They were adorable. Their care for Kate is real. I mentioned babysitting one day, and their eyes lit up with excitement.

I looked over at my cousin Athena, also a teacher, who is nearly a decade older than me. I told the kids that their relationship with my daughter could be a lot like my relationship with Athena. She is older than me, and I’ve always been happy to look up to her. Kate will look up to them. She babysat me often when I was a kid. We’re the godparents together for another one of my younger cousins. I’m sure they will also babysit Kate.

I said to the kids that one day Kate would have a child of her own. They would likely have children too. Their kids would one day be as excited as they were to hold Kate’s kid.

Yaya holding Kate at her first Greek Fest!

Another emotion that I feel these days is nostalgia. My family is quite incredible, and we’ve made a lot of memories together. Like any family, we all have our flaws. I’m a bit too stubborn, this cousin is a little selfish, that cousin doesn’t come around as much as we all wish. Nothing extraordinary, just regular family stuff. What makes my family so incredible is not so different from what might make your family incredible – it’s the older family members that make our family so special.

I’ve grown up identifying heavily with my Greek ethnicity, even though I’m technically only 50% Greek. I’ve travelled to Greece twice. I had a kick where I wanted to learn to speak Greek and got good enough to blend in while I was in Greece. I listen to Greek music, was a part of a ethnic Greek Dance Troupe until a year ago, love to cook Greek food – you get it. So we call my grandparents on my mom’s side, the Greek side, Yaya and Papou. (Pronounced yi-yuh and pah-poo)

***

Here’s a story. My papou loved our annual church golf tournament. It wasn’t because he loved to golf. In fact, I’m not sure I ever saw him swing a club. No, he loved to drive the beer cart and talk to people. That was his gift, to communicate, to love, to connect. Several times as a kid before I was old enough to play in the tournament, he would take me with him in the cart.

Papou always collected things. That’s another memory. He would come home from garage sales with junk upon junk. Sometimes I remember Yaya getting mad, but mostly we all just kind of laughed at the hobby and marveled that he could ever find anything in his garage.

One of the things that he liked to collect were golf clubs. So this particular year, probably when I was 7 or 8, Papou brought out a putter with him so that I could go onto empty greens and putt the ball around while we were driving around the course. And so it was, every few holes, we’d pull up to a green, I would go putt and he would stay in the cart talking and watching me.

One of my flaws, especially growing up, was that I let things simmer under the surface. I always acted calm, but I often had anger or frustration waiting to explode out of me. This flaw used to come out on the golf course. As anyone who has ever played golf can attest, it can be so infuriating. And so it was with me that day at the church golf tournament; I kept missing the putt I was hitting, getting more frustrated and frustrated, and eventually felt like I was going to snap. So I looked over to the cart and when I saw that Papou was not looking, I slammed the putter into the ground. This was not the first time I had done this with a club. It felt good, then immediately bad. This time, the head of the putter broke off and stayed lodged in the soil. I picked it up and jogged over the cart and told Papou that the club had broke and that I wasn’t sure how it happened. I claimed that I was using it like a walking stick and, snap, it popped off.

Papou didn’t say anything, but he didn’t seem mad either. Thinking back, I know that he knew what I had done. Clubs don’t break themselves. But in the moment, I thought I had gotten away with it. I hopped in the cart and we went on our way, delivering beer to the golfers and having a good time.

As we were walking out to the car to go home after the tournament had ended, Papou put his arm around me and told me that he loved me. I’ll never forget that hug and all of the guilt that it brought out inside of me. On the drive home, as we were nearing my house, he talked for the first time in the car ride – Someday your anger is going to break something that can’t be repaired.

***

Papou holding one of his many great-grandkids.

I will always remember that lesson. I will always remember him teaching me to drive a stick-shift in his old, beaten up brown pick-up truck in the giant parking lot behind the old Honeywell Plant. I will always remember warm summers floating in the pool, eating kolouria made fresh from Yaya’s kitchen and Papou’s hands. I will always remember Papou and Uncle Jim arguing about the Royals and the Chiefs. I will always remember carving miniatures out of bars of soap. I will always remember the airplane models, the Braniff cups and napkins, the stories - made up and real - of people who he got to talk with during his days with Braniff or in the Air Force.

I will remember these things and I will cherish these memories and I will never forget that they are more important than a houseful of objects. I will cherish watching Kate grow into a young woman, having kids of her own and getting to make my entire life about their happiness and comfort, just as my Yaya and Papou have always done for their kids and their grandkids. I will savor every moment watching my younger cousins help teach Kate how to play, and learn and laugh and fight.

And in the midst of all of the joy and happiness, I will occasionally get sad.

Five years ago today, Papou passed away. It was merciful – he had not had an enjoyable end to his life. But it was hard nonetheless. I will get sad thinking about Yaya alone in her house in between the moments of noise and chaos when the kids come to visit her. I will get sad thinking about my dad and how I can call him whenever I want, knowing that my mom no longer has this joy. I will get sad sitting in church in the same pew our family has sat in for decades, almost able to feel the presence of Papou and hear his voice sing along with the ancient chants.

And then I’ll find my wife, Kate, my parents, my brother, Yaya, all of my cousins – I’ll find these people and I’ll know that they are Papou. That is why our family is so special, and why your family is so special. We are the living embodiment of all the people who have come before us. We are their voice, their song, their prayer, their lesson, their love. We are them. We are all Papou because we carry him with us in every moment. We hear his voice, and through us, that voice is passed down to our children.

One last story, from Papou’s last 4^th of July. My wife, mom and I marched through his bedroom singing songs and shooting off imaginary fireworks with our hands. Papou let out several of his full-belly laughs that we all heard too rarely in his last months of life. But in that moment, on that day, Papou was happy. I can close my eyes and hear that laugh, see that smile, feel his hands. I’ll never forget that moment. I’ll never forget Papou.

May your memory be eternal, Papou.

About Me:

I'm Thankful For The Challenge

It has, to say the least, been a different kind of year teaching. The arrival of our new one, lots of new responsibilities and time committments, a not-so-surprising decline in my desire to grade/tutor/stay late at school/arrive early - I've had to kind of reinvent the wheel a bit this year. I had gotten pretty good at being a certain type of teacher. Probably pretty close to the kind of teacher that you see in all the teacher movies. In fact I had been pretty proud of personifying that style and that type of work-ethic.

In Freedom Writers, the stress was so much
that Hilary Swank divorced McDreamy! Or
is it McStuffins...no, it's McDonald...

But the thing about all of those movies is that the relationships at home for the teachers tend to always suck. People are getting divorced. Kids are feeling like they're less important than the students. Families and friends complain that the teacher is never available.

Education should not require the educators to be super heroes to be good. Too often it does. Too often teachers are left under-staffed, under-funded and without support. Too often I see an article like this one or this one or this one or this one from a teacher who has decided that enough is enough and that changing careers is the only option.

I'm not quitting, nor am I particularly close. The thought enters my mind, particularly when my brother (who used to teach but has entered the corporate world) gets home from a vacation to Europe paid for by hotel and airline points! I know the same is true for my wife. We all have our days, probably regardless of profession, where we wonder if we're really meant to be doing whatever it is we're doing.

Teaching isn't unique to this feeling. No, what is unique to teaching is that you have a hundred children relying on you being really good at your job while you have this feeling. You have an off-day, you suffer! The kids feed on your emotion, positive and negative!

Each year on this blog, I've written a Thanksgiving post. This year over Thanksgiving Break when I had a free hour while my kid was napping, I paid bills. Because adulthood.

So, a few days late, here is what I'm thankful for this year:

I'm thankful for the challenge of working with teenagers. It reminds me that, like them, I don't always know it all even when I think I do.

I'm thankful for the challenge of grading pointless assignments. It reminds me that if I don't care that much about grading it, the students probably didn't care that much about completing it.

I'm thankful for the challenge of making my lunch in the morning. It reminds me that I am lucky to have never felt the desperation of not knowing where my next meal is coming from.

I'm thankful for the challenge of keeping animal crackers stocked in my room, since many of my students are not as lucky as I am to have enough food in their bellies.

I'm thankful for laptops and technology not working. It reminds me that learning happened before 1990 and it will continue even when something doesn't work.

I'm thankful for the challenge of keeping up with this blog. It reminds me that reflection is an important part of learning.

I'm thankful for the challenge of being married to another teacher. It reminds me that I married the right one.

I'm thankful for the challenge of sleepless nights. It reminds me that my baby is still healthy, happy and doing all the annoying things that babies sometimes do to parents.

I'm thankful for the challenge of time management. It reminds me that my life needs priorities.

I'm thankful for the challenge of students taking away my prep time in the morning before school. It reminds me that relationships matter; these kids chose to come hang out with me in the morning.

***

I'm thankful for challenging things. A big theme in teaching and life is that mistakes and failure are normal. We must learn to react, change, adapt, grow and strengthen ourselves. This is a hard lesson for teens, when every emotion of life is felt so deeply and with such urgency. The lows are the worst thing ever and highs make you feel immortal. You can pretend that you were more emotionally stable when you were 15, but you're probably lying to yourself.

When things go wrong, I remind my students of how muscles grow; that your muscles hurt after a work out because they've been torn thousands of tiny times; that the muscles recuperate and repair; that getting through the pain is, literally, the only way for a muscle to grow; that growth cannot come without pain.

No one signed on to be a teacher because we wanted an easy life. No one thought that the hours were good or the pay was high. None of us thought that working with teens and adolescents was an emotionally relaxing activity. Not a single one thought that our stress level would be low during the school.

And yet, here we are. The sacred sufferers, ready to wake up and face another day of challenges. Ready to comfort kids whose worlds are shattering around them and still find a way to talk about the Enlightenment. Ready to hand out a handful of crackers with a calculator because Algebra and hunger don't make good company. Ready to repeat your instructions one more time because maybe, just maybe, today is the day that a student's light-bulb will be turned on.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day when the muscle grows and the pain subsides.

And if it is, you will celebrate. You will hug and laugh and call your mother and maybe even cry. You will experience joy.

And then the next day you'll start working out again, inviting the pain back into your life. Because you know that that moment of joy was made all the sweeter because you were thankful for the challenge.

About Me:

I Pray For Aliens

There's a joke that the first time that there will be peace on Earth is when the planet is attacked by an alien race. That's what it will take to unite the world together as one human race. I giggled the first time I heard that joke.

***

This space is normally reserved for thoughts on teaching. However, with the recent attacks in Paris, Beirut and Kenya, I've had a thought that many of you have also had. Why is it that we mourn and change our profile pictures when Paris is attacked, but just go about our day when Beirut is attacked?

Terrorism has always been fascinating to me. I vividly remember watching TV as the 2nd plane crashed into the World Trade Centers on September 11th. I was in 7th grade, and our school pictures had been delayed. I was happy about that. As I grew older, I seemed to keep coming back to that day, the emotions that I felt, the big-ness of it all. I knew that I was watching history. In college, I knew that I wanted to study why terrorism happened, so I picked a major in political science and eventually added one in international relations.

When I came back to Center, I started to think a bit more about my place in the world. I am a white male from an affluent, stable family. I am about as privileged as privilege comes. I grew up in a school that was majority black and majority free and reduced lunch. And I loved it there. I left for college and found myself at William Jewell, a progressive thinking but still mainly white and affluent private college. And I loved it there too. Then I found myself back at Center, this time as a white teacher of mostly black students. I still love it here.

On Friday, when the news of the events in Paris were starting to get out on the internet and we started to collectively grieve, I had a thought that the frustration on the Missouri campus and in the hearts of so many good, honest, kind black people was connected to what had happened in Paris. I'm a news junkie, so I was aware of the attacks in Beirut on Thursday. Like many of you, I wondered why I didn't have an option of changing my profile pic to the flag of Lebanon. I wondered where all the outrage for those victims was.

There is nothing good that came out of the attacks in Paris, or Beirut. But the unfortunate truth is that these attacks are far from the first of this year and they are far from the last. In the spirit of Rahm Emanuel's quote that you should never let a crisis go to waste, I'm wondering what there is to learn from this tragedy.

And I think that the protests at Mizzou have given us our lesson:

The "West" has an issue with selective grief and selective anger. It effects our society in negative ways. This selective anger and selective grief is a symptom the systems of oppression that continue to cause pain for minorities in America today.

At least based on my Facebook wall, there are a lot of people who are questioning the media silence on tragedies outside of Paris. You've heard of the two attacks on Paris this year. Have you heard of the others?

The day before the attacks on Charlie Hebdo, over 2,000 people were killed by Boko Haram in Nigeria. The Guardian questioned the silence of the Western World soon after both attacks. This happens time and again. Imagine if you are of Nigerian descent in America. Why did America go into a collective dark cloud for the Parisian attacks while no one mentioned Nigeria? It's not that you would want people to stop mourning the attacks in Paris, but some acknowledgement of your pain would be nice as well. When it happens time and again, it's hard to accept that skin color and continent location play no role in this collective silence.

A mother grieves her son, one of over 2,000 killed by Boko Haram in Nigeria

Below is a partial - a very partial, in fact - list of Islamist terror attacks that have been successfully executed this year:

11/13/15 - Paris, France: 140+ dead
11/12/15 - Beirut, Lebanon: 42 dead
10/22/15 - Borno, Nigeria: 20 dead
10/10/15 - Ankara, Turkey: 95 dead
8/13/15 - Baghdad, Iraq: 70 dead
7/20/15 - Suruc, Turkey: 33 dead
6/26/15 - Sousse, Tunisia: 28 dead
5/25/15 - Nawzad District: 25 dead
5/13/15 - Pakistan: 45 dead
3/7/15 - Maiduguri, Nigeria: 58 dead
1/29/15 - Sinai, Egypt: 44 dead
1/8/15 - Baga, Nigeria: 200+ dead, 2,000 unaccounted for

*Full List

Based on what you read in the news, America and Europe seem to be under attack. That is not exactly true.

Students in my class get frustrated when they feel that I'm playing favorites with particular students. I try not to, but I'm sure it happens sometimes. People in society get frustrated by the same thing, only large parts of American society aren't trying very hard to change. They are the favorites, so they like the current system.

The fact that so many attacks on people in countries where most of the people are brown-skinned go unnoticed in the West is a symptom of the disease. It is proof that there is still racial bias and white privilege even when those writing the stories have the very best of intentions.

So keep praying for Paris. Pray hard and pray often. I look at my beautiful daughter who knows nothing of race and nothing of hate and I pray for something other than peace. I pray for dialogue. I pray for compassion. I pray for empathy. I pray for forgiveness, patience and understanding. I pray that my kids will never been filled with the hate and desperation that leads one human to kill another. I pray that my daughter will learn to think, and to care for others, and to consider the challenges that others face, and to give unconditionally, and to be silent.

I pray for love.

I pray for peace.

I pray for anyone who is suffering, and even for those who cause the suffering.

And sometimes, I pray for aliens.

About Me:

Why I Write

I've been doing a lot of soul-searching since the kiddo came around in May about what I want to get out of this blog. The reality of life right now is that writing here has taken a back seat to life, which is most definitely a good thing. After work, my desire to sit and compose a piece of writing has been diminished by the cute wiggly little kid who keeps smiling at me. She's so distracting!

Before I know it, several weeks have passed by and I realized that I haven't posted about anything. It's not that my thoughts are gone, it's that my time is gone. Or at least reapportioned for different use. I am like a company who's strategic vision has changed.

One of the results of this change is that my time has become extremely valuable. I'm much more concerned with a meeting being pointless this year than in the last 5 because I want to go see my kid! I've stayed less for tutoring and I've called fewer parents than in any previous years. Finding the correct balance between my family and my kids at school has certainly been a bigger challenge than expected.

***

My hope for this blog when I started writing is that it would become a forum for teachers, parents, students and all involved in education - which is, well, everyone - to discuss frustrations, successes, goals and triumphs. As I write these words, my mind is able to move past the singular moments of teaching my own classroom and towards the broader goals and ideas in education. Then I remember that I am a snowflake in an avalanche. Then I get frustrated that I likely won't change the tide of the avalanche. Then I remember that I love being a snowflake anyways, so that's OK.

This is my therapy. This is my healing. This is my place to explore and grow and learn and teach and cooperate all with others who share a vision of what education can be and can become.

The community of teachers has an issue with negativity. There are so many things on a daily basis that can be a source of frustration that it is easy to get caught up in a vicious cycle. Now that I've joined the ranks of parenthood, I totally get how the increased fatigue leads to less patience, less empathy, less unconditional love and respect.

I find whining just for the sake of whining is enjoyable. But it doesn't help anything. When I whine, I want to productively whine! I want a solution to the cause of my whining so that I won't have to whine about the same thing over and over and over again. I want to help change the classroom that I teach and the lives of the students who spend their time with me. I want to impart meaning to my students and to myself. When I was in 7th grade, I quit the track team. When my dad asked me why I wanted to quit, I told him that I didn't understand a sport that made you run in a circle. It seemed so pointless.

So why do I write? Why do I choose to write here, online, where others can read and comment and judge? That's the question I've been trying to figure out recently.

I write here because it is a little bit scary. For every piece of my being that is a little excited at the prospect that one of my posts could turn into a book, or could go viral, there is an equally scared piece of my being. The internet is a brutal place, and this writing is putting some personal parts of my being into that world. Let's say one of my posts does go viral. Do I really think that every comment and share will be positive? Not a chance.

Every day in class, I ask my kids to get over their fear. It could be a fear of public speaking; a fear of being wrong; a fear of being made fun of; a fear of failure; a fear of success. Learning occurs outside of our comfort zone. I wish I could find a way to tell my students that this is what learning is really about more often. Every once in a while, I find the right words in the right spot; it just feels like it never happens often enough.

And I think that's why I keep coming back to this blog even as my life has gotten busier with my daughter. I may take a few weeks off, but I keep drifting back here, knowing full well that I don't have some ridiculous large following of people waiting for the next blog post to drop, knowing that it's mostly family and friends and colleagues that read this space, knowing that I have seven ideas a day and most of them turn into a puff of cloud in the sky that spells out coulda-woulda-shouldas.

I love writing. It is the assignment that I always wanted to be assigned in school but go oh-so-rarely. It is the outlet to put out my true feelings and emotions when, in reality, lots of what a teacher does is put on a wonderfully chaotic act. This action, these words, are always true. Should my students read this space (and some of them do), maybe one of them will one day be inspired to teach, or write, or just be excited to be themselves because damnit that's really hard to do in high school.

So that's why I write. What about you?

About Me: