And Here is the Host of Jeopardy!

     As a teacher, one of my "things" was starting off the class each day with extra credit (.25 points for a correct answer) in the form of questions (well, actually, answers) taken from the page-a-day Jeopardy! calendar. It served as an excellent way to get all the kids focused on me, partly because I play the Jeopardy! sounds "This is Jeopardy!." And "Here is the host of Jeopardy!..." after which all the kids shout, "Mr. Green" at a reasonable volume. 

     I was finally able to resume this tradition, 948 days after the last time I was greeted with a chorus of teens yelling my name. The calendar arrived yesterday, and I was so grateful to have yet another thing "back," something that, without my donor, donor family, my own family, and so many amazing medical professionals, would have never been possible.

     I asked my wife to take a picture of me holding the calendar like Rafiki holds Simba in The Lion King. Yet another circle completed, and so many new horizons to behold. 

Beyond Four Walls

     One of the suggestions I received repeatedly from former students about how to approach teaching 7th grade was, "Have class outside!"  So today, we did. 

     To establish a strong foundation for our everyday journaling, we spent most of the hour outside writing, taking advantage of the last full day of summer-- scientifically speaking.

     

     Ultimately I think the number of words written was roughly equal to the number of bugs played with / killed. It was worth a try!

Open House of Gold

     I continue to add to my list of "firsts" in my career (and potentially to the list of "first time for any teacher ever").  Tonight, I almost cried at Open House in front of the parents of about half my students.  I blame my lung transplant.  It's a funny thing, talking about my transplant experience, because I've done it so many times and for so many audiences that you't think I'd either A) know what moments might make me cry, or 2) not get emotional about it at all.  Usually, the latter is the case, but tonight, I was caught off guard when I got choked up because of how happy I was in that moment, to be doing a thing that most teachers (including myself in prior years) pushed through and said, "Well, I'm glad that's over."

     Earlier in the night, one of my new colleagues asked if I felt ready.  In my most braggadocios voice, I claimed that this and parent-teacher conferences are the nights I live for: seeing kids every day and educating them are not why I went into teaching-- it was because I love talking to the adults at Open House.  We chuckled at how silly I was being, and that was that.  The clock neared six and we all had to be in our rooms-- well, except for me-- I wouldn't see any parents until 6:25 since I only teach the one class.  

     When parents walked in, I did what I do every year at Open House.  I greeted them as they entered and then they answered a few questions written on the board (What is something you know about me?, What is something you want me to know about your child?, etc.) as people all filed in and got settled.  As everyone wrote, I announced that it was not okay to write "You had a lung transplant" for the "What do you know about me?" question, since that was probably the first story out of the kids' mouths at the dinner table that second day of class.  We all had a good laugh, and then I spoke for a only two or three minutes about the transplant.  With a mere ten minutes of time with these folks, I didn't want to spend too much of it on the Evin show.  They care more about what their kid's experience in the class will be like this year, and that's as it should be.  But as a I talked about going on medical leave, being on the waiting list, getting the call, all things I've told to individuals and crowds more times than I can count, I got to a part of the story I hadn't really told before, and before I knew it I was swallowing away a lump in my throat.  

     When I was on the waiting list, recovering, and especially when I was in limbo not knowing if I could return to my career or not, conversations with my wife (who is also a teacher) and colleagues often took a "I bet you don't miss this!" tact-- Open Houses, angry parent emails, ridiculous student behavior, parent teacher conferences where the ones you need to see the most don't show up, meetings (so many meetings!), standardized testing.  It's a long list.  I remember one particular conversation with Kayla, during the "limbo" portion of this past summer, and she told me that what I was longing for was an idealized version of our career-- that I'd been away from it so long that I was forgetting or ignoring what it might really be like to be back.  She did this, of course, to soften the blow in advance in case the decision was, "No, Evin can't teach again..." She's good like that.

     So, as I spoke last night, I told the parents that I was so happy to be back, even if it isn't at the high school, because there was a time when I didn't know if I'd ever do another Open House, or any of the other not-as-awesome-as-actually-teaching-the-students parts of the job.  I didn't think that would make me cry, but it almost did.  And the reason I became emotional is because I do actually like Open House.  And I did miss kids acting a fool, talking to parents at conferences, and even meetings (so, so many meetings!).  Because those parts of the job are the dross, yes, but they have to be sifted past to get to the gold.  When I realized tonight that what I was in front of me, an occasion that many, most, my old self, would have discarded was, for me, a piece of that gold-- one I was unsure I'd ever touch again-- I choked back some tears.  Then I wrapped up my opening speech before taking questions about what kind of writing kids would do and how much homework there would be.  In other words, it quickly became a completely normal Open House.

In the end, I'm really glad this all played out as it did, because now I know I'll need an entire box of Kleenex to conferences in October. ;)

7th Grade Revelations

     It is not difficult to discern what a 7th grader perceives as "young" or "cool," or what he or she really thinks about you. At that point in life a child hasn't quite developed the filter that (some) kids (hopefully) attain by age 16 or 17.  Though I've spent less than ten hours with my students, they have offered me many indications of how they see me. Here are some examples:

     One said, "You are my coolest teacher, all of the rest of them have, like, really old phones."  It's worth noting that I did not have my phone out or anything, but had made a comment about writing on the Internet (such as in blogs) versus how to format writing for a class assignment. 

     One group wanted to know my age.  According to them I am somewhere between 30 and 37 years old. Not having any of them guess that I am in my twenties would have been a blow, if not for the fact that one of the lunchroom employees mistook me for an 8th grader the previous day. Either whisps of gray hair and full-on mustaches are what all 14 year olds are rocking these days, or being 5' 4" will always give me that "not yet an adult appearance."  

     No matter what the case, defining "what's cool" is not a one way street. One student was apparently very interested when I explained which app I used to put cartoon images of myself in my syllabus...

😆

First Days...

     "Tales from 7th Grade" will probably become an ongoing thing as I blend "posting chapters for my book" and "sharing what's happening in the present day" going forward. Here's a bit about my first two days of teaching middle school...

The Pre-Transplanted Dad: Magic Words

I will have SO many stories to share in my next blog entry-- but until then, here are some thoughts from March of 2011.  Please enjoy them and thank you for reading.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Magic Words

They are called "magic words," but nothing really amazing or surprising happens when one says "please" or "thank you."  And it isn't exactly a magical moment when I hear students use these niceties, though I do appreciate it when a kid expresses gratitude upon receiving an assignment.  In some instances, the expression could very well be ironic.  Imagine it's near the end of 6th hour... a Friday-- do kids really mean "thank you" when a teacher chooses this moment to introduce a project or essay?  Suddenly, the weekend that was to be free from homework has become a Saturday and/or Sunday of hard labor.  Yet some students still say "thanks" as I hand out the sheets of paper that detail their weekend's demise.  Those who say nothing are probably better off for it.  If a student is considering saying a phrase ending in "you" in a case like this, "thank" probably isn't the first choice for what comes before it.  Maybe in those instances it is some form of magic that prevents a teenager's brain from allowing his or her mouth to utter something regrettable.

Actual situations like the one described above are rare, to be sure, and perhaps the "thanks" is as much a Pavlovian response as it is anything else.  But the other day, two students who had approached me with questions on an essay helped each other in the process of getting clarification from me.  I was struck by how, before returning to their respective desks, each one took the time to thank the other.  It was the sort of exchange that should be commonplace, and it made me long for the good ol' "citizenship grade" like the ones my elementary school teachers had at their disposal.  I personally don't know of any public high schools that have a mark for rating a student's civility, but an e-mail to each of the students' parents has a more personal touch anyway.  Since the unfortunate pattern of teacher/parent communication tends to begin when something is going wrong in the classroom rather than going right, it is always a pleasure to be on the sending end (and I'm sure on the receiving end) of an e-mail that says, "Your child is kind and polite.  In fact, earlier today..."

Though it will be a few years before I will have an opportunity to open such an e-mail, I have enjoyed witnessing firsthand my son's recent outburst of politeness.  Although he still often needs to be reminded of the existence of "please" so that his requests don't sound like demands, he has mastered the art of the "thank you."  He recently won his first-ever prize from a claw machine game, and he was quick to express his gratitude.  "Thank you veddy much box," he said, tightly squeezing his new purple teddy bear.  Last weekend, several minutes after we returned from buying groceries, he rushed over to me as though he had forgotten something.  He looked up at me, wrapped his arms around my legs, and said, "Thank you Daddy drive me blue car home."  In that moment, it was easy to see why they are called "magic words."

And Just Like That, the Wait is Over

     Question:  Who has two thumbs, two transplanted lungs, and is teaching 7th graders this fall?

     Answer:  This guy!

Different Kinds of Waiting

     I've found that even though I already played the most epic Waiting Game of my life, waiting for other things post-transplant aren't necessarily easier.  I am currently waiting to find out if I will be teaching 7th graders this fall, or if I will be able to move back to my "professional home" at the high school where I've spent my entire career.  And, as silly as it sounds, this Waiting Game is in some ways tougher than waiting for "the call" about my new lungs.

A Good Kind of Overwhelmed...

     Yesterday I received an email from the Events Specialist for the University of Michigan Transplant Center.  She had previously asked me to be the guest speaker at the upcoming Vita Redita, a black tie event to raise funds for the transplant center.  She had also asked to share my transplant anniversary Facebook post to the transplant center's official Facebook page.  Here is what her email said:

A Different Kind of Transplant

     I am so happy to announce that I WILL be teaching again in the fall!  I am "easing in" by doing only one hour a day and my current placement is at the middle school level. So much for "easing in!"  I'm somewhat nervous about teaching an age group and curriculum I have no experience with-- despite a decade a teaching experience, I will be the "greenest" staff member in more ways than one. 

The Pre-Transplanted Dad: "'Light Bulb' vs. 'Wow' Moments"

     As the hustle and bustle of getting on the road to Disney hits high gear, I will be putting my weekday updates of the blog on hold.  I plan to offer some photographic updates at least a few times while we are away, or I may just wait until I return... but I will be quickly diving back into Lake Educator as soon as I get home.  (Not any real lakes, though, I'm still too immunosuppressed.)  
This entry is from February 2011, just as the previous one was.

The Pre-Transplanted Dad: "Give Us Your Babies"

     As the topic of work and meetings is looming large in my life right now, I decided it was a good time to mine my old blog, which I kept up for six months during 2011.  It was exclusively about how my life as a parent and a teacher intersected as I raised my then two and a half year old son.  Since I was working at the time and then entered a summer with an almost 3 year old, my commitment to it fizzled.  But, because this week we are gearing up for a trip to Disney World, I also have the perfect excuse to cut a few corners... I mean, recycle.  Yes, recycle.  Here are some of my thoughts from February 2011.

Contender For "Worst First Day of Teaching." Ever.

     Sometimes everything goes your way.  And sometimes you end up driving into a telephone pole.  After graduating from Eastern in the spring of 2003, I, like thousands of other would-be teachers, was on the hunt for a job.  I applied to almost every position imaginable, including a job in Benton Harbor where I would have been the only English teacher in the whole school, as well as one in Cedar Springs, the Red Flannel capital of the world.  Those interviews did not pan out, but a chance connection that my wife had through her job at the time got my foot in the door at Ypsilanti High School.  They were in desperate need of a teacher to fill in as a long-term substitute for one of their English teachers who was on maternity leave.  And I was just the person for the job.

The Gift Only You Can Give

     During the Gift of Life Michigan Fundraiser that Canton High School held in my honor in April, I went to the school each day to help out.  I took balloons and would sit down at a lunch table full of students who didn't know me.  I would ask them if they'd ever seen someone blow up a balloon before, and of course they had. What a silly question, right?  But then I would ask if they'd ever seen someone blow up a balloon with lungs that they weren't born with.  A few times, a shrewd student would answer, "How would I know?" but typically, the students just stared at me, transfixed by both the question and the general strangeness of the situation.