"Final" Results

Notice "final" is in quotations, because technically the data is still preliminary.

At our staff meeting before we departed last week, we were presented with our test results that included our retest scores. Only a handful of kids passed the math test the second time around, so I was feeling a little discouraged. My principal had already told me that we had pretty much broken even with our scores from last year, which is good considering our kids came to us a lot lower this year, but to outsiders it looks like we've made no progress. But I was holding my breath to see how 7th grade math did overall, and how we compared to the other tested subjects in the school. Because let's be honest, we're all a little competitive, and I had been telling my kids all year long we'd have the highest scores in the school.

Well, guess what?

WE DID! As far as we know, 7th grade math had 66% proficiency - the highest in the school by 11%! For a school whose composite proficiency is usually around 40%, this is pretty big news. We were also the ONLY subject to surpass the district expectations, and one of two subjects to meet HIGH GROWTH. 84% of 7th graders made at least some growth, and 5 out of every 6 made HIGH GROWTH. I cannot even tell you how proud I am of my babies. We worked hard, and it shows.

Here's the discouraging part. Our district harps all day long about wanting to see student achievement. They want passing test scores, they want students who are ready for the next grade level. But then my babies do it - they blow the previous scores out of the water, and they pass the district's goal for them, and nothing is done to celebrate them. I feel like I've been a one-person cheerleading squad all year long. No one congratulates them or acknowledges them for their hard work. I'm beginning to sound like a broken record with my constant affirmation and praise - can I get some back up please? These kids will never learn to value educational success if they aren't even simply acknowledged when they achieve it. And we can't just expect it from students who have a history of struggling. If there's one thing I've learned these past two years, it's that we have got to make students believe they can do it, and them encourage them the whole way. If they've never done it before, why would they believe they can do it now? Because I am telling them they will, and I'm the best math teacher they could have (I'm the only math teacher they could have - shhh!).

It worked, didn't it?

The hardest part is saying goodbye

It's been a crazy week. Seven days ago, I was finishing my last day at Enfield with some of my favorite people in the whole world. And I thought saying goodbye to my kids was hard....

After an emotional weekend, I danced, yes danced my way into work on Monday. Part of me thinks I was just avoiding the reality that in just three days, I'd have to say goodbye to some of my favorite people in the world. Nevertheless, Justin Bieber was blaring on my Smart Board, Starbucks was flowing through my veins, and life was good. For two days, the other teachers and I worked, cleaned, laughed, reminisced, and worked a little more. But as Wednesday approached, I started to feel a bit of dread in my stomach. I wasn't ready for it to end quite yet. I never imagined how attached I would become to this school, this staff, and this community two years ago.

I still remember my first day ever at the school. My then-principal met my roommate and I at the front door and the first thing she said was, "Welcome home." I never imagined that a place 100 miles away from the only home I had ever known would actually start to feel like just that: home. From the first day, my fellow teachers made me feel not only like a part of the team, but like family. Despite our obvious differences, they have become some of my best friends these past two years. Most of our time together was spent in common planning sessions, meetings, in the lunchroom, or debriefing the day at the bus ramp after school. But the occasional sports event or dinner out allowed us to really let loose and enjoy each other's company outside of work. While other teams at school struggled to communicate and in some cases even to tolerate each other, our team turned into a family. We had our differences and we hit some rough patches, but by the end of the year we were closer than ever. There were many mornings, especially my first year, that I simply did not want to go to work. And then I remembered that going to work meant hanging out with 4 or 5 of my friends (in between classes of course). Sure, I could have survived my two years without them. But I never would have felt so much a part of the school, and I never would have enjoyed my job as much as I did. And especially the ladies on my team this year--I never would have had as much success with my kids as I did. We were an incredibly strong team, disciplining our kids with consistency, holding high expectations across the board, and working together to make the best decisions for everyone. Many a day did they sacrifice their class time to give me more minutes in my tested subject, and I am convinced that every little minute contributed to the success we saw at the end of the year. I am so thankful for the women I worked most closely with--they are beautiful, hilarious, and inspiring.

And that's just MY team. There are so many other people at school that made my two years unforgettable. Our principal this year is amazing. She works her butt off for the kids, her team, and the community. She has endured so much criticism from the district and the state, yet she stays positive when it matters. She is frank and real; she is not afraid to admit when she makes mistakes, but she also recognizes when others aren't working to their potential. Her faith in our kids is what continued to inspire me even when it felt hopeless, and I am forever grateful to have worked with and for her for the past year. Our assistant principal, guidance counselor, drop out prevention officer - all of them - hysterical and fun and so welcoming.

Needless to say, our last teacher work day was a tough day. Everything was a "last", so I found myself choking back tears all day. The last time I'd make the drive to school, the last time I'd walk down the hallway, the last time I'd turn on my Smart Board, etc. etc. Dramatic, I know, but I wanted to savor every moment. I wrote letters to each of the women I worked most closely with, and cried reading a few that had been written to me. In the afternoon, the whole staff had lunch together in the cafeteria, and it was easy to forget what was coming as we laughed together over grilled chicken, corn, green beans, and pie.

As we headed back to our rooms, I started to panic internally. Was I really saying goodbye to these women, this staff, this school? When I walked out the door today, was I really not coming back? I was overwhelmed, and retreated to my empty classroom to hide. The other teachers were busy laughing and celebrating the beginning of summer, but I was sitting at my stool, trying to hold it together. And then...the flood gates broke. I don't know what triggered it, but I absolutely lost it. All the teachers were congregating in the 7th grade hallway (that's how awesome we are--everyone wants to be part of our team), so one by one they started to notice my meltdown and tried to console me. Naturally, that only made it worse, and my body was shaking with sobs. I know they probably thought I was crazy- after all, I was the one choosing to leave, and I was moving to a fun new city with a great new job. But what they don't understand is just how much I love them. How much they made me feel at home, and how much I appreciate the way they accepted me from day one. They shaped me as a teacher, and in some ways even as a person. I am forever indebted to the teachers and staff.

I know these past few posts have been a little bit less than uplifting, but it's important for me to remember what I was thinking and feeling in my last days at my first school. I promise the next post will be filled with some good news :)

Moving

There's plenty for me to say right now, and not enough time. I'm currently in Knoxville, TN visiting with a friend from high school before I make the last leg of the trip to Nashville. I did the first six hours yesterday after a quick stop in Richmond to pack up a few more things, and stayed the night in Knoxville to break up the trip. I'll be spending the majority of the week in a hotel in Nashville before mom and dad come help me get settled in. The goal is to get some work done at my new school since I'll be missing some professional development time for my trip to Europe (less than 3 weeks away!). Look for updates to come soon!

Lessons in Love

Weeks ago, as the regular school year was winding down and the beginning of testing was near, the days couldn't pass quickly enough. We began a countdown on the kitchen wall calendar after we returned from spring break, and 39 days felt like an eternity. My kids were starting to slip into summer mode, and to be honest so was I. I was ready to move on - a new job in a new city awaited me on the other side, it was just a matter of surviving. As we crossed the days off on our calendar each night, my roommates and I excitedly discussed how different our lives would be when that last day finally came and went. In my head I was planning my outfit for the last day of school, not because I cared how I looked, but because I wanted to ensure that I would be able to do celebratory cartwheels and high kicks down the hallways after we watched the last of the buses pull away. I imagined breathing a huge sigh of relief and feeling a 1,000 pound weight lifted off my shoulders, and clinking glasses with some of my TFA friends as we shared stories that reminded us why were leaving.

What I did not expect was to be standing in a parking lot, simultaneously passing out report cards and wiping tears from my eyes as I hugged my babies for the last time.

I went back and forth in my mind about whether I would tell my kids that I wasn't coming back next year. On one hand, I didn't want them to feel abandoned when they came back to school and I wasn't there. And maybe a little part of me was afraid some of my kids would just shrug it off, when it felt like such a big deal to me. But on the other, people leave all the time, and I didn't want to make a big deal about something that they probably already expected. Eventually, I decided to only tell my homeroom. We had spent so much time together, especially during testing and retesting that they had really become "my" babies, and needed them to know how proud I was of everything we had accomplished this year. I told them our last morning together and gave them all my cell phone number so they would be able to reach me whenever. It was hard (there may have been a few tears shed by yours truly), and the kids seemed sad, but the excitement of what was to come that day kept us all distracted.

We spent the day at Kings Dominion, a reward for the students who had either passed both tests or made significant growth from last year's scores. A testament to the transitional phase that is middle school, our kids were relieved to find out they didn't have to walk around with their assigned chaperone all day, yet were surprisingly excited when they ran into us as they roamed the park. Too "grown" to hang out with us, but still young enough to wave enthusiastically and brag about the ride they just rode as we crossed paths. They got a kick out of seeing us in line for a roller coaster, shocked that their usually strict teachers enjoyed a little adventure. I started to feel little pangs of sadness as I felt them already slipping away from me, but I was having too much fun to really feel the weight of it all. The weather was perfect, the lines were short, and the company was fantastic. Even though we were all exhausted by the time we headed home, the bus buzzed with an unmistakeable energy.

As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, the reality hit me. In just a few minutes, these children that I had fallen in love with would be headed home for the summer, and these babies would no longer be "mine". Although it's really me who is leaving, I had to stand there and watch them walk away, my heart breaking 20 or 30 times over as parents came in waves to collect their children. I always said I would never cry in front of children, but I couldn't fight back the tears as one by one they came to me to get their report cards and give me one last hug.

Some students were especially difficult to say goodbye to. KG, my smart-aleck (and very verbally gifted) baby girl who used to hate math and shut down on any attempt to push her past her comfort zone. The same baby girl who scoffed at her classmates' immaturity and cried out of the frustration of not fitting in. She has truly come out of her shell because our team of teachers loved on her when she felt alone and on the outside. She passed her math test with flying colors, and has a new appreciation for the subject that she once despised. JG, one of my volleyball girls for whom math came easily, and who has big dreams of playing basketball at Duke (while maintaining good grades, of course). DS, a quick-tempered young man who was a pain in the butt for every teacher except for me (theories include his love of math and his love of white women). He slept through every other class, but was one of my hardest working students. I was his school momma; he would do anything for me, and I was often the only one that could get him to come down from one of his fits of rage (he also passed BOTH of his tests advanced). KM and MC, two of my sweet baby boys who complimented how nice I looked and told me they loved me almost every day. JG, another trouble-maker who no one else could stand but who was an angel in my room (and also passed BOTH tests advanced). Seeing their faces, knowing how far they had come and how much I loved them, made me physically hurt somewhere deep in my heart.

I know some of you may think I'm crazy for being this upset over leaving, especially after some of the stories you've heard and the many times I've lamented about how awful it can be. And to be honest, there are some children that I am ready to be free from. Quite a few, in fact. But my homeroom babies...they are the loves of my life. They are the reason I looked forward to going to school, even when it was hard. They are the reason I got up in the morning when the day before had been a complete disaster. I couldn't wait to see their faces and answer their questions and challenge them in new ways.

These babies are beautiful, y'all. They are sweet, kind, generous, and helpful. They are playful like kids should be, and they keep me laughing all day long. But they also know when it's time to get down to business, and they are eager to grow and learn. I call them my "babies" because they are still like children in so many ways, seeking approval from the adults they trust and being respectful and obedient when they know you care. And they are as bright as any other seventh grade class in any other city or state. They aren't perfect. We had our share of moments where I was disappointed in their behavior or the way they treated one another. They are still kids, after all. But I would never have traded my babies for another group. Ever.

It may sound like I don't love my other children, and I assure you that's not the case. There are so many kids in the other classes that I love and will miss and that worked hard all year long. But the dynamic of this class and the culture we built was unstoppable, and led us to huge success. They let me be the best teacher I could be, and I am forever grateful for the way that they worked hard to make me proud.

I'm not just sad because I'm saying goodbye to such an incredible group of children. I'm sad because I'm scared. Scared that they will get trapped in the cycle that defines their communities. Scared that no one will push them as hard as I did or love them the way I do. Scared that their realities will overshadow their potential. Scared because I know that I will no longer be able to fight for them and so much is out of my control. They are so deserving of a great education, a bright future, and a happy ending, but they have so many odds stacked against them. So many things to overcome before they can even have half of the experiences that I've had. It's not fair.

I cried all the way home from school yesterday, cried as I recounted the story to my roommates, and have cried three times today thinking about it all. I never, ever thought it would feel like this, but in a way I'm glad it does. It means I've learned lessons in love so deep that I cannot separate myself from them. And isn't that the point of life--to love deeply?

The results are in...

It's been a long few weeks of testing, remediation, and retesting, and the results are finally in. But let me back up.

Two weeks ago, my babies geared up for the biggest three days of the school year: end-of-grade testing. They spent a day taking reading and two days taking math (with a calculator and without a calculator). I expected to be much more excited for my kids this year than last year, because overall they worked so much harder than my kids last year. However, as the day got closer, I realized that they had also had so much more to overcome. They came to me after having substitute teacher after substitute teacher in their math classroom as 6th graders. As a whole, they were lower than my the group my first year, and I was scared. Many of them busted their butts all year, and they would certainly show growth, but would it be enough to pass the test?

Unfortunately, for many of my kids, it wasn't enough. The day the results came back, our instructional coach told me it didn't look good. I was sick to my stomach; how would I tell my kids that they didn't do as well as we had hoped? Soon after my principal came down the hallway, the scores in her hands and a tired look on her face. Three of my four classes had less than a 50% pass rate. So many kids that I thought had a chance at passing missed the mark by just a few points. We had been so excited to bask in the glory of our success, that we had never imagined anything else.

Overall, 7th grade math had the highest pass rate in the school out of 7 tested areas, followed closely behind by 8th grade math (my babies from last year and my roommate's current class). After retesting, we even made it into the 60% range for proficiency, which is a pretty big deal for a school whose composite is usually about 40%. But it just didn't feel like enough. I felt discouraged, like all of our hard work had led us nowhere. And then God opened my eyes to some bright spots that truly made me proud.

A few days after receiving the results, our school's transformational coach pulled me aside after school. She is hired by the state to help our principal turn the school around, and while we don't always see eye to eye, her opinion does matter to me. I was nervous when she called me into her office, expecting her to say that she was disappointed by the numbers she saw for my classes. But instead, she began gushing in her sweet southern accent about how wonderful my scores were. I was confused; had she looked at the wrong papers? I told her I was a bit discouraged by the percentages, and that I had expected higher. She informed me that she hadn't even paid attention to the percentages; she had been focusing on growth, and my kids had grown significantly from last year. She pulled up the spreadsheet on her computer, and I was dumbfounded.

My eyes ran across the "Total points growth" column quickly, and my heart raced as I read: 5 points; 8 points; 12 points; 17 points; 10 points; 22 points....my kids had come so far from last year. While we don't really know what is "normal" in terms of growth, the goal for my kids was 7 points, and what we were seeing was amazing. All four of my classes averaged at least 7 points growth, with one class averaging 10 points growth. AVERAGING. That means there were several students in each class with well above 7 and 10 points growth. Even if they hadn't passed, they were significantly closer to being on grade-level than they were last year. I left her office beaming, grateful for a new perspective that reaffirmed my faith in both my kids and myself.

I consider all of my classes to be success stories. Knowing how hard they worked, how bad they wanted it, and how much they grew, there's no question in my mind that we were successful in so many ways. But I've got a real success story that makes me prouder than I ever thought possible. My homeroom rocked it. I mean, ROCKED it, y'all. They had 96% pass rate- all but ONE student passed, and the one student who didn't pass came to me less than 2 months ago, with hardly any basic math knowledge. And because she came so late in the year her score technically doesn't count. This means if we're being technical, we had a 100% pass rate! It gets better. Last year, this same group of 6th grade students had only 2 students pass advanced. This year, we had 10, count them, 10 students pass advanced! But wait! There's more! There are 5 major goals in 7th grade math, and my homeroom babies were at least 7 percentage points above the state average in ALL FIVE GOALS. In one goal, they were 16 points above the state average. These are students in a school that normally performs significantly below every other school in the state. And my babies blew the state average out of the water. I do understand that these students are naturally gifted at math. In fact, many of them managed to pass last year, even without a math teacher. So you may say that they didn't need me. But what I love the most is the last statistic that proves that we worked hard together, and that what we did together mattered. Even though they were already high-performing, they still averaged over 8 points growth as a class. I had students that passed last year grow 10, 12, even 14 points in my class. That is HUGE.

Although these last days are long, some of the best moments of the year are seeing the faces of the kids who have never passed an EOG before when you tell them their passing score. Hands down one of my favorite 30 minutes of this school year was announcing the news to my homeroom that we had the highest pass rate in the school, and watching the kids take off running around the room when they got their scores. Those moments make it all worth it.