It was the last day of school. It was my last day of work. Proudly, all of my eighth graders had graduated from middle school. I had just spent 20 minutes tunneling out of the post-graduation crowd in the hallway, detouring every few seconds to hug and say good-bye to students. I was finally in my classroom again, cleaning up, printing out last-minute documents, and stuffing teaching books into boxes and bags. I had 55 minutes left in the school I had made my own for the past two years. I was crying. I was packing. I had things to do.

Suddenly, 13-year-old “Margaret” was in front of my desk with a slight smile on her face. I thought I had locked my door, but apparently not. I quickly finished blowing my nose and hastily wiped aside the tears still streaming down my face. When that didn’t help my composure, I flashed her a grin and shrugged. “Teachers cry too.”

Still she stood there, staring at me silently with that shy smile. Margaret had always been my sweetest student. Despite dealing with fetal alcohol effects, a perpetually runny nose, and constant ridicule from her classmates for being half African American, she managed to maintain her encouraging outlook on life. (I get misty once again as I write this faraway in Texas.)

I walk around my desk and put my arm around her shoulder, congratulating her again on graduating and asking if she was excited about high school. Still, she didn’t budge. Finally, she turned to me. “I’m scared.”

I smiled a little and sighed. Hugging her, I said, “Margaret, high school is an adventure.”

“Adventures can be scary and adventures can be fun. But the most important thing about adventures is that you learn from them and they change you as a person.”

“Margaret, make sure you step back and learn from your adventures in high school. Be smart, be brave and try your hardest. I’m so proud of you already.”

And with that, I would like to end On the Reservation. To all the readers, thank you for your time and incredible feedback. I too am about to begin a new adventure. Please continue reading my blogs at New Terrain.

More than a year ago, I wrote a post on my personal blog, east meets west, on what I’d learned about parenting. Today, I am still not a parent. But as I sit in my gated apartment complex bedroom 1,238 miles away from my home in New Mexico, this entry takes on new meaning. They are not only reminders about parenting, but also nuggets on life that they knew I’d take with me wherever I moved next.

I didn’t learn about parenting from Western New Mexico University. Rather, I learned what to do (and what not to do) from people like my assistant. The secretary. The parents I work with. The kids I teach. The other special education teachers. The principal. Mrs. T. across the hall. The dorm counselor. Mrs. F. and her 5-year old who reads at the 7th grade level. Mrs. M. The night-shift custodian. All of my surrogate moms and grandmas at the school.

During the meetings I run for the Special Education department, sometimes I just sit back, shut up and watch as my assistant or secretary tells the student's mother an anecdote of her own children. These stories are about depression. They're about sociopathic behaviors. They're about boys and their dads. They're about reading to your babies. These wise women don't necessarily have college degrees and most haven't ventured far from the town their entire lives. But they know about life. These women are my mother's age and just as quietly wise about things regarding people. Little people. Big people.

From my assistant, my Navajo mother and friend, I've learned the most about how to be a parent. But really, it's about how to be more of an adult than the kids (because a lot of times, I feel like throwing a tantrum alongside the 12-year old). I've watched her and learned to be more precise and measured with my words, my actions. I'll take the time and use a ruler to make a straight line now. I'll take an extra second to put a happy face sticker on a B+ paper. I speak slower to my students and avoid saying what is unnecessary when I give instructions, lest they get even more confused.

I watch her, amazed, as she quells a temper tantrum (not mine) with a look, a step-by-step explanation of what happened, a question of how they student would feel if someone else did that to him/her, and then finally, asking the student if they think what they did was right or wrong. She never actually tells the child that they did anything bad (well, she does when they're REALLY bad!), but she lets the child come to the conclusion him/herself.

From her, I’ve learned how to look strong in the face of adversity. I’ve learned about men. I’ve learned about forgiveness and about holding your dignity high. I’m reminded how it feels to want to protect and take care of your mother.

Never in my previous life did I have to analyze how to confront misbehaving teenagers. I never had to break down the process of explaining why I'm upset and how this behavior can be changed for next time. The psychology behind it is amazing. And it works. Kids sometimes need to be reminded, in a step-by-step manner, of what they did that was wrong and what they should do instead.

She has also taught me to take time at arts and crafts. I hate arts and crafts. I loathe taking a precious hour to make a poster. But kids like it. They learn better through visuals. So do it. Measure the lines properly. Cut the letters out carefully. Laminate.

In my unofficial education, she and so many others have taught me life skills. They tell me to look out for depression in our children. They remind me to check for signs of self-mutilation. They say to make sure Dad is just as engaged and involved with the kids as you are-- you'll pay for it when the kids become teenagers if he doesn't.

Sighing, they tell me in their lilting Navajo accents, "Read to your babies."

If I read in between the lines, they're telling me, "Teach them phonics AND whole-word skills."

And oftentimes I don't have to read between the lines. They sit me down and tell me, "If your teenager is thrown in jail and waiting for you to bail him out-- leave him there at least for one night. Probably two."

They also say: "Make kids work for spending money. Give them music lessons. Don't yell. Yell only when you have to. ALWAYS SPEAK IN THE POSITIVE. Make sure they know how to wipe their noses. Teach manners like you would teach potty training."

"Don't have only one child. Have lots, even though it means less money to spread around and more laundry. Encourage socialization. Give everyone their own space to do homework. Always try to be home when they return after school. Don't give them everything they want, just everything they need. Have high expectations-- but don't be discouraging. Give Christmas gifts to their teachers."

"Teach anger management skills along with manners and potty training. Stick to your promises. Stick to your traditions. Remind them constantly that you live and work for them. Realize that at some point, they'll need someone else more than you. Realize that they're going to do what they want to do, regardless of what you say. GEDs are not good enough-- get your diploma."

"Don't joke or speak casually about divorce or separation. Don't be afraid of counselors, therapists or trusted family members-- keeping dark secrets only breeds darker secrets, and eventually, possible emotional disturbances. Spend individual time with each child in the family. Always pick kids up on time. Always believe your kids. Doubt them privately, not publicly."

"Start and end everything with 'I love you.' Remind them that all they have are each other. Ask comprehension questions even during movies and TV shows. Listen to classical music in the house. Use hands-on materials to teach. Have them teach you. Empathy is taught-- make volunteering and giving natural. Be liberal with hugs. Let them take nothing for granted."

"Everyone needs time alone-- give them their space for awhile if they're upset. Practice using an "assertive voice" against bullies. Practice sports at home. Practice self-defense. Practice smart-ass come-backs. Defend your kids publicly, grill them privately. Model what you want them to do. Take regular field trips to the book store. Make a lesson out of everything-- even baking chocolate chip cookies."

"Teach them about puberty. Teach them what sex is. Tell them the truth about drugs and cigarettes-- that they're bad. Tell them that you tried them before, but stopped because you didn't want your babies to come out deformed and brain-damaged. Remember that kids are going to do what they want to do, no matter what barriers you put up in front of them."

"Pick your battles. Make sure they have another trusted adult to turn to, like an aunt or uncle, when they're mad at you. Teach them to vent. Teach them to cook and do laundry. Make doing taxes a family affair. Give them bank accounts at an early age. Sign them up and make them responsible for credit cards before they move out of the house."

"Check for fevers. Check for cuts. Check for hickies. Forgive them. Work extra shifts to pay for after-school lessons. And don't ever imagine having perfect children."

During my last week at work, I would tear up every so often as I paused to absorb where I was, what we were doing and what was happening. I have a desperate need to remember.

I need to remember the casualness with which my 8th grader said, "Oh, I already know that stuff," when the high school transition specialist explained to her what 9th grade inclusion algebra included. I need to remember the way my eyes welled up when parents voluntarily went to the podium microphone during our end-of-the-year special education banquet just to say, "Thank you, Ms. Shyu. Thank you, Toby. Thank you. Thank you for all you have done."

I need to remember how irritated and proud I felt when "Elmer" kept disrupting class by chanting, "Too easy. Too easy. God, don't you have something harder?" when he was counting a combination of coins and bills. (He earned a 100%.) I need to remember how naturally my students grabbed crayons and scraps of paper to budget for their meal, including tax and tip, on our field trip to Cracker Barrel.

I need to remember how welcoming it felt to be handed a chubby baby to cradle during Navajo Culture Week when the community came to the school to cook traditional food. I need to remember the weight of hugs around my thighs from 3rd graders. I need to remember 8-year-old "Nathan" telling me that he is going to miss me soooooo much. I need to remember me telling Nathan with tears in my eyes that I am going to miss him soooooo much more.

I need to remember how hard my Navajo mothers laughed at my attempts to flip tortillas in my kitchen. I need to remember how hard I guffawed at them when they tried folding Chinese dumplings. (I admit, they now fold better than me.) I need to remember how I cried when the custodian laid on my desk two of his paintings from 1983 for me to keep.

I need to also remember the pang of guilt I felt when I realized that I should have started the new decoding strategy at the beginning of the year. I need to remember that feeling of wistfulness when I realized I should have begun holding Family Nights and Literacy Nights each month from August, instead of May. I will remember that look of disappointment from one of my 8th grade boys when I told him I couldn't make it to his graduation/birthday party, because I would already be in Texas by then.

Much like the beginning, I cried. But this time I cried because I have been blessed by children, good friends, surrogate mothers, grandmas and grandpas.

As the school year winds down, so will "On the Reservation." (Although there are several more entries to come!) But I will be starting another blog for "Teacher Magazine" beginning in June. Please stay tuned and check back often for the new link.

Thanks!
Jessica

Measurable Behavioral Goal: Teacher will write 72 progress reports in 3 hours requiring no more than 3 reminders to stay on task.

Setting: Classroom. Door locked. Chained to the computer. Maybe some Brooks and Dunn on the speakers.

Positive consequence: Everytime teacher completes 10 progress reports, she will be rewarded with 10 grams of Ghirardelli's intense dark chocolate ("Citrus Sunset" flavor).

Negative consequence: If teacher does not finish progress reports, she will not go home. And she will probably not be paid by her employer.

UPDATE:

Results: Goal reached. 72 progress reports written by 3:10 p.m.

Modifications: One box of Jelly Belly beans.

Everyday around the world, people go hungry. Wars are fought. Lives are lost for seemingly pointless reasons.

It is indeed a cruel and unjust world.

So why make it any harder? Do you realize how difficult it is to count combinations of coins when you have to deal with quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies? Sure, it might not seem like too much of a headache for most people, but there are thousands of folks out there with (and without!) disabilities who struggle to figure out what 1 quarter, 3 dimes, 7 nickels and 3 pennies equals.

Why not keep it simple with just dimes and pennies? It’s a heck of a lot easier to count by tens and ones, and remember that the number of dimes go in the tenths place while the number of pennies goes in the hundredths.

And while we’re talking about tens and ones, why couldn’t we have just stuck with $1, $10, $100 bills, and so on? Trust me, it’s a lot easier to figure out correct combinations of bills and coins when you know which place each type of bill goes. Those $20 and $5 bills really just get in the way and make money more confusing. Thank goodness the $2 bill never caught on. Imagine the havoc that would have wreaked in special education classrooms.

Also, whose bright idea was it to make dimes smaller than nickels? If you just had to throw nickels into the mix, why make them bigger?

And if you were going to make money different sizes and colors, WHY don't you write its numerical value on it like other currencies around the world? Visitors to our country routinely have the same complaint.

I’m a special education teacher whose students with severe disabilities have struggled to count money and make change. They’re leaning it, but not without first taking away those darn $20, $5, quarters and nickels. It’s difficult for them to learn in general, and made even more difficult because our money system just isn’t very sensible. But they trudge along and learn it, because they know that otherwise they’ll continue to get cheated in stores, and that they’ll continue to rely on others to do basic things, like buy gum at the gas station.

I still appreciate everything you do for us, especially that tax return I just got. But I hope you realize the trouble you’ve caused. Don’t feel like you’re alone, however. I also have a beef with the American system of measurement and whoever set up the analog clock.

Yours truly,

Jessica Shyu

Luckily, it was around this time that I received a mass e-mail from a former journalism acquaintance. She was promoting a new international nonprofit that one of her friends was volunteering for: Rural China Education Foundation. This group works to better the education of children in rural China so that they receive a well-rounded education that is applicable in every day life, not simply on school examinations. While much of the traditional curriculum in China revolves around test-taking, RCEF aims to complement it by encouraging students to develop their own interests, problem solving skills and community involvement.

Immediately I was intrigued. Sure, I’m Chinese- (and Taiwanese-American), I’m into education, and I work in a pretty rural place. But more importantly, reading up on RCEF’s mission was a knock in the head that other educators worldwide sometimes face far more dramatic issues in the classrooms. As cheesy as it sounds, it reminded me that so many of us around the world are linked together by the shared mission of educating children. It made me feel less alone. My teaching slump had made me self-centered and overly focused on my own struggles in the classroom. Reading about the work of this budding nonprofit forced me to step back and refocus my perspective on the world.

RCEF channels its mission through a variety of programs, including a 3-week volunteer teaching program in rural Chinese villages, the Native Soil Education Project, the Weekend Education Project, and Rural Education Innovation Grants.

I spent my first year not volunteering much, dedicating most of my time to my own classroom. But I still kept up with the group’s growth and influence from afar. This year, I was determined to contribute. I help develop the curriculum for the Web-based Volunteer Teacher prep program, and assist in coordinating the online Volunteer Teacher training.

And now for the real point of this entry: I am looking for teachers who have taught in China, particularly rural parts of China, who could offer anecdotes or teaching advice to the new Volunteer Teachers. All of the volunteers are motivated and dedicated to RCEF’s mission, but many do not have an official education background. As I help develop a basic teacher prep curriculum, I find that the best way to teach how to teach is to hear how people how taught in the past. If you are willing to answer a few questions about your teaching experience feel free to leave a blog comment or e-mail me at teachfornm@gmail.com

I have 25 more days in New Mexico, 17 more days in school, 13 more days teaching my 6th and 7th graders who are not in the dorm, 8 more days teaching my 6th and 7th graders in the dorm, 7 more days with my 8th graders not in the dorm, a mere 3 more days with my 8th graders in the dorm, and just three more days of Art Club.

The dormitory and 8th graders will be taking a week off each to go on field trips. And to top it off, I just found out I'll be out for two days next week to get my wisdom teeth removed. The countdown has begun. I am very excited about my new job and my new home, but I am going to miss this one terribly.

I feel like I need to start saying good-bye. Some staff members already know I will be leaving, but how in the world am I supposed to tell the kids?

(That entry on international education will come later this week. Tonight, I'm wallowing in nostalgia.)

So while I heard my students express their horror and sadness over the massacre, I knew that some of them didn’t quite comprehend its tragedy. I knew that because I overheard quiet chuckling from several students after one made a crude and completely inappropriate comment about the attack. I was disgusted and angry (and I wrote him up), but luckily my teacher-composure kicked in. I didn’t yell at them. I tried to teach them something instead.

After emphasizing the inappropriateness of the comment, I gathered them all around in a circle. We talked about the shooting, what happened, and how sad it was. But then I told them that I grew up a mere 4-hours away from the city where it happened. And that I knew people who attended the university. And worst of all, my best friend had a close friend who was shot by the gunman. Twice. Once in the stomach and once in the leg.

They were stunned and couldn’t believe me at first. It hit closer to home now that this bad event happened to someone their own teacher had a connection with. They stopped commenting on our discussion and just sat quietly to think. Simply through association, they now knew someone who was shot. Simply through association, they moved closer to Blacksburg.

Now they wanted to know what they could do. They could write condolence cards. They could pray for the families that were affected. But most importantly, they could have empathy and care. This simple task took some students by surprise. But it wasn’t so simple, I pointed out. By having empathy, you’re recognizing that bad things can happen anywhere. So be nice. Show respect. Put yourself in other people's situations. Treat people the way you want to be treated. Explain this to others who may not understand. And remember that being on top of a mesa in the middle of a desert is never too far away.

I’ve already completed my struggling-blindly-treading-water-help-me first year, and in mere weeks, I’m about to conclude my still-struggling-but-thank-goodness-I’m-so-much-better-at-this second year. I have had my share of highlights, lowlights and lessons taught to me (and hopefully a couple learned by the students). Like every other passionate teacher, I work to close the achievement gap. But as a new teacher with almost 2 years of experience, I find myself at the crossroads of my classroom career. My 2-year commitment with Teach for America to my school is about to end. I must seriously consider, “Do I want to keep teaching?”

Yes. And no.

I never expected to really like teaching. When I joined Teach for America, I figured I would work my butt off for two years and teach as well as I could, but soon return to the journalism industry. I was even ashamed to introduce myself as a teacher (For months, I prefaced it by saying I used to be a journalist for USATODAY.com.)

So it took me by as much surprise as it did my family when I began looking into graduate schools of education on the East Coast. Even though I am already enrolled in a graduate program at Western New Mexico University, it would be years before I graduated, and I was already envisioning myself teaching in an urban school on the East Coast where I would be closer to my family. I pictured myself working my way up to becoming a reading specialist and then, one day, an administrator at a public or charter school.

Barely realizing it, I was planning my career around the classroom. It wouldn’t be in the school or community I have grown to love over the past two years, but it would be in a school and in someone else’s high-need community. As guilt-stricken as I feel about leaving all my beloved students, I was a bit relieved knowing that I would be teaching (and learning to teach) other students that needed plenty of nurturing (and high-frequency word drills).

But then, the not-so-expected happened. On the last day that applications were due, I applied to be a program director for Teach for America. Last month, I was offered a position in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. This job wouldn’t give me my own classroom, nor would it give me a set of elementary or secondary students to instruct. This time, I would be teaching first- and second-year TFA teachers, as well as supporting them, problem solving with them, and guiding them in every, and any, respect to the classroom. This was not part of my original vision for life after School Year 2006-2007.

But after serious consideration, I realized that this was an opportunity I couldn’t refuse—much like the chance I scored two years ago to teach on the Navajo Nation. With this job, I may not be able to influence 300-some lives at the level of depth I have been able to as a school teacher, but I will be able to influence countless lives by supporting their teachers.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying every joyful, tearful, frustrating and awkward moment of teaching.

(And there are many… like last week when my English class couldn't stop marveling (or giggling, or asking questions about, or drawing pictures of) my huge zit. And yesterday, when I made my big, burly middle schoolers march down the hall silently in a single-file line five times until they were able to walk and not talk at the same time. As one behavior specialist who happened to observe us approvingly said, “That’s repetition until submission.”)

Do you write?
Why, of course I do. In fact, I’m quite good at it, I think.

When you first thought about being a writing teacher, did you picture yourself writing? I didn’t.
You mean writing on my own or with my students?

I pictured myself handing out assignments, being the one with the power (and the red pen) for a change.
Yes, I am very good at that.

At last, I would be the one to decide how long the papers must be, how many days students would have to write, whether rough drafts would have to be turned in with the final copy, whether spelling would count.
Oh… that sounds like this afternoon…

I had not yet learned yet to teach writing, only to assign writing.
Oh boy…

… Teachers of writing, if they wish to be effective, must themselves write (Graves, 1983; Murray, 1985; Atwell, 1987). Almost everyone now accepts this. It’s only logical. Yet, many teachers continue to resist writing with or in front of students—for a variety of reasons.
This is not good…

As I read the first two pages from the text on "Being a Writer", I began feeling slightly ill. By the time my graduate school classmates and I regrouped to discuss our thoughts on this literacy chapter, I was rather nauseous. Here I am, a former journalist, a current blogger and a self-professed lover of the written word… and I suck at teaching writing.

I never liked to teach writing. I’ve always loved teaching math. I’ve grown to adore instructing reading. But I’ve never been able to wrap my mind or heart around teaching written language. My common sense tells me that language arts isn’t all about grammar and textbook work; rather it’s about getting them to write.

My students in the resource room write constantly. From the first day of the school year, they’ve learned to plan with graphic organizers, write drafts, revise and make final drafts. They respond to inspiring prompts like “Who is your hero and why?” and “If you had $1 million, what would you do with it?” It’s a miserable existence for all of us. To them, it's painfully hard, boring and practically pointless. As a result, they agonize my life in noisy and unproductive ways.

My failure to expose my students to the joys of writing for fun, for expression, for a purpose, is a failure of me as a teacher, and as a writer. I remember being 13 and realizing that not only could I concoct a nice-sounding sentence, but I could eloquently express my true, sophisticated self on paper in ways I failed to in real life. (This remains true to this day.)

So this the long version of why I now have a new blog titled, Miz Shyu Writes. This is the reason why I decided to write alongside my students.

We began with them assigning me a writing prompt ("If I Came from Terror Mountain..."). Next, I modeled how I, a seasoned writer, need to think, ask questions and do research while planning. I demonstrated how I write. I demonstrated how I cross out. I demonstrated how I scrapped a whole section, messed up on my spelling and had to reread sentences out loud to myself to determine whether they made sense.

Along with a new Big Goal for the last six weeks of school (Students will score an average of 80% or better on all writing assignments!!!), we are revving ourselves up to not only be able to plan, draft, revise and draft again. My students are going to learn to write for fun and publish on their own personal blogs that we’ll set up. They’re going to learn to write for a purpose. And they’re going to learn to write for themselves.

EDIT: I am finally writing my lesson plans for the next week right now and they're just pouring out of me. Spring break (and not doing anything) has reenergized and inspired me. It is comforting to be able to justify sloth.

- Count your money before you shop. And always get a receipt.
- When you buy more than you can afford, you have to put something back.
- When something is advertised as 2 for $1, you can buy TWO of them for just $1!
- Four quarters equals $1, four quarters equals $1, four quarters equals $1...
- When you have $10 of school money to spend, make sure you buy plenty of Hot Cheetos, sunflower seeds, fruit punch...
- ... and watches, tape players, batteries, toothpaste and toothbrushes.
- Even if you can't read, you can find what you want in a menu by looking at the pictures.
- If your double-Western cheeseburger is too big to fit in your mouth, squash the burger down with your hands and cut it in half.
- Always say "please" and "thank you."
- Cheesecake tastes pretty good. But good old banana splits are better.
- Stack the dirty plates before you leave the table
- It's OK to use a calculator at a restaurant to add up your bill, and to calculate tax and tip. Grown-ups don't always like to regroup or borrow either.
- If you don't stay within your budget, you're staying behind to do the dishes.
- Word problems really do happen in real life.

The C-Wing math class has been working very hard over the past year learning how to count money, make change and solve word problems in everyday situations. While these math skills are critical to improve on our IEP goals and school-wide assessments, they are critical for real-life situations.

On Thursday, March 29, 2007, our class will be attending a field trip to Family Dollar and Denny’s in Gallup. This field trip will be an opportunity for students to use dollars and coins to purchase items and food. This is an extension of the activities we have practiced in class for counting money, calculating change and interacting appropriately in public.

Please check back on Thursday evening for an updated post on our much-awaited field trip!