A lot of living has happened in 8 years...

8 years ago today, my life was forever altered. Time stood still. I watched my parents collapse at separate instances and in separate rooms. I witnessed 70+ people, who I never knew cared so much about my family, jam themselves into the waiting room at St. Ann’s Hospital. I can still smell the ICU. The bright lights and the white tiled floors still stings my eyes. The doctor’s voice telling us that Paul had no blood flow to his brain at 7:30am still feels surreal. It all still feels like yesterday. Or 80 years ago.

8 years ago, my only brother passed away from a head injury. He died on a Sunday morning. I still can hear him laughing with me at 2am, the Thursday before, watching Extreme Elimination Challenge, the Halloween episode where contestants in an Asian country competed in these ridiculous obstacle courses while decked out in Halloween costumes. I had come home from working a long shift at Galyan’s, and I made sugar cookies for us.

The Friday before his death, my parents came to visit me at Galyan’s. They were excited to tell me that they had eaten dinner with Paul at a restaurant, and he informed them that he had decided to become a history teacher. I think my parents were excited because he was finally turning the corner and “growing up”. I remember feeling hopeful yet still skeptical, which I regret now, but I vividly remember my mother’s face. She looked tired. Exhausted. Relieved. As if to say, “Finally. We made it. We did it. Paul is going to be alright.”

The next morning, Saturday, I woke up to the phone ringing off the hook. I can honestly say that not answering that phone was one of the worst decisions of my life. I was in grad school – no one called me at my parent’s house; I had a cell phone. I should have answered the telephone because it was my dad calling from St. Ann’s.

I went to work that morning, and for reasons unknown to me then, I felt the need to bring my cell phone with me to the shoe department and left it in the back room. At around 10AM, my phone rang while I was looking for a men’s ize 11 in a KEEN sandal. After closing the sale, I checked my voicemail and returned my dad’s call. My dad answered and couldn’t speak. He answered and just started sobbing. My dad, probably one of the strongest and level headed human beings I know, was choking on his tears. I instantly regretted not answering the home phone. I remember time stopped. My heart pounded and I was in shock, standing there in the back room, looking down an aisle of rows after rows, stacked upon rows of shoe boxes. I felt instantly small.

After talking to my ex boyfriend and Mackenzie on the phone, I left work and cautiously walked into the hospital, not knowing what to expect. I partly anticipated him being fine, and that all of this was just going to be a huge wake-up call to him. I never thought for a second that I was never going to hold a conversation, let alone have the opportunity to look each other in the eye at that point. When I had arrived, Paul was still alive. He was heavily sedated and the doctor’s had informed my parents that Paul was going to be ok. He had suffered a head injury that he would likely recover from, but he really couldn’t get into any more fights again. Literally, within 1 minute of me arriving in the ICU, I watched Paul start to become as the doctors put it, "agitated" and they ushered me out to the waiting room. While I sat out there, I still felt like all of this was going to end up with all of us losing just a little bit of sleep that weekend. Meanwhile, Paul experienced a massive seizure. Before I left the ICU, I remember watching my dad trying to help Paul get comfortable on the bed; Dad just looked so helpless as the nurses bustled about the room.

What had felt like an hour but was actually only 5 minutes had passed, and a nurse came to get me. They had put my parents in this conference room within ICU. My mom was a mess at this point, shaking and crying over what she had just experienced with her son. Later, I discovered that this was “the room” where you’re told heavy news. I still remember the pattern of the carpet on the floor.

I can’t remember how much time had passed at that point, but I then remember someone from Lifeline of Ohio come to speak to us about organ donation. I was stunned. I looked searchingly at my parents, and I wanted to stand up and demand, “Wait. What in the hell is happening? I thought the doctor’s said he was going to be ok! Is this really happening right now?!” But I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even move. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. I just looked at my parents, wide eyed and tried to process just what was being said to my mom and dad as this gentleman was asking my parents to sign on this dotted line.

8 years ago, our world got a little smaller. 8 years ago, I became an only child. 8 years ago, my parents experienced every parent’s worst nightmare. 8 years ago, life, as I knew it, was never going to be the same.

Over the past 8 years, a lot has happened. I graduated with my Masters degree and moved 1089 miles south to Sarasota, Florida and began my teaching career. I met my husband. We got married. We switched schools. I donated my hair twice. We traveled to visit friends. We survived 4 hurricanes in one year. We bought a condo, then lost it. I ran 3 marathons. We coached track together. We took our first cruise. We turned 30. We bought Vespa scooters. We had a baby. My husband was named Teacher of the Year. I earned my National Board certification. We moved back to Ohio.

A lot of living has happened in 8 years. I can’t tell you what my first day of teaching my first class was like. I can’t tell you what my husband was wearing when I first met him. I can’t describe how I felt the day my husband asked me to marry him. I can’t tell you what my first taste of crème brulee from our favorite restaurant C’est la Vie tasted like or what the Sarasota beach smells like. But I can tell you everything about the day Paul died. And the days or months that followed. I can describe to you what it was like to wake up every morning for months to my parents crying. I can tell you about how when I stood up to speak at his funeral, everyone was crying before I even spoke and I couldn't even look at my own mother. I can tell you about how I couldn’t get close to anyone for fear that they too, might leave me. I can tell you what I was wearing at the hospital that Sunday morning (red hooded sweatshirt) and I can describe the duffel bag that I packed for my mom and dad since they stayed the night at the hospital. I can tell you what it was like to not be able to sleep for weeks because I couldn’t shut off my brain.

I often wonder how my life would have been different had Paul made it through. I would have never moved to Florida, never met my husband and therefore never had Juliette. In a strange or twisted way, I feel as if I need to thank Paul, for allowing me to grow and experience the things I did after he had gone. I can’t smell his cologne in my car anymore like I used to or feel his presence, but I know he’s somewhere out there in the universe. Thanks, Paulie, for giving me the strength to give just about anything a shot. Thank you, for reminding me that no matter what happens, you've always got family.

RIP Paul Geoffrey Price 02/22/2004

Come Join in the Fun - Be a Teacher!

As our community just failed a school levy, I was puzzled as to how in the heck this happened. I contemplated the why's and the how's: Why would people not support education? How could they do this to children? Why do they feel this resentment towards teachers? How can we (the school system) recover from this?

As I was getting my morning iced tea from a local breakfast restaurant (Before you judge and say something asinine like "How can you afford that everyday but you can't afford whatever else it is that you need", I get them free), the lady behind the counter gave me a tongue lashing about how she was GLAD the school levy had failed. Her reasoning? "Those teachers make enough money. I make $16,000 a year and I support 5 people in my household - a fresh out of college kid can make $37,900 AND they get summers off!"

I was stunned. I was beyond shocked. First off, this lady knows I am a teacher and not once did I ever say "We teachers do not make enough money." The Westerville City School levy was not for teacher raises. It wasn't for teacher's retirement. It wasn't for teacher anything - it was for kids to play sports, for elementary students to keep art, music and physical education. It was to offset our glorious governor's state budget cuts. John Kasich claims he balanced the state budget without raising taxes when in reality, all he did was pass the buck to the city and local governments to fund their education systems. Yeah, I am not a fan of Governor Ka-sucks.

I was fuming at this point. Here was this lady, who I see every morning and get my chocolate chip muffie every now and then from, and she was telling ME that I had it easy! And that she was glad the school levy failed! I thought to myself, "Do you have a college education? Do you have a college loan that was used to obtain a Master's degree that you are currently paying off? No, you probably don't."

What I would have liked to say to that individual was, "Lady, you make bagels for a living. I make a difference."

I realized that the reason why our levy failed was because of the amount of uneducated individuals living in this community. And I don't just mean the people who do not have a college degree - you do not have to go to college to be intelligent. I mean the amount of misinformation that was portrayed throughout this levy campaign. And how the uneducated individuals believed it. Also, look at the population. The majority of the people living in this community are older, do not have kids or their children are grown, and do not feel the need to pay for a school system they do not benefit from. Here's the sad news folks: those kids that you didn't support, those are the people who will be filling your prescriptions at the pharmacy, who will be taking care of you when you are sick and who will protect you when you call 9-1-1. Way to go - those kids should feel abandoned and pissed. It was like the entire community said, "You're just not good enough. The $200 more a year on average that I would be paying for my property tax is just not a good investment. Who cares that the value of my home will now drop? I want my steak dinners!"

Now, after the smoke that was spouting from every pore in my body has settled after the breakfast restaurant run in, I want to say to her, "We are always looking for motivated people who love children to come join us." Please, come jump through the hoops, please pay the money it takes to go to college and get a degree, please pay the money to take the certification tests, please come buy things for your classroom out of your own pocket, please come and give kids lunch money all of the time because their own parents don't, please come and buy kids socks and shoes when their parents can't, please come deal with the clinically insane parents that have nothing better to do but plot out ways to try to have you fired, please come try to break up a fight without touching the kids because you might get sued, please come try to teach what feels like 100 standards to kids who do not want to learn.

Seriously. Please come join us.

You might understand how rewarding this profession is. And you might understand then why summers off is really a time for teachers to reflect on why they love their jobs.

The Problem(s) with No Child Left Behind

Back in January of 2002, then President George W. Bush signed a 670-page act into law that was supposed to raise the quality of American public education.

Problem #1 – One of the main authors, Margaret Spelling, who later was nominated to become Secretary of Education in 2004, never worked in a school system. Never. She holds a B.A. in political science and had never received formal training in education.

Problem #2 – The Bush Administration underfunded No Child Left Behind (NCLB) yet required states to comply with NCLB or they risked losing all of their federal education dollars. This resulted in states making budget cuts in field experiences, textbooks, and non-tested curriculum (because you know, those non-tested subjects don’t really matter and kids don’t need art/PE/music in elementary school).

Problem #3 – Many educators feel that NCLB encourages teaching to the test, so that students score well on the test and therefore earn rewards by doing so. Teachers feel that there are many valuable lessons involved with a variety of activities that cannot be measured by a standardized test, but those valuable lessons won’t matter and teachers will have less time to teach those lessons with the vast amount of information that “might” show up on the test. Last time I checked, a valid assessment for teachers to use is one that does not trick the student, and the students have a clear and concise set of targets (or objectives) that will be assessed on the test. It isn’t a point and shoot method or a hope and pray method. How are WE as educators supposed to implement this sort of strategy when even our own state standardized tests do not?

Problem #4 – Which brings me to my next problem – the standardized tests. Each state has their own set of standards, therefore they have their own standardized test. Comparing how students score in California cannot possibly be compared to how well students score in Mississippi. It literally is like comparing oranges to crawfish. I just do not understand how a school can be judged strictly based on test scores alone. States can compensate for inadequate student performance by setting the bar low and making the tests easier. Many times, the tests are flawed and are used to then identify schools as being successful or as failures. Instead of provide those failing schools with the support the students and staff need, they are “punished” with counterproductive sanctions. From my experience in the south, as schools were labeled as being unsuccessful, good teachers left because they can go work for an “A” or “B” school and be more likely to earn the bonus money the state provided from the FCAT. I know that teachers did not get into the profession to become millionaires, but if a teacher is working as hard as she possibly can, then why not be rewarded for her hard work and go somewhere else where the parents are involved? Because typically, when parents are involved in their child’s educational experience, the students are more successful and the parents support the school system because they themselves are college graduates. If the child has his basic needs met (breakfast in the morning, for example), he will perform better and make your job as a teacher that much easier.

In theory, NCLB should work. Teachers should be held accountable. Standards should be set for teacher qualifications. I do not oppose a merit based pay system (see previous posts), but I have yet to see one that will work across content areas and will include valid measurements of success. If states are hurting economically, I am not sure if a merit based system is also the answer – just ask North Carolina why they don’t adhere to that pay system any longer. From what I understand, it cost the state more money than what they were paying based on seniority and level of education.

What is and what is not formative assessments

About 5 years ago, I sat in a professional development training at Sarasota Middle School and was literally scolded by an administrator in the district on how we were using assessments incorrectly. I had been applying and receiving grants for about a year at that point, and I always filled in the formative and summative assessment portions just fine apparently. But, I don't think I actually understood the VALUE of a formative assessment until later. Much, much later.

So what is a formative assessment? It's many things really, but the main purpose of a formative assessment is for teachers to modify and validate their instruction. It provides us teachers with information during the learning process, before the unit or lesson is over. We as educators are supposed to use formative assessments to improve our instruction; it's not supposed to make our jobs "easier". If anything, formative assessments help us hone in and fine tune what it is we want students to learn or accomplish, but yet this can in essence create more work because we have to 1) grade (or assess) more often and 2) provide feedback.

It seems that a lot of teachers miss the mark with #2. Providing meaningful feedback offers descriptive and vital information in regards to the project, the product, the lesson or the work and relates back to the learning targets or objectives. Meaningful feedback focuses on the learning objectives, lists or identifies student strengths as well as what needs improvement.

When I think about feedback, I think about how a volleyball player will ask me what they need to do to improve their serve reception or what they need to work on in order to be a better blocker - I start with what they do well (focus on the positives), then I discuss what they need to do to improve and then we talk about a plan of action (what she can do to improve). Obviously, if a player who is 5'3" could probably not become a middle hitter (never say never), so you have to be realistic with WHAT they are capable of accomplishing, as well as limiting to the plan of action to one or two skills as a time.

Here are some examples of meaningful and appropriate feedback:

• I really like the topic you have chosen to experiment on; your hypothesis needs improvement because it's an explanation. Remember, we write our hypothesis in an "If" and "then" statement.

• Nice description of how viruses and bacteria are similar but try to also include key differences in your response.

Examples of formative assessments include lab reports, observations, quizzes, class discussions, and outlines or rough drafts. A question that tends to be a little tricky is "should formative assessments be graded or scored?" Some people tend to lean to the side that they should never be scored based on the argument that if a formative assessment is graded, it automatically becomes a summative assessment. Others believe that some students are motivated by good grades; they need that good score to try hard because then it's worth it to them. I'd say I agree. Not all students are extrinsically motivated, but some are. And if we are given the charge of teaching and reaching ALL of our students, then periodically grading formatives is something we should do.

Utilizing formative assessments enables teachers to alter and adjust instruction in a timely fashion (before the learning process has ended) and it creates a student centered learning environment, where students take some responsibility of their own learning. Formative assessments is where the teaching and learning process blend.

Making the Cut

I know it's been awhile, but I've been rather busy...had a baby (need I say more?!), moved back to the MidWest, started a new job, started another new job and am now coaching a varsity team. I also prefer to not blog about just about anything - I like to blog about something that is significant.

Which leads to me my newest post.

As a coach, making cuts is probably the single hardest task we have to do. There really is no easy way for us to do it. As human beings, we hate feeling like we have broken kids hearts. We hate to see kids cry. But the reality is this: not everyone can make the team.

I have announced who has made the team several different ways. When I was a high school athlete, the varsity coach read off the list of kids who were to report to practice the following day. He didn't read who was cut, but rather, who was on the team. I appreciated that he wasn't cowardly and didn't just post a list up on the gym door after tryouts.

When I coached for a middle school in Florida, I was told I HAD to post a list. I hated it, but the AD was technically my boss. So I complied.

When I coached for a high school in Florida, I had to pull kids aside during drills and inform them that they didn't make the team. One on one. The kids in the drills then would see the student athlete leave in the middle of practice in tears. They would dread you calling them over.

When I started coaching back here in Ohio, I took the route of my former high school coach. I felt I owed kids the respect of reading off the list. I felt like I was able to say things like "All of the coaches are so proud of you for being here, regardless of the risks" and "We wish we could keep everyone" and "If your name is not called, don't give up. This can be looked upon as an opportunity - an opportunity to improve. Michael Jordan was cut from his JV team in high school..."

This is the 6th year I have done it this way, and this was the 1st year a parent complained. The parent was upset because she felt as if we were being cold and harsh and disrespectful. She claimed we didn't know how fragile these 15 and 16 year girls are and they needed to be told in private to avoid seeing their friends, etc. And the kicker - her kids didn't even know why they hadn't made the team. She requested a meeting and even though we validated her feelings and apologized for her kids feeling "worthless" (her words, not ours), there was no adequate solution because we couldn't turn back the clock and have a do-over. I usually ask parents in parent conferences when they are upset and have vented what it is they want me to do. In this situation, I wasn't going to pose that question because I knew her solution of letting her kids play on a team wasn't going to be a possibility. We thanked her for alerting us and told her we would take her complaint into consideration for next year, which was all we could do at that point.

In my head, I wanted to say, "Really? Your kids didn't know why they were cut? It's plain and simple - they weren't good enough." Now, after the initial reaction that I had in my head, I thought about providing meaningful feedback (like the type you are supposed to do with formative assessments), but how would I go about doing that? After reading the list to the kids, I asked to speak with a few of them to clarify what their roles were going to be. Let me remind you, these were kids who made the team - and when I spoke to them, all they wanted to do was leave. They don't want to be around the coaching staff; they want to go home and see their parents or talk to their friends.

I asked a few of the freshmen girls how they would prefer to be told if they made the team or not. They proceeded to tell me how they were told while in middle school for other sports. Answers ranged from being handed an envelope and being told not to open it until they got home to the coach posting the list on a website (love how we use technology to just do the exact same thing with a piece of paper).

Now, my next thought was, "Are we doing these athletes a disservice by being 'cowardly' and tip toeing around their sensitive feelings? Are we raising these kids to be wimps?" I recalled reading an article about just that: A Nation of Wimps in an online article (there is also a book by the same title). Recently, I overhead another coach say that athletes today are "soft". I heard of one team having two JV teams (an A and a B); next year then, they will have 20 seniors. Is having 2 teams allowing all kids to gain valuable playing time experience or are they leading on 20 kids that will be vying for 7 spots next year?

How are we helping them learn and develop by not allowing them to fail? Isn't there value in falling down and then getting up and dusting yourself off?

If parents constantly fight their child's battles, how is that child going to be ready for adulthood?

Are we teaching kids that if you just throw a big enough fit that you will get what you want? Excuse me for being naive, but I thought that was something most kids grew out of by the age of 4 or so.

Aren't kids supposed to learn through experience? For example, when my daughter learned how to walk, we knew she was going to fall and potentially bump her head (which she did, multiple times. And you know what, she's ok!). We knew that when we became parents, she was going to skin her knees and shut her hands in drawers. That's part of the learning process - mistakes are valuable when you learn what NOT to do.

After having a few days to ruminate, the coaching staff and I met and came to the conclusion that we would personally call each girl next year to let her know yes or no, and if no, we would provide her with the areas that she needed to improve on the most. It might be time consuming, but then they wouldn't be around their friends, they won't be embarrassed if they cry, and they can then be comforted by their parents at home right away.

So I pose this question out there to cyberspace - how would YOU like to know if you made a team? Or how would you like a coach to announce who was on the team when your child tries out in high school? How do or did you feel as a parent if your kid didn't make a team?

Another One Bites the Dust

Tomorrow morning, I will officially be depressed.

Another friend has decided to vacate Sarasota for greener pastures. Actually, it's more than one friend - it's two. And they will surely be missed.

Both were teachers. One will continue her teaching career up in Pennsylvania while the other will be pursuing another career after attending graduate school in central Florida. Sarasota County needed these two, and they couldn't keep a hold of them due to budget cuts, not to mention the way our school "system" is run. We were lucky to have them for as long as we did.

As I sit here, trying not to cry over MY loss, I am reminded that they will be much happier where they are going. They are starting over, and that is an experience I can truly relate to. Had I never left Westerville, Ohio, to start over and reinvent myself, I never would have met my fantastic husband and I never would have met these amazing people.

It's hard to not be saddened though. For whoever said, "It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all" has never had their heart broken numerous times. I remember when it first happened, when our first friend from our tight circle decided it was time to fly the coop. He was in our wedding and claims to be the cupid that brought my husband and I together. He left 2 years ago for Philadelphia.

Then, it was like dominoes. One of my very best friends that I had worked with for 2 years decided he needed to move closer to home and left for DC. The same year, the person who I felt like was my sister moved to Nags Head because her husband relocated. I remember sobbing in the school office, asking her who was going to be here to understand me. I still get choked up when I find the walkie-talkie watch in my desk drawer that my DC friend gave to me our first year working together.

As if there wasn't enough salt in my wounds already. Now, a dear friend who I collaborated with for the past 3 years has decided to join our friend in Philadelphia.

It's a wonder I keep any friends at all, for fear that they too, one day, will leave Sarasota and me behind. Or maybe it's just a sign of what I am supposed to do next. One by one, as our friends move on, they look back and my husband and I as if to ask, "Well? Aren't you coming?"

Who knows. There are times I think I want to move closer to home, and there are other times when I am so grateful to be in the sun and 1200 miles away from family drama. No one knows for sure what will happen a year from now, so I try not to think that far ahead.

What I do know for sure is that I will cry tonight. I will miss my friends as they start a new chapter in their lives and I can only hope they find what they are looking for.