It would be easier to blame my lack of sleep last night (how about this whole week? or this whole month?) on the Super Blue Blood Moon that glowed red in the sky last night. But who am I kidding? Recent demands at school – board and staff meetings, hiring committee conversations, early morning conferences, after-school admissions sessions, not to mention my own insatiable desire to DO MORE and BE MORE as a teacher – well, they had me acting like a crazed lunatic this morning during our Bald Eagle writing lesson. I am feeling tremendous pressure – a pressure, it should be noted, that starts and ends with me – and the bar keeps getting set higher and higher around what I can teach, how much can I teach, what more can my students be learning. Today, when I heard myself getting more and more impatient, it was another one of those times when I realized I was losing it. And still, I went on, asking them to sit with their hands on their heads because they were not listening, getting mad at students who would not (could not?) make a lowercase "a" based on my verbal instructions. Finally, after I could not take it another minute, in exasperation I declared, "OK, that's it! We're done here for the day!" Dejectedly, I heard more than one of them say softly, "Sorry, Carla..." as they handed in their papers. And that, finally, was my lightbulb moment as I thought, What the hell are you doing?!?! You're teaching a whole-group lesson on something they should be doing in small groups, or even one-on-one. You are yelling at them for something that cannot do, not something they do not want to do.
Later that morning, after they returned from PE, I asked them to come sit on the rug for a minute. I'm sure more than a few thought, what have we done now? But thank God for them, and their kind, generous hearts... I reminded them of the Body Engine Check we do in class so often, and asked them why we do it. Alex responded, "So we can tell each other how we're feeling, if we're in the green or not." I explained that I did not check my own engine that morning, but if I had, I would have seen I was in the blue from too little sleep, and in the yellow (maybe the red?) from other things, too. "And I took it out on you." I told them I was teaching them something that was hard for them, and that it should have been ok for them to find it hard. I made a mistake, and I needed to tell them I was sorry. And that I will try to do better next time. Part of me almost felt like crying when I said it, but I didn't. They each nodded their heads with understanding, and then they ran out the door to play. I wished I had given them each a hug. Tomorrow, I still may. They are such earnest souls! But I reminded myself afterwards: Carla, you don't get to do that multiple times this year. Yes, adults can make mistakes and ask for forgiveness. But don't let it become a pattern, don't let them learn to expect the wrath of an unrelenting slave driver who then sheepishly returns after a few lashings to beg for forgiveness. Remember the sound of these impressionable little voices saying "sorry" to you - and take that f^&ing whip out of your hand - the one you use on your own back first, then take out on them when you feel exhausted by it all.
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