By Laura Moore

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I still remember my seat in your class. 

You set your room up in a U-shaped formation and I was on the long end by the windows. 

During a time when most seats, in most classrooms, were in perfect, straight lines, your room was a refuge for me. 

By filling your walls with art, rather than skill lists, and turning us toward each other, instead of setting us to stare at one another’s backs, your room bespoken open conversation, interaction, imagination and boundless possibilities. 

Your room felt comfortable and engaging, interesting and limitless.

You did as much as you could have done with cinderblock walls tinged a coffee-stain yellow, and your quiet movements in and out of our rows, your creative prompts, your love of journals, your willingness to meet us at the intersection of our individual passion and the larger purpose of our learning not only eased my nerves about entering high school, the big game, the real game, the game we had been practicing for since the day we walked into kindergarten, but it made me feel important. And not overly so, enough to know my surging emotions were the buds of something valuable, enough to know my thoughts--even if they were slightly askew, riddled with tangents, or raw and undeveloped--were worthy of consideration, were worthy of being heard.

I loved your class.

And I loved you.

I loved the way you opened up assignments, the way you cracked open texts and invited us to meander with them, in and out of language. 

I loved that I went to school during a time that was unburdened by rigid requirements. 

I loved that you always looked for the whole rather than the parts. 

I loved that you walked into our room and created a brand new space for us, a space throbbing with life, where we were free to imagine, to wonder, to question, to set our curiosities and our interests in the palm of our hand and pick them apart, spinning them, prodding them, dissecting them--sometimes striking gold and other times dust--but all of the time, feeling courageous, even when the world outside your walls could be cruel, even when peers laughed at us, or dismissed us. 

In your room--in your world--risk felt safe. 

So much so, that on one of the occasions you asked us to share a poem with the class, I remember choosing the poem “Risks.”

I remember standing there--knobby knees, teased out bangs, braces, and all--holding a poem I plucked straight from the pages of The Edge, the sports motivation book I loved without discretion, and telling the class that “the greatest risk in life is to risk nothing./ The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing…/Chained by his certitude, he is a slave; he has forfeited his freedom./Only the person who risks is truly free.”

As you can tell from the brief excerpt, the poem isn’t profound or literary. It isn’t sculpted with lines that move--expertly--through gaps on the page, or rise and fall with enviable cadence. And in many ways, my cheeks turn pink thinking that I chose it, thinking that I looked beyond Langston Hughes or Maya Angelou--two of my favorite poets during that time--and chose, instead, to read Janet Rand’s words. 

But at the same time, that choice seems strangely apropos.

You made risking possible because you never judged our passions. You never discredited words--even when they were cliché--if those words rang inside of us, if they spoke to us, if they moved us to be bigger and better. You created a space where all voices mattered, and you taught us to see wider and deeper and from the corner of our eyes. You were the first teacher to unhook me from guidelines and rules, and encourage me to find my own way. You mentored me, cheered for me, and guided me. You were always there for me during the days I spent in your room both freshman year and senior year, but you were also there on the days in between and the days that followed.

I always revered you, and I still do. 

Even now--even though I’m all grown up--I still seek your approval. 

I still flush each time you mention my blog posts or comment on my essays. 

I still want to make you proud. 

No matter how many years slip by, no matter how many times you tell me to call you Diane, you will always be Ms. Haddad in my heart. You will always be that teacher I always wanted to have. You will always be layered in my life of writing, of questioning, of dreaming. 

You don’t need a classroom full of kids, files full of curriculum or an arm full of essays to continue being a teacher. You just need to turn around, to look beside you, and to look at your social media feeds to see the lives you’ve touched. You will always be a teacher, and for as long as I live, I will always be your student.

 
 

By Laura Moore

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Glancing at my social media pages this morning, I couldn't help but be inspired as I gazed at the beaming mugs of children posing for first day pictures, showing off spiffed up threads, eager grins and signs bearing the name of their teacher and the grade they are about to enter.

Those images always wet my eyes when I consider the significance of the moment they capture, when I think about what the next 186 school days will hold for the children smiling for the camera.

As those kids stand on their front porch, or in the hallway, or on the lawn of their school, each of them is hovering on the precipice of a new beginning, a new chance, a new set of rules, a new batch of challenges and a new well of opportunities. They are poised for adventure--for the next leg of their journey--toes propped and ready to carry them forward where they will engage in work and play that will help them build, rebuild, create and recreate.

Over 186 school days, they will embrace new skills as they learn how to assign words to ideas, manipulate numbers, ask questions, create beauty, generate sounds or connect their present to the past. And their experiences will press them to widen and deepen both their minds and their hearts each time they are called to unearth their sometimes sturdy, sometimes wavering, sometimes strangled conviction to stand up for what is right. They will grow through their experiences, they will learn the bounds of their own strength, and they will discover how courageous and powerful they are each time they make themselves vulnerable.

Though they certainly arrive with the baggage of previous years: an armful of mistakes, a handful of doubters, and a stretch of road littered with bumps, the fact remains that on this day, their slate is strikingly clean.  The grade card is clear, the sketchbook is blank, the pencils are full of graphite, the call lists and team rosters are empty and the possibilities are endless. When they stand for that picture, they have no idea who might cross their path, which future thoughts might fill them with wonder, or who they might become.  They have no idea which adventures will shape their hearts or which challenges will make them shine.  

All they know is that today is the beginning. The scary, exciting, highly anticipated beginning. The line in the sand, the start of the race, the dawn of a new chapter.  The date on the calendar they don't want to think about until it is finally here, waiting for them, begging for them to arrive.

But once it comes, they do too.

And so should we.

See, in my opinion, we should all arrive--figuratively, of course--and celebrate on the first day of school. Regardless of how many years have passed since we stood smiling on our front porch, once a year, we should all dig down deep and discover the same courage we ask our kids to find. In honor of them, we should open our arms and embrace our fears. We should hype up our hopes and wonder what's possible. We should set new goals, anticipate new joys, meet new people, inspire new dreams, explore new opportunities, defend justice, reset, re-begin and re-imagine.

Today, we should bare our teeth, hold up our chins, dance to our own little tune, swim within a fresh wave of optimism, and tell our feet to march forward, onward, upward toward a renewed, reinvigorated version of ourselves. Today, we should try--just like them--to learn how we can make the world just a little bit better, how we can sift through the injustice and sadness, the oppression, violence and despair, and push through to the other side.  How we can crack open our hearts, steady our voice, and brace our legs to stand up, to reach out, and to reach in.

Happy first day of school, everyone. Go get 'em.

 
 

By Laura Moore

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The thing I love most about teaching has nothing to do with my subject matter. While I enjoy discussing rhetorical devices, narrative voice and characterization, I cherish my life conversations above and beyond anything imbedded in the curriculum.  

This year, I'm taking a year off of teaching and devoting myself to writing. Unfortunately, that means I will miss out on the privileged opportunity to engage with a new group of kids and play some small part in their growth as human beings.  Since I won't be there to pass along my advice, I wanted to share it with you. 

Here are my top nine tips for cultivating happy, independent and successful kids:

1. Encourage Your Child to Get Involved
Extra curricular involvement often opens a thousand new doors for students. It boosts confidence, it exposes kids to new friendships, it gives them purpose, it teaches them life skills and it often makes for happier kids.  That all said, it's important for students to find balance in their lives. They shouldn't get so involved that they don't have time to fulfill their commitments, do their homework or sleep, but they need to be involved enough that they learn time management skills. If your son or daughter isn't interested in athletics, music or the arts, encourage him or her to join clubs, to volunteer in the community, to get a job or to participate in a cause he or she cares about. As an English teacher, I'd like to believe reading and writing skills will make the biggest difference in their lives, but I know that outside experiences often shake them up, fill them up and lift them up more than anything else.

2. Support Your Child as He or She Takes Risks
School is the perfect place for kids to learn how to take good risks, the kind of risks that expose them to healthy activities they never knew existed, talents they never knew they had and/or people they never knew went to school with them. Good risks are empowering because they require students to face insecurities, fear or doubt head on, and this confrontation teaches them that they are capable of overcoming challenges throughout their lives.  Encourage your son or daughter to submit artwork, publish his/her writing, audition for plays, try out for teams, run for office or advocate for an important cause. Challenge him or her to push boundaries, but be sure to create a safe place for your child to retreat if plans go awry or efforts fall a bit short of success. No matter how tough teenagers might seem, they all want to know their parents are still proud of them regardless of what they do or do not achieve (I know this because I read their journals!).

3. Help Your Child Develop Responsibility
While it is important for us to support our kids, we need to make sure we are not enabling them. Now that I have my own child, I understand how tempting it is to swoop in and tidy up problems in an effort to minimize drama, but the kids who seem to be the most successful in school are the ones who have embraced some level of autonomy. These kids have learned how to advocate for themselves, and they assume responsibility for their commitments, actions and words. They know Mom and Dad will not come swooping in to fix things, so they tend to make better decisions to avoid the problems in the first place. When they do make a mistake, they own it, and because of that, many teachers tend to cut them some slack.  When kids constantly get bailouts, they never learn why responsibility is important, and by persistently denying them the chance to learn, we are setting them up for failure later.

4. Ensure Your Child Honors His or Her Commitments
I try my best every year to talk to kids about the importance of honoring their commitments. If kids are part of a group they need to complete their portion of the work. If kids sign up to do something, they need to follow through. If they schedule a meeting with a teacher, it is important for them to show up. When they don't, their disregard makes every one else's life difficult.  When they do, the world just seems to work a little bit better.

5. Facilitate Discussions That Promote Resourcefulness
As a society, we no longer have the patience to sit and figure things out. We want immediate gratification, and we find it easier to move on, buy something quicker, ask someone else to fix our problem, or make an excuse about why we couldn't accomplish our goal. These tendencies have trickled down to our kids. Year after year, I notice a large concentration of students who hit a wall when their Plan A goes awry.  Instead of thinking through backup solutions, a lot of kids ask their parents to write notes and many times, parents write them without giving it a second thought. 

We all have busy lives, and I realize it is so much faster for adults to fix problems rather than facilitate discussions, but when we persistently solve dilemmas ourselves, we deny our children the opportunity to learn how to problem solve on their own.  With a little bit of prodding, most students can easily develop perfectly acceptable Plans B, C or D. And figuring out how to navigate game-time, adrenaline pumping moments when they're faced with an impending consequence teaches them how to respond and improvise under pressure. This will not only benefit them throughout their school years, it will come in handy when they're out in the work force and have a boss who will not find a parent note laden with excuses as an acceptable substitute for a job well done. 

6. Choose Positive Positive Language
This is hard. No matter how good any of us try to be, we are bound to run into people who like to pick fights, who are passionately against our beliefs, or who respond to situations in ways that do not mesh with how we think human beings should respond. We need to remember that the same is true for our kids. 

It is easy to bad mouth those who have wronged us or our kids, those who are unnecessarily difficult, or those who have created obstacles, but negative words tend to stick around a lot longer than positive ones. Kids learn how to talk to others, and how to talk about others, by listening to people they respect. If they hear loved ones badmouthing bosses, neighbors, relatives, teachers, classmates or coaches, they will feel entitled to do the same. While venting can sometimes be therapeutic, doing it in front of kids--even if those kids are in high school--carries long term consequences:  kids learn that they only need to be respectful to some people. As hard as it might be, the more we can model appropriate ways to respond to difficult people, the easier it will be for our children to learn language that will help them overcome and not exacerbate problems in their lives. 

7. Encourage Your Child to Embrace Kindness and Respect
It is easy to get caught up in gossip and drama, but the kids who rise above it seem to be the happiest. They respect adults, they empathize with peers and they see the best in people. They consistently treat others with respect and they generally err on the side of kindness.  When life ushers in a challenge, they are level-headed in their analysis, they are proactive in finding solutions, and regardless of the temptation to do otherwise, they are unwavering in their determination to maintain integrity.  This tends to inspire less regret, and often helps to avoid he-said/she-said banter intended to cast them in the center of an enormous controversy.  High school drama is inevitable, but learning how to rise above the pettiness tends to make that drama much less destructive.

8. Look for Opportunities to Learn
No matter how boring a teacher might seem or how pointless a class might appear, students have the opportunity to learn every time they take a seat, every time they open a book, and every time they put their thoughts on paper. School, just like life, is as interesting as we decide to make it. While teachers try to light their subject matter on fire, even the most engaging educators have off days, or days when they must tackle curriculum that is not quite as exciting. When this happens, challenge kids to find some nugget in the blob of boringness.  In an ideal world, the school day would teem with excitement, but even if we could pull that off, eventually, our kids would enter the real world, a space where they will have to do things they don't want to do, and endure interactions they don't want to have. At some point, successful people decide to bare down, make the most of their situation and do what they need to do so they can have the opportunity to do what they want to do later.

9. Get to Know Your Teacher
Encourage your child to get to know his or her teacher. Despite the fact that educators have a variety of methods for gauging where are kids are academically, emotionally and socially, they can sometimes miss the discreet struggles that hover beneath the surface. It is much harder to know the student who dashes toward his seat the second the starting bell rings, or runs out of the room the moment the ending bell sounds. The students who engage with us between classes, during office hours, before or after school or during lunch tend to get much more out of our classes than the kids we track down during our planning period every couple of weeks when we have a few spare minutes. Teachers love helping kids, so encourage your sons and daughters to take advantage of the opportunity to get extra help, advice or support. 

The same goes for parents. If you ever have a concern about your child, please reach out and communicate with teachers. After all, we have the same goal: to help your son or daughter grow into the best human being he or she can be.