Or, "Been there, done that: Reflections on teaching through and around the bad days."
The educational syndrome known as "holes-in-the-brain" can occur anytime, of course, but it most reliably coincides with sunny spring days; the few hours before Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, and semester breaks; the morning before an open house; and the afternoon after a field trip. It affects even the best students and the most accomplished teachers. It's the nature of the student-teacher transaction. Truth be told, holes-in-the-brain happens in graduate seminars and professional workshops, too. We just don't talk about it as much; don't want to embarrass anyone.
Simply put, sometimes, our students' brains are someplace else. Rather than "lose it," though, teachers must address the phenomenon, as in, "Hey. We went over this last week. Ringing any bells? Let's review." (Or whatever delivery works for the teacher's style -- humor, stern earnestness, mild surprise, etc.) Sometimes, that's enough to get Tootle (the wandering little train engine) back on the track. If a derailment is unavoidable, though, trust me, it is better to make Tootle think that frolicking among the daffodils was the teacher's idea (as in, "Let's set aside these problems for a minute and focus on [insert holes-in-brain remedy activity here]").
One thing traditional classroom teachers have all over non-traditional teachers (i.e., parent-teachers) is that generally their profession (in particular their general desire to remain employed) denies them the opportunity to "blow up" or "lose it," at least on any remarkable scale. Yes, I am keenly aware that each of us has a story or two or ten about teachers with less than stellar records. But generally, teachers are skilled in the fine art of classroom management, and when things are breaking bad, as in, for example, an imminent train derailment of the "I dunno" variety, they have an assortment of techniques to trot out, including the popular (among lower elementary teachers), "All right, let's all put our heads down for a moment."
Parent-teachers, though, as the hyphenation implies, straddle two difficult roles, and the 24/7 nature of the gig provides many more opportunities for, shall we say, breaches in the student-teacher transaction because ("Oh, oh, I know!") the student-teacher transaction is, for all practical purposes, bound to the child-parent transaction.
Tricky stuff. Probably, in fact, the trickiest part of the parent-teacher's role.
Most parent-teachers grapple with the subtle distinction between teaching and parenting, although getting them to admit it is the stuff of another post. Many refuse to acknowledge that these are separate, for lack of a better word, jobs, each with its attendant trials and triumphs. "No, no," they maintain. "Parents are the first and most important teachers." Yeah, I know. But when we're talking about home education, we're describing a dynamic that outstrips that obvious observation. Parenting and teaching can and do intersect, but it takes a lot of self-observation to make the best use of the overlap. Invariably, when the day goes all wrong, we parent-teachers have responded to the teaching interaction with parenting techniques.
Add to this the fact that many parent-teachers privately cling to the idea that there is one best way to teach, one best curriculum (or curriculum guru), one best manner of demonstrating achievement (all of this, even as they publicly assert, "Oh, well, that's the beauty of home education; I can tailor my program to little Jimmy and Janie's needs"), and you have the recipe for bad days, blow-ups, and parent-teaching blues.
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Like the finest professionals, we parent-teachers take pride in our work, and the most obvious fruits of a parent-teacher's labors are, well, the kids. So it's no big surprise, really, when we get irritated about a low math score, a messy essay paper, or an attack of the shuffling I-dunno's at the grocer. Depending on our personalities, we may laugh nervously, self-medicate with large doses of chocolate, and/or give said kids a loud piece of our minds.
Yeah.
No.
We do have other responses to the homegrown version of holes-in-the-brain, in fact, to any less than stellar contribution from our students: distraction, review, games, humor, rescheduling, etc. You see, the best teachers, those we remember with affection and/or admiration from our own school days, knew what we must learn: The sum of our value as parents and teachers is not Tuesday's math test, Wednesday's crappy essay, or last Saturday's case of mumbles at Shop-Rite. Nope. It's something greater than the sum of all of the moments you have, teacher to student and parent to child. It really is.
That assertion is not, however, a permission slip to behave badly on a bad day.
On the contrary, it is a reminder that not every day must be about scoring in the Xth percentile on state-required exams, winning a regional [insert kiddie contest here], or winning a House & Garden award for cleanest kitchen counters. No, nearly every one of our days should be about growing children with good hearts and active minds. That they tend to grow easily when
(a) their environment has some rhythms and rituals and routines (rising and resting at regular intervals; anticipating repetitive activities (like feeding the fish, reading from the book of 365 stories for 365 days, making the bed, and taking turns with the pet chores)); and
(b) their leader (teacher) models the attributes he or she wants to see in her students
is a fact, like it or not, anal-retentive or not.
You see, a clean house (apartment, condo, cottage, etc.) and imaginative children with a better-than-common grasp of the fundamentals (i.e., reading, history, math, logic, and composition) are not mutually exclusive concepts.
[...]
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Focus on the moment you're in. Not on the best handwriting book, most compelling history text, or most brilliant math program. Not on message boards or blogging buddies. (In fact, if you can, try an experiment: Limit yourself to no more than, say, one virtual visit daily.) Not on all the stuff you could be doing. No. On the moment you're in. On what you should be doing. Teaching. Learning. Coaching. Leading. Modeling. So, for example: Your children's minds are wandering? They've got holes-in-the-brain, you say? Where is your mind? Are you focused on them? Yeah, I didn't think so. Now that you are, discover why aren't they focused. Physical needs met? Something big coming up? Time for a walk? You get the idea.
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When addressing the assorted problems that can occur when one spends most of her life in the company of young humans, a parent-teacher can look at the problems through bifocals of a sort. Glance through the top and see your children with mother vision. Glance through the bottom and see them through teacher vision. Most of the newfangled "invisible" bifocal lenses come with a center area of vision, a sort of middle distance. Consider this the place where parenting and teaching intersect. Now. Before reacting to this math lesson or that messy room, ask yourself, "Through which lens am I seeing this?" That smidgen of reflection alone may help you avoid unnecessary conflict and stress. If not, try this centering technique: If I were a teacher in a traditional classroom setting, and my principal were observing me, how would I handle this interaction? It wouldn't involve shouting or a Snickers bar now, would it?
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Nine hundred ninety-nine times out of one thousand, a bad day, a spring-feverish morning, a calamitous afternoon begins with you. That's not an accusation. It's an attitude. If you know it all begins with you, you know you have the power to, if not control the situation, then certainly control your response to it (which is control of the most excellent kind).
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Don't neglect yourself. Eat right. Exercise. Take vitamins. Sleep well and for as long as your body needs. Develop some rituals and routines that enable you to present a fresh face and a clean smile to your children and your students each morning. Read. Think. Learn. Take some time for yourself when and where you can get it. Celebrate your achievements in meaningful ways. Reflect. Maintain real relationships. Cut back on the virtual. Visit a museum. Roll down a grassy hill. Can you still do a cartwheel? Leave notes in your partner's jacket pocket. Revisit a favorite hobby or book or movie from your youth. Dance.
Remember: Before you are a partner, a parent, a teacher, an [insert occupation here], you are simply you. Ensure that you like who you are.
And take care of yourself.
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Happy spring (fever).
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Wow, this post is four year old now. Well, I've edited it to include links to related posts. For more entries like this, see our "Thoughts on education and parenting."
