Category: Teacher Tales

Laugh and cry along with me as I spin true tales from room 8.

Funny Money

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher TalesLeave a comment

It was one of those days.  Rainy day recess created the perfect storm of too much energy and not enough paying attention.  Lunch was a welcome break.  After some grown up conversation and deep breathing, I trudged back to my room, fingers crossed that the yard duty would give me a good report.  She approached.  I cringed.

“Your class is sweet.” she said.

“Yes, they are.”  I said, reminding myself.

“They adore you.”

“It’s mutual.”  I chirped.

Even on bumpy days I could still say that with one hundred percent sincerity.  I do have the best job in the world and my time with these little ones is coming to an end quickly.   All rainy day toys were put away and my students were in their seats ready for the read aloud.  As I walked to the front of the class, several students piped up

“We made something for you.”

“What did you make?”

“We made you money.”

“Oh, wow.  That’s a lot of money.  I’ll go put it in my purse.  I’m going to Costco today.  Do you think I can pay with this?”

“No, Mrs. McCauley, it’s funny money.”

“Why did you make me all this money?”

“It’s teacher week and you don’t get paid enough.”

Classroom books from the book fair: $73.

The pair of shoes I ruined yesterday on our field trip to the creek: $29.

Getting a raise from my students: priceless.

Shy Girl Magma

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Writing ProjectLeave a comment

Growing up I was painfully shy.  I walked to class with my head down, fearful of making eye contact with anyone.

On my way to Mrs. Johannsen’s second grade, I ran smack into a pole because I refused to look up.

In third grade I cried and cried when my mom informed me that if I wanted people to come to my birthday party, I’d have to call them myself.  Actually talk to people and ask them to come over?  NO WAY.

I was even placed in a club for social spazzes.  It was called The Garfield Club, named after the famous lasagna lovin’ comic cat.  I know, so nerdy.

I survived junior high and my shyness lessened in high school.  My immediate circle of friends was a conglomeration of AP geeks and music nerds, but I was also able to come and go as I pleased amongst other groups.  This shy girl had somehow become friend to all and nobody was more surprised than me.

As an adult, my shyness lies dormant ninety-eight percent of the time, leaving two percent of the time for it to explode in spurts.  Last Saturday I zipped down to Chico for the Northern California Writing Project Summer Institute Orientation.  (Wow, that’s a mouthful.)  I absolutely loved the Summer Institute last year.  It changed who I am as a teacher in powerful and exciting ways.  I was thrilled to be accepted again this year.

And yet my stomach was boiling with nerves.  I would be in a roomful of people.  People I didn’t know.  People I’d have to talk to.  As I closed in on Chico, my nerves threatened to erupt and spew bits of shy girl magma all over my car.  Walking upstairs to the classroom, my upper lip dotted itself with sweat beads. Entering the room, I said hello to one of the directors and made a beeline for a desk without neighbors on either side.  I sat there for a moment, looking around at the other participants.  All of them had their noses buried in the folder of handouts.  The singular noise was the shuffling of papers.  This is ridiculous, I thought.

So, I made a bold move.  I gathered up my stuff and plopped down in a desk between two women.  Then I made an even bolder move.  I introduced myself and asked where they were from.  Somehow my lava flow of shyness had cooled and crystallized into a coherent mass of functioning social skills.  The sweat beads dried up as we chatted.  I found out that the woman two seats to my left is one of my mom’s colleagues.  And in a surprising turn of events, the woman two seats to my right is training for the Tahoe century ride.  By the end of the day, I’d managed to find myself a carpool buddy and a cycling companion.

In addition to being welcomed back to the Summer Institute, I was also selected to attend a writing retreat at a spa/resort in Arizona.  In July I’ll spend four days writing, learning about writing, thinking about writing, and reading about writing.  It sounds heavenly.

Except for the fact that I will be surrounded by people I don’t know.  People I’ll have to make eye contact with.  People I’ll have to actually talk to.  I can feel the deep rumblings of my shyness already.  The only thing that will save me is also the cause of the rumblings.  Upon arrival I will have to make eye contact, maybe even shake a hand or two and utter the most terrifying word in the English language.  That’s right, I’ll have to say hello.  Either that or I can die in an extravasation of sweat and molten timidity.

Right now it’s a toss up.

Rolling the Seed

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Writing Project2 Comments

I have a slight phobia of speaking to groups of people.  Ok, it’s more like debilitating terror.  I sweat bulbous drips of anxiety.  My hands and voice tremble out of control.  My heart threatens to drum straight out my throat.  It’s bad, people, really bad.

But I’m a tough chick.  I ride bikes.  I once had a root canal without anesthetic.  I drink milk after the expiration date.

I really shouldn’t be so paralyzed by speaking to groups of adults.

Last summer I decided enough is enough.  I was going to conquer my fear.  This was my plan.  Each time I was asked to speak in front of a group of people, I forced myself to say yes.  I’m not eloquent or well-versed enough that I had people beating down my door or anything like that, but I did get to speak a few times on the subject of writing.

I love writing.  I love teaching writing.  I love reading what others have written.  I love reading what others have written about writing.  I love writing about what others have written about writing.  You get my drift.

So this fall a colleague and I put together a workshop on how we teach writing and why we love it so, so much.  Easy, no?  We met twice to discuss what we each wanted to present.  I left both of those meetings hugely excited about presenting.  So excited that I actually wanted more speaking time.  This has never happened to me.  Ever.

After our second meeting, I went home to “fine tune” my notes, accompanying slideshow and to work on pieces of the handout.  I made good progress on the handout and added new photos to the slideshow.  Then I set to work on revamping my notes for this particular audience.  As I was typing, I came to the conclusion that every single word was moronic.  I re-read my notes and panic struck.  The workshop is only two weeks away and I don’t know anything about teaching writing.  I don’t know anything about teaching at all.  Why did the curriculum director approve this?  Doesn’t she know I don’t know anything?  None of this presentation works.  Especially the end part.  And the middle.  And the beginning.

Just as I was about to click the entire caboodle into the trash, my husband walked in and convinced me to take a break and watch a movie.  Throughout the movie, my mind kept wandering back to my presentation.  Then I began to think about apricots.  Yes, really.

You see, when I eat an apricot I devour all it’s sweet, fleshy goodness and then pop the seed into my mouth.  I don’t eat the seed.  I roll it around my tongue, hold the sandpapery pit in my cheek, clamp it between my teeth, flip it over and back, over and back again.  Sometimes I do this for hours.

After my meltdown about my presentation, I held the seed of it in my mind.  What do I love about teaching writing? I let the seed roll around.  What makes my students view themselves as writers? I flipped the seed over and back in my mind.  How can I best show other teachers how to take the next step? I mulled over my presentation for hours, days even.  Lo and behold the seed sprouted.

I chose a handful of texts to highlight.  I wrote a handout on the usefulness of each one.  I wrote down easy steps to help students gather words and foster word choice.  Most of all, I thought back to when I was a new writing teacher.  Back then I knew I was stuck, but I didn’t know the next step to take to get unstuck.  I thought of the ways I’ve changed as a writing teacher since that time.  All of a sudden, my presentation was coming together.

Now I’m not going to kid myself into thinking I’m presenting new and revolutionary ideas about writing, but surely within the audience there will be teachers who are stuck.  Teachers who are looking for the next step.  I’ve been there.  I hope to give them ideas to roll around in their mind, ideas to flip around as they please, ideas to clamp down on and make their own, ideas they can use to improve writing in their classroom.

I’m sure that while I’m presenting, I will have hula hoop sized sweat rings in my armpits.  I’m absolutely sure that my voice will tremor.  Undoubtedly my hands will shake.  The thing is, I’m just not that afraid anymore.

I’m a tough chick.  I’m a tough chick who loves writing.  I’m a tough chick who has students in love with writing.  I’m a tough chick with a seed to share.

Tension & Resolution

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Bike Adventures, Teacher TalesLeave a comment

One of the thousands of reasons I love riding my bike is that is gives me opportunity for reflection.  Tonight in spin class, I cranked and cranked and cranked the tension knob until my quads were bands of fire.  Then my spin instructor told me to crank it up some more.  Just when I thought my calf muscles would burst, he said, “Good job.  Now take it down.  Way down.”  I cannot adequately express the relief I felt when all the tension was released.  I was so happy I was seeing white.

It’s appropriate that I was reflecting on tension tonight because I was teaching a lesson on that very thing today.  Our focus during writing was how to create tension in fictional pieces.  We talked about pushing the problem to its absolute limit and then providing a satisfying resolution.

As I conferred with students, I was thrilled with their desire to add layers to their conflict.  I was equally pleased with the thought they were giving to word choice and expression.  They wrote with consideration for their audience and it showed.

They were truly crafting stories.  All year long I’ve been cranking up my expectations, impressing upon them the skills and habits of writers.  Lessons on voice, word gathering, developing setting, creating tension, word choice.  It all came together today.    Today my sweet six year olds internalized the most important lesson of all.  They are writers, real writers.  I couldn’t ask for a better resolution.

Gold, Frankincense, and Midol?

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Christmas, Teacher Tales2 Comments

It started out as an average Friday morning.  Students filed in showing off their loose teeth and lugging their book boxes to their desks.  I stopped at each desk to check in with my kids and collect their homework.  Just then a father with special needs walked in.  In the middle of a conversation with one of my kids, the dad blurted out “Here’s her folder.  Do you want her papers now?”  I patiently held up a lone index finger, the universal sign for ‘I’ll be with you in a moment’.

After finishing the conversation with my student, I turned my attention to the waiting parent.  We had a quick conversation about where his daughter should put her homework folder and I turned to go about my morning business.  The father continued in a loud, unmodulated voice.  “Mrs. McCauley, I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”  I wasn’t sure how to best reply, so I uttered a noncommital “Oh.”  Then he delivered a surprise verbal punch.  “I’m getting you the Costco jar of MIDOL!”  He smiled, so pleased with himself.  I stared, mouth agape.  I didn’t feel like I’d been rude or unkind.  It’s not like I gave him the OTHER finger or anything.

As I stood totally unsure how to escape gracefully from this conversation, his face turned the blotchy crimson of a pomegranate.  In an even louder voice he stammered “I mean the Costco jar of Tylenol.  Not the other, you know, thing.”  This really didn’t clear anything up for me.  I stared at him, head cocked to the side, in total disbelief that this conversation was still going on.  He continued “You know because of all the headaches you must get.”  I do not have a poker face at all, so I’m sure my increasing look of incredulity was apparent.  I stood unable to extricate myself from the awkwardness and to my dismay he rattled on.  “You must get a lot of headaches.  I didn’t mean the other thing.  I don’t want you to think I was saying anything weird or anything.”  Seriously!?!  This entire conversation was totally bizarre.  Unable to bear the possibility of any further comments, I said “Don’t worry about it.  I put my foot in my mouth all the time.  Have a nice day.”  I willed my legs to move me to the student sitting in the desk furthest away and to my great relief that was the end of the dialogue.

Although I only get a headache approximately once a year and I am as fortunate when it come to other unmentionable aches and pains, come this December I’ll be commemorating the birth of the Christ child with the deluxe jar of Midol or Tylenol.  Who knows, maybe in the spirit of generosity and goodwill, I’ll receive both.  Take that, wise men.