Category: Teacher Tales

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

Privates

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales1 Comment

This morning during independent reading one of my little ones motioned me to his desk.  I hurried over and he looked up at me with his baby blue sparklers.  This kid is darling, impish, but darling.  He’s always asking the best questions.  Plus his hobbies include playing football, reading and sewing.  How could I not love a kid like that?  There’s never a dull moment with this little one and I like that he keeps me on my toes with his inquisitive mind.

This morning he called me over and said “Mrs. McCauley, girl privates…”  He paused for a moment and I braced myself for impact.

Lord in Heaven, I hoped it would be a relatively innocuous question.  I took a deep breath, leaning down by his desk so that whatever came next could be quietly discussed.

He continued. “Girl privates have to stay in the helicopters during missions, but boy privates can get out of the helicopters.”  He held up a page of his book for me to see.  My face flooded with relief when I realized he was reading a book on the military.

I laughed and said “I’m so glad to hear you say that.”

“You are?”

“Extremely.”

“I don’t think you should be glad because it doesn’t seem fair that girl privates don’t get to do all the stuff boy privates do.”  He was indignant.

“Kiddo, you don’t know how right you are.”  I laughed and then walked away so I could compose myself.

You just can’t make this stuff up.

Conversations from Room 8

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales4 Comments

The last couple of days have been extra sweet in Room 8.  My little ones are happy to see each other, happy to be back at school, just happy in general.  Here are some of my favorite conversations from the last couple of days.

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Me: You remember how to do this.  You use your fingers to partner up the number to see if it’s even or odd.

Little One with Autism: I know it’s in my head somewhere, but I can’t find it.

Me: I know the feeling.

Little One: Can you help me find it?

Me: Sure.  Let me show you on your hand.

Little One: My hand will help my brain find the answer?

Me: Yep, I think so.

Little One: Oh good.

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Mother of a Little One: How’s my daughter doing?  Is there anything else we should work on at home?

Me: She’s doing great.  She’s reading well and doing well in math and writing.  And she seemed really happy to return to school yesterday.

Mother: Oh yes, she was very happy.  After three days of  vacation she said ‘Mommy, it’s time for me to go back to school because I can’t remember the sound of my teacher and I don’t want to forget her.”

And then my heart melted into a huge puddle.

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Little One: “Mrs. McCauley, I found my happy place.”

Me: “I didn’t know you’d  lost it.  Where did you find it?”

Little One: “It was in the box of pastels.”

Me: “Wow!  Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re doing art today.”

Little One: “I think I have art in my heart.”

Me: I’m sure of it.

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Little One: “Martin Luther King, Jr. was really brave.  It took a lot of courage for him to talk to all of those people about his dreams.”

Me: “I agree.”

Little One: “Especially since not everyone agreed with him.”

Me: “Especially.  I bet you can be courageous like him, too.”

Little One: “Maybe now I can.”

Me: “Why now?”

Little One: “Because you put his words in my head and I have his big dreams in my heart.”

Sometimes being a teacher is staggeringly beautiful.  And in case you need his words in your head and big dreams in your heart, here’s Martin Luther King, Jr. himself.  I get chills every time I hear this speech.

Letters to Little Ones: Coming Back

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Letters, Teacher Tales2 Comments

Dear Little One,

Sometimes you make me want to tear my hair out.  Not all of it, but some of it.  Not all of the time, but some of the time.  I have a feeling you feel like tearing your hair out some of the time, too, because navigating the world with autism is tough.  I know that and surely you do, too.  This is why instead of tearing my hair out, I breathe and you breathe and then we breathe together until we figure out a way to get from one thing to the next.

Disclaimer: This is a stock photo.

Lately you’ve been yelling at me.  Strike that.  You’ve been yelling at me all the time.  It’s partly because anger is one of two emotions you understand, but also because you don’t have a firm grasp on voice modulation.  When I point out that you’re yelling and that you may not realize it, you shift into a somewhat calmer voice for a sentence or two until you forget and start yelling again.  And then I remind you again.  And so our dance goes, a halting two sentence two-step.

Little One, the occasions when you’ve spoken softly of your own volition are a rarity I can count on one hand.  And I do count them because every little success matters.  You speak in whispers when you’re afraid, like when you slipped your hand into mine at the field trip where we watched dancers, white like angels, and you told me you were afraid that the devil was going to come out next.  Scary stuff worthy of your whisper for sure.

Today I reminded you that you’d have a guest teacher for the next couple of days and that we’d see each other again after Thanksgiving vacation.  You misunderstood and when we hugged goodbye, you whispered “You’re leaving?  I’m not going to see you again?”

My heart broke into brittle pieces, Little One, because you are so afraid of your loved ones leaving you.  I assured you I’d be back and we’d see each other again in a few days and you whispered “I don’t like this.”  I could hear the fear in your voice.

Little One, I’m not leaving you.  Even when you make me want to pull my hair out, I will come back.  Even when I have to take deep breath after deep breath, I will come back.  Even when you spend the whole day learning not to yell, I will come back.  When you come to me with anger, or frustration, or fear, I will do my best to come back with patience, consistency and love.

Know this, Little One, you are worth coming back for.

It breaks my heart that someone you love doesn’t think so.  And it tears me to bits that you associate loving with leaving.

And so I will spend the rest of our time together this year proving that I will always come back to you.  I will always come back for you.

Little One, I will always come back because of you.

Love,

Mrs. McCauley

Moments from the Pumpkin Patch

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales9 Comments

Today I made my annual trek to the pumpkin patch with 26 giddy six-year-olds in tow.  Not to mention their parents and a smattering of younger siblings.  The weather was perfect, sunny without a drop of rain.  The sky was so blue, it can only be described as piercing.  We had a great day watching pig races, bouncing in the bounce house, picking pumpkins, firing corn cannons and just enjoying the pleasure of being outside together.  Here are some of the best lines from the day:

1) On the bus ride to the pumpkin patch, two little ones in the seat behind me were singing “Old MacDonald” and decided to make up a verse about pumpkins that went like this:

Little girl: “Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.  And on his farm he had a pumpkin, E-I-E-I-O.  With a…with a…what kind of noise do pumpkins make?”

Little boy: “Ummmm, BOOM BOOM?”

Little girl: “Yeah, that’s a good one.  Let’s sing it.”

Both: “With a BOOM BOOM here and a BOOM BOOM there, here a BOOM, there a BOOM, everywhere a BOOM BOOM.  Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.”

Then they high-fived their musical genius.  Boom, boom indeed.

2) Also on the bus ride over, I sat near one of my autistic little ones.  He was a little uneasy.

Little One: “I feel scared in my heart.”

Me: “What are you scared of.”

Little One: “I’ve never been to a farm before.”

Me: “Do you remember all the things we talked about seeing?”

Little One: “Yes, but I’m still scared in my heart.”

Me: “It’s okay to be nervous about something new.”

Little One: “Will you stay with me?”

Me: “The whole time.”

Little One: “Until I’m old?”

Me: “How about until you go home on the bus this afternoon?”

Little One: “Okay.  But I’ll miss you when I’m old.”

Me: “Me, too.”

I’m pretty sure I will miss this little one long before I’m old.

3) While walking by the goat house where the goats where children were using a hand crank to send a conveyor belt of food to the goats, one of my little ones was deep in thought.

Little One: “Mrs. McCauley, what are those goats doing?”

Me: “Eating the food those children are sending up to them.”

Little One: “What do you think the goats are thinking?”

Me: “I’m not sure.  What do you think they’re thinking?”

Little One: “I think they’re thinking ‘Mmmm, room service is niiice.'”

Room service is niiice, even in the form of grain shuttled up in a cup on a conveyor belt.

4) All week long we’ve been studying how pumpkins grow and my little ones were especially interested in learning that only the female pumpkin plants produce pumpkins.  I’d showed them how to look under the yellow flowers to see if the plants were male or female.  Out in the pumpkin patch I heard a little one explaining it to his dad like this:

Little One: “Dad, this one is a girl pumpkin plant.”

Dad: “Plants aren’t boys and girls.  They’re just plants.”

Little One: “Nuh-uh, Mrs. McCauley read us a book about how to tell if they’re boys or girls and this one has a baby pumpkin growing under the flower.  That means the bees visited a boy pumpkin flower and got yellow pollen on their legs and brought it over to the girl flower so she could make a baby pumpkin.  Then this baby pumpkin will grow up to be a mommy or daddy pumpkin and it will make a flower and everything will start all over again.”

Dad: “Really?”

Little One: “Really.  But the sad part is that the pumpkins die, but don’t cry because their seeds go back to live in the Earth to make new pumpkins.  So, it’s sorta like they come back to life.  It’s like a secret pumpkin super-power.”

I just love how their minds work.  And I agree, returning to life after dying is an awesome secret pumpkin super-power.

5) Back at school we parked our pumpkins on the nametags on our desks.  Also on our nametags are clear cups of pumpkin seeds that we took scooped out of a pumpkin and planted a couple of weeks ago.  The seeds are starting to send roots down and grow root hairs.  When we got back to class, a Little One put her pumpkin on her desk and squealed when she saw one of the seeds in her cup.

Little One: “Look, Mrs. McCauley, it’s taking off its seed coat.”

Me: “That’s awesome.  Can you see the seed leaves yet?”

Little One: “Yep, they’re coming out to hug the mommy pumpkin I picked.”

Me: “I bet your seed leaves will be poking out of the soil when we come back to school on Monday.”

Little One: “Should I leave the mommy pumpkin here to help them?”

Me: “No, I don’t think so because pumpkin seeds know how grow all by themselves.”

Little One: “Wow, pumpkin sprouts are really smart.”

I’m pretty lucky because I’ve got 26 of my own smart little sprouts.

Anatomy of an Acceptance Letter

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales, Writing Project10 Comments

In the not so distant past, I received my first rejection letter.  Oh my, it hurt.  This piece was one of those ‘open a vein and write’ kinds of pieces.  It was about a particularly wrenching time in my teaching career, about a child who created a safe place for himself.  His story broke my heart and writing about it crushed me all over again.  I was sure this piece would resonate with other teachers who’d walked in my very shoes.

I submitted it.  And was rejected.  I submitted it again.  And was rejected again.  Time and time again, I sent this piece out and it returned void.

I was just about to tuck this piece away and give it a rest when a friend of mine sent me a call for submissions for an anthology about what it means to teach.  I dug my brave face out of the drawer and sent in my piece again, steeling myself for another rejection.  I didn’t think about it much.  Let’s face it, after receiving so many rejections, I wasn’t holding my breath.

And then one day my inbox flashed a message from the editors.

My heart began to pound.  My palms dampened with sweat.  I swallowed my nerves and opened the message.

Here it is, with my inner dialogue in italics.

Dear Alicia,

Well, at least my name is spelled right.  There’s nothing worse than receiving a rejection letter for Alisa or Alisha or Alice.  Seriously, I don’t even sound remotely like an Alice.

It is my pleasure to notify you that we would like to publish your essay, “The Escape Artist,” in the Spring 2012 Rogue Faculty Press publication, What Teaching Means: Stories from America’s Classrooms.

Wait, what?  I think they said something about pleasure in relation to my piece.  Just a sec, let me read that part again.  

Well, would you look at that, they want to publish something I wrote.  

I might pass out.  Is it lie down to prevent fainting or put your head between your knees?  I’ll just try both for good measure.

To help us during this stage of the process, please send an email, as soon as possible, that includes:

1. Informal confirmation that you will allow us to publish your work. Contract will follow. 

Um, yes, and-wow a contract sounds very official.  I think I need to breathe into a paper bag.

2. Your current mailing address for sending a contract packet and, eventually, your copy of the book.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to fully appreciate this e-mail while laying on my back with my head between my knees as I breathe into a paper bag.

3. A short professional biography (150 words) that will accompany your piece in the book. There is one below as an example. We are including these because we want to give our readers a sense of the people behind these stories.

150 words for a professional biography?  How on earth am I going to come up with 150 words for a professional biography when I haven’t done anything yet?  I teach.  That’s 2 words.  Wait, I teach writing.  Phew, only 147 to go.  I’m pretty sure noodling around with poetry and stuff doesn’t count.  I’m 100% sure that practicing staying upright on my bicycle doesn’t count as ‘professional’ in any arena.  I’d better get off this couch and actually DO some professional sort of stuff so that I have something to write down.

We want to let you know that we will copy edit all the pieces for punctuation and grammar.

o thank God

Oh thank God.

Oh, thank God!

Once we near the publication date in April, we will be developing a promotion and publicity plan for this book. We are already extremely proud of the collection, and we will be doing everything we can to get these stories to the people that we believe should read them. 

Wait, people are actually going to read this?  Is it hot in here?  I don’t feel so well.  I didn’t know armpits could sweat this much in an air-conditioned room on a temperate day.  That phrase “dying of shock” is taking on a whole new meaning right this second.

Congratulations and thanks again for sharing your story with us. We look forward to working with you. 

That’s because you haven’t met me yet.  Should we ever have the pleasure, I will be the tall girl with sweat cascading down my brow and a huge grin on my face.

Sincerely,

__________ and __________*

Editors, What Teaching Means

Wait, editors-as in more than one-decided my piece was good enough?  Well, I guess I’d better clear my schedule for the book tour.

*Names were omitted to protect the innocent.  I also didn’t want you googling them and letting them in on the secret that I’m just a regular girl who dreams about being a writer someday.