Observing Ms. Kelm and Dr. E

I had the great privilege of observing in Rachel Kelm's second grade classroom as a part of my AIM experience. She and Erika (aka Dr. E) worked on decoding the song "Follow the Drinking Gourd" as a part of (I'm guessing) African American History Month. I was impressed with how engaged the kids were as they determined the hidden meanings from the slave narrative. What struck me most was the warmth of the room, the comfort of the kids in their space, and the obvious love and respect between students and teachers. I was reminded of the charge we have as educators to allow students to find their own way, and to resist the urge to provide answers right away. The music was integral to the lesson, as the kids were  able to hear the song as it was sung so long ago. I learned a great deal watching this successful team in action and appreciate their willingness to allow me access to their room. Thank you!

Who tells your story?

I've been thinking a lot lately about what moves us as teachers, as students, and as human beings. Art keeps me alive - yes, in a metaphorical sense - but it's what keeps my brain engaged, my emotions connected, my dreams aloft. Art commands attention. Art is the unexpected. Art challenges us and at the same time makes learning feel deliciously secret and subversive and surprising and - yes - fun. Art inspires flow: that sense of feeling no time passing. And now that I've tasted the challenge and the pure joy of bringing my passion for my own art into the classroom and watched kids hooked on to my art in their own unique ways it's hard to imagine ever going back.

When I covered the concept of "show, don't tell," which happens to be perfectly encapsulated within the art of film, I used a graphic that feels like a microcosm for everything that we're trying to do in our work with this grant.

We use our unique experience -the lens with which we see the world - to tell our stories. And it is our hearts that inform our best work.

On that note, it's hard to do justice to the impact that the new musical Hamilton has had on my family in recent weeks. My 4th grade son has dived into the Revolutionary War, and written a persuasive essay around how Hamilton has largely been forgotten by history. My husband has brought the story and music into his classroom and within a couple of weeks, hundreds of his eighth graders were writing raps and freestyling. He actually catches them "listening ahead," they're so invested. And I - I awaken at night with the blaze of lyrics strobe lighting through my head. So it is with all of that in mind right now that I close with this quote from genius.com, a commentary on Hamilton's lyrics:

As Aaron Burr notes in “The World was Wide Enough,” “History obliterates in every picture it paints.” You have no control over who tells your story, and after death, your story is all that’s left. What’s left other than the memories we helped make before we exited the stage? What is our ultimate legacy beyond the things we create and the words we leave behind?