Sometime back in February, I had an idea. We should put together a slideshow for 8th grade commencement that wasn’t just pictures, but spotlighted every 8th grader in the school. After all, there were only 97 of them, and they were our first graduating class. A little leery of setting a precedent for years to come, Mr. Ancker, our illustrious principal, reluctantly agreed. “But then we’ll have to do it every year.” “No,” I assured him. “We won’t. This group is special.” They deserved all we had to offer.

I put my newspaper kids on the task.  They interviewed every 8th grader and created a slide for each. As any of my bright ideas, I ended up spending far too much of my own time on the project. Hours were spent editing, revising and formatting.

The night before the ceremony, as I was putting the final touches on the show, it hit me. And it hit me hard. These kids were leaving. My kids. With a few exceptions, they had been in my life for two years. A few I’d even taught for three. I knew them. These were MY kids. They were off to high school. I was suddenly sobbing, tears flowing down my cheeks to the tune of Taylor Swift’s “Never Grow Up”, a sappy song I had chosen to end the show.

One of my favorite moments of the year was our journey together reading SE Hinton’s The Outsiders. As every 8th grader knows, who has had the privilege of that rite of passage, one of the prominent themes is from Robert Frost’s poem “Nothing Gold Can Stay”. Never has that theme become so real to me then at that moment. My kids had to change. They needed to move on. 

As I stood at the podium at commencement, trying not to repeat the water works from the night before, Johnny’s words to Ponyboy at the end of the novel reverberated.  “Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold.”  

As educators, we have students who come into our lives and plant themselves right next to our hearts. I was fortunate enough to not just have a few these past two years, but almost 100. I will truly miss them. 

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay

                –Robert Frost

Yeah. I’m not going to rap. I care too much for the sanctity of your keyboard. I don’t want you to have to clean vomit out of those tiny spaces between your keys. You’re welcome.

On May 30th, 2014, my little experiment came to an end.  Looking back, my goal was to get the kids to write and write often. Adding the “21st Century” component is really just a fancy way of tricking kids into writing.  They live in this world of social media, of instant access, of sharing every aspect of one’s life. Why fight that? My job is to teach students how to function and be successful in this world. This world. This world of instant feedback with a skewed sense of fame. But I’m not writing to rant about some inevitable doom of our youth, especially since I LOVE social media. (You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr….) I’m writing to share what I learned. 

I decided to take the last week of school and have students add essays, a list of books they’ve read, as well as “blurbs” about projects they did in social studies and science. I wanted it to be more than just a blog, but also a portfolio of their 8th grade year. 

What I learned:

• Have students write down passwords and usernames. In Sharpie. On their foreheads. Permanent tattoos might be a viable option. I had so many students who had to start over because they couldn’t access their page. I’m developing a lesson plan on “How to pick a password you won’t forget.”
• Allow more time for design, but then set a deadline. I started blogging after just one day in the lab. Quite a few weren’t ready, and it snowballed. They got further and further behind.
• Be very specific about your expectations on a blog. This might seem like a “no duh” teaching moment, but it’s worth highlighting. I fell into this hole. Simply giving an 8th grader a topic and telling him to “write as much as he’d like” often results in one sentence. I found giving a specific word count to be the most helpful (200 words).
• Always give a topic, but also allow for “your choice”. Freedom allows for creativity, but not all are ready for that. 
• Require students to read other blogs and comment. Work this into the day. It is completely worth it. I sent out a Google Doc with the all the URLs. 
• Learn from your students. As with anything else, some will only do exactly what you require, so be specific. Others will take this to a whole new level you never imagined. Pay attention to these kiddos. They’ll show you things that you didn’t even know were possible.
• Mostly,  BLOGGING IS POWERFUL. As I sat and read every kid’s web page, each blog written, I remembered how powerful writing can be. It is therapeutic, leading to self discovery and is often a safe place to share things, one might never share. I read about losing a friend in a car crash, being adopted at only five years old, watching a beloved pet get hit by a car, and what it feels like to be left out of a group. I laughed, I cried and felt a sense of connection with my students. So much of my days are spent teaching students to analyze literature, to cite sources, to organize thoughts, that I fail to teach the heart of writing. Writing is one of the greatest forms of communication, but it also allows us time to think, organize and reflect before we let others in. 

I am so excited to continue this project next year. Taking what I’ve learned and building on new ideas, I hope to improve it ten fold. I’ll be starting right away in the fall, making it a year long effort. 

I’m guessing I’ll still be wearing my running shoes.

I’ve dedicated every Friday as “Blog Day”. 

The first Friday we spent setting up an account and designing the look and feel of the web page. Before we headed to the lab, I introduced them to Weebly and walked them through my web site and how they could set up their own.  Then we meandered, (because 8th graders can never just walk), to the Library Lab. I was glad I had on my comfortable sneakers. My dogs were chasing their tails. “Mrs. Allison! Mrs. Allison!” So many questions to answer. “How do you change the background color?” “Can I add a picture?” “What do I call this?” “What’s my email address, again?” More than anything, though, the students were excited. That was huge. I radiated hope.

The next week, I thought, “It’s time to blog!”  We had just read a story about a boy who had a hard time dealing with change. We had also revisited the Robert Frost poem, “Nothing Gold Can Stay”. Perfect! We’ll blog about change. I can be so optimistic sometimes. Back to the lab we went. Disappointment hit. So many students weren’t ready at all to blog.  “Where’s the website?” “What’s a URL?” “Which email did I use to sign up?” Sigh. I think I forget sometimes they’re only 13 and 14. I need to wear a pedometer to see just how many miles I can log on these shoes. 

Third Friday. This time I had an epiphany to send each student an email listing everything that should be included thus far on the website! This will work, right? 
More running. 
“Wait, what are we supposed to have on the site?” 
“Check your email.” 
“What’s my email password, again?” 

Tomorrow we go back again. 
I might need new shoes.

As an educator, you often get asked an off the cuff question, “Why did you become a teacher?” In fact, just the other day my daughter asked me that very question. Seems like I should have a obligatory answer packed away in my psyche somewhere, but I never have truly been able to nail it. There are the moments, though when it’s clear. Last Monday night was one of them.

The school had received an email from a Deacon at the Masonic Lodge asking if we had an outstanding student we would like to recognize at a dinner. The student would receive an award and the teachers were invited to speak on his or her behalf. It is a monthly dinner and this month was Chilton’s turn. One student immediately came to mind: Ravina. 

Trusting my GPS to lead me into old Roseville in the pouring rain, I managed to find the lodge near the old theater on historic Vernon Street. I forget this part of Roseville still exists, near the train tracks that founded this city. I climbed the old stairs of the building and entered the hall. There sat Ravina and her family, greeting me with the warmest of welcomes.

The Masons had cooked a fabulous corned beef dinner, apparently for two days, (we sat with the cook) and it was absolutely delicious. Ravina wasn’t as keen on the food as the rest of us, but luckily they served ice cream and brownies for dessert. Visiting with her parents and brother, it was evident why Ravina is such an amazing young lady. 

Then came the time for the recognition. Ravina and I were asked to come up to the front, where I had the honor and pleasure of saying a few kind words about her. Now, Ravina is absolutely amazing. Every assignment she ever completes is not only good, but impeccable. She is involved in Leadership, and is always one of the last to leave a function. She stays after to make sure everything is in order. Ravina is also a first class athlete. Most of all, she does it all with a smile on her face. Her positive attitude is infectious. Although, I do admit that I love her even more because she laughs at my jokes. 

The Masons awarded Ravina with $50, and even gave me a granite plaque. 

It’s these opportunities that help me answer that question of why I became an educator. I get to work with kids like Ravina. It’s just one part of the puzzle, but a part that is vital. 

Leaving that night, I realized that I had not only experienced an amazing night as an educator, but I had done something few had ever done: unearthed a secret from a Freemason. I learned that after boiling the corned beef, slather it with brown sugar and spicy brown mustard. Delicious!

I was in a meeting a few months back, and a parent was talking about how there really are so few women computer engineers in the work force.  He added that not only that, there are just so few engineers. My mind immediately went to my uncle.  The man was a whiz at computers, but socially could barely hold a conversation with even his family. He enjoyed solitude and would have never been the life of any party. Not exactly the job I envision for my daughter. This is the stereotype that has lived in my head now for decades. That all changed when I attended the GAFE Summit. 

Google Apps for Education is a network of educators and trainers designed to implement and integrate focused learning using Google Apps for Education and other tools. It teaches educators to promote student learning and bridge that ever needed gap of creating 21st Century students. But, I took away much more than that in that weekend at Roseville High School. I was inspired. Giddy. I realized I needed to pass along that enthusiasm to my students, in some way. Any way. So I decided to jump.

Now I am a planner by nature. I want to know what the weather will be like, have on the right outfit, slather the correct amount of SPF, and even dip my toe in the water before I swim.  However, something happens when you’re a teacher, mom, wife, marathon runner, and locator of all lost objects–you have little time. I figured, if anything was going to happen,  I needed to start swimming fully clothed. 

Last week I opened the lab and simply instructed the fifteen or so middle schoolers who came by, to explore. What happened? They were engaged. They were playing games and actually exploring the world of code. Now, I still don’t fully understand it myself, but it didn’t seem to matter. They were showing ME different sites. Teaching ME! It was truly inspiring.

I got an email the next day from the parent who had initially mentioned the statistics in that meeting a few months back. He was so excited I had started this new club. He has a friend who works for Facebook and even bragged to him.  The response, “How many girls showed up?” I searched my head for the picture of the computer- lined room–I only counted three. Guess I have my work cut out for me.

My goal as an educator is to inspire. I was inspired. Now it’s time to pay it forward. The water is perfect.