owp05

Letter to Students

                                                                                                                    July 12, 2005

Dear Students,
    Do I have an exciting year planned for you! I have learned over the summer that to become better at writing you have got to write, and my goal for your fifth grade year is that you will become a confident writer. Because I have had the opportunity to uncover and write about my own feelings, observations, and memories over the break-I know it can happen for you.
    My experience began when I applied and was accepted to the Oregon Writing Project. In all honesty-attending summer school did not sound very appealing at the end of last year. I looked forward to lazy days, sleeping late, and reading lots of book, but I forged ahead.  The information I received about the class said it would be four weeks long and I would be learning about teaching writing. Then, I found out I would be expected to write and share! Most people think teachers are not nervous about writing --WRONG! It does not matter if you are ten or thirty plus ten, when you are confronted with an anxiety provoking experience --it is difficult to not give up. However, I learned the very first day that I was not alone.
     The class included twenty teachers who taught all grades, all subjects -- many experiencing the same fears.  We would eventually share the successes and challenges of teaching writing, as well as working on our own writing.  After my initial fears, I began sharing my writing and listening to other teachers share their writing in response/editing groups.  I realized my writing improved. I found myself getting hung up in my writing in the same places as my fifth grade students. As we learned to write better, we shared things that helped along the way.
    Let me fill you in on some of the things I learned and activities I look forward to sharing with you. Of course, I will encourage you to write, write, and write.  A variety of opportunities will be provided daily to express opinions, concerns, and beliefs. We will explore literature independently, and through “read alouds” to familiarize ourselves with genres, and the author’s use of the six traits: ideas, organization, voice, word choice, sentence fluency, and conventions. Our summer workshop supported research that reading will strengthen our editing and revising skills in the writing process.
     We will have access to technology and computers, programs such as Inspiration, and the Internet to support and supplement our writing.  Having the opportunity in my class to explore the Internet has helped me realize the unlimited resources available to us for writing activities. An additional source I will introduce you to is use of a web log, known as a blog.  This mini publishing system is similar to a web page.
    This class has taught me about the fears, frustrations, and triumphs of being a writer.  Because I now better understand my own feelings about writing and the learning process of writing, I hope I will be a better teacher. Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, and so many surprises. I look forward to inspiring you to put what’s in your head and in your heart to paper.                                    
                                                                                                           Your partner in prose,
                                                                                                                Mrs. Jacobson

                           

Life’s Journeys

              What was going through the mind of the unsuspecting traveler at the Medford Airport as the massive airship landed?  The aging beauty with the universal medical symbol-the red cross-preempted the arrival or departure of any commercial aircraft. We were to learn the “Nightingale” hospital ship took precedence over all domestic carriers, second only to Air Force One. Travelers who were veterans of WWII, Korea, or Viet Nam would reflect back upon the role of the C141, and its capability of transporting whole squadrons of troops, tanks, and other military support vehicles in its massive belly. Perhaps their memories would recall their own journey as a soldier or a patient. With the closest military facility located 90 miles east, it would be difficult to rationalize the oversized, Air Force aircraft landing at this private airport in the middle of the day.  Even harder to explain would be the reason a lone passenger would board within minutes of landing.

Landing and take-off would not resemble the leisurely boarding of a commercial aircraft, with its numerous opportunities for delinquent travelers to make their connections.  Passengers who traveled on this military cargo aircraft would not check their luggage.  They would receive the ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) thirty minutes to one hour prior to take-off. The landing and take-off resembled a clandestine rescue of a government agent- no idle minutes were spent on the runway. However, the mysterious passenger wore no disguise, she was my thirteen year old sister.

A chance tumble on the balance beam in a sixth grade PE class started her journey.  My mother, struggling to maintain normalcy in our lives while my career Air Force father served his tour of duty in Viet Nam, relocated us near her family.  The call from the school health nurse alerted my mother of the accident, with the recommendation my sister see a physician.  While no bones were found to be broken, a severe curvature of Deanise’s spine was discovered. Specialists were consulted, the diagnosis confirmed, and discussions for a treatment plan began.

Scoliosis robbed Deanise of a normal adolescence. It seemed she would spend her future subject to or beholding to someone taller or more knowledgeable of her “condition”.  Aside from the long distance concerns of my father, the fret of my mother and her parents, the school would not be persuaded to allow her participation in any school activities.  Cautions such as “Are you sure you should be doing that?” became part of her everyday life.  This would challenge my sister who saw herself as having no limits whatsoever. The school’s ignorance of her limitations (none) and concerns for their liability would not be deterred. Deanise would spend the remainder of her middle and high school PE classes in various elective classes or as an office assistant.

Treatment plans for her curvature included wearing a back brace and various orthodontic appliances crafted to correct the movement of bone and teeth. The Milwaukee brace became a fixture in our family. Deanise would be required to wear the brace twenty-three hours a day. The hour reprieve would find the brace standing in a corner, patiently waiting to resume its job of remolding her s-curved spine.  The chin piece, connected to a bar that stabilized the hip enclosures, hindered her view of her world right or left.  The molded hip casing attached to three metal stays-one in front and two in back- limited  her every movement.

The monthly trips aboard the “Nightingale” would be the envy of her friends.  Scheduling appointments to San Antonio, home of Wilford Hall Medical Facility, was not done on a whim, and little consideration was afforded to school or family schedules.  Deanise missed many school days flying around the United States as the plane picked up other young patients with varying medical portfolios. Her fellow passengers included children with life threatening conditions such as cancer, or other medical situations similar to hers, requiring the expertise of specialists. The passenger manifest might include young children with their chaperones, or veteran travelers my sister’s age and older.

The independence and experiences Deanise gained traveling aboard Nightingale prepared her well for the oftentimes difficult middle and high school years. She lived life with the philosophy of never being too careful or too realistic or believing herself to have any limits. Traveling became a life-long passion for Deanise.  Annual flights to Maui, whirlwind trips to the East Coast, frequent excursions to Reno, and numerous overnight trips requiring six hours driving are the norm in her life.  While my sister’s journey through adolescence was often difficult and her education somewhat fragmented, she became an extremely independent, self-sufficient young woman.  Friends and family see Deanise as a role model who overcame the adversity of her medical condition-she has the straightest posture of anyone you will meet. Perhaps a direct result of her experiences-she models living in the moment.

B Street E-Mail

“You’ve got mail.” The mail was waiting for me when I returned from taking my fifth grade students to lunch. Don passed away last night. Call me. I stared at the words, trying to make them say something else. Was the short message someone’s cruel attempt at a joke?  Perhaps it was meant for the other D. Jacobson whose e-mail address closely resembled mine. I sat at my computer, eyes on the blinking cursor, frozen in time.

E-mail has such a distinctive function in our daily life.  It took years for this form of communication to become part of my daily schedule.  Reluctantly, I type in messages that not so long ago would be communicated with a phone call or a handwritten note. Even though e-mail has replaced many of today’s methods of communication, it is still difficult not to pick up the phone to hear a voice, or be the voice sharing news. Communication among our staff relies entirely upon e-mail, and work-related information fills up my in-box. Notification for staff meetings, IEP’s, conferences, committee meetings, and district communication is related via e-mail. Some of the parents of my students even prefer e-mail communication about their children. What little personal e-mail I receive confirms dinner dates with friends, or forwards of jokes and trivia. E-mail has almost entirely replaced contacts I used to make with calls or memos.

Don and Patty were part of the  “B Street” group.  We had all moved into the neighborhood--young homeowners, starting families.  What memories we made.  When babies were born, we celebrated. When husbands got new jobs or promotions, we celebrated.  As young mothers we formed a babysitting cooperative, trading childcare, to provide a reprieve from the demands of motherhood.  We raised each other’s children, watching them play and grow up together. Over the years we supported each other through school crises, illness, parent-child conflicts, happy occasions, and in times of sadness or loss. Neighborhood barbecues, card games, and block parties provided our social life. We enjoyed get-togethers with no agendas.    However, job changes, transfers, and upgrading to larger houses began changing the neighborhood.    The kids grew up, married, or went away to college. Neighbors began moving away. In spite of the changes to “B Street,” the friendships remained. 

The “B Street” group entered the next stage of our lives celebrating weddings and the arrival of grandkids. Visits and phone calls became fewer and farther between, we relied on e-mails to forward quick notes about new jobs, new sons-in-laws or daughters-in-laws, photos of the newest grandchild, or inspirational quotes.  Forwarded messages celebrating the gifts of friendship would be sent to all, frequently arriving at a time when the uplifting message served to put the world right again.

The e-mail that shared the news of Don’s passing provided few details.  Patty wrote about a hike on Mt. Pisgah…with co-workers…unable to revive him…it was not enough information. I fought back tears and tried to catch my breath. Those few words created emotional chaos.   I sat reading the same sentences over and over; trying to will the details I somehow needed to know from the screen. Why didn’t she call with this news? Were there too many people to notify? E-mail was not intended to relate this kind of information. This sterile form of communication should not be relied upon to convey this heartbreaking news. I picked up the phone to dial her number.  Desperate for her voice, the wait seemed forever.  Patty answered. She confirmed the information in the e-mail -- Don was gone. 

Somehow I got through the rest of the day. It was too painful to talk about what had happened at lunch.  In the course of the afternoon, e-mails started arriving from the “B Street” group.  They too must be struggling with the terrible news from Patty.  I sat down at the computer, struggling to respond to words that would not come.  It became evident; the only way out of this despair would be to hear their voices.  I began dialing their numbers.  There was something so comforting in hearing Marilynn, Sue, and Vera. Tears that were not allowed to surface during the afternoon kept flowing over the phone lines.  Each conversation was a reflection on past get-togethers that flew by so quickly we barely had time to catch up, let alone reminisce. Simpler, happier times?  Regardless of the reason for today’s’ communication, these conversations-not e-mail messages -- would tide us over until the next time we got together.

The Memorable Year

                                                The Memorable Year

    Associating student names with faces did not always come easy, and the reputations of the behavior challenges preceded them.  Sadly, many of the wonderful students I would come to know in my own classroom were merely names on a list.  Except Jimmy, or Jim as he would prefer to be called as a fifth grader.
    Being a fairly new teacher, the assignment of a special needs student with a full time educational assistant in my classroom caused immediate anxiety attacks.  I tried to remain professional and not show distress, fear, anguish, ignorance and every other emotion associated with an unknown. With little time to dwell on the brief meetings with the fourth grade teachers about student lists, numerous end of year activities took priority.
    I did not experience the typical euphoria of the end of the year and the upcoming summer break.  It seemed I had more questions than answers about this student who would be in my classroom in the fall.  I found myself doubting my ability to meet the physical and emotional needs of this young man, let alone teach him.  Researching his disability provided information, accompanied by more anxiety around communication issues with Jimmy.  Verbal communication would be limited.  Jimmy relied heavily on a computer system and an educational assistant.  It was with reassurance and support from his fourth grade teacher and the special education teacher, I allowed myself to trust in their confidence of his placement.  Summer sped by with few thoughts of fall.
    Was I in for the experience of my life!  The obligatory meetings of in-service week introduced me to a team whose members who embraced, supported and provided so many awesome services for Jim.  This positive group of individuals celebrated every accommodation Jimmy required.  Their enthusiasm was infectious.  Excited to meet Jimmy, I began planning for this new class.  Antidotal notes from the grade level meetings in June provided forgotten information about my upcoming class. One third of my students had been in our school since kindergarten.  This group had connections to each other.
    After many hours of preparation the first day of school arrived.  The first day jitters were not unique to the students.  We were all feeling somewhat shy, anticipating reactions of old and new acquaintances.  Jimmy’s motorized wheelchair zipped in.  The slight dark haired boy with a grin from ear to ear had a smile that lit up the room.  Students tumbled over each other to greet Jimmy.  It was evident immediately they knew exactly what he was saying; despite the fact I heard only inaudible sounds.  They shared their summer stories and adventures.  I felt the bond between Jimmy and his classmates from the first moment he arrived.  My life as a teacher would never be the same.
    While I experienced the benefit of having anther set of hands in a classroom of thirty students, Jimmy’s educational assistant shared the wonderful knowledge locked inside his head and heart.  In addition, Jimmy’s team of motor specialists, and speech and language pathologists provided awesome support and visits throughout the year.  There were few obstacles for Jimmy.  PE provided the opportunity to dash around the gym, squealing with glee as he ran over and around balls.  Recess would elicit the same antics, complete with the familiar childhood skinned elbow and split lip when the wheel of his chair tangled with a basketball.  His classmates, sick with worry over Jimmy’s injuries, would not be consoled until he returned from the Health Room.
    Jimmy became “Jim” his fifth grade year.  Like his peers he struggled to be recognized as one of the guys. Boys and girls alike suffered the pain of ten year old crushes, getting caught with notes, disagreements with peers, reprimands of adults, and all the emotions associated with prepubescent children.  The students celebrated achievements and supported each other during the not so great times.  Jim experienced and supported all of the highs and lows along with his classmates.  Students had attended open house at the neighborhood middle school.  We addressed the endless questions about lockers and practiced combinations on old gym locks. The students were all beginning to express both excitement and fear about the upcoming transition to middle school.
    It is incredible to think that this time last year I found myself dreading the upcoming school year. I knew often throughout the year this group of students would have quite an impact on me.  Sadness I had not felt before crept into many end of year activities. As May turned into June, I experienced feelings so opposite of last year. Saying goodbye and letting go of this group of students proved to be very difficult.  Evident in behaviors, which tested rules they had adhered to all year, they also struggled with fear and anticipation of middle school.
Their love and acceptance of each other provided more knowledge than any textbook. What a privilege to have the opportunity to be taught by Jim and his classmates about the importance of relationships. Being confronted with this teaching experience, so outside of my comfort zone, provided a rich and very memorable year.