The Impact of Words

“I am what time, circumstance, history, have made of me, certainly, but I am also much more than that. So are we all.” James Baldwin

Yesterday, when I was in the History classroom for the last two periods, I perused the room as the video droned on (with English accents) about the American Revolution. I had to walk around often, to urge students to refrain from chatting, sleeping, texting, and sneaking on earphones to listen to music. Inspirational quotes peppered the walls. The more I passed by these laminated words of inspiration, the more I was inspired. These were clearly there for the students, but I wondered if the teenagers even noticed the black letters on white backgrounds, with accompanying pictures of the authors in the bottom-right corners, all apparently made by the teacher. I assumed that she wanted those words to have an impact.

The above quote is the first one I noticed and the one I loved most. When I was an undergraduate, I remember a professor in an American History class making a similar point. He asserted that there was never a time in history when every person thought that anything was a given, just because it was common practice. He advised that there was always opposition to slavery and promoters of the rights of women. Even if the documents didn’t always reflect it, at the very least, slaves knew they deserved freedom and women knew they deserved more rights. I’ve used a similar argument when teaching (but maybe not as eloquently as James Baldwin), explaining that we are always a product of our history and circumstances, but we need to become more than that, rather than rely on it as an excuse for how we treat others or what we make (or fail to make) of ourselves. Did this teacher talk to her students about this quote, using it to illustrate points or people in history, or did the words just hover, waiting to be discovered?

“I have missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I have lost almost 300 games. On 26 occasions I have been entrusted to take the game winning shot… and I missed. I have failed over and over again in my life. And that’s precisely why I succeed.” Michael Jordan.

I love this quote because I love basketball and Michael Jordan. If only he had been this gracious (and less petty) at his recent induction into the Hall of Fame. That aside, it reminded me of when I was fortunate enough to be substituting, and attended a talk given by E.B. Lewis at an elementary school. He was trying to inspire ten-year-old boys, so he spoke of his own antics at their age and how an uncle saved him from becoming something less than what he was capable of. E.B. Lewis explained that Michael Jordan wasn’t always… Michael Jordan. His free-throw shots used to be his weakness, so everyday after hours of regular practice; he’d stay until he made one hundred shots in a row. It meant that if Jordan missed on 99, he’d begin again. Since then, I’ve used this example with other students to discuss dedication. I assumed that of all the quotes in this classroom, this one would have the most impact because of the author and subject. What did it mean to them?

“Keep away from people who try to belittle your abilities. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.” Mark Twain

There were two Mark Twain quotes, but this one was more inspirational. The picture of him, with his bushy hair and plush mustache, probably wasn’t the most enticing to teenagers. How could they relate to him? That’s the great thing about words – though they can generate ideas and images – they don’t need to have a face. I suppose that this quote would be more inspirational to me, as an unpublished writer. How many of us have been told we cannot do something, which eats at our deepest insecurities and tempts us to give up? I hope that for all the people who say no to the students, they remember these words.

“You cannot conquer an idea with an army.” Thomas Paine

This quote was not on the wall, but uttered during the video. I quickly copied it down and reiterated it to the two afternoon classes, explaining that the colonists had more passion for what they were fighting for, so even though Britain’s army was bigger, the British soldiers had less at stake (Plus the Americans had the French). If it had been my class, I would’ve taught them many examples of how this fairly simple idea has played out in History.

One of my favorite lessons, which I created for an education class in graduate school, uses three pictures: Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr, and Nelson Mandela. I ask the students what they have in common. Eventually, someone comes up with the idea of peaceful protest. I talk about the word, ahimsa, which is the Hindu and Buddhist belief in the sacredness of all living creatures and the avoidance of violence. Just as the American colonists overcame the powerful British Army, so did the people of India, thanks to Gandhi. But he did it with the idea of ahimsa. Then, King was indirectly influenced by ahimsa through Gandhi, and then Mandela through King. What a wonderful illustration of how words and ideas can have the most powerful impact of all.

A Day in the Life

“Some days are one of those days.”

Amy Krouse Rosenthal, One of Those Days

Last night, I realized that I am not a domestic goddess. When we returned from Taekwondo, I went to finish cooking my jambalaya, which entailed adding rice to the simmering pot for fifteen minutes. After said time, the rice was crunchy, so I added five more minutes to the timer. When I checked the pot again, there wasn’t enough water and the still-crunchy rice had begun to stick to the bottom. I added a can of broth, but even when that had cooked down, the rice wasn't cooperating. At this point, it was 7:45PM, and the kids were already supposed to be done with dinner and were now off schedule. I plopped the crispy jambalaya on their plates. My daughter only ate the sausages, while my son ate very little of everything. They could tell I was in a foul mood, and were kind/smart enough not to ask for anything else.

Perhaps the previous evening was a warning as to how the next day would progress. I awoke to a dark, rainy morning. Hoping I would not get called to work, I began my morning routine. By the time I’d gotten out of the shower, it was around 6:20, so I was fairly confident I wouldn’t be working. Wrong! Just as I lifted my casual clothing from the pile, the phone rang, and I was advised to report to teach Social Studies to, “Learning Community R”. The school is divided into four Houses: C, R, L, and S, which stand for Cambridge Rindge and Latin School. The Houses used to be separated by interest: The Arts, Science/Math, Technology, and Fundamentals. But there was concern that it was racially biased or tracking or something, so how they are now divided is a mystery to me. All I know is that I’ve only worked for Learning Community S, which I’ve decided stands for Swell, due to my positive experiences there. What did Community R stand for? Ridiculous? Rambunctious? Running wild? I let my imagination run wild.

When I arrived, I found at that R is in the same area as S. I was advised to report to a certain office, but the person there told me to report to another office (Which wound up being in a stairwell, so I had a difficult time locating it). From there, I was told that I’d teach in two different classrooms and I was given the attendance forms and three sheets. The first paper advised me to show a video that was housed in a desk drawer. The other two papers were a list of questions for the students to answer regarding the video. “Do you know if the teacher made copies of this?" I asked the secretary. She gave me a blank stare in response. “Never-mind, I’ll check the room.”

I rushed to the class, passing a cluster of students for the third time. When reached the room, it was locked. The door to the left was also locked and the one to the left of that didn’t have an adjoining door. The room to the right was an office in a stairwell. Someone in that office brought a key and unlocked the door. Some tenth-graders filed in early, but I couldn’t locate any handout copies, so I had to kick out the students to find a copy machine. I returned to the nearby office and began to make copies. I promptly got in trouble for: 1) using a photocopier that wasn’t from my “House” and 2) making more than ten copies. “Teachers never read instructions,” the woman admonished, as she pointed to a note on top of the machine that ordered no more than ten copies (I was rushing – not reading). “Now we’ll run out of paper.” Paper had become a limited commodity throughout the district due to the economy. Not wanting to ruffle her feathers further, I offered to return with fifty-nine blank pieces of paper from my “House” later in the day.

Upon returning to the classroom, I let the students come back inside. As I wrote instructions on the board, a student asked, “Are you collecting the projects that are due today?” Oh, there are projects due. “Yes,” I replied, erasing, To Do, and adding, Hand in projects in its place. I easily found the video, but the location of the extension cord alluded me until another student found it. I began to hand out the handouts, when I was told the students had them already. Great. I hit play on the VCR, when I was advised that they watched “most” of the video already. According to the box, the video was two hours, so after trial and error, we found out where they'd stopped at last time. While they watched, I tried to use the Internet. Although I’ve been able to get on other sub days, I wasn’t able to today. Figures.

I was glad this was the “Honors” class to help me iron out the kinks. The other two would be “College Prep”, which have a reputation of being more difficult. In high school, these students volunteer to be in the Honors classes, which means they want to be challenged. In the last week, I’d learned that the “College Prep” students didn’t behave much like people concerned about going to college (Singing, talking, chewing gum, sleeping). Unfortunately, the remaining part of the video only lasted forty-five minutes, so the students had twenty-five minutes with nothing to do. I let them talk quietly. Perhaps that would be a good bribe for periods three and four; Get through the video without talking and you’ll get free time near the end!

Towards the end of first period, the school began testing the fire alarms, so I decided to hide in the Starbucks across the street until third period. That reminded me that I didn’t know if I began teaching at the beginning of third period or had lunch first, having class later into third period. I ran to the office (with a quick detour to the bathroom) to find out, but the secretary wasn’t there. Oh no – did I have homeroom? The sheet from the teacher didn’t mention it. Then I found the homeroom number scribbled on one of the attendance forms. I ran to the room just as the bell rang. Did I really take that long? I knew that more than one teacher ran homeroom, but I still didn’t think I made a very good impression, so I hastily apologized, explaining my absence. At least I found out that I had class in the beginning of third period and could get some coffee.

While sitting in Starbucks, the sky began to clear. Was this a good sign? Walking back to the school, I realized that I’d forgotten my daughter’s ballet bag. Now I’d have to rush back home before picking up my children from school. I wish I’d thought of that at the beginning of my break, when I had time to go home. No time to stress about that now.

Just before class, I asked the proper House secretary for paper. She asked why, so I explained. She told me not to bother because she lets teachers from other “Houses” use her copier. “We’re all in this together,” she said.

After I left the office, I dumped the papers I’d inadvertently copied into the recycling bin outside the classroom door. As I waited outside the room for third period (the second period teacher was still inside), a flustered special ed. teacher arrived (Do I usually look like this?), who also worked in the class. She was relieved to see that I had the video and asked if I’d made copies of the handout, as she clutched the original. No, these students had not yet seen the video, and yes, I would need those copies. I retrieved the pile from the bin, glad that I hadn’t killed so many trees for nothing. I was also glad to have this other teacher in the room because these students were boisterous bunch. Only the threat of an assignment from the textbook quieted them. I didn’t blame them - it was a boring video and the first hour didn’t much answer the questions on the handout.

Fourth period had two former students from my previous school (Allies!). This group was smaller and quieter. They whispered to one another during the video, but I knew telling them to pay attention because they needed to answer the questions was a lie. So, here and there, I interjected important information. Then the fire alarm went off. “Are they still testing the alarms?” I asked. At that moment, a person on the loudspeaker announced, “This is not a test. Please evacuate the building.” Sigh. At least it wasn’t raining. As soon as we walked outside, we were told to go back, but other students were still exiting the building, so we had to find another entrance.

When the school day ended, I ran up to the first classroom to drop off the video and various papers. When I went to add the sheets to my first period stack, it was gone. Did the special ed. teacher take the pile? I couldn’t worry about that now - I had to leave.

Three classrooms, three periods, one missed homeroom, one fire drill, and one lost stack of papers.

I sped home to grab the ballet bag. Once inside, I dropped off my lunch, put on sneakers, and listened to my messages. When I left the house and hopped into the car, I called my husband and whined about my crazy day while I drove. As I parked near my children's school, I blurted, “I forgot the ballet bag!” What was wrong with me?! As if on cue, the wind picked up – tossing leaves in the air, it began to pour, and I tried to dodge drops on my way to the building.

After I retrieved my children, the sun was back out as we all filed into the car, I had to drive home, get the ballet bag, and drive to ballet (which is by their school). I knew that the rest of the day would entail more rushing from one place to another, and then cooking dinner for tonight and doing some initial preparation for tomorrow night, when a couple would be coming over for dinner. Whatever the next day brought, I hoped it would go more smoothly.

“Luckily, every single one of those days eventually turns into night. And every single night turns into a brand-new day.” Amy Krouse Rosenthal

Domestic Goddess

“My first book took five years to write and I made $1,000 on it. The second took three years and I made $3,000. All this time I was a housewife being supported by a husband. I was very lucky.” Judith Rossner

I wearily awoke at 5:25AM, bracing myself for the call. I’m beginning to think that nothing about my sub-life (play on words, intentional) will make me happy. I dread the call, but if it doesn’t come, I feel guilty for not working. Although I have the day off, I’m still tired from getting up early anyway. If I get the call the night before, I can sleep in a tad later, but I’m still dreading the job. The more I sub, the more I realize that no job turns out to be too bad, so my anxiety has lessened. Still….

This morning, I decided to hit the ground running. I happily realized that I had all of the ingredients to make jambalaya. Since subbing, my cooking has suffered because if I work and then run around after school, there’s not much time to prepare dinner. My cooking is in the same rut as my life, so I make: macaroni and cheese (homemade, at least), pasta with meatballs, nachos, and other quick-to-make dishes. Since we buy most of our food on Sunday, even if I don’t work, the weekly menu is already in place. I used to put one or two complicated dishes down for the week, but now that I’m subbing so often, I don’t trust that I’ll have time to cook anything that takes more time than preparing ground beef tacos and a salad. The jambalaya was supposed to be sausages and peppers, so I was glad to have the components to improvise.

When cooking was completed, I scrubbed the bathroom. We visited my father this Saturday and Sunday, so weekend chores went out the window. Next would be to clean the clutter on the dining room table (also a weekend chore). After that, I’d throw in a wash and put away all the folded laundry. I was beginning to feel like a 1950s housewife, but I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad, considering the state of my house. Had I become the domestic goddess I never desired to be? Hey, it’s not that clean and organized around here.

I was glad to at least have gotten out of ironing; when I work more, my husband takes it over. But now that I’ve had so much practice, I cringe when I note of how many seams he leaves on (or adds to) his shirts. My husband was ironing last night, talking to his mother, as my son practiced his piano, while my daughter was simultaneously singing and brushing her teeth (as usual), and I was in my bedroom, folding laundry. The sound of my husband’s voice, my son’s tune, and my daughter’s song was comfortingly familiar. It made me pause to appreciate the moment, even though I was folding laundry.

When I work, life is hectic. With the stress of subbing, cleaning, cooking, chauffeuring, and errands, I often forget to savor the satisfying moments. There’s much to appreciate in my life. Just as I want to take time from fretting about my challenges to enjoy what I have, I’m taking this space, sometimes used for whining, to remember what’s most important.

Preparedness

“My mama always said, ‘Life was like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re gonna get.’”

Tom Hanks as character, Forrest Gump in movie “Forrest Gump”

Reporting for sub duty, whether I received the call the previous evening or that morning, is a minefield of possibilities. The only information I’m given is: which school I’m reporting to, what time I am to report, which grade and/or subject, and the name of the absent teacher. But until I reach the classroom, I don’t know what I need to do. I place the possibilities into four categories.

If I sub gym, I really don’t need lesson plans from the instructor, unless s/he is working on something specific. Kindergarten, first and second grades like games, such as “Stuck in the Mud”, which is similar to Freeze Tag, is a popular one. Third-grade and up can play games like Dodge Ball and Kick Ball. If I want to be less structured, there’s always a closet full of jump ropes and various balls to keep the students entertained and exercised.

The best sub jobs are when the absent teacher has left very specific plans. This will include detailed instructions about the routine and work expected, and all handouts/DVDs are provided. The younger the grade, the more specifics I need because, let me tell you, little children will call you out if you say or do anything different than their teacher. For upper-grades, when you get a different group of students every forty-five minutes to hour-and-fifteen-minutes, there’s usually less detail necessary. Those jobs are easier because there are normally just one or two different types of classes with repetitive assignments. By the way, specific plans should include assigned seats, otherwise students who shouldn’t sit together will invariable do so.

Less ideal jobs are the ones in which I’ve been left papers or a DVD, but much not much instruction (sometimes I have to hunt for the DVD and/or something to play it on). Often, I need to make decisions on the fly, before the students begin asking me questions and I appear unknowledgeable. Once I’ve figured everything out, the day goes smoothly. That’s what happened on Friday; I was left two packets, but no notes. Was I to collect the homework or did they need it for the debate the following week? Were all the classes preparing for the debate and watching the DVD? Should I make connections during the DVD that would be helpful? But something is better than nothing.

The worst jobs have no plans at all. This is more likely to happen when I get a morning call, like I did today. I was to report to the same job as last Friday, for the same teacher. Since this Social Studies instructor left handouts without much instruction last week, I had a sinking suspicion there would be nothing today. At home, I scrambled to find some old Social Studies papers, but I hadn’t done upper-grade European History since I’d student-taught. Unfortunately, until Friday, I hadn’t had any upper-grade Social Studies gigs since I began subbing, so I wasn’t sure which storage box those old lesson plans are buried in. I arrived at the school nice and early, working with the next-door teacher to come up with a lesson for my three groups. I’d have them for long periods, so I had to be prepared. We came up with a textbook chapter to read, plus questions to answer regarding The Enlightenment period – not the most exciting way to spend a class, but acceptable. I don’t like having to ask another teacher for assistance, but without knowing which materials the absent teacher previously used, I wasn’t in a very good position to decide on my own.

The lesson must’ve been adequate because, after a little cajoling, each group got quiet and went to work. If students think you’re wasting their time, they’ll waste your time. While the students were working, I spent some minutes preparing for tomorrow’s lesson, just in case I’m called again. Even if it’s for nothing, I’ll sleep easier knowing that if the early morning call comes for the same time/same place/same teacher, I’ll be prepared.

Crossroads

“Performance anxiety and a drying-cleaning bill; those were the only things keeping me from stark raving lunacy.” Julie Powell, Julie and Julia

I can completely relate to the above quote by Julia Powell. At times, all of us feel the ability to descend into madness, but a sober rationality keeps us from going there. I’ve always comforted myself with the thought that if I know that engaging in a behavior would be crazy, I cannot possibly be crazy. When I’m particularly down, I picture myself snatching drinking glasses out of the kitchen cabinet and hurling them against a wall. The more depressed I am, the more often I fantasize about doing it. I think I imagine the act because I’ve seen frustrated family-members toss various easily breakable kitchen objects on several occasions during my childhood. I had (and lived vicariously through) a character in my manuscript chuck wine bottles, smashing them against her bedroom door. When under stress, we’d all like to resort to an adult tantrum once in a while.

Two days ago, I began reading, Julie and Julia (I like to read the book before I see the movie and I like to see movies once they’re on DVD). One-hundred-and-eleven pages in, I’ve found myself relating to Julie Powell more than I thought I would. I’m about ten years older than she was when embarking on her blog – but also with a big birthday looming before me, we both got married at age twenty-four to our high school sweethearts (technically, I was friends with mine in high school and began dating him a year later), and we both have felt utterly stuck.

Of course there are big differences. Julie is a better writer than me. I’m sure she’s a better cook, since she’s made every dish from Julia Child’s, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. She’s without children and living in Manhattan, while I have two children and live in Cambridge, Massachusetts. And she began her blog at a smart time – before everyone had one. Most importantly, after being stuck in her situation, she found a clever way out.

I’ve got six months to go before I hit a pivotal birthday. When I was nearing thirty, I had recently had a child, just obtained a Master’s degree, and was about to get my teaching certification. In other words, I had accomplished a couple of things and was about to accomplish something else. Nearly ten years later, I feel like I’ve spent most of the decade in idle. My husband’s post-doctoral position took years past when he thought it would, so we spent years financially stuck, while he felt physically stuck in his job. Last year, my husband got a new job and he’s no longer stuck. He’s much happier, and is now anxiously awaiting me to get my career going so we can afford a larger house. Four people in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom condo cannot endure much longer.

I’m hoping that like Julie Powell, I’m at some crossroads. Perhaps an opportunity (or two) awaits me just ahead. I’m hoping that persistence is key; I’ll keep sending out resumes, making connections, writing, submitting manuscripts, and blogging. By the way, last week I began to post some blog entries on http://www.mykidsupport.com, under “Theresa”. So far, I have two posts; the first is identical to my first entry on this blog, but the second was written just for the site (and is currently featured on the homepage), which is for educators and parents. I’m also hoping that the more I put myself out there, the greater the rewards. Because sometimes, the stress of being stuck and putting myself out there is a little scary and a lot maddening.

Stereotypes

"It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances." Oscar Wilde

When I got home last night, a message was waiting for me to teach History at the ninth-grade high school, called, The Freshman Academy. This year, the district is trying an experiment, and have placed all of the ninth-graders in one building, probably because the enormous high school is going through renovations or maybe to help the ninth-graders transition. Since this high school setting is new, I’ve been curious to see what it would be like. In addition, I was excited to finally teach History.

My classes would be a mix of College Prep (whatever that means) and Honors classes. All three classes would be preparing for a debate for next week and then watching a DVD on the American Revolution. I was pleased to see that the DVD finished before the end of class, so we could discuss exciting topics, such as; taxation without representation, various acts, and the colonists’ reactions to these acts. At least it’s exciting to me.

I’ve been thinking back to my experiences with substitutes. In elementary school, I don’t remember any subs. It must not have happened often or for any extended period of time. In junior high, my grade had a lot of rambunctious students, so I recall the principal coming in to reprimand the teenagers a number of times. I would simultaneously giggle at my classmates’ antics and feel sorry for the sub. In high school, we didn’t have substitutes. The school was so liberal that we didn’t have hall passes, could leave the campus as we pleased, had a smoking section, and could cut each of our classes three times during the year without penalty. And when a teacher was out, we had a free period. In my senior year, the district switched to the middle-school system, so ninth-graders invaded our school. Once that happened, we lost the smoking section and had to report to study hall when a teacher was absent. By the time I student-taught at the same school, much had changed and substitutes were used. One teacher told me that it had been resisted so long by the administration because substitutes cost money.

When I student taught, my teacher had surgery and was out for two weeks, so a substitute was called. This was great for me because the teacher hadn’t yet given me much latitude. Before he left, we discussed what I would cover, with the understanding that the substitute would stay on the sidelines. The only reason a sub had to be called was because I wasn’t yet a licensed teacher. Those two weeks were wonderful because I found my stride. I was glad that the substitute wasn’t the lead teacher because he acted and appeared timid, so he couldn’t get the students’ respect.

As a teaching assistant, if I wasn’t able to stay the day when my daughter was little, the teacher called subs from time to time. Some substitutes were competent and the students responded well. Some were awful and the students went in for the kill. It gave me a sense of what works and what doesn’t.

Being a substitute is not a prestigious occupation. On “The Fashion Show” with Isaac Mizrahi, one designer’s outfit was criticized when the judge said something to the effect of, “She looks like a substitute teacher.” I suppose the judge was implying that the lot of substitute teachers are unfashionable losers. I’ll admit that I’ve seen plenty of subs who are not dressed to walk down a runway. While I’m a substitute, I hope I’m helping to overcome the substitute stereotype by actions and appearance.

Opportunities

“We overlook just how large a role we all play – and by ‘we’ I mean society – in determining who makes it and who doesn’t.” Malcolm Gladwell, Outliers

While I was busy at yesterday’s job, a message was left for me to report to another job for the next day. It was nice to know that I wouldn’t have to anticipate a morning call. It was even nicer to find out I’d be at the high school again – for another science job. I’m beginning to wonder if Social Studies or History teachers ever call in sick or take workshops.

I had three Advanced Placement (AP) Biology classes. I noticed the textbooks they were using – the same one my husband used for his College Biology course (though it was a newer edition). The students in each class were great, just as a teacher would expect from AP students. From time to time, I walked around as they busily read their textbooks, discussed, and answered questions.

Working with AP students made me reflect on my own high school education. I wasn’t a serious student back then. For years, my mother had called my younger sister the “smart” one because her IQ was higher, while I was the “artistic” one. The funny thing was that I did well in school before we took the IQ tests, but that was soon forgotten as I put more energy into art. But the older I got, the less impressed I was with my artistic abilities. By high school, I’d decided to become a fashion designer, so unless I really liked a subject, I didn’t try that hard, and earned a mixture of As, Bs, and even Cs. While my sister took AP and honor courses, I took regular ones. In my senior year, I began to question my planned career path, and realized that I’d never given myself a chance to excel at anything else. I was accepted by a state college in New York and began to work hard. I graduated Magna Cum Laude.

When I teach at a school that has AP (high school) or ISP (middle school) classes, the students are a dream, but it makes me uneasy. The so-called “regular” students often have an inferiority complex. “We’re not the smart ones,” is a comment often uttered by a disgruntled student. I argue that it’s motivation over intelligence, but I know in my heart that it doesn’t make a difference to them, because I remember being the one in the family that wasn’t considered smart and it took me seven years to fight against that label.

This summer, I read, Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, which made me reflect on how labels we arbitrarily give to children often become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The author asserts that we see a talent in a child; throw resources at the child, and those resources further strengthen the child’s ability, so we convince ourselves that we chose correctly. Malcolm Gladwell provided many examples to prove his theory. He argues that if we gave every child the same opportunities, many more would thrive.

My son has spoken about the “smart” kids in his grade with a sense of fatalism. I’ve also tried to convince him that he’s just as smart, but needs to possess the motivation to put in the same time and effort. In kindergarten and first-grade he was convinced he’d never learn to read, until he did. Now he’s reading above grade level. In the third and fourth-grades, he argued that he wasn’t a good speller. I encouraged him to study more and offered to quiz him, but he knew otherwise. Then he had a spelling bee in the winter of fourth-grade. He was enthusiastic while they “practiced” for the bee. Out of two classes, he came in fifth-place. He was so proud and surprised. I’ve used that example many times since then. His report cards also reflect that there’s a correlation between effort and good grades.

My daughter, on the other hand, has confidence galore. She jumps into every situation with enthusiasm. I haven’t had to convince her that she’s smart – she doesn’t worry about it.

I want both of my children to be afforded every opportunity, just like I wish every child could have their strengths enhanced through opportunity and their weakness overcome with opportunity. If my wish comes true, then virtually every high school class would be an AP class. What opportunities would await those students when they graduated?