Parenthood: Week 256 – Having Two Is JUST Like Having Three

“Oh, you are having two? A second child? You are in for it. Having to like having three.”

This was one the most common annoying piece of unsolicited “advice,” that I got when people found out that I was having a second child. At first, I took it as friendly advice, as a way to prep myself for the worst, but most of the times it felt like the hazing that parents like to give soon-to-be parents as an expression of their own insecurities, and unhappiness. Here’s the other thing, most of these people only have two kids, so it’s not like they actually know what it’s like to have three kids. And here’s the other thing, the people I know who have three kids, don’t tease me about having two.

So how is it having two? Is it an insane crazy experience that is just like having three? I don’t know. I haven’t had three. At times having two seems perfectly reasonable. Like when Ethan is taking nap and Ollie is quietly playing with his Transformer toys, and all the housework is done. Then there are other times, like when we are trying to get through airport security, with two kids a car seat, and two backpacks, when having two kids seems . . . less reasonable.

Mind you, we have kids who are four years apart. This means that we have only one kid in diapers. Ollie is pretty much settled in his sleep routine. He’s old enough to ask for what he wants, and most of time we know what he wants. There are things like podcast, books, and toys that can keep his attention for independent play for enough time (sometimes longer than half an hour), for me to cook dinner. If I tell Ollie to wait a second while I change Ethan’s diaper, he will most likely do just that without any complaints.

Is it always a piece of cake? Like I alluded to earlier with the airport example. It isn’t. There was a moment today when Buffy wanted to be let back in from the backyard, Ethan was crying and Ollie wanted help with one of his toys at the exact same time.

Now there are people who knowingly steer into having two kids under the age of two to get the young kid thing “over with.” I can imagine that having a baby and a two or three-year-old in the house would in some ways be more stressful than what we got going on right now. However, with all things parenting, you never know. Depending on the children and their needs, it could be more difficult some people with a wider age gap.

So if you are thinking about having another one, be realistic about how it's going to change your life, and yes there are moments when it all feels overwhelming, but if you are in it for the right reasons, it's not going to feel like three, it's going to feel right.

Year 8 - Week 25: The Bridge (complete)

We all live in a state of profound isolation.  No other human being can ever know what it’s like to be you on the inside. And no amount of reaching out to others can ever make them feel exactly what you feel. All media of communication are a by-product of our sad inability to communicate directly mind to mind. Sad, of course, because nearly all problems in human history stem from that inability. Each medium (the term comes from the Latin word meaning middle) serves as a bridge between minds.

Scott McCloud Understanding Comics, The Invisible Art.

Our world is full of different mediums of self-expression, yet every medium—prose, poetry, visual arts, films, science, dance, spoken language and music—is flawed. None completely and perfectly transfers ideas, feelings and notions. Each is an attempt to address the “inability to communicate directly mind to mind,” the central source, as Scott McCloud writes, of nearly all our problems.

Hans Christian Andersen wrote, “Where words fails, music speaks.” Music can communicate from person to person in ways words cannot. However, music is imperfect, and as a medium, it fails as well. Each method of human expression succeeds where others fail, and only by being fluent and literate in the plurality of different mediums can we begin to overcome that inability to communicate mind to mind. It is in this diversity of expression that we find the power to make the communities we belong to more just, more equitable and more inclusive.

At the center of a Parker education is the value of citizenship, and the primary tool of citizenship is voice. This isn’t a tool that we exercise and express through a single medium, like a speech in front of a crowd. At its most effective, and most powerful, voice encapsulates many mediums of human expression. To rely only on the written word is to struggle against this medium’s imperfections. To embrace the diversity of the different mediums of self-expression is to rise above these imperfections, allowing an individual to express his/her voice more authentically and easily understood.

As important as the ability to authentically express an individual voice, as the prayer of Saint Francis meditates, it is as important “to be understood as to understand.” Only through foundational knowledge in many methods of human expression can people complete the work of citizenship by pairing the ability to express one’s voice with the skill to understand others in whatever ways they express their thoughts and feelings.

So why am I talking about voice and citizenship? Because this is the foundation of our philosophy of music education at Parker, and at the core of the greatest and most meaningful work starts at Parker in music classes. Our work doesn’t start with Beethoven; it starts with empowering our students to be citizens by developing their authentic voice.

Music is integral to the human condition, interwoven in almost every single culture in human history, and it continues be one of the most important forms of human expression. Some of the most powerful voices in human history found their voice through music, and some of the most influential members of our American society continue to change the world through music.

Music class at Parker is about more than creating music; it’s about developing music as part of an authentic voice, a means of expression, a way to understand the world and a way to change the world as a citizen. Music is an essential part of the bridge that connects us as humans and brings us closer to a higher level of understanding.

In our curriculum, students develop their musical voice in different ways. In 3rd grade, students compose music to describe nature. Inspired by music of Native Americans, they capture sounds and observations that words cannot. They come to understand different ways people use music to share the way they see the world, providing students with tools of self-expression.

When the 5th graders study “Have You Ever Seen The Rain?,” they compare several versions of the song, including the original by Credence Clearwater Revival, a Spanish language version by Juan Gabriel, a cover by the Thai group the Drivers and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts’ punk rock styling. The students learn how different interpretations of the same song can have different meanings and that there is as much power in how you say something as what you say.

In the Middle School band curriculum, students learn the power of musical instruments as an external extension of one’s voice. Students play instruments that are louder, higher or lower than their voices and learn to create sounds nigh impossible to create with the human voice. As humans have learned throughout history, Parker students discover that a musical instrument allows them to externalize emotions through a sound that is completely different than a singing voice but undeniably personal and significant.

As the Upper School choirs sing music from all over the world, they recognize the many ways master musicians have pushed the boundaries of human expression. By studying choral works, analyzing their meaning and working to capture the composers’ intent, choral singers gain more tools for self-expression. While they are singing, speaking through a composer’s voice, students mix in experience and emotions, creating bridges between composers, singers and audiences. As these composers represent the rich diversity of the world, this amalgamation builds bridges across time, cultures and geography. In the richness of this music, student voices gain depth and meaning.

At Parker, the development of an authentic voice as a tool for citizenship runs parallel to the development of identity. Like voice, there are many facets to identity, and only with deliberate and careful planning can young people develop and understand their identities. As different mediums of human expression are critical in developing voice, identity is what gives meaning, depth and context to a person’s voice. Understanding Sam Cooke’s identity as an African American brings power to his voice in “A Change Is Gonna Come,” and the Dixie Chicks’ struggles with their identity as country singers is what make their music controversial for some, powerful for many.

The development of identity is complex and personal, but this hasn’t stopped Parker music teachers from working to help students develop parts of their identities. A multiplicity of musical experience in Lower School music helps students develop tools of expression but also begin to create their musical identities as they grow to understand their preferences and strengths.

In 5th grade, students steer head-on into gender identity, wrestling with the gross gender inequities that permeate almost every aspect of our musical culture. Students are shocked to find out how few female artists are on the iTunes top 100 best-selling songs. By asking questions about this inequity, they examine their own gender identities. This process is challenging but important in understanding what gender identity means to oneself and others.

One of the most important parts of racial development that Parker’s music instruction actively addresses is racial identity. By deliberately providing windows (views into the cultures of other races) and mirrors (representations of students’ own races) and engaging in purposeful conversation about race, students find space in music class to do the essential, and very difficult work, of racial identity development.

Windows allow students to see others, to understand what is different and appreciate others because of their differences. When students who do not identify as Japanese study Japanese music in 2nd grade, they come to understand the traditions and cultures of another race. This refusal to be color blind, to go beyond tolerance to celebration, brings students to a place where viewing another race provides important perspectives that help them reflect on their own racial identities.

Mirrors provide students with a sense of pride and belonging. When almost 250 Middle and Upper School students performed “My Shot” from Hamilton, students who identified as Latino saw the entire school community embrace and celebrate one of their own, Lin-Manuel Miranda, the composer and primary creative force behind Hamilton. This choice of repertoire and the time studying Miranda and his racial identity provided all students, especially those who identify as Latino, a nuanced and important example of Latino culture. Mirrors are critical in creating an inclusive environment that nurtures students’ racial identity development. Only by seeing themselves and others can young people come to see all facets of their identities with pride.

Music at its best is an authentic voice expressing one’s identity. Music deliberately examines all elements of identity, drawing upon other mediums of human expression to find authenticity and meaning. Music at Parker is one muscle of citizenship, one powerful way to develop identity and express voice—which is more important now than ever.

Parker has always been a school that understands the essential place of music in the education of its students to become active citizens in our society. One recent example of this priority is the new Joan W. Harris Visiting Music Scholar in Residence program.

With the success of other programs, such as the Robert A. Pritzker Visiting Scientist•Inventor•Engineer in Residence, the Jean Harris Hansell Endowed Fund for Poetry and the Francine C. Rosenberg Memorial Lecture, along with other visitors to our community, a visiting music scholar program was a natural expression of our school’s values. With the support of Joan W. Harris, the administration and the Music Department, we are proud to have musicians from the Chamber Music Society (CMS) of Lincoln Center as our inaugural Visiting Music Scholars.

Mirroring our school’s mission and the Music Department’s work, the CMS will present music that celebrates the transformative power of classical music, the democratic process of creating with others and the important role of classical music in promoting a more diverse and inclusive society.

In our search for the first Visiting Music Scholar, we wanted to find artists who understood ideas of citizenship and diversity while bringing the best in classical music to our community. Chamber music, which involves creating music as a group without a conductor, is a challenging process that speaks directly to the role of citizenship and the power of individual voice. This, along with the CMS’s commitment to diversity and inclusion, assured us that their residency would also address and support our work fostering the development of identity.

The Joan W. Harris Visiting Music Scholar in Residence is a bridge between the best of classical music and the Parker community. This program supports the bridges we are helping our students learn to build through the development of their voices and their identities with members of the community, leading to the nurturing of active and productive citizens.

This is the work of our school: building bridges between each other and, with great optimism and hope, helping develop in our students the tools to express themselves and understand others that too often are lacking, which can lead to conflict and strife.

Our inability to communicate can bring conflict, but it can also lead to beauty. Our attempts to compensate for flaws of human expression have led to vibrant colors and motion in the paintings of Archibald John Motley, Jr., and the indescribable passion in Kathleen Battle’s operatic arias. We struggle through incredible art and innovation that aims for that closer understanding of one another. In the progress of this work, in the beauty that comes out of this struggle, we find optimism and hope in the human condition. The bridges we build are structures of beauty, and making these bridges is an act of hope.

Hiking

Parenthood: 245 - One Headlight

I didn’t cry.

When I first heard about the tragedy in Florida, intellectually, I knew that this an event of immense sadness, but it didn’t resonate in my heart. As I read the news, the horror of the texting conversation between two sisters  during the shooting and other commentaries about this event, it still didn’t get to me. I got angry, and frustrated at the response of those who enable the NRA, and people who claim to be leaders, but the sadness, didn’t come as I expected.

One theory that I’ve heard is that men have delayed emotional responses, while women feel things more immediately. I’m not sure if this holds true, but I know this has happened to me. I try to be an emotionally responsive and expressive person, but I can’t make the feelings come when they don’t.  Sometimes my heart waits for my head, and other times, there needs to be something to bring it closer to me, like a song.

Today I was at Whole Foods with Ollie. He was sitting in the shopping cart happily drinking a smoothie, called “Mom, I want that one.” While I contemplated the implied gender roles in the name of the smoothie, I heard the distinctive opening notes of “One Headlight,” by the Wallflowers over the grocery store speakers.



As the throbbing beat and bass guitar groove, slowly got washed over by the organ’s chords. I felt myself as a high schooler, listening to one of my favorite songs. I felt more confident, cooler, somehow less tired, but then all of it got mixed up in the present. When the first verse moved into the second stanza, with the words “. . . funeral at dawn,” it started to come to me. I stopped the cart in the aisle, and looked down at my son, coughing as the he drank the cold smoothie and giggling at a feeling approaching a brain freeze. As Jakob Dylan, roared, “Hey!” The wave of emotion came over me.  Every line out of the chorus pulled out all the sadness and fear, I hadn’t let myself felt.

“Hey, come on try a little,” was my desperate plea to those who would do nothing to save our children. When I heard, “Nothing is forever,” I hugged Ollie tight, being reminded how finite everything was, even my son’s mortality and how much I couldn’t comprehend having this ripped away from me. “There's got to be something better than in the middle,” was my argument against the status quo.”

Ollie felt it strange as I hugged him, as he sat in the grocery cart.  He tried to push me away, but I held tight for a minute, as I let the shudder of emotion, and tears pass. Ollie’s giggle brought me back. He noticed I was in a different place, so Ollie picked up my hand and blew a raspberry in it to get me to smile.  t worked. I wiped my hand off on his jacket and he protested “Don’t wipe the fart on my jacket.” I smiled, and kissed him. I immediately pulled out my phone and texted Diana to see how Ethan was doing. She texted back that he was sleeping and was good. I let out a cleansing breath and slowly pushed the cart the aisle, placing my hand on top Ollie's.

As a teacher, I’ve used my imagination to figure out what I’d do if a shooting every happened at my school. As a parent, I can’t put myself in the place of parents who have lost children in a shooting. I don’t think I could bear that. Right now, I’m not brave enough to go to that place. I had a glimpse of that place today, and it was painful, dark, and beyond sad.

While I checked out of the store and looked around, I thought, “y’know, if I really wanted to, I could convince myself that this shooting didn’t happen, in this utopia of organic food.” That would be a lie. In many ways, for so many of us, including myself, have lived a lie for far too long. Yes, the truth hurts, it’s scary and painful, but only by facing it, never forgetting what we can hardly bear, can we change the truth, our reality, for ourselves, and most importantly our children.

“We can drive it home..."  We can find a better way, go to a better place, even though we are incomplete, and broken as a nation, with only “one headlight.”

Year 8 – Week 24: An American Teacher

I’ve got it all figure out.

If I hear the lockdown code on the loudspeaker before the shots, I simultaneously tell the students how to sit on the ground, in a steady and serious tone, and run to lock the door. If I hear the shots and no lockdown notice, I’m instruct a student to hit the small rectangular button on the wall that goes straight to the security desk, and then I tell my kids to go into lockdown mode as I go to lock the door.

If I’m with my 3rd graders, I’ll probably grab a handful of the music storybooks from the book shelf in our room, and read to them as we sit in the corner of the room. If I’m with some of my older MS students, I’ll tell them a story from my college days, recounting one of my misadventures as a frat boy.

I’ve thought about what I would do if there was a shooter in my workplace, because I’ve practiced, with children, this exact scenario at least once a year, every year for the past ten years. I've heard stories of people who share my profession, who are dead trying save children from tragedy, over and over. I've had to suffer the indignity of leader who fails to acknowledge the my contributions, and worse, blamed people like me for not doing enough.

I’ve had to do all of these things because I’m a teacher in America.

I feel the honor of the privilege to serve our children, and our country, by giving the best of me to my students. I feel the weight of the responsibility that I have to educate the young people to be more empathetic, more kind and more honorable citizens. And I feel the trust that parents put into my school, the administration, the staff, and in me to take care of their children, and keep them safe.

Too often, I’ve felt the horror. Each school shooting has caused my brain to imagine my school community, my colleagues, and my students figuratively, and literally ripped apart by bullets. I try not to do this, and I’m able to hold myself back for a time, but inevitably it happens. It’s horror, and while I wince, and move my mind to something else, I remember for too many of school communities in America, this isn’t imagination at play, this is reality.

I didn’t sign up for this. This wasn’t discussed in my education courses in college, and it wasn’t on my job application. However, it has become part of my job, it has become part of what it means to be a teacher: facing the reality of school shootings in America.

I’ve chosen to be an optimist,  but if 20 six and seven year olds who died at Sandy Hook couldn’t put into motion real change, than what is 17 people being killed in a high school going to do? The empathy gap is galling, the immoral greed of gun companies is disgusting, and those who claim to be “leaders,” but act in their own interests over what is best for our children is despicable. 

I’ve got to hope that my doing my part, that by helping teach my students to be knowledgeable, empathetic and active citizens in our democracy, I can help make our country safer for my two boys. I have a chance every day at school to make real change happen beyond thoughts and prayers.

I am proud to be a teacher. And I refuse to let that guy keep me from being proud to be an American teacher.  Though right now, my feelings about being an American teacher are complex, and it's hard to express all that is in my heart. 

I'm tired of the lip-service people give children and teachers, that not backed up in budgets, I'm frustrated that people make more money than teachers and are held at a lower moral and professional standard, and I'm in disbelief that people are so selfish and insecure that they aren't willing to make reasonable changes to the gun control laws for the chance that it may save children's lives. 

This is who I am, after being a husband, a parent and an Asian-American, being an American teacher is the most important part of my identity.  I refuse to let this part of myself go.

There's too much work to be done.   

Parenthood: 244 - Evolving Into Playdates

Playdates We have been blessed to have a group of friends that extended out of a breast-feeding support group that Diana goes to at a local hospital. This group of people have kids who are Ollie’s age. Some have moved away, many have had a second child. These parents have become close friends, and these children have grown up with Ollie. Having support for from people in an older generation is great, but having people who are going through the exactly same thing you are at the exactly same time is unique, validating, and wonderful.

At first, getting together was more for the adults than the kids. While it was cute to see the babies roll around with each other, especially in the early stages, the babies didn’t even realize that there were other babies in the room.

As the children got older, we watched the children begin to play with each other. At first it was only with close supervision. Later, we could sit on a park bench and watch the children play on playground and not have to actively help them up a ladder, or down a slide.

Then came the realization that Ollie cared about having peers around when he played. Once upon a time he didn’t want or care if other kids his age were around to play with him. It was a transition from caring about who he shared an experience with as much or more than the experience itself. While he still liked to play with me and Diana it was clear that his peers were taking a more important part in his life as playmates.

This felt sad, knowing the challenges of relationships and friendships that Ollie was entering, but it made me happy watching his awareness grow, and watching the joy that only comes from hanging out with people in your peer group.

Welcome to the world of the playdate.

Yesterday, one of Ollies friends came over from that breast-support friendship group. Her mom and dad came over too. I made waffles, we caught up, and the kids played. They played around in the back yard in the snow, while the mom and dad of Ollie’s friend sat inside with me watching them from the warmth of our den. I had two friends to chat with,, and Ollie got some quality time with a friend he has known his whole life.

Was this a playdate, or us as adults hanging out with our kids playing? Maybe it’s a little of column A and a little of column B, and maybe the semantics aren’t really important here.

I know that not all playdates are with other parents that are close friends. We’ve already had “playdates” in which we had to deal with our kids misbehaving or getting into arguments. It’s not always all good. There will also be a time when playdates are more drop off situation (which has already started to happen).

Right now in our lives, our playdates are as much Ollie as they are for us. This may change, and that’s fine. So, I’m be grateful for this special time for all of us, enjoy the moments, and watch our kids play in the presence of good friends, who feel like family.

Year 8: Week 23 – Resumes And Cover Letters

They are starting to fill up my inbox: cover letters and resumes for an opening in my department. As one of the department chairs, one of my big responsibilities this year is hiring a new music teacher to replace one is retiring.

Almost every year I’ve been at this school, I’ve been involved in hiring someone. It can be a stressful process, but it can also be engaging, thought-provoking and an important moment of reflection. It’s a commitment of extra time but it’s also a chance to have influence on the direction of the school. There is pressure to get it right, and the fear of getting it wrong. However, I’ve worked with great committees of teachers and administrators, and we've done well so far

I am not an HR person, and I’m not an expert on hiring, but I do know what works for me and my school when it comes to cover letters, resumes and interviews. So here’s a couple things about this process that work. My view may very well not work for other situations. Again, just my opinion, not an expert.

1. The cover letter
I want to hear the teacher’s voice, and passion. The cover letter is the place to make that happen. It’s pointless to me to have a cover letter that is simply a narrative version of the resume. One page is enough. Tell me a story, show me through a story the aspects of your personality and professionalism that you feel makes you a strong candidate. Don’t just state that you integrate social and emotional learning in your lessons. Share a story about how your stopped a lesson because a child got emotional over a topic and made it a teachable moment for the whole class.

Yes, summarize your experience. Yes, explain how you came about this job and why you want it. But please include a story to show us who you are as a teacher.

2. The Resume
I don’t actually mind long resumes, but I don’t need it to be fully inclusive. If you’ve been teaching for fifteen years, please don’t list the unrelated job you had in high school. Make sure headings are clear, and bullet points don’t have too much jargon. It’s okay, there’s not that many synonyms for the word “implement,” so just use it four times. One of first things I check is the “other skills,” or “special skills & activities,” at the end of the resume. Don’t be ashamed, and hesitate to list your hobbies or other passions outside of teaching.

One of the things that is important about being a teacher is embracing whatever you are geeky about, which allows kids to do the same thing. You are in roller derby, do event planning, teach yoga? Awesome. The cover letter shows who you are as teacher, and in this end section of the resume, you get to share a glimpse of the rest of your life. No shame, list what you love to do. If a school is turned off by one of your hobbies, there's a good chance it’s not a good fit.

Okay, that’s a start. I’ll talk about interviews later…

Parenthood: 242 - The Ethan Journal: 12/5/17

12/5/17

I feel like I’m lying.

Today, I was asked eight different times how Ethan was doing. Each time, I mentioned how great he was doing. Almost like a platitude, I mention his cute chubby thighs, and his lovely squishiness. It’s not that these things don’t bring me great joy, they do. It’s just that this isn’t the whole picture.

There were things that worried me about Ollie, but they were things that I felt that could communicate, because they were “normal” problems like sleep, diaper rash, and swaddling. While I consciously made sure not to complain too much, when I saw it as away to connect and bond, these concerns were met with humor and support.

The whole picture with Ollie was something that I was comfortable with, and there were things that I held back.  This was not because of discomfort but rather because of my own need to hold small pieces of joy privately in my heart. The thing that I hold back about Ethan, his unilateral hearing loss, I keep to myself because I don’t want to be a bummer. I don’t have all the answers that I know people will ask, and I’m afraid of how the words will come out of my mouth, and the accompanying emotions that may come out.

When I told my closest friend at school about Ethan’s hearing loss, I didn’t cry, but I was close. When I look into the eyes of people who casually asks me about how Ethan is doing, my mind races through the truth of my experience, the completeness and complexity of emotions. Every time this happened today, I pulled back from what was real, and gave them something safe.

One time I dipped into the nervousness of raising another boy, and then I talked about the widening view our society has of masculinity and how I felt reassured of this. This probably seemed insightful and challenging, but this was something I had long sense wrestled with and figured out when Diana was pregnant with Ollie. This expression of insecurity and struggle was safe.

I don’t want Ethan to be the kid with hearing loss, and I worry that if I reveal this to people, that part of his identity will become his identity. I imagine a conversation in the future.

“Kingsley’s son wrote this really cool story I read today.”
“Which one?”
“Oh, the one who is deaf in one ear.”

I don’t want to hide this part of Ethan. I’m not ashamed of him. I am just the opposite. I am so proud of all he is, every part, not despite his right ear. Even at a month old, I know that all that I love about Ethan is result of all he is from his chubby thighs, bright eyes, misshapen ear, and sleepy smiles. He wouldn’t be the Ethan that I love if not for all of his parts.

So I respond in a way that feels like a lie.

I wish I could be more open. I want to be able to say more about my boy beyond social comfort, and figure out how to talk about the different facets of his identity.  I have to figure out how to work past this “lie.” Ethan will look to me to see how I talk about his hearing loss, and this will internalize into part of his self-image, and self-talk. It feels like a burden, but I know it’s an opportunity to learn how to love beyond, to love inclusively, and to love completely.

Year 8: Week 22 - Slight Angle To The Universe

My students live in a different world than I do. Most of them live in a different city than me (I don’t teach in the same city my school is in). None of them go to the same church I do, which know is a fact since I don’t belong to a church. With a rare exception, almost all of my students are not the exactly same flavor of Asian that I am.

My own identity, the school I teach in, and the members of my community, have created a school that is a place where worlds come together. That is not case for all teaching communities.

I once had a colleague who taught in a school where all of the students were the same race, where almost all the students went to the same church. In many ways he said that teaching in this community was easier. There was a set of values that appeared to be shared by the students, and living in the community, and sharing facets of identity with including race and religion, led to a classroom which was a shared world.

In that situation, the responsibility of the teacher is to bring in the world from the outside, and to make the world something different. My situation is different.

My classroom is a place where worlds come together, and somehow they need to meld together into a universe, a place where these worlds can somehow co-exists. At times these worlds crash together because of the tension that comes with different, and other times we “initiate students into conflict.”

Sometimes I forget that the work of a teacher is about melding these worlds into a universe. It’s easy to get a procedure going in a school, get into a groove, and just get going with a music lesson. When there are bumps in the road, I don’t think about the worlds, instead, I too often simply focus on them not following directions or behaving appropriately. I don’t consider enough their personal, distinct, and separate world outside of school, where they spend the majority of their lives.

There are all of these goals and priority I have as a teacher. There’s instruments to teach, performances to put on. There’s composition skills, creative work, and dances to teach. There’s diversity, equity, and inclusion work integrated into the curriculum. Maybe all of these priorities would be better accomplished, if I take more time learn about these students’ worlds, make them feel more seen, and more known.

The work of a teacher is often filled up with to do lists with tasks like copying, lesson planning, and writing emails. However, the more important work is actually knowing our students, and making sure they feel known. This job doesn’t stop at knowing their names, it starts there and it never ends.

The thing is, that this is one of the most rewarding parts of teaching, and the most fun. Somewhere along the line, I forgot this.