Year 12: Summer Break Week 1 - Long As I Can See The Light

My official last day of work was yesterday, but I still did some work today and will probably do some work next week. 

So I feel like I'm getting closer, but there are still a lot of loose ends that I need to tie and things I plan to work on later this summer. Fortunately, my school provides funding to do summer work, but it feels like a drag looking ahead to things hanging over from the school year that I need to do. 

The end of the school year has always been difficult for me to process. I have this feeling that other teachers are checking out early and celebrating while I'm buried in work. Some of it is that I have a lot to do at the end of the year that other teachers don't because I'm a department chair. The other part of this is that I sometimes have a hard time letting go and celebrating with others.  

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy the school year is over, but with the end comes reflections of what went well and things I wish could have gone better. And it's hard to come to closure and let go with students and situations that you put so much of yourself into. One reason the end was especially difficult this year was that I was sick on the day we had our full faculty end-of-year meetings. So, the last meeting of the year I had a couple of days before ended with me feeling unappreciated and disrespected. Unfortunately, that's what I had to take with me as I pushed myself through work into the summer.  

It didn't help that the last two performances of the year felt compromised and lacking because COVID-19 mitigations had affected my teaching and the students' learning. I tried so hard, but I couldn't make that feeling of magic happen that I so often have ended the year within performances with my students.  

I love my work and the challenge that it brings. However, the work feels lonely right now. I accepted years ago that being me and embracing my authentic self meant that I would be apart from others and alone. In my role in my school, there's a similar feeling. There are no other Asian male teacher music teachers who are department chairs. More often than not, my accomplishments, my growth opportunities, and the fact that I'm in the room where it happens fills me with pride that overshadows the feeling of being apart. But not right now.  

Even if the year ended perfectly with amazing performances and uplifting feelings, I think I would still feel isolated because all that I'm feeling is not just about my school. One of the most horrific school shootings in American history occurred as the school year ended. It feels very lonely and disheartening when so many people refuse to support necessary changes that would make my job safe and better take of children. 

Time away from school will be good for me. So much happened last school year that I haven't had time to process. A change will do me goo. So as I finish what I need to do for school next week, I'll be fine, as long as I can see the light.

Parenthood: Week 479 - Completing The Cube

It makes total sense to me, of course. Ollie, my nine-year-old son, finished the Rubik's cube in one day, practically in one sitting. 

I get it. I'm the same way. When I was a child, I would get very into things. I remember being determined to learn a Bach invention on piano, so I learned it over one weekend. I remember getting the CD single to "Can You Feel The Love Tonight?" and listening to it repeatedly every night for a month. I would get ready for bed, turn off the lights, put CD in, and set it for "repeat one." Then I would put on my headphones and let it play. 

I would listen to this song ten, fifteen times in a row, amazed at how every single time I heard this song would be a different experience as I focused on different instruments and aspects of the song every time it repeated. I do still do this. It's not upcoming for me to listen to the same song on repeat during my half-hour commute to work.

This interest and way of diving deep have served me well. Sitting in a library doing research for five or six hours while working on my Master's degree didn't feel like a chore. In my job, I can focus intensely and stick with difficult problems over long periods.

Diana, my wife, is similar. When she's into a book, she'll read the whole book over a couple of days. She has no problem getting deep into an interest like I do and maintaining focus on it over hours, days, or months.

We've seen this in Ollie over the years. The first time I noticed it was when he would work on a Lego set. He often would not take a break until he finished a set, even if it took multiple hours. We saw it other times with drawings he was working on or other projects he set his mind to.

I got Ollie a Rubik's Cube about a year ago. He heard about it on a podcast, and I gave him a gift. He messed around with it here and there but never spent much time on it. I noticed yesterday that he was messing around with it again, so I asked him if he wanted to watch a video to figure out how to solve it. I found this video and showed it to him:

I figured that he would these videos over a week and eventually figure out how to solve the Rubik's Cube. So as the morning went on, Ollie sat at the dining room table, watched the videos, and worked on the cube. Periodically I would sit next to him to see what he was doing, but I quickly realized I had no idea what the videos were talking about and what Ollie was doing with the cube.

At no point did Ollie seem frustrated. Instead, he worked quietly and methodically. He ate a light lunch as he worked on the cube and kept right on. For a couple of moments, I thought he was close, so I sat next to him, but then I realized he had some work to do, so I gave him space to work. Then I heard Ollie say softly with surprised and relief "I did it!"

I looked over, and he was holding a solved Rubik's cube. From start to finish, it had taken him five hours.

I loved the look on his face. He was so proud of himself, and I was so proud of him. More than being proud that he had solved the Rubik's cube, I was proud that he worked for so long with such focus, and I was proud that he figured out how to do something that I couldn't. I love that.

That was yesterday. Today he solved a Rubik's cube in five minutes. 

That's my boy!

Year 12: Week 38 - 2021-2022

Was this the most challenging school year I’ve been through as a teacher? It’s in the running, that’s for sure. 

2019-2020 was when the pandemic started in early spring. It was a time of great fear, unpredictability and challenges. We thought it would just be a couple of weeks like break, but it turned into months. Online teaching became a norm. We had to learn by doing. 

2020-2021 was when the un-thinkable led to the un-imaginable over and over. The start of the pandemic we never dreamed of led to teaching in-person. This was something I couldn't conceive of until that rainy first day of school in September of 2020, when we went in person. That year was without singing, wind instruments, and no music classroom.  

2021-2022 was a year when things felt like they had the potential to become “normal,” but they never did. Singing came back, but we had to spread out. Masks came off, but then they had to be put on again. We were trying to do all that we had done before the pandemic, but so much of it didn’t work as it did before. The students were different, we were different, and so was the world.  

Like learning how to better prioritize my family in 2019-2020 and working with my incredible student teacher in 2020-2021, there were things about 2021-2022, which were important, meaningful, and fulfilling.  

I made new connections and developed relationships with administrators, faculty, and staff. There were many moments of laughter, cathartic conversations full of love and kindness, and the calm knowing that there were people in the school thinking of me and supporting me.  

I helped people in this school through challenging moments. I was that person that people cried on figuratively and literally. I empowered people to take what they deserved, helped others understand what they deserved, and found ways to elevate people and amplify voices.  

I solved problems in moments when it seemed like no one else could. I made the impossible happen, and got people to work together. I absorbed people’s stress and anxiety so that we could move foward for our students. I got people to calm down when they were close to making mistakes and I helped people refocus on their goals. Over and over I made things work.  

Throughout all of the bad times, all of the stress, I never lost my cool, and I never acted unkindly to anyone at this school.  

And I embraced my love getting on stage and joyfully leading hundred of students in song and dance.  

That was 2021-2022. 

Parenthood: Week 478 - The 2021-2022 School Year (for my children)

And the school year is done!!!...for my children...I still have another week. 

The third year of school during the COVID-19 pandemic was chaotic, stressful, and full of challenges, some predicted and some unforeseen.  

As a teacher, it felt like there were times when this school year came close to breaking me. The unpredictability, moves that felt like steps backward and a non-stop barrage of issues overshadowed the feeling of progress and good work that I did far too often.  

As a parent, this school was also a challenge. Some mitigations changed, while some seemed never to go away. It seemed like we were taking steps forward and backward at the same time with COVID-19. While I was concerned about how COVID-19 affected my students, it was much more personal when I thought about how COVID-19 was affecting my children. We had other challenges, most I will leave unsaid, but there was far more good than bad this school year as a parent. The bad I absorbed and worked through with my wife. That is the work of a parent. One of the things that I'm most grateful about my children's school is that this was not my children's work. 

It's hard to comprehend what the experience of the school year is like as a child. Even after getting close to two decades of teaching and moving through the school year with students, I don't feel and understand what my students are going through. I see more than others, but what I see is on the outside and from an adult's perspective. As a parent even though you are not in school with your children, you know what is going on and things went really well for my children. 

Lucas is two-years-old. All I know from his experience this school year is what his teachers tell me. They paint a wonderful picture of his work, his curiosity, and the joy he has in being at school. The handful of times I did drop him off, he was eager and happy to get to school most of the time. Lucas like many children his age had to work through a lot of viruses, but he made great use of the time he had in his class and learned a lot.

Ethan is four-years-old. He said he didn't want to go to school at times, but he ended the school year talking about how much he wanted to go to school to work on specific projects. Ethan is an artist and brought home so much wonderful art. His verbal communication grew, his letter sense developed well, and his counting also showed growth. What's remarkable is how much he wants to practice and apply what he learned in school. This indicates that this learning was happening at school from a place of wonder.  

Ollie is nine-years-old, and he was able to tell us how this was one of his favorite years in school. There was great academic growth in all areas. I am most excited and proud of how he applies what he learns to what he loves, like Ethan. For example, Ollie is using math to calculate how many objects he needs to collect for a video game, and he is reading, really reading to help him learn about what he is interested in.  

One of the clear things is that my children's teachers really like them for who they are and know who they are as learners and human beings. This is one of the strongest signs that my children had a great school year. How a teacher knows and likes a student is the most important factor that leads to a student's positive experience at school.  

I am beyond grateful for my children's teachers. They are wonderful, incredibly skilled, and giving. It makes my heart feel full knowing that they saw my children and took care of them. 

Onto summer break…

Year 12: Week 37 - Why I Love This School

A couple of days ago, a colleague asked me what I loved about this school. I talked about having autonomy, resources, and having a seat at the table. And as I’ve been thinking about this question, I’ve realized that there is something more profound that I left out of my answer. Yes, I like everything I mentioned in my response, but that’s not at the core of why I love my school. So I’m going to take another attempt to answer this question.   

I don’t remember what time of year it was, but I remember wearing shorts and a t-shirt and the warmth of the sun on my face. I was six or seven years old, and I was in a park with some classmates. I noticed that someone’s parent had come by and brought cupcakes. Children gathered around and started getting cupcakes.  

I wanted one. So I walked up to the crowd of the children, but I stayed on the periphery of the group. I didn’t have the strength to push past my shyness. I’m not sure what I was afraid of. I just knew that this unnamed anxiety was building inside of me. I knew that I would likely have to talk to ask for a cupcake, and growing up with a significant speech impediment had taught me that there was a good chance asking for a cupcake would lead me to another embarrassing situation where someone didn’t understand what I said.  

So I stood there unmoving. Mnutes passed, and the parent did not see me; eventually, they walked away with the cupcakes, and I didn’t get one. 

As much as I have experienced and as much as I have grown, I will always be that little boy, too shy and too afraid to ask for a cupcake.  

This is a school that has taken my hand when I was too afraid to step forward and speak up and shown me that I could be more than I saw in myself.  

I had never taught 3rd grade before I came here, and a kind veteran teacher showed me how to teach this grade and, more importantly, what there was to love about these students. She stays after bringing her students to class to help me with classroom management and comes by early when picking them up to check on things.  

My music department chair saw me repeatedly fail during my first year but never wavered in her support for me. She came in to help during her prep time and stood up for me in meetings when I didn’t have the confidence to speak up for myself. She saw my potential as a department chair, a leadership position I never expected that I could ever do, and with kindness and patience, guided me into this position.  

Administrators and other faculty continuously took chances on me, put me in situations, and gave me tasks that I had never done before, believing beyond my experiences that I could be successful. Among the things I did for the first time at this school include:  

• Start a band program. 
• Lead campfire sing-along 
• Give a speech at a dedication for a piano that was given to remember a child who died. 
• Organize an all-school assembly 
• Lead an all-school sing-along 
• Organize guest musicians
• Sit on a hiring committee 
• Lead a faculty meeting 
• Work with a donor to create a visiting artist program. 
• Maintain a budget 
• Teach the recorder 
• Sit on various committees
• Be a department chair
• Evaluate teachers 
• Teach middle school students 
• Redesign an office space  
• Hire teachers 
• Help create schedules  
• Manage a department of teachers 

I did all of these things because believed that I could. Because of this, I took chances on myself and for my school. While there have been bumps in the road, I've had far more success than familiar. 

Now that I'm a more established teacher, I spend a lot of my energy elevating others, giving them a chance to be more than they see in themselves. I feel so proud to have helped students, staff, and faculty grow as others did for me. It is a place where people believe in me, and where I can empower others by believing in them.

I want to hold that little boy's hand, see the anxiety in his eyes, and tell him it's okay. I want to show him that he doesn't have to brave alone and that it's okay if the words don't come out clearly the first time. And that someone is there with kindness and patience to show them they have the power to get a cupcake. I'll never be able to do these things for my younger self, but I can do this for people at my school. 

And that's why I love my school.

Parenthood: Week 477 - Holding Out for Hero - Part 2

The human imagination is incredible. 

Without sensory information, we can feel and understand things. I can now experience the scent of the incense at my grandmother’s funeral, the sound of my father’s voice, the feeling of my nine-year-old son's newborn hair, and the taste of split pea soup on the deck of a ship in Alaska without any stimuli from my senses. 

Our imagination is also one of the most potent tools of empathy. We can sense how someone feels about something without actually experiencing it ourselves. For example, I have never won a championship on a sports team. Still, I can imagine how great it would feel to experience these emotions by watching sports documentaries and films. So when I watch a team win a championship, I can get emotionally involved because my imagination informs my empathy. 

When you take that step of imagination and actually know firsthand experience, empathy comes quickly and more profoundly. Because all of my grandparents have passed away, when someone I know loses a grandparent, I have real experience to draw from to empathize with them. I don’t need t to imagine how it feels. Experience is a powerful and essential part of empathy and allows us to make deeper connections with others, but it can bring us to dark places when the unimaginable happens. 

The shooting in Uvalde hit me on two levels. The teachers and students who died were in a 4th-grade classroom. I teach fourth grade. I know what those students are like, and I know what it means to teach that age. And what hit me Wednesday night is the fact that my oldest son, Ollie, is the same age as some of these students who died. I’m looking at parents describing the worst times of their lives, and we are connected. This tragedy happened to someone who has my job in a school with students the same age as the students I teach and also happened to parents who have children the same age as me. 

I didn’t have to imagine much to see myself in this situation, and it doesn’t take a lot for me to imagine this happening in my school and to my child.  

As a teacher, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have a shooter come into my school Wednesday morning on the way to work. I almost had to pull over. It was overwhelming, and as tears came to me, I didn’t fight them and let the emotions come over me like a wave. It was a hard experience, but it felt necessary and important. 

I’ll be honest, I haven’t let myself imagine what it would be like to lose my son to a school shooting. It may hit me at a moment when I don’t expect it, or it might trigger the upcoming funerals of the children who died in Uvalde last week. When it comes, it will be rough, but it will be vital for me to feel for myself and to further empathize with others. 

Maybe by strengthening empathy muscles through imagination, we can imagine something better for our children. 

Let us be motivated by sorrow and pain to bring light to our world.

Year 12: Week 36 - Holding Our For Hero - Part 1

"So, is Thursday happening?” 

 "Um…[silence]...?” 

“Kingsley?....” 

My co-worker was asking me on Wednesday morning whether we were going forward with interviewing someone for a job opening at my school on Thursday. However, when asked me what I thought in my head, “No, Thursday isn’t happening for those children.”  

I didn’t feel much of a reaction when I heard the news about the shooting in Uvalde Tuesday afternoon. I was in the middle of the meeting. I wasn't surprised or shocked. I didn’t know what to think or feel; I just knew that there was something dark that had happened.  

I usually have no problem falling asleep. Having young children has helped me fall to sleep without issues, as I rarely get enough sleep. But Tuesday night, I couldn’t sleep. The world felt quiet and unreal. I was brought back to myself hearing Buffy gently breathing in her bed, which was the last thing I remember before going to sleep.  

I woke up slowly and pushed myself to get going in the early morning of Wednesday. Needing some strength and inspiration, I chose to wear a Bruce Springsteen t-shirt. I needed to be joyful like he could be in front of his audience in front of my students. His songs, speeches, and writings have helped me process what it meant to be American in the worst of times. I thought, "maybe you could help me today." I needed something, someone, somewhere to help me with this tragedy. 

The feeling of going to a school as a teacher the day after a school shooting is hard to describe. It’s not about fear. It’s more a sense of sadness and absurdity. Driving to school Tuesday morning, I cried thinking about the fourth graders who had been killed, and I couldn’t help but picture my own fourth graders and what it would mean to my world, their family’s world, if they were no longer alive.  

It feels absurd because what I’m doing feels pointless. I am working so hard to enrich my students’ lives while others do nothing to protect them. One of the most complex parts of being a parent is realizing that your child's safety is reliant on the goodwill of others. You can’t protect them their whole lives. You have to put their safety in the hands of others. While I am doing everything to keep my students safe, it feels absurd and infuriating that others are not.  

I felt a chill as I walked into my school, so I tried to zip my hoodie up. I was wearing one of my favorite hoodies, a red one. I liked this hoodie so much that I didn’t mind that the zipper was broken. At that moment, trying to zip up my hoodie and not being able to, I felt uncomfortable and unprotected. It was broken, but I was still trying to use it. 

When I greeted my first 4th-grade class at the moment, I chose to show them that I was happy to see them. We quickly got to work. I started teaching them to dance to “Holding Out For A Hero.” It was fun time teaching, my students enjoyed this dance, and it was nice to just share space with them. As we danced, I took off my hoodie because I didn’t need this feeling of warmth or protection; I had my students to make me feel whole. This song was what I needed to be in the moment for my students, but it also reminded me of what we all needed, what I needed: a hero.   

 

We sang “Crowded Table,” and I talked about how the words and how to represent how we feel about each other and ourselves. It was a good day with my fourth graders. I felt really fortunate to have had time with them. Part of me didn’t want to come to school on Wednesday, but I’m glad I did. Helping them have a moment of fun was something they needed, and I needed it. Wednesday was a reminder that I could do something for these students.

As a teacher, school shootings feel different when they involve students who are the same age as the ones you teach, and as a parent, they feel different when they include children who are the same age as your own. It wasn't until Wednesday afternoon that I realized that the children who died in Uvalde were the same age as my Ollie...