Whales And Other Wonders

I don’t know about you, but I love symbols.

One of my favorite symbols is Apple Computers apple with a missing bite.

I also love Harry Potter’s lightning bolt on his forehead.

The symbol I chose for myself is a humble pencil.

Nothing fancy.

Just a reliable, old Ticonderoga #2 pencil with a slightly used eraser.

It represents the best of who I am as a writer and a teacher.

Reliable.

Erasing mistakes and trying again.

Writing. Rewriting. Writing. Rewriting. Sharpening. Writing again.

Yep, that’s me.

Do you have a symbol?

What is it?

Why did you choose it?

I’d love to know.

This afternoon, as I was cleaning up my classroom and preparing to go to the YMCA for my afternoon swim, I found a symbol in an unlikely place.

It was tucked behind the top of the little American flag I display that we use when we say the pledge of allegiance every morning.

There behind the top of the little flag was an origami butterfly.

I immediately knew who made it.

I immediately knew who put it there.

It was one of my students from last year.

She is from Honduras.

She speaks Spanish at home and English at school, and I marvel at the intelligence it takes to be bilingual and live with one foot in one world and one foot in another world.

I’ll always remember her because she had a learning disability and could barely read.

During the year, though, she fell in love with Manga art and books.

She worked so hard to understand the words in the books that she basically taught herself to read.

And to draw Manga art.

And to fold paper into astonishing origami figures.

During the last weeks of school, when we were spending hour upon hour taking high stakes standardized reading tests in the classroom, she taped a little prayer to the corner of her Chromebook.

“Please, God,” it read, “I don’t want to fail.”

I had so much hope in my heart for her.

And she didn’t fail.

I took a picture of her origami butterfly on top of the American flag beside a poster with the famous words from Maya Angelou’s poem And Still I Rise.

It’s my symbol for her.

It represents the best of who she is.

How would you describe that symbol.

I’d love to know.

You know what?

I hope in my heart of hearts that that symbol represents the best of America for her.

I’m helping my 4th graders write memoirs.

Today we made time lines.

We started each timeline with our birth years.

(My students were AMAZED that I was born in the ancient year 1966!)

We each placed three memories on those time lines.

Then we asked three questions about those memories -

1) What happened?

2) Why did we choose that memory?

3) How did the event that made that memory change us?

One of the memories I wrote on my time line was about my mom and a birthday cake.

Each year, in the days leading up to our birthdays, mom would ask, “What kind of cake would you like?”

I almost always chose a strawberry pound cake.

It was one of mom’s specialties.

I still smile when I think about a strawberry pound cake with birthday candles on it.

On my tenth birthday, though, I answered, “I’d like a purple Furman cake.”

I was turning ten.

I was in my last month of 4th grade.

I was going to go to Furman basketball camp that summer.

I loved Furman basketball.

(Btw, Furman beat UNC and NC State that year in the North South Doubleheader in Charlotte, NC! I still remember the headline in the Greenville News after those wins. Purple Lightning Strikes Twice In Charlotte)

Truthfully, though, I didn’t think mom could make a purple Furman cake.

I mean, who ever heard of a purple cake with purple icing?

I was just kidding.

But on the day of my birthday, mom said, “Close your eyes!”

And when I opened them, low and behold, there was a purple Furman cake in front of me.

I was thunderstruck.

My friends couldn’t believe it.

Neither could I.

That’s why I chose to write that memory on my time line.

It was the moment I knew my mom had super powers!

It was one of many moments I knew my mom loved me.

I can’t wait to read my students’ memory stories!

I’m sure they’ll strike me with the same purple lightning that struck me when I was their age all those years ago.

Teaching is a wonderful profession.

I mean that literally.

It’s full of wonder.

I stood smack dab in the middle of that wonder today.

18 table groups, 72 fourth graders, did the marshmallow structure challenge in my classroom.

“What in the world is the marshmallow structure challenge?” you might ask.

Well, I gave each table group 20 pieces of linguine, one yard of tape, one yard of string, a pair of scissors and a jumbo marshmallow then set them on a 30 minute task to build the tallest structure they could build that would hold the marshmallow at its tippy top.

I wish you could have been in my shoes and seen the building all around me.

They worked so hard!

They worked so well together!

They reflected on the fact that as long as they kept trying, as long as they worked TOGETHER, then it didn’t matter if their towers fell time and time again when they put the marshmallow on top.

They would be known by their trying.

They would be known by their togetherness.

Their ‘failures’ would lead to someone’s success, for you can learn a lot about how to do something right by doing it wrong.

They were good engineers.

One group finally designed a structure that held the marshmallow!

Everyone clapped for them.

I’m bringing mini-marshmallows as a snack for all of my engineers on Monday.

In their building of their towers they built a hope in me, a hope that our broken world is in good hands, hands that can build it back again.

And that’s wonderful.

To me, all questions are beautiful.

I love the quote, “Replace fear of the unknown with curiosity.”

If we could do that, the world would be a better place for all of us.

So when one of my students asked the question, “Mr. Barton, what inspired you to be a teacher?” I smiled a big Trevor smile.

Oh how I love that question.

Oh how I love that student.

He is “that” student, you know.

He goes through each day as if he has ants in his pants!

His brain seems to be spinning with more rpm’s than a NASCAR champions engine!

He struggles with academic work but is a genius in the ways that the world works.

“That is the GREATEST question I’ve been asked so far this year,” I said.

“And the answer is very simple yet very complex,” I continued.

“The answer is YOU!”

I swept my arms up and over my classroom as I said it.

My students looked at me in stunned silence.

“You, ALL of you, inspired me to become a teacher.”

My students looked around, again in stunned silence.

“Us?” asked another student. “Me?”

“Absolutely!” I exclaimed.

“You.”

“But why?” asked another student.

“Because,” I whispered, “You are a gift to the world, and if I can walk beside you and help you become all that you want to be in the world, I can help you give yourself to the world and make the world a better place for ALL of us. That’s why I’m a teacher.”

And it is.

One thing I say over and over again in my classroom is, “Look closely, listen carefully.”

I say it over and over again to myself, too.

Maybe it’s the most important thing a teacher and a writer can do.

I have to look closely at my students.

Is that a tear welling up in the corner of an eye?

Why is he spending his recess alone?

What in the world is making that kid giggle?

I have to listen carefully to them, too.

“Mr. Barton, can you help me?” might be more than a plea for help with school work.

Does that rumbling tummy at 9:45 AM mean she didn’t eat breakfast? Is she hungry?

When he says, “I don’t care!” does he really mean, “I care deeply and am afraid you’re going to give up on me?”

Yes, being a teacher means tending the eyes and ears of the heart.

I hope mine can see and hear deeply and clearly over the next 174 days of school.

I’ve written deeply and widely about the immigrant students in my elementary school.

I’ve spoken broadly about how much they and their families mean to me.

I stand hand in hand and heart to heart with them.

I call out for human rights and immigration reform for them in this time when they are scapegoated by political demagogues who use them as ways and means to advance their political careers.

I love them.

There are many reasons why.

Here’s one.

There is a little boy.

He comes to us from the farms and fields of Guatemala.

He has walked a long, hard road in his 10 years.

You can see it in his deep, brown eyes and hear it in his soft, quiet voice - a sadness and timidity that shouldn’t be in the face and heart of one so young.

I saw him in a classroom and peeked in to say, “Hola.”

The teacher who was working with him stepped out of her room when she saw me.

“I’m about to cry,” she whispered to me.

“Can you believe it, when I finished working with Hilcias, he asked if he could clean my table for me. He’s so thoughtful and kind.”

Yes, I can believe it.

He is a treasure.

Well, I made it through the first Monday of the new school year.

It was not easy.

Teaching is not easy.

It takes all of your heart, soul, mind and strength to do it.

It was rewarding, though.

Teaching is rewarding.

Here’s what I mean.

My students come into my classroom at 7:30 AM.

I get to school at 7 AM to watch them in the hallway eat their breakfasts and get ready for the long day of school ahead.

I’m sure most of our faces aren’t rays of sunshine during that time.

So I started a tradition a few years ago to get my students to smile.

To get me to smile.

I let them choose a hug, handshake, fist bump or high five from me as they walk through my classroom door.

You should see the sparkle in their eyes as they come in.

They know they are welcomed and cared for as they make their way to their tables.

Maybe this is the most important part of teaching.

Helping students feel welcomed and cared for.

The old saying is absolutely, positively true.

People don’t care what you know until they know that you care.

In these first five days of school with students, I’ve been surprised at how many students ask for a hug, hand shake, fist bump or high five as they leave the classroom at the end of the day.

Today, one little student even said, “I love you, Mr. Barton” as she fist bumped me and headed down the hall and out into the world.

Wow.

Going out into the world can be a scary thing.

I’m thankful I can open my classroom and my heart to all of the students at my school.

I’m thankful my classroom and my heart can be a sanctuary for them.

All in a day in public school.

Together We Can.

That’s the precept I put over the entrance to the 4th grade hall at Berea Elementary School this year.

It’s the precept I say over and over again every morning to muster the courage, compassion and creativity to get out of bed and go to school and be a teacher.

It’s such a simple precept in theory, yet a complex one in practice.

I’ve learned this in my 15 years of public school teaching.

I’m still learning.

As I look closely into the eyes of the 72 nine and ten year old children I’ll teach over the next 176 days of school, as I listen carefully to their hearts, I know I can’t help them become all that they can be for the world alone.

I do know Together We Can.

Thanks for walking the long road with me.

I’ll humbly walk it with you.

One thing I try to do each day is find genius in the simple.

I’m a big fan of William of Ockham.

He was a franciscan friar best known for his teaching that, all else being equal, the simplest answer is usually the best answer.

That teaching is called Ockham’s razor and it’s still used today to help solve complex problems.

Simple is best.

I was thinking about this today as I taught my students to create a genius page in their writing notebooks.

A genius page is when you fill a page with things you know a lot about.

They did just that.

Then they wrote about the things on their genius pages.

I loved to hear their pencils scratching on paper as they told me all about people, places and things they know and love.

One student seemed to be in deep thought at his table.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked as I knelt down beside him.

“Well,” he said, “I really don’t know much about anything.”

“Let me help you,” I said.

“What’s something you’re good at?”

He responded, “I’m good at repairing washing machines.”

I was astonished.

A 9-year-old who knows how to repair a washing machine?

Wow.

Just wow.

“Write down ‘repairing washing machines’ on your genius page, then, because you’re a genius if you can do that!” I said.

He began writing about repairing his washing machine at his house.

“How do you spell agitator?” he asked, “Because I had to tilt our washing machine to remove an object that was blocking the agitator from cleaning the clothes.”

And there it was.

Genius in an unexpected place.

I simply loved it.

In writing, I’m teaching my students how to write a Slice of Life story.

“What’s a slice?” I asked them.

“It makes me think of a pizza,” said a kid. “Not the whole pizza, just a piece of the pizza.”

“Yeah, not the whole but a part,” said another.

“Exactly!” I said.

“A Slice of Life story is a story about a piece of your life. Not your whole life, just a part of it.”

To help them understand what this looks like, I read a beautiful story with beautiful illustrations titled The Refuge by Sandra le Guen and Stéphane Nicolet. It was written originally in French and is translated by Daniel Hahn.

It’s about two little girls, one named Jeanette and the other named Iliana.

Jeanette is the narrator and tells about a time in her life when she made a friend.

The new friend is Iliana.

Iliana and her family escape a war torn country and make their way in a small, crowded boat across the sea.

Iliana loves to look up at the sky, because her mother taught her to do that when she was in the boat and afraid.

Jeanette loves to look up at the sky, too. She has a telescope at her house and spends hours looking into space.

The girls don’t speak the same language, yet they do.

They speak the language of the sky.

On one page, the author writes, “The sky belongs to everyone. There are no borders in space.”

When I read this part, I got chills.

Over 2/3 of my students understand what it’s like to speak a different language from the people around them.

Many of them come from the farms and fields of Mexico, Central America and South America.

They’ve walked a mile in Iliana’s shoes.

They know what it’s like to be around people who believe there should be borders to keep them out.

They also know how beautiful it is to have a Jeanette in their lives, a person who loves them and welcomes them in.

They know how beautiful it is to have a friend.

I asked the kids if they knew the definition of ‘refuge.’

They didn’t.

So I walked over to my trusty dictionary and looked it up with them.

“Here it is,” I said. “It means ‘a safe place, a place to hide.’”

One student said, “Kind of like this classroom. It’s safe. It’s a place to hide from a hard life.”

I was thunderstruck.

In that small moment, I realized how important it is to offer my classroom, my very life, as a refuge to all my Latino students.

Why am I a teacher?

Because I want to be a refuge for everyone, especially the smallest and most forgotten people in the world.

I’m thankful R.J. Palacio wrote the book Wonder.

Do you know that book?

It’s a story about a boy named August who was born with facial differences and a genetic condition that required him to have twenty-seven surgeries.

Because of his unstable health, his mother home-schooled him through fourth grade.

For fifth grade, his parents enroll him at Beecher Prep, an upscale preparatory school in the suburbs of New York City.

Will other kids accept him or reject him?

Which kids build bridges from their lives to his life and welcome him across?

Which kids build walls around their lives and scream at him, “Keep out!”

Which kid would you be?

Which kid would I be?

If you haven’t read it, please do.

It will help you think through those important questions.

Most of all, it’s a book about kindness.

And we need those kinds of books now more than ever.

Here is one of my favorite kindness quotes from the book -

“We carry with us, as human beings, not just the capacity to be kind, but the very choice of kindness.”

I experienced people choosing kindness in two beautiful ways today.

One was from a brand new student and her family.

“Here,” she smiled, “This is for you!”

She placed her gift in my hands.

It was a plastic container with a lid.

It said, “To: Mr. Barton From: Iris” on it.

When I opened the lid I saw all kinds of goodies inside the container.

A card under the lid read -

***TEACHER SURVIVAL KIT***

- Coffee: to help prepare you for the day

- Hand sanitizer: for all the obvious reasons

- Gum: to help you through sticky situations

- Animal cracker: for when your classroom feels like a zoo

-Snickers: to remind you about the laughs throughout the day

- Bandages: to remind you that everyone makes boo-boos

- Pen: to jot down all the reasons you’re amazing

- Sticky notes: to take note of all the fun times

- Trail mix: to help power you up in the middle of an exhausting day

- Grandma cookies: for a little bit of stress relief at the end of the day

How could Iris and her family know a gift like that on a day like today could mean the world to me.

Choosing to be kind.

My oh my.

I’m still smiling.

The other was from my own two boys.

Zeke sent me this text late in the afternoon -

Me and bak are gonna hit the grocery store so if we’re gone by the time you get back that’s where we are

When I got home Bakary said, “We’re proud of you for making it through your first day of school, Dad, so we want to cook supper for you.”

Then they worked together to make the delicious food for me that you see in the picture below.

My new definition of happiness is hearing my boys’ banter as they cook together.

Choosing to be kind.

My oh my.

Wow.

It’s the night before the first day of school for students across the Greenville County School District.

I could borrow the rhyme and the rhythm of “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” to write a poem about it -

'Twas the night before first day, when all through the house

Not a teacher was sleeping, not even a spouse;

The pencils were placed by the notebooks with care,

Knowing that students soon would be there…

but I’ll save my creativity ‘til 7 AM tomorrow morning.

As a teacher, I prepare myself for the new school year with a good dose of humility.

I have a lot of work to do.

Teachers are sent out to cure the world, aren’t we?

It’s our job to help every student who walks through the door of our classroom become the best person they can become and do the best work they can do.

It’s our job to make the world a better place through our work, by helping our students see the world inside of themselves and see the world outside of themselves.

It’s my job.

It’s my service to you.

It’s my service to the world.

It’s a humbling service, indeed.

But a wise friend once told me that care is the bigger part of cure.

So as I head out the door tomorrow morning I’m going to remember -

C - Compassion (walk in the shoes of my students)

A - Acceptance (look into the eyes of each and person who comes through my class door and say, “You are welcome here.”)

R - Resilience (nurture the grit and determination inside of me)

E - Encouragement - (loan everyone my strength instead of reminding them of their weakness)

Together we can cure.

Together we can care.

Together we can.

I’m an eternal optimist.

I’m a Chicago Cubs fan, for heaven’s sake.

When I was a little boy, the first thing I ever watched on cable TV was a Cubs game at Wrigley Field.

I said, “Wait til next year,” 53 times before the Cubs won the World Series in 2016.

It had been 108 years since they’d won MLB’s championship.

It was the longest title drought in North American professional sports history.

In 2016, they were down 3 games to 1 in a seven game series with the mighty Cleveland Indians.

I had every reason to be pessimistic.

But I believed.

It’s the nature of my heart.

And when first baseman Anthony Rizzo caught the final out in the 10th inning of game 7, they’d won. (You can see it here https://youtu.be/HOp8w2PgHlM)

Against all odds, they’d won.

So as the new school year begins, I find myself back in the rocking chair at my grandparent’s house, watching the Cubs play, cheering for the underdog, a little boy with an optimistic outlook and a hopeful heart.

T - tender hearted

E - earnest

A - amazing

C- compassionate

H- hopeful

E - encouraging

R - reliable

Today, we had meet the teacher at my elementary school.

Here are 10 things I heard -

1. “My daughter is coming to your school from another school. It might be tough on her since she doesn’t know anyone. Can you keep an eye on her for me?”

2. “My son has ADHD. Sometimes I forget to give him his medicine because we have so much going on. You’ll know when he hasn’t taken it. Please take good care of him.”

3. “Mr. Barton! In 15 days I’ll start my first class at USC Columbia. Can you believe it? It seems like yesterday I was sitting in this classroom. You mean so much to me.”

4. “You taught one of my younger sisters, Señor Barton. Now, you’ll be teaching another one! I’m so glad!”

5. “Sorry but we don’t speak much English,” to which I replied, “¡Ningún problema! ¡Hablo un poco de español! ¡Me alegra que estes aqui!” (I am so glad they’re here.)

6. “Mr. Barton, do you remember me? I’m starting high school. Is it okay if I give you a hug. I’ve missed you!”

7. “You love to write? My son dictated a story to me this summer. I write it down for him and we turned it into a book!”

8. “Look at you, Mr. Barton! You hair is turning gray but you still have that same beautiful smile!”

9. “Mr. Barton, I’m so much taller than you. I’m playing football for Berea High School this year! My first game is in September. You wanna come to it?”

10. “Hello, my name is Amadeus,” to which I replied, “Amadeus! Like the great Mozart! You’re the first Amadeus I’ve ever met. What a cool name!”

As I walked out the front doors of the school at 6 PM, I stopped for a moment.

I turned around.

I stood still.

I was very quiet.

I was filled with a deep sense of humility.

Think of all those people who walked through those doors at 4:30 PM.

Each one filled with hope.

For this I am thankful.

May I find the courage, creativity and compassion I need to be bright color (maybe sunflower yellow, my favorite color) on the canvas of their lives and be a good teacher for them.

During my first days of school, before my students come to have their first day of school, my classroom becomes still and silent, and I become still and silent, too.

Today, in that stillness and silence, I asked myself an important question.

“Trevor,” I asked, “Why are you here?”

No answer came.

After a while, I rose from my chair, took a rag in my hand, picked up a bottle of cleaner, and began washing the cubbies where my students keep their things.

In the last cubby, I found an answer to my question.

Maybe THE answer.

It was in an unexpected place.

Answers to important questions tend to be like that.

We find them in surprising places.

You can see it in the picture below.

It was written on a secret message taped to the back corner of the left side of that cubby.

The message simply said, “Thank you for helping me with my stuff and for teaching me. I love you!❤️”

It was from one of my most challenging students last year.

He really had a lot of stuff going on inside of him and was difficult to teach.

It was an unexpected person.

Answers to important questions tend to be like that, too.

We find them in surprising people.

He felt loved in my classroom.

Wow.

Is there a greater gift we can give one another?

To help each other feel love.

To help each student who walks through my classroom door know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are loved.

That’s my why.

Well, I wish you could have seen me rolling over, throwing my legs off the side of the bed, and sitting up slowly but surely this morning at 6 AM.

I think you might have thought, “Wow, Trevor, you must have a heavy weight on your chest,” because my rolling, throwing and sitting up was much more slow than sure.

Of course, I did have a heavy weight on my chest.

That heavy weight was the first moments of the first day of the new school year.

On Day 1, it’s difficult for teachers to live in the moment because we look ahead and think about how much it takes of our hearts and ears, our hands and feet, and our minds and strength to make it to Day 190.

We know during these days there will be times of chaos when everything seems to be spinning out of control and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.

Those are heavy times, and they break us.

But we also know during these days there will be moments of magic when our students quiet down, look closely at us, listen carefully to us and grow their hearts and ears, their hands and feet, and their minds and strength into all they can be in and for this world that we all live in.

Those are light times, and they make us.

This is why we come back for Day 1 year after year.

For the heavy times and the light times.

So here’s to beauty, ingenuity, wonder and courage for the new school year.

And to deep humility.

Because we will become living stories to the children who walk through the doors of our classrooms and the doors of our hearts, and they will become living stories to us.

I’ll share some of these stories here each day in these notes from public school.

Please think of that heavy weight we carry each day and pray for us.

Also think of the light that is shining in schools right here around us and all over the world and be thankful 🙂

¡Gracias!