Archives for 2018

The Encouragement’s on the Wall

August 15, 2018 By Kathie Z

Every profession has its jargon and my field, education, has lots. One term we teachers hear used a lot is “literacy-rich environment,” sometimes referred to as “text-rich environment.” Educators invest time and energy creating literacy-rich classroom environments to promote literacy, a cornerstone of academic success and life-long learning.

So, what exactly constitutes a literacy-rich environment, you may wonder? Well, according to the experts, a literacy-rich environment is a classroom that has lots and lots of things for kids to read-ranging from calendars and schedules to books and magazines, as well as instructional posters and teaching charts, to name a few. A literacy-rich environment includes a wide variety of writing materials, as well. “Writing materials” encompasses everything from the expected classroom writing tools, paper and pencil to markers, crayons, chalk, dry-erase boards and rubber stamps. There are so many ways we teachers can cultivate our spaces to inspire and support student literacy.

The other day I prepared my daughter’s bedroom for her weekend visit home. As I dusted and tidied, I looked at her space with a critical eye. Not very surprising, her room is a text-book example of an incredibly literacy-rich environment. We’d fostered a love of reading, writing and self-expression in our home, so it was no surprise to find she’d filled her space, made it engaging, inviting the visitor to “read the room.” On one wall there are shelves filled with novels and textbooks, on another a bulletin board with handwritten notes and acceptance letters, a poster sized map of New York City. Another wall in her room is a massive chalkboard filled with doodles and some of her favorite quotes collected from books and artists. Reading my daughter’s room made me smile, appreciating the gift of the person who curated this space. I realized this is the space of an engaged learner, but more importantly, it also the private space of an inspired, brave, feeling person. The items she’s collected and displayed provide her with artistic inspiration and encouragement to put herself and her work out in the greater world.

Then it hit me, her room is what I call an “encouragement-rich environment”! Curious, I decided to take an observation walk around the house. (This is a learning activity in which teachers lead students on a walk, typically around the school, encouraging them to look closely, notice things in their environment and make discoveries.) In a matter of minutes, I found my daughter’s room was not unique in being encouragement-rich. I found evidence of inspiring, “you can do its” in just about every space. Postcards with trust your gut sayings are pinned to the kitchen bulletin board. Mugs stored in the cabinet declare, “You are my Sunshine.” Our daughters’ original art hangs on the walls, beautifying the space while validating their life choices. In our office, a sign states that “Good things come to those who create.” In the living room, a book shelf is filled with novels by authors whose stories of perseverance while navigating the publication process serves as my personal motivator. Encouragement abounds in our house.

I thought about the choices I’d made when decorating our house to create an environment that was safe, but promoted creativity and risk taking. I thought of the pillow I’d bought encouraging my daughter to “believe in her dreams,” pursue a career in the arts, the coffee-table book of successful, contemporary female artists that both of my daughters received one Christmas.

After walking through our house, I realized it’s nearly impossible to escape encouraging words. And this makes me so happy. I thought about when my girls were little, when I told them to “use their words,” express themselves. I see that I had been doing just that, too. Using words. Not only to bolster my daughters’ literacy skills and promote a love of learning, but to encourage and lift them up.

©Kathie Z.

Oh, August

August 9, 2018 By Kathie Z

August, the third month of summer for most people, the last hurrah. But it you’re a teacher or school-aged kid, August is not only the last month of summer, it is the month that whizzes by at hyper-speed. Kids and teachers become acutely aware of the dwindling hours of daylight, signaling back to school time.

Speaking for teachers, August is like an alarm clock buzzing. It’s our pre-season. Because there’s always so much to do before the students return: setting up classrooms, organizing materials, planning lessons. And we have to be ready. That’s why we teachers seem to morph into meteorologists in August. We use the 10 day forecast to plan classroom days while trying to squeeze in one more outside in the sunshine day with friends and family. August is like a delicious meal to be savored, shared and appreciated.

For kids, though, August can trigger feelings of aw or ahhh! The aw group of kids, the Awgust kids, would be thrilled if the carefree days of summer went on forever. They’ve adapted to summer easily-embracing fun-filled, unstructured days that extend into night. Bedtimes and homework have been forgotten. August, though, can make even the most chill child moan, “aw!” All too soon, their days will once again become structured, follow a calendar. Their days will be separated into school days and weekends, where work time and play time are clearly defined. Speaking of work time, August is like an “ahem,” time to get going on that summer reading list.

Sometimes, though, students feel worried about a new school year starting. These kids can view the last month of summer vacation as Ahgust. In many districts, the month starts with class assignment letters sent home, making the idea of a new year real. A new year means starting over in a new classroom with a new teacher, new kids and a new set of expectations. There are more unknowns than knowns. Which can be downright scary.

After more than two decades of teaching and parenting, I have found specific worries to cause August angst for lots of kids. They are:

Dislike of change and the unknown.
Fear of being alone with no friends in class.
Worry that the new grade will be too hard.
Having set their heart set on a specific teacher, getting assigned to a different class.

Here are some simple, straight-forward strategies for helping your child to navigate the feelings of disappointment and worry for the new school year ahead (without solving the problem yourself).

Some children are lovers of routine and predictability. You can help your child process their unease about starting a new school year by inviting them to express their feelings aloud. If you can tap into memories of feeling the same way, great. If not, listen while your child talks. Sometimes children just need to get the feelings out to feel validated. This is a great time to model empathy.
Lots of kids fear being alone, friendless in the classroom. This is a common worry. All kids develop friendships in the classroom. Have your child recount the names of friends made in the past years. Ask them to tell the story of how they built those friendships. This is a great time to acknowledge the bravery they showed in putting themselves out there and express confidence in their ability to branch out again. Remind your child, there’s always recess to reconnect with friends from other classes.
For many kids, the struggle is real. Learning has been a challenge and your child’s confidence is not as strong as you’d like it to be. Help bolster your child’s confidence by making a list of all of the things they can do now that they couldn’t do at the beginning of the last school year. Be specific. Did your child learn to read? Learn a bunch of math facts? Accomplishments add up quickly when given time to reflect.
Class placements happen. Sometimes students are placed with the teacher they hoped to get, sometimes they aren’t. Know that class placements are not decided arbitrarily, there was a reason your child was placed in a specific class. If your child is bummed with the name on the letter sent home, take this as a wonderful invitation to discuss disappointment. Express excitement for the adventures that lie ahead. Remind your child that life is full of twists and turns and part of growing is navigating surprises. Growth happens when we step outside of our comfort zones and tackle the unknown.

Whether you have a few days or weeks until your child starts a new school year, enjoy each and every one.

©Kathie Z.

Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood is 50 Years Old But All New to Me

August 1, 2018 By Kathie Z

Recently, it seems everywhere I look, Mr. Rogers is trending. On social media, friends post inspirational memes of Mister Rogers smiling wide, reminding people to “look for the helpers.” Others share videos from his show that promote kindness and inclusion. I remember thinking, Mr. Rogers? For real? Until recently, I hadn’t given Mr. Rogers or his neighborhood much thought. When I was a kid, I rarely visited “the Neighborhood.” I was a Captain Kangaroo kid. I loved the people who lived in the animal cracker box. And when ping pong balls fell on Mr. Moose? That was hysterical. As I got older, and a premium was placed on being cool, I tuned in to the PBS alternatives, The Electric Company and Zoom. I prided myself on doing a spot-on Rita Moreno, “Hey you guys!” impression and speaking fluent Ubabubby Dubabubby.

But all of the hoopla about Mister Rogers’ Neighborhoodturning 50 this year caught my attention. As did the man, himself, Fred Rogers. I started feeling that maybe I’d missed the boat on something special. Twice. First as a child, then as a parent. I’d prided myself on limiting my kids’ media consumption, choosing their TV carefully. My preschoolers watched Sesame Street, Teletubbies and Blue’s Clues. Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood had evaded my radar, altogether!

These past few weeks, I’ve done a deep dive into Mister Rogers, the man and the show. I started with Amy Hollingsworth’s book, The Simple Faith of Mister Rogers, an inspiring read that sheds light on the man behind the cardigan. And last week I jumped at the invitation to see the documentary, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? Both the book and the movie showed that Fred was Mister Rogers and Mister Rogers was Fred; a very special person, indeed.

As the credits rolled and my friend and I made our way to the parking lot, we marveled at what an amazing man Fred Rogers was and what a profoundly positive impact he had on generations of children, even if we couldn’t count ourselves in that number. I felt a twinge of sadness over what could have been. But we had been touched as adults. The last hour and a half had been incredibly impactful. As we talked, we decided that it was better to come to the Mister Rogers party late, rather than never having come at all.

Through his show, Mister Rogers gave visitors to his neighborhood countless gifts. Here are my favorites:

The gift of slowing down. Fred spoke slowly and purposefully, heeding the yellow traffic light that flashed as the opening song played. Wouldn’t we be more effective parents, teachers, communicators if we, too, slowed down? Chose our words carefully, held space, allowed time for our words to be truly heard and processed? We educators say that kids deserve the gift of time and we use the term, “wait time,” in our classrooms. Yet we jam our everyday lives with so many things to do, rush from one thing to another. I think we could all benefit from heeding the yellow light rather than trying to make it through the green.
The gift of expression. Fred talked a lot about feelings during his show. Because feelings matter. And children need to be taught how to express their feelings, be given the opportunity to discuss how they feel, even when the feelings are icky, uncomfortable for us, the adults. Allowing children to express their feelings in a safe environment helps our kids to feel safe, grow, become confident.
The gift of song. Fred, an accomplished musician, incorporated music into each episode. Because music helped him process his feelings, made him feel better as a child. I’d argue the power of music holds true. Walk through the halls of an elementary school; you can hear kindergarteners joyfully singing about vowel sounds, primary kids choral reading poetry, chanting math facts, and bigger kids persevering to solve challenging math problems while quiet instrumentals play in the background. Notice the driver in the car beside you singing along with the radio.
The gift of belonging. Speaking of music, Fred ended each show with a song, “You Are Special.” I love this song because of its simple message. This song does not teach, you are most special, or the only special one, as some critics have asserted. Instead, this song validates each of us for being who we are. And it reminds us that even though we are unique, which often makes us feel weird; we are all worthy, deserving of friendship and love.
The gift of wonderment. Mister Rogers asked questions, lots of questions. Of the viewer and the people who interacted with on his show. By doing so, he accomplished two goals: promoting curiosity for life-long learning while building connections through conversation.
The gift of validation. Perhaps the most important strategy we can take away from Mister Rogers is the importance of remembering what it was like to be a child. Many experts assert that this is why Mister Rogers was so effective in his work. Through the puppet Daniel Striped Tiger and even when speaking as himself, Fred demonstrated vulnerability and compassion. He acknowledged the difficulties of being a kid; whole-heartedly, respectfully.

Yesterday, I decided to watch an episode of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood on pbs.org, see what I’d missed out on. In the episode, Fred explored the ocean with my daughter’s personal hero, oceanographer Sylvia Earle. I was transfixed as they talked about conservation and managing pollution. The decades-old episode that explores the responsibility of caring for our earth stood the test of time. So much so that I sent my grown daughter the link.

“Cool,” she texted in response. I felt the smile spread across my face. My millennial daughter’s response summed up the ripple effect of Mister Rogers, 50 years after he welcomed children to his neighborhood and land of make-believe. Cool.

©Kathie Z.

Lessons From a Mama Duck

July 25, 2018 By Kathie Z

I’ve always loved ducks. They’re silly and beautiful, graceful and awkward. The embodiment of cheerful contradiction. And the image of a line of ducklings waddling behind the mama duck? The epitome of maternal leadership, in my opinion.

My husband and I had just enjoyed a terrific breakfast at a sidewalk cafe where we met a friendly, young couple seated next to us. They, being recent transplants to the city, wanted to share some of their favorite insider gems. We told them we’d been visiting this upstate city for years, but our visits would probably be less frequent as our daughter had just graduated from the city’s college. Our conversation swayed away from the city’s many attractions to our daughter’s plans. The four of us engaged in a terrific talk about the gift of time and the need to take it while finding your place in the world.

Buoyed by our great talk, we set off on a walk through the city’s central park. Designed by the same architect of the Central Park, it’s a gem. After visiting my favorite sculptures, my husband and I headed towards the park’s exit. My attention was drawn back into the park, though, by a family of ducks swimming effortlessly in a stream. I walked towards the stream, watching as the mother duck hopped out of the stream and led her brood of ten, formed in an orderly line, across the walking path. The mama scaled the rocky slope with ease, leading the way for her ducklings. Halfway up, the first in line began to struggle. The second duckling stayed close while the remaining ducklings turned around and found an alternate route to their mama atop the hill.

I turned to my husband, “What will they do?” I was worried these two ducklings would be left behind. Realizing it could not walk up the rock, the duckling decided to leap. Its sibling followed suit. In moments, all of the ducklings had made their way to the top of the hill. I cheered a little yay for the ducklings. Their grit had prevailed and the duck family was again reunited under the cover of greenery.

Our duck celebration was short lived. We heard a high-pitched chirp from the stream below. Peeking down we saw a lone duckling swimming in the stream. We quickly figured out that this duckling was the eleventh duckling, separated from its brood!

I turned to my husband and said, ““Oh, no! What do you think will happen to this little one?”

“I have no idea,” he said.

We stood there at the side of the stream watching the duckling swim to and fro. Its chirps got louder as it became more agitated. We stood by helpless, but rooting for this little guy to be reunited with its family. From atop the hill, we heard the mama duck vocalizing to the duckling. At last the duckling seemed to hear her and it found a rock on the edge of the stream and made its way out of the stream. It took a step onto the path and chirped some more. It paused, listening for its mama’s reply.

Just as it appeared we were about to witness a happy reunion, a little boy walking on the path with his family trailing behind spied the duckling. “Look!” he shouted, pointing excitedly and running towards the duckling. “A baby duck! A baby duck!”

Instinctively, the duckling froze. As the little boy neared, it ran back to the stream and hopped back in the water. The little boy moved closer to the stream to get a better look as the duckling swam in the opposite direction, chirping louder.

Ugh. I was frustrated. The little boy’s innocent enthusiasm had triggered the duckling’s fight or flight response and it had chosen to flee.

“The duckling’s been separated from its family,” I said across the stream to the little boy and his mother. The mother took her son by the hand and led him away. I stood on the other side, watching. Feeling helpless.

Where was the mama duck? Why wasn’t she helping? The duckling swam towards a group of ducks swimming downstream; but they quacked loud quacks that seemed to say, “beat it!” The duckling frantically swam away, into a protected spot of stream and chirped even louder. The duckling was clearly exhausted.

I walked to the bench where my husband was sitting and I said, “I wish I could do something to help.” “I know,” he answered. We sat there quietly, watching. Would this little duckling try again? Or would it remain there at the edge of the stream, alone.

After some time, the mother duck emerged from her hiding spot atop the hill. She scurried down the hill followed by the other ducklings. She ran across the path and jumped into the stream. The other ducklings followed behind. The lone duckling swam quickly towards its mother and found its place in line with its brothers and sisters. All eleven followed their mama’s lead to the edge of the stream.

“Well, that was good,” I said smiling at my husband.

“Yup,” he smiled back. “I was beginning to think we might spend our entire day here,” he teased.

As we walked towards the park exit, I couldn’t help but make the connection between what we’d just witnessed and our breakfast conversation about the gift of time.

Watching the duckling’s struggle had made me so uncomfortable. I’d wanted to help, solve its problem, make everything all better. But I knew I couldn’t intervene with a wild animal. It was not my place.

And isn’t this the same struggle we face continually with our own children? Watching them struggle and lose their way triggers uneasiness. And all too often a desire to jump in “fix” what appears to be “broken.”

But that mama duck stayed put, remained engaged, but from a distance. The duckling needed time to struggle, space to try to figure things out on its own, learn. And she gave that gift of time before coming to lead the way.

“Wow,” I marveled. “That mother duck taught me a great lesson, just now.”

Regardless of age, our children are going to face challenges. And like that duckling, they may lose their way and cry out for help. But we, parents, must give our children the gift of time. Time to make mistakes, time to try, time to struggle, time to figure things out and find their own way. Although it can be uncomfortable, downright painful to witness, it’s our responsibility to step back and exercise patience. And when they’ve invested the necessary time? Tried a bunch of solutions? Found themselves in a corner, truly in need of help to finding their way back to their path? That’s when we can step in and lead.

©Kathie Z.

The Empty Nest

July 18, 2018 By Kathie Z

This weekend my husband and I had the good fortune of attending a friend’s wedding in Newport. It was a magical event full of love and joy. And when in America’s first resort town, the ocean calls. So yesterday, we spent our day at one of Newport’s beautiful beaches. Just the two of us.

When our girls were little, and our funds were very limited, day trips to the beach were one of our favorite things to do. Hours passed quickly while the girls played in the waves, sculpted sea creatures from sand and searched the shoreline for special rocks. These trips were magical in their simplicity and ease. Each day ended in contentment and the promise of a good night’s sleep. These were days that all was right in the world.

As the day wore on, more and more families filled the beach. A young family set up beside us.

“Look,” my husband whispered, “It’s Ariel,” referring to the little girl’s swimsuit. Ariel had been our daughter’s favorite Disney princess and her image had graced so many of her swimsuits. Instantly our conversation turned to our children. We shared memories of days at this very beach and discussed our kids’ current events.

We marveled at how quickly the time has gone. It seems like mere days that our children were in the single digits of life, frolicking in the waves, sporting images of their favorite princesses. For a brief moment, I felt a passing twinge of sadness, watching the family beside us play. I missed my girls who weren’t little girls anymore.

But the sadness was quickly replaced with excitement. My girls are young adults now, forging their way in a world that needs their special gifts and talents. Whose opportunities are endless.

And then it hit me. Although I didn’t consider it when my children were elementary school aged, playing make-believe and admiring princesses; letting go is precisely what we’ve been preparing our children for their entire lives. We’ve encouraged them to let go of our hands, frolic in the waves, and make their own way in the world bit by bit.

In a few weeks, the four of us will meet up in a house by the water. We’ll sit in the sand, search the shore for special rocks. Doubtless, my heart will be filled with gratitude. For I know these days pass quickly, too.

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