#WhyIWrite

In honor ofNational Writing Day, I spent time writing and came up with a poem.

#WhyIWrite

To release

stress

anger

despair

sadness

frustration

anxiety

To connect

family

places

memories

friends

events

strangers

To process

emotions

hurts

words

changes

thoughts

the unknown

To create

characters

settings

situations

interactions

the future

history

To express

joy

gratitude

dreams

hope

forgiveness

myself

Why I teach?

I am frequently asked what I do. When I reply with, "I'm a teacher," they ask which grade. When I tell them that I teach 5th and 6th grades, the response is usually, "Bless you! I could never teach those kids! So much attitude!" I smile and tell them thank you and let them know I love my job. They look at me like I am crazy and the topic changes.

I am crazy! I totally love my career and can't imagine doing anything else. Sure there are moments when I am so frustrated I cry and pull my hair in anger. Some days, I forget the joy of teaching when I am weighed down by curriculum and testing and meetings. Planning lessons that are engaging and reach students of all levels and learning styles is very challenging. All the paperwork we have can literally suck out all my strength.

But most days, that doesn't happen. I get to see students read books that they never thought they could and write stories they never knew they could. I listen to students explain why they now love to write and read and share their learning!  I watch them learn to work with others and learn from them. I hear honest concerns about school and home. I participate in discussions where sixth graders discuss their thinking and prove it. They agree and disagree respectfully with each other and no one gets their feelings hurt. Opinions change. Respect grows. Students confront each other over kindly misbehavior and volunteer to help them correct it. They learn to persevere when solving problems. We laugh together, cry together, and learn together. My students improve my life every day.

Teaching is a blessing. I am grateful for my teachers who inspired me and to my friends who encourage me. I am most grateful to God for allowing me the privilege and responsibility of my profession. I am also humbled that He has giving me this gift.

18 Years and Still Learning, Changing

Tomorrow I begin my eighteenth year of teaching. As I reflect on other first days, I frequently go back to other first days of teaching: starting on 9/11 in a second grade class just off of Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base in North Carolina, my first day teaching in a self-contained classroom in Rio Rancho, New Mexico with a wonderful assistant who knew more then than I will ever know, beginning the year as a resource teacher in Gillette, Wyoming. But this year, I am really focused on my very first teaching job.

On the Friday before school was to start, I was ready to sub for at least two weeks for a kindergarten teacher who had not yet arrived on Guantanamo Bay Navel Station in Cuba. She and her family were still in the States waiting for paperwork to clear and someone had to get her room set up. I was cleaning, setting up, and attempting to organize her room. I was covered in sweat and dirt, wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt when Mr. Johnson (the vice principal) and the principal walked in and asked me to sit down. I climbed off the desk I was using as a ladder and wiped my hands and face with a paper towel. No sooner had I sat then Mr. Johnson asked if I was ready to teach. Assuming he meant teach the kindergarten class, I said yes. He said, "Well, let's go see your classroom." I must have looked confused because the principal explained that there had been another fourth grader register which meant they needed to split the thirty-one students into two classrooms. Since I had applied to teach with DoDEA and was already on base, I was hired! (Yep, that was my interview. Rough, right!) We all walked to my room only to find it in worse shape than the one I left. However, the other teacher, Irene Rhyne, and her husband were ready to help me clean. The fifth grade teacher, Bev Zweibel, also helped. We spent the rest of the afternoon wiping walls, moving desks, and finding materials. I spent the weekend getting my room ready. I couldn't wait to start! My fifteen students showed up Monday not knowing the whole story. (Now, some will because we have reconnected over Facebook.) I had no idea what I was doing that first year. I was just excited to jump in and do what I thought the students would like and what they needed. Little did I realize, that was what I should have done. I met students where they were, built relationships with them and their families, kept them engaged, and read Harry Potter with them. We had book clubs and performed poetry for different audiences. We did science experiments. We took field trips to the beach, a pool, and across the bay on a boat. We laughed and learned together. Those students became my first kids. That year was amazing!

Why am I reflecting on that year so much now? Well, I am just as excited to start this year! I have spent the year learning and growing as a teacher. I have new ideas to try in writing and social studies. I feel more refreshed than I have after my last few summers. I will put these students first and do what is best for them. I will do what I know these students need by meeting them where they are and pushing them to excel. I will build relationships with them and their families, keep them engaged (hopefully), and read fabulous books aloud to them. We will have book clubs and read poetry. We will try some hands on science activities. We won't take field trips to a beach or travel by boat, but we will have fun learning. We will laugh and learn together. These are my new students and I know this year will be amazing!

Struggles Lead to Reigniting a Passion

A week ago today, I was just finishing my first full day of Colonial Williamsburg Teacher Institute (CWTI). We had been on the James River and I visited the land where our first successful colony was established in the early 1600s. I learned about Jamestown Jane and the crazy history of Jamestown's capital being burned several times. I saw the church where Pocahontas was married. It was amazing! Throughout the week, we met different people from the past: Mr. Wythe, Mr. Prentis, Lady Dunmore, Martha Washington, Nat Turner, and others. I even got a private 15 minute meeting with young Thomas Jefferson! I watched as wigmakers, weavers, wheelwrights, silversmiths, joiners, and others worked trades. I visited the Governor's Palace, the capital building, the Wythe house, Wetherburn's tavern, and other beautiful buildings. We went to Yorktown and walked around the battle field where I learned how the Patriots and French forces were able to take over redoubts outside of town. I spent time reflecting at Surrender Field. We visited Tredegar Iron Works in Richmond. We spent time participating in activities that I can use in my classroom. We talked and laughed and debated. It was truly life-changing.

As great as this all sounds (and it was), by the middle of day 2, my anxiety level was extremely high. I wasn't sure I fit in with all of these amazing educators. See, I went with middle school teachers who specialize in history. As an elementary teacher, I don't specialize in one subject; I teach them all and love all of them. It was overwhelming to say the least. They all knew so much more than I ever dreamt of knowing until then. They knew people and places and battles and so much! Here I was saying, "The Declaration was signed in 1776!" I felt very insecure about my background and wasn't sure I was in the right place, like maybe I should have been with the elementary group. Thankfully, my mom and so many friends on Facebook let me know that I deserved to be with these fabulous teachers. I kept praying that I would be able to keep it together and just enjoy what I could.

Turns out, other people there were also feeling overwhelmed. Not for the same reason, but we were all feeling uncertain at times. Not at the same times, but we were insecure and emotional at times. Lessons and interpreters moved us and stirred feelings in us we weren't expecting. Other teachers I spoke with also felt like they were behind the learning curve at times. I couldn't believe I was the only one who was struggling! At lunch on Monday, one participant was so kind and let me know that she was in awe that I had a background in reading, writing, math, science, and social studies. She said she didn't know how I could keep up with all of those areas and do them all justice. Those statements made me stop and reevaluate what I was feeling. I took some time to think back to what we had done and looked through my notes. I could use everything I was learning so easily in my classroom. I had all day to weave them into my lessons. I was actually blessed!

Going to Williamsburg was eye opening. Being there. Experiencing it. Living it. Learning. Watching. Absorbing. Feeling. The people around me helped so much. I could hear ideas and thoughts and just work through them to make it work for my students.

One aspect of CWTI that I was not expecting was gratefulness. Every single presenter and speaker made a point to thank us. They thanked us for being a teacher and for being there learning. Two employees on the street noticed my name tag and stopped me. They shook my hand and let me know how grateful there are for being a teacher who wants my students to learn more. I teared up every single time one of them said thank you. Not everyone appreciates teachers and it was so powerful to hear the gratitude from every single person.

I had forgotten how much I love history and especially American history. The week of CWTI reminded me of how cool our history is. Even with all of the controversies and horrible events, we have an amazing history. I purchased artifacts and so many books or my students that I had an extra bag coming home. I also bought books for me and have ordered a couple more. I want to learn more about Martha Washington and John and Abigail Adams. I want to learn more about slavery in our early years. I want to know the stories of the people who built our country so I can share them with others.

Students need to know the good, the bad, and the ugly of our history. They need to learn to process all sides and think through all of it to come to a conclusion of their own based on facts. The stories need to be told so our students can understand our past in hopes of not letting it repeat. As a teacher, I have the responsibility to teach my students the stories and help them understand our country's story. I will do my part to help my students. Will you?

Book Reflection of Refugee by Alan Gratz

I am a reader. Since school let out towards the end of May, I have finished 29 books. I am a writer. I have written several poems, blog posts, personal reflections, quick writes, and story beginnings since June 2. Yet, I have never written a personal reflection of a book until now. Why this book? Well, it is one of the best books I have ever read. It is the third book I've read by this author. Refugee by Alan Gratz has left me confused, broken, and put back together differently. This book disrupted my thinking, and I need to blog to work through some of my thoughts.

Now, I know the topic of refugees can be very political. I do not want to have any political discussions or comments here about that. If there are any, I will delete them. This is just to discuss this book and my thoughts and questions with which I am pondering. Also, Mr. Gratz did not ask me to publish this and I am not gaining anything from doing so. I paid for the book myself and this is not a way to garner attention to me, but rather to promote sympathy and kindness towards others.

This book tells the stories of three families in three different countries during three different times in our history. The first story begins in 1938. Josef and his family are Jews living in Germany who attempt to escape via the MS St. Louis. The next story happens in 1994. Isabel and her family attempt to flee Fidel Castro's communist Cuba and land in the US. The final story is set more recently: 2015. Mahmoud and his family need to escape Aleppo, Syria because of the war and total destruction of their country. The author rotates between the stories with each chapter and has you hanging on to each part with every page turn. The ending is just, well, wow. I do not know how a writer can make something so powerful that you feel anger and love and compassion and disbelief all at once. Simply, amazing.

Now for my thoughts...

Joseph: The Holocaust of WW2 happened. One man was able to convince others that certain people should not live. His tyranny caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. I have read, heard interviews with survivors, and taught about this horrific time in history. I've visited the museum in Washington, DC. I cried as I walked through it and was forever changed. I wasn't sure how another book that includes this would be. I mean, what else was there? A lot! I didn't know that ships full of Jews took them to other countries for safety. Now, I want to learn more. Why did some countries accept them and others say no? Why was our government not willing to do more? Where can I find more information about this so I can teach my students? Why weren't more countries willing to accept these refugees who were fleeing for their lives and their freedom?

Isabel: People wanted out of Cuba, and many died trying to escape. That happened. I lived at GTMO from 1998 until 2000. I saw the remnants of boats used in those attempts. I saw the Northeast gate where prisoners and detainees were exchanged. A class field trip was held up because people trying to cross onto the base hit land mines and died the night before. I saw, from a distance, where the people had been held before going back to Cuba. I remember when five year old Elian Gonzalez was found on an inner tube after his mother tried to escape with him and then all of the court battles that ensued before he was returned to Cuba. Until this book though, explained so much more and in a way that I (and my students) can gain a better understanding of what happened. Sure, we won't understand what life was like in Havana at the time, but we can experience the escape with Isabel's family. I want to learn more about this time too. Are Cubans still trying to escape? After then President Obama ended the "Wet feet, Dry feet" program, what happens to people who flee Cuba? Will improved US relations with Cuba help/encourage people immigrate legally? What happened to those people sent back even though Fidel Castro said they wouldn't be punished for leaving? Why weren't countries more willing to accept these refugees who were fleeing a communist rule that took away so much?

Mahmoud: The war in Aleppo and in all of Syria is happening. No matter what spin each news source puts on it, the crisis is real. People die every day. Bomb drop every day. Much (maybe most) of Aleppo is destroyed. Nearly half a million people have died in Syria, over a million wounded, and more than 12 million have had to leave their homes since this started in 2011. Hospitals are gone or don't have supplies. Food and water are scarce. Countries are putting up walls and fences and stationing soldiers to not let refugees in. They can't go home; they don't have homes. They can't live with relatives because so many people have died and many families are separated. These people are suffering. I admit, I know next to nothing about this civil war. I've watched a Netflix documentary about the White Helmets in Aleppo. I know that current President Trump has ordered bombings in Syria. Yet, I still don't understand it all. How will people survive this? Where will the refugees go? What are they supposed to do? How will the country recover? How do the wounded get help? Why didn't our government do more sooner? Why are we now only bombing? Why do we have a travel ban against countries that haven't committed terrorist activities on our soil since 1975 but still allow refugees from countries that have attacked the US? How can we help the people still there and how can we help the refugees stuck in tent cities? Why aren't countries more willing to help these refugees who just want to live?

I am so torn and confused. I have more questions than answers. I am going to learn more about all of these stories and what can be done to help refugees and survivors of these events. I need to be more willing to learn about others and not judge them. I know that terrorists are out there and can attack at any moment, but I don't want to live in fear. We are all human. If I had to escape to save my life and the lives of my family members, I hope people from other countries would say yes to helping me and not judge me because of my religion or who my country's President is or where I am from. Isn't that what you would want?

Life in Panic

People close to me know that I struggle with anxiety. Sometimes it is a daily obstacle. Right now, I am doing well, but I never know when a panic attack will strike. I know some of my triggers, but not all of them. I know I am not alone in this struggle. I also know many people don't understand what attacks are like. The poem I wrote for Wyoming Writing Project gives a small glimpse into what I go through frequently. I hope it helps someone somehow.

Life in Panic

By Wendy Chaulk

Typical day

Laughing and living

No change in routine

But then

Suddenly

Arms twitch

Muscles tighten

Feet twitch

Heart pounds out of my chest

Body on fire

Tears threaten

Hide it.

Fake smile

Forced conversations

Until I can escape

When I do

Scratch

P u l l

Squeeze

Stare into space

Jump in the shower

L

 e

   t

     

      m

        y

          t

            e

              a

                r

                  s

                    f

                     a

                        l

                          l

Spin, spin, spin to release

Five minutes, five hours

I never can tell

How long it will take

To get back to my

Typical day

I did it!

Part of being in the Wyoming Writing Project is sharing writing with others. This was very hard for me, but I did it. Now, I am still trying to be brave and get feedback on my writing which is why I started writing more on this blog. However, it's not enough because right now, basically only friends and family are reading it. I get feedback on Facebook but not here which is fine. I want more feedback than that, so I took a HUGE step and posted a story on Gae Polisner's blog today asking for feedback from her and another author, Josh Funk. They are part of Teachers Write which I am participating in to continue daily writing.

Because I value my friends' opinions as well, I decided to post the same short story here so you can enjoy it (or not) and give me feedback as well. If you choose to give feedback, please do so on here. Also please follow these guidelines:

The Feedback should be specific and go like this:

• WHAT WORKS? (and why);
• WHAT MIGHT NOT BE WORKING if anything (and why) and
• ARE YOU COMPELLED TO KEEP READING? (Since this is a short story and ends after six paragraphs, you won't feel compelled to keep reading, but I would love to know how you liked the end.)

Now here it is: The Diner

Hanging out on a Wednesday night at a diner. Yep. That’s right--a diner. “Why,” you ask. Why not? It’s not like I have anything better to do. So, I’m here, blending in, hoping no one notices me. This place is great for that! Being anonymous. Tourists appear like clockwork. Tourists pop in whenever the mood strikes. No one seems to notice anyone. But I do. I see them all.

Sally sits at table 63 with her husband and granddaughter Rose. He isn’t always here but the girls are. Sally is raising Rose because her parents were deemed unfit. She’s a happy girl despite her circumstances. I am still trying to figure how Sally eats because she has no teeth!

Oh look! A man just walked in. He is definitely new here. He looks lost standing with his jean shorts up to his chest and a spotless white t-shirt tucked in. He makes a to go order and then ambles around the diner in his black velcro shoes and white knee high socks taking in all the carved wooden artwork. He gets close enough that I’m sure he can see me. Thankfully Staci brings him his food and he leaves. I’m still invisible!

Herb and Betty sit silently staring at each other in booth 11. Betty drives Herb here every Tuesday. He used to work at the diner. She hopes he will remember her if they come back to the place of their first date on the same day of the week over fifty years ago. I hope some day he will.

What is happening? Behind me all I hear is laughter and loud voices. Are you kidding me?! Definite visitors. Regulars are never that obnoxious. I mean, c’mon! Someone said something about bananas. They don’t serve bananas here! I slowly spin around; sure enough five gals gossiping and having the time of their lives. I stare, waiting for them to hush up. They manage to quiet down when their food arrives but the noise steadily increases again as they finish their meals. Then, can you believe it?! They linger and keep chatting! Let’s go ladies! You need to leave. At the Sky, we enjoy a peaceful atmosphere.

When the girls finally walk out the door, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s quiet again. I decide I need to head home as well. I’m exhausted. Keeping an eye on everyone sure wears me out. I need to rest on my silk pillow so I can catch more juicy bits tomorrow. I climb up my invisible web before walking along the plastic leaf as I had to my home at the bottom of the wicker basket centered on the wall in the middle of the diner.