SOL25 July 29 THEY Are Lucky

Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers Forum for encouraging me to focus on

the small moments of life.

Summer vacation, from school, is an agrarian society phenomena with roots in the days when children were essential for harvesting on family farms.  In spite of a few attempts at "year round schools " eight week-ish summer vacations have endured. For many, it is a long hot, boring summer of video games and time spent inside; for others it's bus rides to camps. For the lucky ones, it is a chance to meet new people and explore new worlds. While I maintain a position that rethinking our school calendars would be a good idea, my own very lucky grandchildren are thriving in ways I could never have imagined as they explore new-to-them venues.

Love, feed goats, chickens,

Nurture, growing plants,
Plant beans, flowers

Harvest the ripe ones

Man the farm market.

Craft magnificent stories,

Create intricate lanyards,

Swim that lake,

Learn pickle ball, golf,

Try a sleepover,

Catch a book

THEY are lucky ones.

July 27 Reckoning

Like the many baby boomers out there, this grand dog is growing older.  He still chases squirrels and can bark like a puppy when the dreaded mail carrier visits, but his activities are limited and he naps a lot.  He's been a loved dog, but I bet he has some regrets (like getting kicked out of doggy day care) as he reflects on his life. 

I thought about him as I read Robert Reich's interview this morning a small part of which I am abstracting and sharing here:

The title of your memoir ... refers to your argument that your generation failed to strengthen democracy, failed to reduce economic inequality and, generally, failed to contain “the bullies.” 

What went wrong? We took for granted what our parents and their parents bequeathed to us .... The so-called greatest generation gave us not only peace and prosperity but the largest middle class the world had ever seen. What I try to understand is how we ended up with Donald Trump. Trump is the consequence, not the cause, of what we are now experiencing. He is the culmination of at least 50 years of a certain kind of neglect. And I say this very personally, because I was part of this failure. It is a reckoning that is deeply personal...

Yikes, as a member of that baby-boomer crowd, sadly, I am part of the failure, and this reckoning is painful and personal.  

The stock market is booming

Never seen before numbers but

We failed 

To strengthen democracy, reduce economic inequality. 

To contain bullies,

We took for granted

Peace, prosperity, decency

July 26 Mass Disinformation

Last night, as a cool breeze attempted to disperse the hot sticky air making room for cooling rains, I sat on the porch reading When the Jasmine Grows, yet my mind wandered into diverse thoughts about what is worth fighting for as well as right and wrong. My thoughts were far too complex for a Friday night after a long, emotionally hard week with many worries. Yet, I returned to the book, set in North Carolina during the Civil War, compelled to find if/how the family found peace and a future. I finally climbed into bed, eyes exhausted, mind still reeling, finding sleep in bits and spurts making many text to real life connections between life then and now, in a country divided by conspiracy theories, court challenges, and debates on human decency. 

I woke up exhausted, still thinking about Joetta and her proclamation that the war was not her fight and about the danger in ever-changing labels to describe people and ideals (Karen Fredricks). I cannot write a song to express my thoughts (Billy Joel, Pete Seeger) nor can I create or capture and image  that people will long remember.  Yet, even though I should be running the vacuum, I cannot be silent. So here is a short poem with lines borrowed from a quote by Mel Young in today's (7/26) NYTimes article about a trip to Scotland as today's attempt to share concerns of not-just-Americans.

I’m horrified by 

The normalization of cruelty, corruption, 

Mass disinformation.

Mel Young, Scotland

July 24 Do What's Right

“Knowing what's right doesn't mean much unless you do what's right.”  T. Roosevelt

As I approached, I noticed the "temp plate" on the big Audi, indicating this was a "new" SUV.  It really did shine in the early morning sunlight.

Moments later, a young man, perhaps 8 or 9, emerged eagerly from the car, opening the door with intention and power so that its brilliant blue door scraped confidently against my once-new sedan. The sound was enough to evoke a clear revoke from the driver of the new vehicle. "You have got to be careful, this car is brand new," she invoked in a way that the passenger hung his head. "You scratched my car!" She continued her rebuke in a language that clearly the child understood, but I did not, never looking at me or acknowledging the clear blue mark on the side of my car, and began heading away.

In the past, I would have sighed and moved on, with a new to me scratch (and dent). However, I am painfully aware, of late, that keeping quiet is not the best policy when faced with bullies. So, I asked if she had noticed my car? 

Without missing a beat, she turned on her heal and offered only, "Your car is old."

"My car was scratched and dented by your door," I implored as she turned her back towards me, and tossed $20 towards me. "It's not so much the dent that bothers me," I foolishly began as she turned and picked up her money.

"I'll have you on harassment," she said confidently with the same bully stance I hear on the news every day filling me with fear for the bullying behavior that paralyzes victims and for those children who will likely become a new generation of bullies. 

So, thinking of the T. Roosevelt quote, I yelled over the cars, "An apology is warranted." Of course, I didn't get one.

SOL25 July 22 Not a Fan of Pink

 

Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers site for 

encouraging this slice of real life!

"Take a deep breath, hold it," she said on cue,

Stepping out of her box in her magenta scrubs,

I took a deep breath, the last one for 20 minutes, or so.

Even though she did direct me to

"Relax," as if that was possible,

Scantily clad in a bubble-gum wrap,

Stripped of reading material, 

Like those worn holding room People magazines,

Waiting with anxious-sisters-of-all-ages in

Cherry-blossom seats wrapped in salmon wallpaper.

"Not a fan of pink," I thought when I finally took a breath.

July 21 Ethical ELA Fireflies

 Today's Ethical ELA prompt asked us 

to recall a moment in nature 

when something wondrous happened.

Fireflies

"I remember watching fireflies 

With her," she mused, 

Sitting in front of her house, running after them.

My eyes welled, memories with her, 

Watching butterflies, dragonflies, and fireflies,

Dancing in the moonlight in the big backyard, 

Celebrating life at the Falls,

Sipping camping "medicine" around the campfire.

As we settled into a rhythm,

Chairs rocking ever so slowly

On the porch, on a warm summer night,

So many years later, I shared memories,

As they, on cue, 

Put on the best show.

Rising gently, but with determination

A swarm of fireflies

Grateful for a warm night, an audience,

Celebrated family, summer nights, memories.

Ethical ELA July 20 I Wish

Today's Ethical ELA prompt asks us to consider 

places we have stayed in but not lived in, trips we have taken, 

and people we once knew, but no longer know.

I could go in so many directions...

I wish we could have shared

That winery on the top of Mt Etna

Tidbits of cheese among volcanic ash or

Prayed in an aging church with

Pews infused with generations of hope, despair or

Held on tight so the wind did not

Blow us back to America before

We celebrated in the grotto of Castlemola

With waves interspersing our hopes and dreams.

But, at the fork in the road,

we lost our way so,

I went without you.

Ethical ELA: Stiches for the Future

This morning, the host of Ethical ELA encouraged us to write about memories 

stitched together, as in a quilt.

Until, the twenty aughts,

We celebrated families, birthdays, holidays.

Too much food, lots of laughter, so many memories,

Reminders of love, rather than gifts, optional.

I wonder if she knew these butterflies, flowers,

Now, nestled in a worn, stained apron,

Stitched in love, so long ago, 

Would still hang in my hallway?

Daily reminders to savor special moments,

While the future is not promised,

Embrace the present, celebrate your people.

SOL25 July 15 Not Always Perfect

 I am both in awe and inspired by fellow Slicers.

I have been following Kim Johnson's memories of her Dad and

like a good writer, she has me remembering the wisdom

my Mom shared in her last days.

My mother's vision of perfection as a woman came not from her depression-era mother, who struggled to provide food and clothing, but from images plucked from magazines and movies of crisp aprons, gleaming kitchens, and immaculate children. It was an image that was hard to maintain when you lived in a tiny mobile home, but she embraced it as her mission.

My own vision of success included a career-I-loved, relatively-healthy meals, and not-always-perfect, but happy children in a home that was just clean enough to be safe. While you could not eat off our floors, you could usually find a shirt! It too was an image that was hard to maintain!

During the last month of her life, a new school year started with all the stressors and challenges, my first two grandchildren arrived, three days apart, and my long-marriage dissolved into oblivion! My mother knew about the first two situations; I did not share the third. 

"You know," she said in a weak voice, "mothers always seem to have a sense about the stress in their children's lives, which aren't always perfect."

I think about her words as I watch, from afar, a social-media-hyped-image-generation with incredible careers, fabulous families, and magnificent homes; certainly stressors, and clearly hard, nearly impossible to maintain even if you had a maid, a nanny, a landscaper, and a trust fund!

#sol25 July 8 You Should Get Going

I am both in awe and inspired by fellow Slicers.

I have been following Kim Johnson's memories of her Dad and

like a good writer, she has me remembering the wisdom

my own Dad shared with me.

Have you ever made a tough decision? 

I had planned to take my her on a celebratory trip before starting her new job, in a new-just-for-her state. Our plans had already morphed from elaborate to just a few days at the beach, due to my dad's decline and the advice of our hospice nurse. We had reservations for a few days before she would be consumed with her new responsibilities, and I had thrown a swim suit and shorts into a bag; but, I was not optimistic. The last few days had been a significant downward spiral and my mother was pretty sure the end was near when we talked in the early morning.  "He will not wake up and will not drink," she said sadly. She did not think I should head to the beach. 

As I drove to their house, I said a prayer, but I did not ask for my dad to get better from his multiple health issues; instead, I asked for guidance or a sign about whether I should or should not go. 

As I walked into the door, my Dad was sitting at the table, reading the carefully folded NY Times and drinking a cup of coffee. "Did you catch Maureen's (Dowd) column," he smiled even though his skin was as gray as stormy sky and his eyes were glossy and sinking. We talked about the column and the weather and he offered me an easy exit that took my breath away, "You should get going so you can catch some waves today." 

The trip had not been part of any conversation for at least a week, and I will never know if he had somehow remembered, my mom had prompted, or the hospice nurse had asked if I was going.

He never said, "Don't forget to read Dowd's column when I'm gone," but I he clearly planted that seed. He never said, "Catch waves with your children while you still can," but I certainly felt his message in the Herculean effort it must have taken to make a trip to the table. 

Confident that this was my sign, I headed to the beach to celebrate the new chapter of her journey with hope for a few days in the sun, before the next chapter of my own.

 

July 6, 2025 Plans That Did Not Happen

 

I was in a pretty low mood when I ran into Trader Joe's Grocery. I had plans for the day that were not going to happen and the horrific news from Texas was weighing heavily on my heart as I pulled into the checkout line.

The Mama ahead of me was emptying her loaded cart at break-neck speed, but her little ones in the front to the cart clearly had plans to escape that were not going to happen, just like me!  I made a smiley face and then a silly face and then did bunny rabbit hands to distract the little one, and it worked. Her other children quickly came to watch my distractions and for just a few moments, we did a sort of silent, Simon Says game to improve everyone's mood right there at the front of the store as if that had been our plan all along! 

In mere minutes we were all smiling and it was my turn to check out. I asked the cashier to bill me for a bag as I had purchased more than I planned; however, the Mama nearly jumped over the counter to offer two bags to me. "Please," she offered, "take these extras, I have more than enough bags, and too few hands" she grinned as she offered, her bags, "Good Shabbos," she offered sincerely as my frozen pizza went over the scanner. Her crew waved until they reached the door, our newfound friendship forged over plans that did not happen. 

SOL25 July 1 If You Want to Change Behavior

Yelling, punishment, and threats may cause short-term changes, but never results in long-lasting change.

I've thought about bullying as threats about tariffs and immigrants swirled in the news. I believe many people in my generation considered bullying to be a "normal" part of life. 

Bullying existed in schools, schoolyards, the military, boardrooms, and in relationships where those in power repeatedly and intentionally use words and actions to cause distress or to make people feel helpless. (Webster).  Bullying HAS life-altering, negative, sometimes fatal, effects.  Thus, in 1999, Georgia enacted the first anti-bullying legislation and all states followed.

I've also thought about a subset of bullying, scapegoat management, where an individual or group is targeted as a means of managing others or to deflect the blame from those in power. You likely remember teachers who sent a targeted student to the principal's office or out in the hall quieting the whole class! Lifelong anger and resentment is all that happened.

If you want to change behaviors, provide positive rewards to people (and businesses) for doing what you want them to do. Reward them for growing businesses, working hard, paying taxes, raising families, and respecting the rules of society. 

I usually steer clear of politics when teaching, but the news is ripe with examples of what not to do!  I'll offer an online course!

June 25, 2025 75 years ago

My mother always treated "June 25th" as a "holy day of obligation," requiring at least a phone call, and more appropriately a gift such as flowers. To be honest, I forgot their "anniversary" many times over the years as it often was paired with the last day of school, the need for classroom dismantling, and/or a play-off game. I usually offered a "sorry," and a earned a stern reminder.  

Today would have been my parents' 75th Anniversary if they had the incredible run of Jimmy and Roselyn Carter.  Instead, my parents "only" had 55 anniversaries celebrating the tenacity and patience it took for two very different people to honor that "death do us part" promise. 

I suspect they could have parted on the years when they moved two or even three times or during the years when physical and mental illnesses challenged any celebration. I am pretty sure they wondered about their future when job losses and medical bills challenged their equilibrium.  Yet, their decision to bend and accept provided a foundation and model of tenacity and patience that I could not offer my own children. 

#sol25 Home For Sale

My friend's home is for sale.  People are slipping off their shoes and fingering her kitchen counter where not so long ago she stood happily serving quiche and tempura shrimp while making sure glasses were kept full. Strangers are squatting in her sunny room, these days, where we shared unimaginable challenges, unbelievable betrayals, and life-altering losses. My friend no longer sleeps in her oversized bedroom with the king-sized bed and enormous television screen.

Someone is going up and down the stairs counting bathrooms and imagining their family in her space, the one her family once filled with love and acceptance. There are people imagining the miracle of an indoor pool on a snowy day and wondering if a pool table would fit in the basement. My friend is sad, even though some memories are fading.

The physical structure of a home provides a foundation for any family during the long and challenging days of days of working, raising a family and living full lives. Within any family, there will be losses, separations, and disappointments and there maybe many "moves" to "new-to-them homes". Most of those changes will be exciting, even if mixed with sadness.   

However, the chapter of life where all the wallpaper, crystal and Lenox is no longer needed comes for all of us who are "lucky" enough to live long enough. There is no way around it; this chapter is wrapped in sadness and measured in memories. 

There will be a new family, but that home already has a foundation of memories. 

sol25 Tiny But Mighty

 

The "vintage" Casablanca version dangled above my head like a giant albatross for years. I did turn it on once, in the early days, when the temperature in my bedroom was unbearable; however, it bobbled and swayed like an aging dancer attempting a late night fox trot on the ceiling! Since then, it just "hung around" awaiting extrication. 

"Could you just cap it?" I asked the electrician after he did the required electrical updates celebrating my home's centennial birthday. 

"Why not a little fan," he suggested whipping out a couple of photos. 

That is how the tiny, but mighty fan found its way onto my ceiling reminding me that you can be tiny, but mighty.

June 12 Have You Ever Wondered?

Have you ever felt your heart in your throat? 

Have you ever wondered what you really saw? 

I live in an area that was once heavily influenced by Italian immigrants as noted by streets named for saints and shops still filled with cuccidati. In recent times, immigrants from Central and South America have filed in thanks again to jobs and access to NYC. Their contributions, as well as their empanadas, are important to the ever changing fabric of America.

As I headed to the bank, I saw what I first thought was a funeral procession with large black Suburbans, but parked in from of a row of restaurants? There were also vans and sedans, some double parked. The people in black clothing, some in masks, made me think a hold-up was in process, for a moment, but there was no secrecy to this operation and I adjusted my thinking. Unlike on TV, no one had an ICE label emblazoned on their chest and rather than guns drawn, some were holding large coffee cups? There were no identifiable police cars around.  Yet, in this er of immigration crackdown?

As I got closer, my heart was in my throat and I wondered if this could really be, in my small town, in the early morning hours, in broad daylight, what I thought it was?  Should I stop and protest the deportation of people making empanadas in my community?   Or, was this an early morning food run before the days' arrests?  

I circled around the block again, wondering, worrying, with my heart in my throat, because it would seem as if someone, somewhere would not be going home tonight. 

I suspect I am not alone in wondering what is going on and why?

sol25 June 10 Slices of News

 

I remember (augmented by pictures) sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper with my father.  It is possible the memory is cemented by images of him reading the newspaper no matter where we lived! There was of discussion of news at the dinner table and sports, morning and night, even more when my brother discovered the sports page!

Memories of major news moments, Vietnam Protests, 9-11, are framed by words, pictures and opinion columns about the events. 

For many busy years, my daily reading was the local headlines, but the weekend papers were embraced extra coffee and news abandon.   

Lately, I glance over my weekly local paper with updates about fires and politics for about 45 seconds IF the 4 pages do not get drenched in rain before I see it. There is little of substance; yet, I read it out of habit.

These days, I start with the NY Times Online in the early morning and catch updates with coffee. This morning, again, the headlines and the subheads were brutally disheartening. My heart beat faster and my angst grew exponentially as I tried to make sense of the many fights, feuds, and frays along with the threats, lies, and theatrics.  

These days, I no longer look forward to the news. 

These days, I am afraid.

SOL25 The Great Debate Rages Onward

 Thanks to The Two Writing Teachers Site for

supporting this Tuesday Slice of Life share.

"Everything we were doing was wrong," the former colleague said proudly sharing her real Orton Gillingham training and disregard of anything else. I acknowledged her enthusiasm while thinking about asking how she is addressing vocabulary and comprehension.  "Once they can decode, reading just takes care of itself," she grinned. 

I cringed and thought about whether or not to engage, but my voice was not to be quieted. "I like the way Orton provides a solid phonics framework, but what I feel the deja-vu of the Great Debate (Chall, 1967). The Science of Reading research clearly states that the most effective way is to teach reading is decoding and language comprehension. You might want to check out Scarborough's reading rope idea (1990) to understand some of the balancing perspective."

"It's OK," she smiled, "this time we have it right!"

I thought about all those old textbooks from the early 1900's I collected over the years each proclaiming either vocabulary rich or phonetic approaches to reading depending on the year of publication.

I thought about the millions of phonetic readers and now leveled texts relegated to landfills on the way home.

The Last Class

When a class ends,

Rejoicing mixes with pensiveness,

Particularly when your Jesuit-based-institution

Embraces reflection.

Sometimes, those reflections are

A better evidence of learning than grades.

"Last year, I thought I knew everything about learning to read and almost everything about teaching because I had been to school and my children were in school even though I had not begun teaching. I thought "old" teachers did not think about kids and only cared about paychecks. I thought I was going to be THAT teacher that threw out all the old stuff that was not working and change things.  I would have all my students focus on phonological awareness and after they were sure of all the sounds they would be reading everything they wanted to read. I was sure that I had all the answers. Then, the more I learned, the more I learned I needed to learn, and the more I wanted to learn, and the more questions I had! Some might say that my questions mean I am not ready to be a leader; however, I know, now, that my questions mean I am prepared to be a critical reader, a careful consumer of ideas, and a respectful teacher who knows there are no one-size fix-all-solutions to working with the diverse humans who all deserve to be readers, writers, and learners in all of our classes."

Class dismissed. 

May 24 Memorial Poppies

This short poem, a Shadorma (3-5-3-3-7-5) is inspired by 

John who was outside Shoprite on the eve of Memorial Day weekend.

He worked for the VA, lost a leg in Afghanistan and

is passionate about the lessons we should have learned from history.

He sat there

Giving out poppies

Donations

Accepted

Remember those lost in wars

Freedom is not free

SOL25 May 20 Much to Celebrate

Thank you Two Writing Teachers for this weekly forum.

Today, I am sharing a slice of life that has lived only in my heart

Until today.

There was much to celebrate

That evening

Grilled salmon, steamed asparagus, bargain wine,

I recounted my trip down the West Side

My meeting, getting final approval.

"Take your laptop with you," he suggested,

"you might get some work done," not realizing

What lie ahead.

I left before coffee, after the early-morning call. 

An accident, an ambulance, precautions.

I found them still in the ER, waiting for results.

"C1C2 fracture, Level 1 trauma," he said, 

"hopeful, fingers, toes moving," not knowing,

What lie ahead.

Conversations, concerns, signs,

Suggesting a miracle,

There was so much more to celebrate

That morning. 

Ethical ELA May 19 You Helped Me and I Helped You

On a glorious Monday, Ethical ELA prompt requested  a demi-sonnet!  My first thought was to pretend I didn't see the prompt and my second thought was, "too busy!" Yet, 7 lines with a sort-of-rhyme and no syllable count can't be that bad, can it? I knew of the reading experience I was glad I stopped to embrace.

We read "Little Blue Truck,"* every time, 

"You helped me and I helped you." 

Your damp locks next to my heart, 

Until the "Day the Crayons Quit,"* where you knew

Every single laugh, pun, joke in every single line,

Finally, you picked up "Dog Man,"* on your own

Smiling, while happy-sad tears welled in mine.

*Little Blue Truck (Schertle), The Day the Crayons Quit (Daywalt), and Dog Man (Pilkey)are popular children's books that span the early reading experience for children (and their lucky Memes). 

Ethical ELA May 18 Bindings

Today's Ethical ELA asks us to write a poem "about the tension and beauty of living between two cultures."   My own heritage is pieced together like a quilt; yet, I am certain that surnames as well as first names provide a binding that determines how we perceive ourselves as well as how others see us.

From the very beginning

I was wrapped in a shamrock green quilt,

The Dineen surname overpowering

Equal sized fabrics from,

Germany, Italy and Wales.  

My siblings, Kathleen and Jeremiah,

Despite identical genetics,

Far more Irish than I,

Anita, whose perhaps

Spanish or Peruvian name

Added color, if not clear roots,

To my quilt.

Hesitantly,

I traded my quilt's backing

For one where race cars

Mingle with calamari,

Providing my children

The Ferreri surname binding

Pieces of their own quilts

From Germany, Italy, Wales, Ireland 

With perhaps, embroidery from Spain or Peru!

Ethical ELA May 17 To Forgive

Ethical ELA's Open Write asks us to reflect on forgiveness, a topic that evokes raw emotion in me.  

I've

Said, "I forgive you."

Tried to

Forgive.

Let go of resentment.

Redirect anger.

Reimagine my life. 

I've 

Read Relationship Trauma*

Done therapy and yoga.

Planted flowers.

Walked many miles.

Discarded memories.

Envisioned a new story.

I'm still

Sad on

Holidays, anniversaries.

Aware that for me,

To forgive is 

An every-day-of-your-life 

Recurring action,

A means to move forward.

A verb.

*by Melissa Fulgieri

Listen

It started at a full-day-long tournament when a little one grabbed the opportunity to ask for a story about her when she was a baby. I listened to her request and did my best to settle into storytelling despite the drizzle and hard ground. The next request was for a story about brothers and then for an imaginary story.  To be honest, it was raining slowly when we started but the rain did motivate me to create a moat around the castle-home. Eventually, it was running down our backs and cheeks, but she smiled, listening intently, not one bit worried about the storm overhead.

The next day, it happened at an appointment with the requisite waiting room experience. An older-than-me gentleman started talking and I listened to his thoughts on the Mets. For the record, I know little about the Mets beyond their stadium in Queens.  After he was called into the exam area, his wife (I assume) came back to thank me for making the nervous wait easier. I smiled thinking, perhaps, my listening to him gave her time to prepare for whatever storms lie ahead.

Days later, it happened when visiting a friend whose life was changing before her eyes as she packed up a lifetime of memories and tried to hold on to a semblance of normalcy as a giant-storm changed the trajectory of her life. She listened intently as I shared what had been happening in her absence. I listened as she talked about frustrations, fears, and unlikely solutions to the storm washing away her own dreams. 

The real-life rain storm outside was slowly abating as I left, leaving the dumpster as well as the street glistening and me deep in thought about how listening makes all the storms of life a wee bit better.

SOL25 May 6 I Wish I Knew Then What I Know Now

Long ago, I performed at Flintsone Elementary.* My cooperating teacher was not much older, but she encouraged my performances. My thirty first graders, however, rarely listened in spite of Oscar qualifying performances. I wondered if their listening had been impacted by the constant din of the adjacent Capital Beltway traffic. 

I really didn't think about the performing when I started this new chapter, but I did find myself, on a Sunday night, crafting a lesson plan, typing it up, and placing it in a zip lock bag (this part was new to me). I also checked my playlist (new to me) and did a practice run before laying out a new bathing suit (also new to me) and heading to bed. I was ready, but anxious, and I slept like someone awaiting a performance. 

My palms were sweating when Happy Together began, but I was confident that my carefully honed playlist including Pretty Woman and Stop in the Name of Love would bring back memories of dancing and encourage moving. We stretched, kicked, bicycled and laughed in a somewhat familiar routine.  I veered off my notes, at times, as a good teacher does in response to observations of student progress; however, it was clearly my students, who are also my classmates, who were performing, singing and motivating me with smiles and encouragement.   

Afterwards, I reflected about the parts that worked and what I could make better. I found myself reminiscing about the days, long ago at Flintstone Elementary School when I really thought teaching was performing! Now, I know the sports world has a better model for encouraging others to do their best. These days, I know a lot more about engaging, motivating and coaching others.  Afterwards, I found myself wishing I knew then what I know now.

to perform: 1) carry out, accomplish; 2) present to an audience

to coach: one who instructs and directs team strategy

* I really did student teaching at Flintstone Elementary School!