This one has been in the works for quite some time, mainly because it’s an ongoing discovery of what it means for me to support teachers. Estelle (G1 teacher) inspired me to revise this old draft after our last meeting on Friday and an unexpected expression of gratitude. I’ll start with the meeting.
At 3:06, I ran out of my classroom, went down to the third floor, and rushed into one of the First Grade classrooms. Estelle, Martha, and Ana M. waited for me to talk about a unit they are piloting. I grabbed some scrap paper and borrowed a pen. That’s how unprepared I was. Honest.
They began listing concerns in one long introduction, and I listened. In my head, I tried to categorize what I was hearing and ask questions to help us better understand the problem they’re facing. Years ago, I learned to pause and paraphrase to clarify, but I tend to skip that step due to time constraints. Instead, I jot down as quickly as possible and jump onto their speedy train.
I respond with the same urgency once they get stuff off their chest. In an ideal world, that planning conversation would follow this structure:
- They share
- I paraphrase
- They go on
- I ask questions to clarify
- They redefine what they’re facing
- I paraphrase
- They identify the real struggle
- I ask questions to help define
- They confirm
- We start talking about possibilities
My issue is that I never walk into those meetings without the hairy and loud “THERE’S NO TIME FOR THAT” monster poking me on the shoulder. I skip many steps, and I don’t feel like I guide them to the root of the problem, and we mostly try to throw on bandaids that may momentarily fix what’s not working. They might think it’s enough, but I know we could do better. Much better.
What pains me the most is the “We could…” phrase I involuntarily plug into almost every sentence that comes out of my mouth.
My mind paints all the possibilities available if I had the time to come into their classrooms to sit on the rug with them and their students. Time to “backward plan” units they’ve never taught before. Time to see student work and project possibilities based on what they have. Time to watch them and have coaching conversations. Time to sit after a lesson, reflect, and plan another go at it. Time to help them draft what could work instead of providing temporary solutions. Time to help them get there instead of holding their hands as we run like kids during Trick-or-Treating.
Then again, they somehow end up with a plan that eases their anxiety just a bit, and we plan to meet whenever we can. What came up on Friday felt different, though. The conversation still felt rushed, but I did something different.
To answer their questions, I needed to read a section of a book and other articles to point them in the right direction, not something I could do between 3:10 and 4:00, which is when I needed to pick Elena up. I told them I would read at home and report back, but they’d also have homework. I asked them to journal about what was going well and to look for evidence of impactful teaching. I want them to do the mental work of finding the positives before we dive into what they don’t know. This was a step up because I typically rush to give answers, and I know that’s not strong coaching. Then, I changed my mind and decided to prepare a protocol to unpack the reading I assigned myself so they could do it the same way I would.
The monster will continue to poke me on the shoulder. I won’t have time for all the “I could…” And I have to stop going through the motions and ignoring the poking. There’s a smarter way to go about it, and I want to try it.
Luckily, and even with all my stress about not doing enough, Estelle and all the others make the best of the little time we get and carry on. I will always take that win until we can claim some more.
Start with a Story 