There IS a Reason to Be Worried About SEL

I always get choked up as the teachers at my school wave and cheer the students off on the last day of classes. We line the driveway, blow bubbles, cheer, and wave. We want to give them a send off that reminds them that we love them, ensure they know that they are a part of a community, and give them memories to cherish. The last days of the school year bring with it finals, locker clean-outs, and the emotions can be overwhelming for middle school kiddos. In short, the end of the year doesn't always bring out the best in any of us. It is bittersweet, like leaving an amusement park at the end of the day--exhausted, satisfied, and a bit disoriented. Everyone who teaches will attest that it is a rollercoaster ride to be sure.

This year's last goodbye didn't make me choke up though. My emotions caught me off guard as the buses rolled away. I wasn't sad, exactly. I was worried.

Let me explain.

As all of you know, there have been groups that are trying to discredit SEL (short for Social Emotional Learning), calling it indoctrination, likening it to Critical Race Theory. In Florida, text books were not approved because of their social emotional learning content. It's never been clear to me why anyone would want to attack a philosophy that focuses on some very specific competencies laid out by CASEL.

And then, as this year's roller coaster ride came to a screeching halt, it hit me. There IS a reason to be worried about SEL.

As our country seems to be imploding, it occurs to me that those who don't want schools to teach SEL are very worried because social emotional learning is dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Self-awareness asks students to analyze their own thinking, dissecting their motivations and work to both contain and express their emotions. It asks students to name their emotions and find effective ways to mange them. This is dangerous because those who have self-awareness are not easily excitable by heightened emotions and understand when they are being manipulated because they know their own thoughts.

Even more dangerous is Self-management. This competency teaches students how to control their emotions and not impose themselves upon others. This is dangerous because those who have self-management skills are able to communicate in effective ways and never simply overpower others, instead relying on relationships and common social norms to get along.

Responsible decision making is a competency that is always at play in school. We are charged with helping students learn social norms, interact with each other, and make decisions that are based on their responsibilities and rights. Not only do we focus on students' positive rights--things they are allowed to do, we also focus on others' negative rights--our rights should not impede on others; for example, a student has a negative right to feel safe--to not be harassed or intimidated. It is dangerous because when students learn responsible decision making which takes into account the other members of their community, the community becomes more diverse and inclusive.

Then there are relationship skills. For me, I model this particular set of competencies via a "caring classroom" which celebrates diversity of all kinds. We are all unique, we are all to be celebrated, and we all learn together, despite our differences. We create a community that is able to separate fact from feeling, and we learn how to coexist even when our feelings are big. How dangerous is that?! Relationship skills have the power to transform "other" to "us" in a community.

Then there's the obvious competency, the one that I thought was what was being attacked. Social Awareness is probably the most sophisticated and nuanced to handle in a classroom, as it requires some level of mastery of the other competencies. The danger here has always been clear: when you are aware and seek to understand "the other," you are essentially changing and growing towards a more complete version of yourself, impacted by the world around you, but also knowing that you have the power to impact the world too.

As my students waved out the bus windows, I realized that the reason some people want to quash social and emotional learning is because its existence actually improves the chance of students accepting each other, respecting each other, and trying to support one another on life's very bumpy journey. So, yeah, I'm worried.

The reason we should be worried about SEL is that our students need it more than ever, and there are grown ups trying to steal our students' competencies--ways of understanding themselves and each other. There are adults who are trying to put up roadblocks, and that should make us all worried.

Waffle Cones and the Construct of Time

I'm frugal. Some (my husband) would say I'm cheap. I'd like to argue that I'm easily satisfied, but anyone who knows my obsession with expensive shoes and bags would disagree. Speaking of which, I'm already dreaming of these new Danskos for the fall.

But, I digress. I am, in the day-to-day, very frugal. I don't like to spend more than a few dollars on a coffee, and I always get the kiddie size of almost everything. This extends itself to my own kids most of the time. But yesterday was different.

Yesterday was overcast and pretty boring. We did go to the movies, but even that didn't do much to improve our middle-of-summer boredom. When the kiddos were little, I planned something every single summer day. In my book, it wasn't summer without a daily adventure. As a perpetually nerdy teacher-mom, I convinced them to do "Passion Projects" (where I learned how to do PBL). One year, Zoey wanted to learn about different countries, so each week she'd get library books, and Matty would cook something yummy for her to try. Oliver had a dinosaur year, and a year he wrote Star Wars fan fiction. We went to drum circles, took nature walks, had library time, and collected sea glass. If you have small children, I can't say it enough: do all the things. All of them. Don't clean your house. Go to the zoo. Skip making dinner and have "funky snacks" while watching a movie for the 100th time. Why? Because those days will help you (and them!) survive the teenage years.

Oliver is now 13, which in my opinion is the very worst of the teenage years, and Zoey is 16. She's working, learning to drive and planning things with her friends. She's an intern/stage manager for a production of Heathers. Oliver doesn't always want to go along with my plans, and he makes some of his own too. Mostly though, as it is supposed to be, my teens are trying to have a life of their own, one that is not orchestrated by me. And, yep, one that doesn't always include me. Sigh.

So, yesterday, after the movies, when Oliver asked to get ice cream, I said yes. Was it 5:00? Yes. Had I just spent too much money on stuff at the movies. Yes. But, here I was, with the golden opportunity to spend a little more time with my teenager. He's had a rough year, as we all have, and I'm aware, now more than ever, that time is the most ridiculous construct. It seems like both a million years ago and just yesterday that he was obsessed with Thomas the Tank. I can remember the hurts and anguish of being 13 years old, yet it has been 34 years since I've walked in my own Chuck Taylors. I feel like I'm going to blink, and the constant piles of laundry, the music I'm trying-to-like-but-don't, and the side hugs will be walking out the door and driving away. So, when he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and asked, "Can I get the chocolate dipped waffle cone?" I said yes.

I have a bunch of friends whose kiddos are going off to college, moving out, and my friends are having to redefine who they are and what they do with their time. That time is still a little ways off for me, but not nearly as much time as it feels. I always liked the old saying, "The days are long, but the years are short." I saw a young mom today, trying to hold her toddler's hand and adjust the baby wrap she was wearing with a 3 or 4 week old nustled in against the rain. In that sing song way that mama's talk to their babies (and themselves), she said, "We'll get this all figured out soon enough."

Yep, I thought. You will. And then it will all changes again. So, today, as I'm feeling unclear on this mother-of-teens thing, I'm going to remember that mantra all over: "We'll get this figured out soon enough."

Fondly,

If you’ve ever received a card from me, you’ll notice that I often sign it with the closing “Fondly, Amber.” I have adopted this ideal when I’m with my students too. When we look at our students fondly, we are enjoying them, and we are seeing them as we’d all want to be seen, in our best light, on our best day. In my first few years of teaching, I learned from amazing teachers who mentored me both officially and unofficially. I found friends and inspiration. However, one of the biggest lessons came from a teacher I barely knew named Jean McCarthy who signed her notes “Fondly, Jean.”

Jean was gruff. Whatever you are imagining when you hear that word right now is true. She smoked a pack a day, and she had the cough and raspy voice to prove it too. She didn’t smile often, and she worked with the kiddos who no one else wanted to. No one said that, of course, but it was understood, even by me, that her job was very different from mine. Nowadays we’d probably say that she was working with the “ED” kiddos or the “at risk population.” Then, I just knew that everyone was glad that Jean had the job and not them.

Her classroom was far from mine, kind of tucked away down a hallway, where disruptive students could have a little more privacy, I used to think. Truth be told, as a brand new teacher, I was always a bit scared of her. She never really spoke to me, but we shared mutual teacher friends, and occasionally I’d find myself sharing a lunch on a professional development day or sitting next to her at a department meeting. I myself had fallen comfortably into a position teaching AP Literature, and I felt pretty darn good about myself. My students were bound for top tier colleges, drove cars that were nicer than mine, and had tutors and involved parents. I was lucky.

My husband was offered a sizable promotion in Buffalo, New York, far from our cozy New England town of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Young and naive, I gave up my tenured teaching position, simply, I think ,for the adventure of it all. The catch: my husband had to move in early January, and I’d need to stay behind to sell the house while he got settled in the new job. I don’t recommend this, by the way. Nevertheless, spring came and I sold the house. Then, I had a new problem. Where was I going to live until the end of the school year?

As I sat in the teacher’s lounge for lunch, bemoaning this new situation, Jean was standing with her back to me, checking her mailbox. These were the days when they contained memos and real mail, not the usual junk mail we see now. She said quietly, but firmly, “You can come stay with me until you move.” She had not turned around to say this, and I honestly thought I imagined it. When I didn’t say anything, she turned around and said, “It would be ridiculous to pay to stay anywhere. You’ll come to my house.”

I stammered something, and I went to find my friend Mary, who was our mutual friend. Mary convinced me to trust her, and swore I’d love Jean once I got to know her. Mary was (and is) my mentor, and I was pretty broke at the time, living on my new teacher salary and absorbing the costs of moving, so I reluctantly agreed. I sat in my car outside Jean's house a week later and could barely bring myself to go to the door, but circumstances as they were, I was temporarily homeless.

The first night, we watched the Red Sox on television, but she had the volume turned down,and we listened to it on the radio instead since she didn’t like the television announcer. She chain-smoked and wrote cards. I asked her who they were all to. That is when I learned who Jean really was and what kind of teacher she actually was.

Jean was writing cards. She’d tell me about them as she addressed them. Some were current students who were going through a rough time. Another was for a student who was going to graduate from college. One was in the hospital for a suicide attempt. Others were from a decade before. As the days turned into weeks, I was astonished by how many students she wrote cards to. As we got to know each other, she’d tell me a bit more about the situations, and I realized I didn’t know the first thing about what she was doing down her lonely hallway.

On my last night, it was raining and storming. We were, of course, watching the Red Sox, and there was a knock on the door. Jean didn’t look surprised. She scooted over to the door, opened it, and standing there were two drenched teens. Jean didn’t flinch as they dripped all over her floor, or bat an eye when they both started talking so fast and over each other that it was impossible to tell what they were saying.

It came in bits and pieces over Loganberry and sandwiches. She was pregnant. He was the father. They were 19, both former students. They had told her parents, and they kicked her out. His mom didn’t have room for them both in her apartment. He’d already been sleeping on a couch. Jean listened and nodded, giving them towels, refills, and space to be heard and seen, to be looked upon lovingly, fondly. After several hours Jean had worked on a preliminary plan to help them figure things out the next day. The two left, hugging Jean for a long time before they walked to their beat up car.

Jean and I didn’t talk much that night, exhausted from it all. I was in awe. She was a very quiet hero, taking in strays, seeing people who needed her and helping them. She left the next morning before I even woke up.

Jean was, as it turns out, not one for goodbyes. It was my day to leave for New York. On the table was a note:

Dear Amber,

You will be missed. New York will be lucky to have you. I know that you are a good teacher. Always remember everyone could use a champion. PHS will not be the same without you.

Fondly, Jean

I can’t really explain the impact that those four weeks living with Jean had on my entire career. I’d come to see that teaching is more than content, more than great AP scores, and successful students who shine. It is knowing that students want someone who will look upon them fondly and that you can change lives by the acceptance you extend students.

When I think of “Teacher Appreciation,” I think about Jean. The greatest form of “Teacher Appreciation” I’ve ever seen was students who returned to seek counsel and comfort from someone who had changed their lives. I sign my cards, “Fondly, Amber” to remember that it all begins and ends with seeing people in their best light, as their best selves, even on their worst day--including our students.

As we return to school in the fall, I know I am not alone in wishing for “normal,” but I am certain that we should look fondly upon the students, making sure they know how much we care, not focusing on “learning loss,” but seeing them in their best light, even as many have just survived their worst days.