Epilogue

Tomorrow's the next day of the rest of my life. Yours too, more than likely.

I was going to let my last post be it for the year, but a lot has transpired since October - and I think it's important to share the aftermath.

First of all, things don't fade to black and snap back to the way they were. Having experienced the highs and lows this full-time life entails, I made a trip to Wheeling to not only work with beginning teachers at Wheeling Jesuit University and Ohio County Schools, but to brief the upcoming  WVTOY on the year to come.

Elementary Education majors at Wheeling Jesuit

With the 2015 WVTOY Gail Adams and 2009 WVTOY MaryLu Hutchins

For the past year, I have run on adrenaline. It's kept me alert, motivated, and putting one foot in front of the other when otherwise  not humanly possible. When I finally didn't need to run on adrenaline anymore...it was the equivalent of letting go of a just blown up balloon. I was exhausted, sick, and, keeping it real...discouraged. To use another analogy, trying to get a routine and relationships established in my classroom at the beginning of the year while being constantly disrupted was like trying to build a really tall tower with building blocks and someone knocking it down over and over just when you get it at the right height. All the fatigue and frustration that I should of felt full force all year sent me into crash mode for several months. The only time I didn't feel like I was falling apart was when I was falling asleep.

There were bright spots though, that reassured me that maybe normal was just around the corner. 

Grant Recognition from the Eastern West Virginia Community Foundation

Classroom Management Workshop at Shepherd University

WVRA Conference...well, it's almost normal to make three stops at The Greenbrier in 12 months...right, Berkeley?

And there were field trips...in a year that has felt like the greatest field trip imaginable.

5th Grade Field Trip to Harpers Ferry

Arsenal where John Brown was captured 

It just wouldn't be a field trip anymore without a bear.

After Thanksgiving Break, I felt recharged. It was a relief to know that I wasn't going to spend the rest of the school year running on fumes. I've stopped checking my email non-stop in fear that I'm going to miss important dates and times. My luggage is taking a well-earned winter's nap in the basement. I go to school, come home, grade papers, sleep, and repeat. Things are almost back to the way there were, and most days I'm so busy that I could put this last year completely out of my mind, except...

I have close to 1,000 pictures from this year on my phone. It's amazing the thing even turns on anymore. 

There are 16,000 miles on the car. Just seeing the new reading on the odometer each evening when I enter the garage reminds me of what a journey this has been.

I have pictures in my classroom of life through the years. Among that collection now are ones with Homer Hickham and President Obama.  

Having been in every school in Berkeley County and to many counties across the state, places and names immediately bring faces and stories to mind. I think about people all the time.

These past few days, I've been at my residency at the National Harbor for my doctorate. In a year where I've gained much, there is still a lot left to learn. 

National Harbor in Washington, D.C.

Inside the Gaylord Convention Center

Then there's that bear. He's been everywhere this year, and what a story he has to tell children about the things he has seen and the importance of being the difference. One of my greatest joys is writing and drawing, and I am looking forward to creating something that allows me to share the joy of this journey, as well as encourages children to write, draw, and imagine.  

#wheresberkeley

I still get emails - just not in mass amounts that take hours to go through and answer. Mostly, they are from college students. Some I met over the past year; others have found me on Twitter or through my blog. They share their stories, and they ask for resources. In me, they have found someone they can identify with, and of that I am most proud. When I met students at the Future Educators Association at their conference this February, something clicked. I saw a purpose for my story and classroom that otherwise wouldn't have been revealed had it not been for this journey. My goal going forth is to create something for beginning teachers to use as a resource to find answers, opportunities...and confidence.

I still represent the most vital profession to our nation's future, just now in a less demanding role.  That "less demanding part" is a relief. I have learned, grown, and found peace with every experience. Most importantly, I have found ways to keep serving people and challenging myself. I hope you've enjoyed reading about this season of my life this year. It was difficult to find time to write (and write well), but sharing what was going on made me feel closer to people, when many times I have been in a car or away from home for hours or days...and occasionally weeks. 

So this isn't good bye; it's see you soon. (I'm staring at the screen trying to figure out how to end this post). 

Okay, here we go...

To my teacher friends, have faith in yourself. Regardless of what changes and challenges persist in the coming year, there are classrooms of students that need you - just as you are. Choose to be exceptional, and choose to speak up. There is value in your professional opinion regarding what children need to be successful, but you need to share your voice. Resolve to present yourself professionally and with passion to your students and peers, because the only way the entire image of this profession changes is if we all choose to be the best we can be. Those kids in your room, whether it's the straight A student or the one that never stops talking, need you to be their role model for how to act, resolve and learn. Find reasons, even when it's hard, to keep holding on and moving forward...

...because that is the difference.

  

I 

Rewind Wednesday, Part 2: Last August 2nd

Okay, fast forward. Went through security and up the stairs.

It was really quiet except for my heart pounding so heavily it had to be audible. I was 15 minutes early. Good. Some time to sit peacefully and get a hold of myself. I sat down and looked into the deep, dark depths of my purse for a mirror to assess my crazy hair day situation.

It wasn't three minutes later I heard "Oh, good, she's already here."

I never found the mirror. Instead I found myself trying to listen carefully to what was being said to me over my heartbeat pulsating in my ears. I stood back up, and I don't know why it didn't bother me earlier that morning, but all the fluid and bruising in my achy-breaky legs just went woosh down to my toes. My legs felt like water balloons as I went through the door with a big smile on my face and my hand outstretched.

They all seemed so tall. And I seemed really young and short.

Meet the Press. Sit up. Smile. Look at them! Don't act like you usually do.  The enormity of it all overwhelmed me. How on Earth had I ended up here? Listen to the questions. I felt like the walls were closing in, inch by inch.

It didn't take long, and then I cracked. Between going through my don't list over and over and debating whether to not to wear my glasses after all (they ended up on the floor after I knocked them off the table), I cracked. I was not going to maintain my composure. In an instant, I was sure that I had ruined everything I had convinced myself wasn't even possible.

Well, what do you do when your in a situation like that? It wasn't like I could get up and leave. So, the only split second option I had was to just be myself. After all, how many people would ever make it as far as that little room? Time to just let it go and forget all the things on the don't list.

I was too emotional. Too silly. And dramatic. Meet the Press had effectively become Oprah's couch. I was just Erin, 5th grade teacher, not pulled together teacher-leader. I'll never see them again, I thought. What difference does it make? I'll just be me, there's nothing to lose now.

My leg really hurt.

And that's how it went for thirty-or-so minutes. I didn't just wear my heart on my sleeve; I added glitter to make it stand out.

Then it was time to give my speech. Now, people dear to me had invested their time in listening to me speak, encouraging me to be confident. In my mind I had now disappointed them more than humanly possible. I owed them all to give it my best on that speech, even if I had blown it. And so I did. I spoke from my heart, where every word had come from, because that's what every person I represented deserved.

It's a little strange giving a big speech to a small group of people. Or maybe I took the assignment completely out of context.

No sooner than it began I was out the door. Embarrassed. Ashamed of myself. I filled out paperwork and quickly was escorted to the main entrance and into the sunshine.

I called Brad. He was already there in the parking lot. I could see him. But I wasn't moving.

"Do you see me? Just walk this way."

I still wasn't moving.

He ended up getting out of the car. Again. All I could muster after spilling my heart out for 45 minutes was a barely audible "It's over."

And then I got in the car.

"I can't believe it! I did everything I shouldn't have done! It was horrible. It's over. It was never going to happen anyway. That's it. That's it?! Why did I say that? It's over. I'm so embarrassed. It is so over."

I said that all the way home. Over and over. For about 4 and-a-half hours. It's a wonder that he didn't make me get out and walk home. Stopping the car first would have been a plus.

***
A month later, I was in the throws of a new school year. I had effectively blocked any thought of my interview or speech unless asked, then I had my "It just wasn't meant to be" line all ready to go. I got a letter in the mail congratulating me and advising to have some remarks prepared in case I was the teacher of the year.

I almost threw it away. Then I thought better and just tossed it in a pile of random papers on my desk.

Two days later, I was chilling on the couch after school. Great day, but a long, tiring one. It was going to be a good year. I whipped out my phone and engrossed myself in a round of Angry Birds.

I was so intent on using the white "egg" bird that NEVER drops the egg in the right spot I didn't hear Brad come in the room.

"Did you get a letter?"

"About what?"

"Don't you need to write a speech?"

I made a face. Nosey. "I don't need to write any more speeches. It's over. There's no way. Don't look at my mail." I went back to bombing the ugly green piggies on Angry Birds.

"I think you better write a speech."

"I love you too, but I know when it's not going to be me. Stop bothering me and don't look at my mail."

"I think you need to get ready for October 9th."

Mr. Persistent. Humph. There's no way. It's over.

And then, I got a feeling. The feeling you get when someone is possibly hiding something from you. When you're the last to know. What if...

I let the black bomb bird disintegrate into the virtual sky and went to go dig up that letter.

***

Well, we all know how this story ended. You just never knew how it started.

I'm asked a lot about what makes me the teacher of the year. Eleven months in and I still don't have the answer people are looking for.

It's not about being all pulled together. Or having all the right answers. Or how many committees or student teachers you've served.

As I said in part one, we aren't always kind to ourselves in this profession. So much is expected, and we often feel we come up short. We not only want to feel empowered, but know that others see our potential, too.

We're all looking for someone just like us.

I'm proof that broken, flawed people with purpose and determination can be leaders, speakers, and amazingly enough, role models. Sometimes your purpose is revealed to you in ways you would never anticipate.

Be different. Be the difference.

But most importantly, be yourself.

Rewind Wednesday, Part 1: Last August 2nd

I haven't done a Rewind Wednesday for a while. I'm giving myself an hour to type this, then I have to get some rest before I spend the day at school tomorrow and then drive four and-a-half hours.

But what I have to say is important - to someone, hopefully. If not, it's just an important reflection to me about how this journey began.

***

I didn't even hear my cell phone ring. I was asleep, in the kitchen, with my forehead resting on the island. I had come home from Germany three days earlier and was still incredibly jet lagged. A few minutes later I drowsily checked my voicemail, not even lifting my head up. I think I dreamed a phone was ringing.

When I heard the message, I went from half asleep to almost falling off the kitchen stool.

I was being contacted to schedule an interview for the 2014 West Virginia Teacher of the Year. I scribbled down a call back number and a date on a piece of paper clinging to the refrigerator, and cleared my throat. Then I started pacing. I paced as I called to schedule my interview. I paced the house as I sent texts to what I hope were people in my contact list but maybe some random people that accidentally got added (but sent nice texts back anyway). I paced the house for probably an hour and-a-half, until my leg started aching.

I tripped getting on a train in Frankfurt two weeks earlier. In an instant I was between the stairs of a train and the train platform. While the teachers who were with me lifted me up and got me onto the train safely, I badly bruised and busted my right leg so much that within 24 hours I was in Heidelberg University Hospital emergency room because I could no longer put weight on it. I managed to make it through the remainder of the trip with a wrap and some mega-antibiotics, but still wasn't the most graceful creature on two legs (I'm still not).

In one week I was going to have an interview to represent the education profession in West Virginia, and I could barely walk - or recount what time zone I was in.

While my friends and colleagues sent their good vibes, I felt less and less confident each day as I wrapped my head around it all. I knew it was possible - but I didn't think it would really happen. This has gotten out of hand, I thought to myself. This is too big, too much for me. I'm a terrible speaker. I do weird, blinky things with my eyes when I talk. My eye contact is horrendous. I'm too silly and emotional (the side effects of being in the fifth grade for so long). I look like a fifth grader. 

(Keep in mind, through a lot of practice and YouTube videos on public speaking, I have conquered my public speaking quirks. I'm not as bad as I thought I was, but at this moment in my life I felt incredibly insufficient.)
 
I read something recently, how we shouldn't treat ourselves any worse than we would our best friend. As teachers, often we are our worst critics. It's safe to say at this point last late July I wasn't being a very good friend to myself. If it's possible to bully yourself, I was doing it.

I went through the next week pacing the house (in between elevating my leg), Googling everything about any and all education issues in existence (and making note cards - I don't know why, but for some reason, I went on an index card kick for six days, and I never use index cards). I wrote a speech. I practiced my speech. I timed my speech. I made other people listen to my speech. Other people, namely the administrators at the Berkeley County Leadership Academy, listened to my speech to give me an audience. They didn't have to do that, but they did. The support and confidence I received from my Berkeley County school family was uplifting beyond anything I could possibly deserve. I reviewed my "don't" list:

Don't cross your legs over and over. Don't cry, even if you're nervous. Don't take your glasses on and off. Don't freak out and make a fool of yourself and Berkeley County. Don't be silly. Pretend it's "Meet the Press." Act like the accomplished teacher you are instead of a scared kid on the first day of school.

I was so nervous my husband drove me to Charleston, taking a day and-a-half from work, because I would have driven off the road at that point - or turned around and gone home. I shuffled my index card collection and listened to myself say my speech on my phone (I recorded it over and over, because I wanted to make sure I enunciated everything correctly) the entire four and-a-half hour drive. You can only imagine what great company I was to have in that car.

Eventually, I went to sleep that night. I think I wore myself out with my antics. The next morning when I woke up, my eyes were itchy and swollen - probably from lack of sleep and the detergent in the hotel blankets. I was having a crazy hair day that no flat iron could tame (thank you summer humidity). And I didn't like my outfit. It was black. A black suit. My mother said it looked nice and professional. I read that you should wear dark, solid colors to an interview. Only problem was that I didn't own any dark, solid colors - but I do have a lot of pink, red, and purple. So I found a suit, a nice, black suit, to wear for my interview - on a 90 degree day in August. I was going to roast in that nice, black suit - and pantyhose. Who in their right mind invented pantyhose?

I got dressed and ate part of a muffin that Brad brought up for me to eat. Somehow I got out of that room and into the car. Brad drove me to the Capitol Complex. I knew I had to go in Building 7 - where's Building 7? A very polite officer showed me from the car where to go.

Brad pointed and said, "See, it's right there. I'm going to let you out here so I don't have to feed a meter."

"Walk me to the door."

"It's right there. I have on my running shorts (which, side note, are hideously short). You'll be great."

I get out of the car and stand. The door is hanging open, but I knew if closed it he'd be off.

"Walk me to the door."

So Brad, in his runner garb, parked the car, fed the meter, and walked me, in my black suit and Payless heels (that I now have in every color because they are the only heels I can walk in), escorted me to Building 7. It was like crossing the Sahara Desert.

I got to the door. I had to open the door to go through security. This was really going to happen. I felt like all of my surroundings were melting away.

I stood there at the door. I've been to some large cities with skyscrapers, but in that moment that was the tallest, most foreboding structure I'd ever seen in my life. Suddenly, I realized Brad was gone. I head "Good luck," but he was high tailing it across the parking lot before I could respond (smooth move in hindsight).

I had no choice but to go inside, because I wasn't going to stand outside in my hot, black suit for an hour. I felt like I was about to enter an unknown world - and I was, just not in a way that I ever could imagine it.

I'm going to have to finish this story sometime tomorrow. It won't be Wednesday, but it will be worth it.

Weekend Homework and Back to Almost Normal: Levy Rally, Mineral County, and Shepherd University Teacher Pinning

I wanted to squish the past two weeks into one post. It's just not possible.

Keep in mind that I am a very introverted person. I love to speak to groups, and teach, and be in public for professional purposes, but I value and need time to be alone and recharge. Many people thrive off of crowds and socializing, and I'm not one of them. I use to think that meant there was something wrong with me, but after reading Susan Cain's book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking, I see the value in just being myself.

This year I put who I am aside and go, go, go. It's kind of like when you need to charge your phone, but don't have time to leave it plugged in, so you charge it just enough to get by, even though the warning light is still on to connect your charger.

Warnings aside, the Sunday after returning from D.C. I was back at it, speaking at the Morgan County Levy Rally at Berkeley Spring State Park. The future of levies across the state this year depended on how things would go in Morgan County. The next morning I interviewed Michael Wilder, an alternative education teacher at Berkeley Springs High School, on the impact of the school levy You can watch the interview at this link. I'm relieved for the teachers and students of Morgan County that the levy passed this week. I'm sure it is a relief to many families employed and with children in the school system.

Beautiful Day!

Superintendent David Banks in the dunk tank :-)

Interviewing Mike Wilder 

Tuesday I was inducted into our local chapter of Alpha Delta Kappa. I speak at their regional conference later in July. On Thursday I headed to Mineral County to speak with fifth graders at Frankfort Middle School about Control Your S.E.L.F. and to celebrate the 2014-15 Mineral County Teacher of the Year, Angie Shanholtz. I also interviewed two former Mineral County teachers of the year for Be the DifferenceWV while I was there in Keyser. As new county teachers of the year are named, I realize this is the beginning of end. The school year is almost over, and while there may be a few events over the summer, this journey is coming to a close - or at least about to go in another direction.

Frankfort Middle School

Interviewing Jeanne Clites

Former Mineral County Teachers of the Year

With 2014-15 Mineral County
Teacher of the Year Angie Shanholtz

...So my "battery" was critically low by Saturday morning. I had to power through it, because I was the keynote speaker at Shepherd University's teacher pinning ceremony. I wish I would have had more time and energy to put into that speech, but you can't live life in reverse. After the ceremony, one of the graduates introduced herself. She was in my Aunt Dawn's last first grade class at Williamsport Elementary and will be a first grade teacher herself in the fall. That was just as special as meeting the president. You can hear my speech at this link.

With Cara Jeffries, Kappa Delta Pi and SESA President, after my speech.
She has been wonderful this year arranging my visits at Shepherd.

Hannah Cole, one of Dawn's last students

From Sunday to Saturday, I was a part of a lot of other's milestones and celebrations. I'm looking forward to having the next few weekends to recharge and wrap up my eleventh year of teaching - a year that has encompassed more experiences and people than I ever could have imagined.

Week Before Washington, Part 3: Marshall University One-Room School Museum

Yes. That's right. Outside of Jenkins Hall (where the education classes are held at Marshall) is a former one-room school. How often, in this age of departmentalizing classes, integrating technology, and high stakes testing, do you get to be transported back to a simpler time of chalk dust and McGuffey Readers? When I came upon the One-Room School Museum, I was tickled. When I asked if they would consider letting me take a peek inside (it is locked except for special events) and said sure, I was about half giddy.

Punkin Center School

The One-Room School Museum used to function as Punkin Center School  in Cabell County. It served students in grades one through eight from about 1889 until the 1950s. The building was relocated to Marshall University in 1995, with period pieces such as fold up Peabody desks, textbooks of the era, and a pot belly stove (complete with a coal bucket). As you step onto the wooden floor boards, the nearby traffic fades away and everything before you takes you back - way back!

Are you ready to step inside?

Desks all in rows, for students of all ages

Another view of the room - note the stove in the middle of the room to keep everyone warm

More one-room school facts

Before there were school buses, you walked (this school was attended by students in Cabell and Mason Counties). Before there were computers, you wrote - in chalk.

The original tablet device!

What your desk would look like during the turn of the century!

More desks and books donated to the museum

What about discipline in the 1890s? If you didn't behave yourself...

You might find yourself writing sentences on the board after school!

Or, maybe you would end up in this corner, wearing the dunce cap for all to see.

Berkeley is going to have an even better post on what it would be like to learn in a one-room school, once he recovers more from his Washington adventures. I think about what it would be like to be a teacher with the the demands of today in a one-room school, with basic supplies to fulfill the needs of every student. What we've come to expect of our students and teachers has drastically changed in the last century. I'm proud to represent a profession and a people that has historically striven to bring the next generation further than the last.

The WV Teacher of the Year...and Berkeley...in the One-Room School

Rewind Wednesday: Brooke County School Visits

I began this post on a Wednesday, and finished it the evening of my 32nd birthday. It's the end of Spring Break, a week that has had me in a different location every day (including one day at home). I've had a chance to reflect on last week's travels to the Northern Panhandle, specifically to visit schools in Brooke County.

"Why on earth would you want to go there?" I've heard that more than once this year. It's no secret that Berkeley and Jefferson counties are strikingly different than much of the rest of West Virginia. With a vein of Interstate 81 running through our area and a steady stream of relocating families from the D.C. metro, our county appears prosperous on an unimaginable scale to those whose towns and livelihoods are crumbling. The farthest reaching counties of the Eastern Panhandle are like a bulging, sculpted bicep on a body crippled with the side effects of poverty and a headache of a recent water crisis.

That's why I have to go "there" - and any other forgotten place in this state that will have me. Being teacher of the year is not a prize, and the longer I am in this role, I feel that it's not even an award. Awards don't take you away from your family for lonely days on end (I can't imagine doing this with young children), have you up hours late at night packing and planning when you body is pleading with you for a full night's rest, or positively break your heart when you view the broken circumstances of children and their communities. This is an experience, an opportunity to view this state through the lens of an educator. It's a chance to break through the isolation that geographically divides us. I'm not part of a part anymore, but of a whole - and there are many things you must simply see to understand. I go "there" because I represent every teacher and student, and I want to know them.

I began my trip to Brooke County feeling grey (if I could choose a color) and frustrated. Unsure of the area - my last visit to the Northern Panhandle was more than ten years ago - I became increasingly distressed as I tried to navigate the road construction and obey GPS directions, to no avail ("Recalculating..."). I was doubting the impact I was really having on anyone. I left my camera I use for Be the Difference WV at home, feeling that maybe I was just wasting time sharing stories and inconveniencing people who had greater priorities than to endure questioning under the watchful lens of my 3 megapixel recorder.

The first school I visited was Bethany College to speak to their education majors about Web 2.0 tools. Bethany is a beautiful school of about 800 students - the  architecture of its main building reminds me of a castle. The Hurl Building, where the education program is housed, is a former high, middle, and elementary school. You can still see the eraser marks on the bricks where the students beat the chalk out of them against the building. I'm appreciative to professor Angela Icard for hosting me for the afternoon.

The Hurl Building at Bethany College

The next day I went to Follansbee Middle School to speak to their students about Control Your S.E.L.F. (Social Life and Media, Education, Lifestyle, Future). Follansbee has around 500 students in grades five through eight (many schools in the state have fifth grade in their middle schools). I was really impressed that Michelene Mills, the school's new principal, took the time to arrange for me to speak to the student body. My visit and message of making positive choices became even more timely, as the day before a high school student stabbed 21 other students in Pittsburgh, just 45 minutes away. A reporter from the Steubenville (Ohio) Daily Star came to speak to me about my program and how it relates to middle school students; you can read the story at this link. It just goes to show that you never know what you have to say will become incredibly relevant. One of the fifth graders quietly came up to me when she was leaving the auditorium and said "I think you taught a lot of people some life lessons today."

I ended the day with a visit to Colliers Primary, a West Virginia School of Excellence. Many of the teachers at Colliers were there when I was named teacher of the year in October. As part of their positive behavior recognition for the third nine weeks, I shared Berkeley and his Sugar Maple Friends with their students in grades Kindergarten through fourth. Berkeley brings joy wherever he goes. With a little black bear and his perspective on his adventures, I'm able to share my journey with a generation of West Virginians that can use the generated excitement to be curious about their world and contribute to their community.

The students, as always, left me with joy and purpose. If I accomplish nothing else this year, I know that what I've done positively impacts children. As I packed up to go home (and asked for directions to avoid getting on the Pennsylvania Turnpike), I talked to the teachers and staff about the area. Brooke and Hancock counties, once prosperous from the steel industry, have seen a lot of economic hardship in recent times and a decline in population - both of which impacts the outlook and opportunities for students.

As I walked out of the gymnasium, the custodian, unfolding tables for tomorrow's breakfast, said "I wish more people would focus on the good news. Most of what we see and hear about schools is so negative. These kids and adults need to know what's going on in schools that's right."

The good news. The people I meet along this journey teach me so much at unexpected times. What we do to highlight and show appreciation for those around us is never wasted. People want to be lifted up, and with the mounting stress and fatigue, I had forgotten that. This year is about the people of West Virginia - their stories, their future. Within two days, I had met future teachers, a middle school student body and their determined, hard working principal, and the students and staff of a small, successful primary school. My travels are the opportunity to teach others about what is truly needed to use education as a change agent - and give others a voice.

There is hope and potential wherever I go - and I wish I would have brought my camera.

The 12th Man in Education

This post is based on remarks I made during a speech to the Rise and Shine Program at the Berkeley County Chamber of Commerce on Friday, February 7th.

I hate football.

Wait, keep reading. I promise it gets better. I mean, I really do hate football.  I completely understand the value of sports and exercise and teamwork, but professional football is just too commercialized and dramatized for me to find any value in it. This post-Super Bowl week has been complete bliss: no more ESPN Red Zone or heated Facebook posts on the Seahawks and Broncos. I don't watch a lot of television, but it's nice to hear and see something else when it is on besides a giant green field and fellows in shiny, mascot emblazoned helmets. And the Star Spangled Banner sung off key over and over again? Don't even get me started.

In the midst of the hype leading up to last Sunday's national holiday, I kept hearing about the number 12 regarding the Seattle Seahawks (keep in mind I really make a concerted effort to have nothing to do with professional football). 12, 12, 12. What is the big deal? Who is this 12th man, was there a story behind it? I like stories, even if they are related to sports. I finally caved and Googled it before Bruno Mars performed and made the Super Bowl worth watching (at least the half time show portion of it).

What's this all about?

So this is what I find (thank you, Wikipedia): since there are only 11 players on the field at a time, the "12th man" is all the fans supporting the team. They aren't on the field playing the game, but they are supporting them from the sidelines. Their energy and enthusiasm, even when the score is down, gives the team motivation to keep trying. Texas A&M trademarked the phrase, although several NFL teams, such as the Seahawks, recognize "12" as their loyal fans.You probably already knew all of this, but I didn't.

Suddenly, for a brief instant, I liked football - because we need the "12th man" in education.

This year, I am not on the field playing the game in room 104B, but am getting a view of education from the stands and occasionally the box seats (State of the State...Scottsdale...White House in a few months) as I learn about the policies and people behind our classrooms and schools. I am seeing and hearing things from another perspective than I do when I am working with my teammates, as we pass the ball and go for the touchdown, all in the name of giving our students an engaging, quality learning environment. I'm learning a lot about the people in the stands, the families, the community, the lawmakers - they watch the game, sometimes up close, but often from afar. They only know what they can see and hear from their seats.

The players on the field are only human. We go for that touchdown everyday, and are often met by an interception.There are injuries, fumbles, missed field goals in the midst of every yard gained. As teachers, we are painfully aware of the set backs. We want to win. We want our students, more specifically, to win, and we are their defense. There are times we succeed, and the crowd goes wild. Everyone loves you when you are ahead. And there are times of stunning, heartbreaking defeat.

Which is why we need our 12th man. We need those who can't be on the field to support us, to lift us up, even when it's difficult and it looks like we aren't trying. Teachers are already in overtime, making special teams, learning new plays right in the middle of the game. We're playing for the future of your children. It keeps us up late at night, leads us to study better practices during the off season, and has us overextending our already exhausted mental and physical well being. We know we have the eyes and ears of the community upon us, and it sears the soul when disgust is heard in their voices or read in their comments - or when they just leave the stands because it's not worth it to them to watch anymore. The 12th man needs to cheer us on, expect us to succeed, and ask us what we need to get there. Teachers aren't the enemy; they are the home team, and the success of your children is worth hanging in there and staying involved regardless of the score at half time.

We're on to another sporting event that will take over the airwaves for the next two weeks - the Olympics. Now, even I like the Olympics. Every four years, athletes come together to compete in the games from every corner of the earth. Our teams must have the skills to compete against those from other countries, to be effective in the pursuit of their goals among a global audience. The world is watching to see who will come out on top. Sometimes we're sure that the USA is going to take home the gold, but are surprised when another country knocks us out of medal contention.

Everyday teachers are on the field in the Super Bowl of education, when we are ultimately preparing our students for the Olympics of life. This stadium, our classrooms, are just setting the stage for our students to be in the game with the rest of the world. Prized rings and endorsements aren't what we have our sights on, but knowing that we have prepared students who are motivated to learn and are on level with their peers and future colleagues around the world is more valued than any spray of confetti or glossy trophy. It's a stunning task teaching the doctors, artists, presidents, and scientists of the future, as the clock ticks down the seconds to the end of another quarter, another school year. That same enthusiasm that you see on your television 9 PM on a Monday night in October needs to be equal to the support in a child's classroom 7 PM on Open House Night in August. What will settle the final score in education won't be a number on a scoreboard or a test but how those with the greatest influence off the field choose to support it.

Teachers are the hardest working athletes you'll ever meet. Those that love the game stay in it because we believe we will succeed for the sake of your children. But if we are going to do that to the best of our ability, we must have have the 12th man behind us.

Erin Sponaugle: Nothing to fear about Common Core - Op-Ed Commentaries - The Charleston Gazette - West Virginia News and Sports -

Erin Sponaugle: Nothing to fear about Common Core  - Op-Ed Commentaries - The Charleston Gazette - West Virginia News and Sports -

Teachers are our Water

This is the text from a speech I gave at the Berkeley County Board of Education meeting on Tuesday, January 14th.

As the recent events in the southern part of our state have illustrated this week, one thing we can’t take for granted – and often do – is water. We need our H2O to clean, to nourish ourselves, and go about our daily lives. Without it, we can’t survive, focus, maintain the progress we make each day in hopes of furthering our selves the next.

In education, teachers are our water. We quench a thirst for knowledge in our students that they may not even realize they have for a subject. We spend some of our day putting out fires, as we resolve issues between students and parents. We wash away tears – and outdated teaching methods, as we make waves with new ideas and lessons. With teachers, as with water, things will grow, as students soak up the experiences in their classrooms. Together we make an ocean of learners, providers, and family members that touches the lives of everyone we meet. Everyone has absorbed in some way the lessons of a teacher. Without it in some form each day, where would any of us be?

Often, however, we take water for granted, not realizing its value. There is much demanded of our water supply. Water has to be purified to keep what’s potentially harmful from reaching the masses. It needs support, the proper structures, and maintenance. Teaching is no different. Support and a watchful, caring eye of the community is vital to our water supply. While some evaporation is expected, as others move on in the profession, we can’t risk a drought due to negligence and not nourishing our current water supply.  It’s expected that some negativity will seep in, but the actions of a few can’t flood out the good works of many. Often our water supply risks becoming contaminated with misconceptions and misinformation. Sometimes it takes a jarring experience, a wake-up call to remember how fortunate we are to have our own water supply – and how imperative it is to nurture it.

However, water is the strongest force on earth. It takes just one pure, clean trickle to break through the barriers, the negativity to instill hope that there is more in supply and better days to come. Together, our ideas condense and form a river that others are willing to join upstream. We weather many a storm to come out replenished and ready for another day.  And there will always be those willing to make waves for the sake of improvements, morale, and the conviction that someone must wash any apparent negativity out to tide. We are water – the most vital, versatile resource on Earth.  

Teachers are our water. And we can’t take water for granted. Thank you, and God Bless all of our fellow West Virginians.