My school is filled with many stories.
They are hidden in the new shoes a student proudly wears, a second-hand backpack another student carries, a tooth lost. They are behind the teacher's sigh of frustration as the copy machine jams yet again. The stories are buried in the back of the lockers, between the crumpled papers and forgotten snack bags. They are in the courtyard outside my window, a garden dedicated to a teacher who passed away too soon, a bench in the name of another teacher whose life took mysterious turns before it ended, again way before her time. The stories are in the excited voices when students share happy news and the stories are there in what they do not say, but what weighs heavy on their hearts. The stories are swept up each day like the pencils scattered on the floor, gathered and discarded. The stories are read aloud in the library and in classrooms, others words from years before, filling the space and inspiring new thoughts, ideas and feelings. The stories are in the people who have come before and gone. The teachers who retired, or resigned, or had babies and stayed home until those babies were grown. The administrators who captured the heart of a building. The families that became part of the fabric of the school. The stories are there when the school is freshly painted and waxed, when new bulletin board paper is stapled and fresh clean name tags are affixed to desks. The stories are there on the last day of school when the walls are bare the desks are cleaned out and the last child has gone home. In the silence, there is a story of a year gone by, of learning, of growth, of sadness and joy. My school is filled with stories. I, too, am part of the story. I am part of the school story and I am part of my own story. After 18 years of teaching in the same school, I am a story students will tell to their own children someday. There are stories from 6th grade, stories from kindergarten, stories from third grade. Stories from field trips and Q&U Weddings and kindergarten celebrations and state tests administered. Stories from Senior Walks, when my former students walk down the halls of my school in their graduation gowns and I see their faces and remember their story. Remember the boy who took piano lessons and played his heart out at a school talent show at the age of 5, now on the precipice of adulthood, ready to go off to college. This month, I aim to tell my story. The story of school and teaching and failing and learning and growing and striving. The story of being a mom and a teacher and wanting to make a difference in each area. The story of this season of my life. Here's to a month of stories. Welcome to the March SOLSC!
14 Comments
Terje
3/1/2020 02:56:07 am
Wonderful angle to take for this month. The repetition gave a beautiful rhythm and your words had so much warmth. Looking forward to reading your stories.
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3/1/2020 04:29:52 am
So, your very first post made me cry! This is so beautifully put. So much heart is in your piece. My favorite image- stories swept up and discarded like the pencils on the floor. You inspire me to capture some of those dropped pencils.
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3/1/2020 04:34:32 am
This post is like poetry! You know I will be riveted to your story this month because I am in awe of your grit and passion as a teacher and a mom. This is beautiful.
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Susan Kennedy
3/1/2020 04:35:50 am
Oh, your school is fortunate to have you in place to chronicle the stories. Your eyes for them is keen. I can’t wait to read them. I’m grateful for the inspiration to look in the back of those lockers.
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Pam Ela
3/1/2020 05:23:51 am
I love how this is structured and how you so deliberately use repetition both to capture attention and to tie together the ideas. I look forward to reading your story.
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3/1/2020 05:43:55 am
I loved how you crafted this piece. It slowed me down to savor, remember and reflect. It pushed me forward, in need of the next sentence. Like a powerful story, so much to reveal and leave unsaid. I can't wait to read your stories this March.
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3/1/2020 06:37:56 am
Astronomer Carl Sagan once said, "We're made of star stuff." I like your take even better: We're made of *story* stuff.
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Kris
3/1/2020 07:11:02 am
This hit home to me. It is beautifully written. I am 33.5 years in and agree 100% with everything said. Everyone has a story.... and every story is important.
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3/1/2020 08:59:55 am
I love this! Your words speak the truth about schools, people, events, and situations. Thank you for warming my heart this morning. I look forward to reading your other slices!
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3/1/2020 09:08:58 am
I love the promise of stories and the way in which you shared the stories that live around us each and every day.
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Eva Kaplan
3/1/2020 11:48:21 am
I am never disappointed when I read your writing! You’re always so honest and real! And of course, a beautiful writer! Stories are all around us, every minute of each day. Our work is to be aware and in tuned to it all! This challenge certainly will help us to do just that!
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3/1/2020 11:49:36 am
I love the school stories theme and the concept of the stories being buried at the back of a locker. I look forward to reading more of your work and anticipate inanimate objects talking and telling stories through you.
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3/1/2020 03:08:13 pm
Oh my goodness. I love the thought of a school full of stories. Going to walk into my school and think about all of the stories that live there. Thank you.
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3/1/2020 05:09:54 pm
This is the perfect reminder that it is never a matter of what can I write about? It is rather how do I choose from so much I can write about. I enjoyed the poetic essence of your piece.
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