One long Sunday night...

It's that time of year when bathing suits and flotation devices are being moved to the sale rack, while back to school items take their place at the front of every store. I have always been a summer girl. As a kid, I spent hours upon hours at the pool and on the beach. As an adult, I've chosen to live at the beach for most of the summer. I love the salt air and sand. Maybe I'm a summer girl because we get extended hours of sunlight. Maybe it's the warmer temperatures. Maybe it's the hours of exercise I get to do. Maybe it's the beach friends I get to see. Maybe it's the fresh seafood I eat. Maybe it's being able to stay up late and sleep in. Maybe it's the long days spent on the boat. Maybe it's the smell that my West Coast brother and Midwestern cousin claim that the East Coast beaches have. 

Just the other day, while sitting on the beach, I overheard a father say to his two sons, "Are you ready to be done with the ocean for the year?" I wanted to scream. Summer, and the freedom I get, cannot possibly be gone already. Didn't it just start? Why don't February and March go by this quickly?

When the calendar turns to August, suddenly a pit forms in my stomach. All those things I love will soon be taken away. Suddenly, people keep asking, "When does school start?" I'm going to admit something here, something that most teachers think, but will never articulate: I hate going back to school. August is one, long Sunday night. 

In the Northeast United States, we love summer because it's magical. It's the reason we suffer through things like the Snowpocalypse. Waiting for these three months of magic has also made me wonder why I don't move down South, but that's a whole other blog post. 

All of this thinking always leads me to the same two questions:

1. Why am I still a teacher?

2. How can we make school a place kids (and teachers) want to be? 

Once again, unlike most other teachers, I will freely discuss that I have thought about leaving the profession. I dream of a job that doesn't require my bladder to sync up with a bell schedule (block schedule, by the way), force me to be surrounded by cinder block walls, or allows me to take a vacation when I deem it necessary for my own mental health.

The answers I find are almost always the same:

1. I am passionate about the role that education plays in the future of our democracy.

2. I am passionate about watching students become independent learners.

3. I am passionate about using my gifts in the best possible way. 

The answers to the second question are always much more complicated. I know I can't bring sun, sand and salt water to class every day--or can I? Here's where I start dreaming about the changes we need in education. We need student-centered classrooms that promote critical thinking. I dream of an education system that promotes more student empowerment and independence. How might we tailor core classes to match student interests? How might we implement more flexible class schedules? How might we encourage students to be more involved in the community? How might we rid the system of numerical grades and focus on competencies? How might we create inviting, colorful learning spaces? How might we repaint the cinder block walls? How might we create outdoor learning spaces? How might we make school more like a day at the beach in the middle of July? 

Students need to be empowered to find their passions, so that much like me in August, they can return to the thing they must do because of the drive they have. 

Thanks to this scene, and the ocean breeze, for being the backdrop to my writing. How might I do this more often?