“Write About What Makes You Different” --Sandra Cisneros
As an instructional coach, I am literally one-of-a-kind in my district, making a unique difference by being different.
By nature of our work, most teachers have to work alone most of the time. I work alone sometimes, usually when doing some planning, scheduling, or paperwork like mileage reports. But what makes me different is that I must seek and create opportunities to work with others.
Working in isolation is not an option—at all, ever.
Being a literacy coach allows me to thrive; as a friend recently said to me, “If you’re not social, I don’t know who is.” I love teaching and consider it fun to read professional books, share information, try teaching strategies, to look at student work, and to think about how to increase achievement. That has been true for the 25 years that I’ve been a teacher.
What’s newer to me is that fact that I have discovered that collaboration with teachers is deeply joyful, challenging work. It can even be a bonding experience; I can assist with the sometimes daunting task of analyzing student achievement data, help with determining needs and possible strategies for addressing the students’ needs, and then work with the teachers, side by side, to model and assess best practices. I can provide a safe environment for learning and taking risks with instruction—and increase the likelihood of success by providing on-the-spot feedback and support. That makes me different.
My door is always open—I constantly seek collaboration, conversations, and sharing of work. I probably think about my colleagues more than best friends who teach next door to each other. And, like the best friends, I only want what is best for each teacher and classroom of kids. Unlike the best friend next door, I have the time and resources to be present—right there in helping—to make the quest for steady improvement more sustainable as we work together in harmony. That makes me different.
Deb Cale, Director of Teaching and Learning for the Johnson Community School District says, “Research shows that if a person doesn’t have a feedback or coaching component, only about 10 percent of what they’ve learned in professional development will stick with them. But, if the coaches are there to support a teacher in implementing a new practice or instructional method, the learning opportunity goes up to 90 percent.” WOW. I mean W - O - W. That makes my job different.
I have the incredible opportunity to make a big difference for teachers and then exponentially for students who benefit from our collaboration, both directly and indirectly. What I bring to the table is my professionalism, knowledge base about teaching literacy, interpersonal communication skills, and a strong desire to help teachers realize their potential. That, coupled with the opportunities I can seek, create, and provide as to coach, help to energize and sustain our teaching professionals in their ever-challenging, admirable work of educating our nation’s children.
Thank goodness that I am different because the difference that a coach can make is unique and needed.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Where I'm From
Where we are from has EVERYTHING to do with who we are, what we value, and what we seek throughout our lives. Writing about my memories of my developing literacy in another SOL entry, I decided to write my own version of a "Where I'm From" poem, like that by George Ella Lyon. It's definitely a "work in progress" in that it feels like it's not finished or polished... but here it is--so far.
(based on the poem by George Ella Lyon)
I am from electric fences
and fans stirring the curtains in farmhouse windows,
from Mercurochrome for scraped knees,
Burger Dairy ice cream, frozen cokes, and K-Mart blue light specials.
I am from the rich, dark soil of Indiana
endless battles with weeds, gardening
to grow vegetables to sustain our family
and finding Indians’ arrowheads after
the fields were plowed
gathering rocks of all sizes from the land
for one penny each.
I’m from popsicles, dandelion greens, sun-ripened tomatoes,
and homemade chicken salad chopped in a new-fangled blender;
from the big maple tree in the side yard with strong, beckoning arms
cradling, providing solitude or a quiet place to read,
shading us when we played Barbies on a quilt under its branches.
I’m from Junes of tasting the red-orange bitter-sweetness of cherries
from delicate, gnarled ancient trees on “Sissy’s Dead Hill,”
dreaming about Kentucky vacations
with cousins, grandparents, and endless aunts and uncles
that came soon after.
I’m from fresh cow’s milk and blonde hair
from the Wiremans, Whitakers, and Shepherds
Salt- of- the- Earth,
Hardworking, intelligent, stubborn people
who valued education but didn’t always have it.
From “Bloody Bones” and “Come stand right here and hush, Sissy!”
From time-outs when Walter Cronkite was on in black and white,
learning about Vietnam and Watergate
and worrying about politics by the age of 8.
I’m from the pink Baptist church on a country road
with its children’s classes taught by
grouchy -God-fearing- gray-haired-church ladies-with-cat-eyed-glasses,
with interesting brochures in the back of the sanctuary,
picturing people from less fortunate lands
and cookies with Kool-Aid for sustenance
as we sought God.
From a mother with a lavender coat and a pink leather wallet
Who smelled like Avon’s “Charisma”
And a father who gave me quarters,
Fondly called my “weekend money”
which aided my book collecting
from Key Pharmacy, Goodwill on Bluffton Road, and
St. Vincent dePaul’s on Calhoun Street in the city
or my pleasure of writing on thick, multi-colored pads of paper
or gently correcting mistakes
with triangular erasers with wooden Chinese heads
purchased at G.C. Murphy’s Five and Ten.
I’m from Appalachia, tobacco farms, pinto beans
fried chicken for breakfast,
and Banner sausage from a can--
a spicy, chunky pinkish-brown gravy that oozed over buttermilk biscuits
From the legend of my dad’s car accident,
sideswiped by a drunk--who lost an arm,
From never sticking our own body parts out of a vehicle.
I’m from a mother who tells tales about delivering mail with her mother--
part Indian, maybe Cherokee--
in a precarious Jeep careening around “branches” of rivers,
curvy roads, and toppling into hollers.
Steep, tree-laden, rocky-edged hills
one with a family cemetery on top
and mules and cowbells jangling down the mountainsides
heading in for the night
heavy fog and humidity settling
while the “Blue Moon of Kentucky” kept on shining.
I am from red raspberry bushes in the fence rows,
a small woods with a fresh water spring,
and smiling for the camera with messy hair and
red sunglasses with the lenses popped out.
I’m from loving farm dogs like family members
snuggling baby bunnies,
and reading on blankets spread out in a summer meadow.
I’m from baling hay in the scorching sun,
Carrying jars of ice water to my red-skinned father
With only his cowboy hat to keep him cool.
From looking forward to going to town,
especially to the basements of Harvey’s and G.C. Murphy’s
where we all knew the best toys in the world could be found.
I’m from clotheslines,
a big red barn and a tin shed with tractors,
antiques tossed aside,
sweet hay filled with clover and alfalfa,
cows and an old barn cat named “Puss,”
and riding a friendly pony, Nellie, around the pasture
like a real cowgirl donning a red felt cowboy hat,
cap guns, and even spurs (only for jingling, never for prodding)...
I’m from riding bikes around a circle drive
and swooshing down our country road to the old churchyard
with scary farm dogs chasing us
from fresh Christmas trees from Frank’s or a local nursery
always personally selected by “Daddy and me,”
and Shiny Brite ornaments, paper angels,
a cardboard fireplace, with a winking Santa door panel
and Christmas carols on records
and played on a Magnus chord organ or a portable record player
all year round.
I’m from dancing to records or AM radio
on a battery-powered player
in the shade of the maple trees.
Using the front porch as a schoolhouse,
my toy upright piano with a real maple cabinet
and old schoolbooks, like MAKING MUSIC YOUR OWN,
and siblings as the teacher and fellow students.
I’m from hard work
and hide-and-seek
on rolling farm land,
“getting outside to play” with brothers and sisters,
in a big yard covered with flowers, lilac and snowball bushes,
and from being sheltering trees that touched the sky,
used for bases when we played softball.
and it’s all still there, beckoning, like an old friend
wondering why I don't visit more often.
(based on the poem by George Ella Lyon)
I am from electric fences
and fans stirring the curtains in farmhouse windows,
from Mercurochrome for scraped knees,
Burger Dairy ice cream, frozen cokes, and K-Mart blue light specials.
I am from the rich, dark soil of Indiana
endless battles with weeds, gardening
to grow vegetables to sustain our family
and finding Indians’ arrowheads after
the fields were plowed
gathering rocks of all sizes from the land
for one penny each.
I’m from popsicles, dandelion greens, sun-ripened tomatoes,
and homemade chicken salad chopped in a new-fangled blender;
from the big maple tree in the side yard with strong, beckoning arms
cradling, providing solitude or a quiet place to read,
shading us when we played Barbies on a quilt under its branches.
I’m from Junes of tasting the red-orange bitter-sweetness of cherries
from delicate, gnarled ancient trees on “Sissy’s Dead Hill,”
dreaming about Kentucky vacations
with cousins, grandparents, and endless aunts and uncles
that came soon after.
I’m from fresh cow’s milk and blonde hair
from the Wiremans, Whitakers, and Shepherds
Salt- of- the- Earth,
Hardworking, intelligent, stubborn people
who valued education but didn’t always have it.
From “Bloody Bones” and “Come stand right here and hush, Sissy!”
From time-outs when Walter Cronkite was on in black and white,
learning about Vietnam and Watergate
and worrying about politics by the age of 8.
I’m from the pink Baptist church on a country road
with its children’s classes taught by
grouchy -God-fearing- gray-haired-church ladies-with-cat-eyed-glasses,
with interesting brochures in the back of the sanctuary,
picturing people from less fortunate lands
and cookies with Kool-Aid for sustenance
as we sought God.
From a mother with a lavender coat and a pink leather wallet
Who smelled like Avon’s “Charisma”
And a father who gave me quarters,
Fondly called my “weekend money”
which aided my book collecting
from Key Pharmacy, Goodwill on Bluffton Road, and
St. Vincent dePaul’s on Calhoun Street in the city
or my pleasure of writing on thick, multi-colored pads of paper
or gently correcting mistakes
with triangular erasers with wooden Chinese heads
purchased at G.C. Murphy’s Five and Ten.
I’m from Appalachia, tobacco farms, pinto beans
fried chicken for breakfast,
and Banner sausage from a can--
a spicy, chunky pinkish-brown gravy that oozed over buttermilk biscuits
From the legend of my dad’s car accident,
sideswiped by a drunk--who lost an arm,
From never sticking our own body parts out of a vehicle.
I’m from a mother who tells tales about delivering mail with her mother--
part Indian, maybe Cherokee--
in a precarious Jeep careening around “branches” of rivers,
curvy roads, and toppling into hollers.
Steep, tree-laden, rocky-edged hills
one with a family cemetery on top
and mules and cowbells jangling down the mountainsides
heading in for the night
heavy fog and humidity settling
while the “Blue Moon of Kentucky” kept on shining.
I am from red raspberry bushes in the fence rows,
a small woods with a fresh water spring,
and smiling for the camera with messy hair and
red sunglasses with the lenses popped out.
I’m from loving farm dogs like family members
snuggling baby bunnies,
and reading on blankets spread out in a summer meadow.
I’m from baling hay in the scorching sun,
Carrying jars of ice water to my red-skinned father
With only his cowboy hat to keep him cool.
From looking forward to going to town,
especially to the basements of Harvey’s and G.C. Murphy’s
where we all knew the best toys in the world could be found.
I’m from clotheslines,
a big red barn and a tin shed with tractors,
antiques tossed aside,
sweet hay filled with clover and alfalfa,
cows and an old barn cat named “Puss,”
and riding a friendly pony, Nellie, around the pasture
like a real cowgirl donning a red felt cowboy hat,
cap guns, and even spurs (only for jingling, never for prodding)...
I’m from riding bikes around a circle drive
and swooshing down our country road to the old churchyard
with scary farm dogs chasing us
from fresh Christmas trees from Frank’s or a local nursery
always personally selected by “Daddy and me,”
and Shiny Brite ornaments, paper angels,
a cardboard fireplace, with a winking Santa door panel
and Christmas carols on records
and played on a Magnus chord organ or a portable record player
all year round.
I’m from dancing to records or AM radio
on a battery-powered player
in the shade of the maple trees.
Using the front porch as a schoolhouse,
my toy upright piano with a real maple cabinet
and old schoolbooks, like MAKING MUSIC YOUR OWN,
and siblings as the teacher and fellow students.
I’m from hard work
and hide-and-seek
on rolling farm land,
“getting outside to play” with brothers and sisters,
in a big yard covered with flowers, lilac and snowball bushes,
and from being sheltering trees that touched the sky,
used for bases when we played softball.
and it’s all still there, beckoning, like an old friend
wondering why I don't visit more often.
All A's: Attention, Appreciation, Affection = Happiness
The Kansas Coaching Project at www.instructionalcoach.org, currently defines instructional coaching in this way:
“Instructional coaches are onsite professional developers who teach educators how to use proven teaching methods. They employ a variety of professional development procedures to foster widespread, high-quality implementation of interventions, providing ‘on-the-job learning.’ …they respect teachers’ professionalism and focus their efforts on conversations that lead to creative, practical application of research-based practice.
Instructional coaches see themselves as equal partners with teachers in the complex and richly rewarding work of teaching students. More than anything else, instructional coaches work in partnerships to accelerate teachers’ professional learning through mutually enriching, healthy relationships. Instructional coaches are colleagues, friends, and confidants who listen with care and share valuable information with teachers at the time when teachers most need it.”
I love this definition because it shows that we are professionals with high expectations who truly care about our co-workers.
Coaches should work as partners with teachers; even when left “in charge” during staff development sessions, coaches need to respect the boundaries of partnerships to ensure that everyone is respected and treated professionally and courteously.
I am currently reading Jim Knight’s “Partnership Learning Fieldbook”. (This is free at the link I’ve embedded here.) Knight explains how equality, choice, voice, dialogue, reflection, and praxis are inherent to working together as partners in a coaching relationship. He provides practical applications and thoughtful reflection questions to guide coaches into deeper consideration of whether they are working as partners with their teaching colleagues. He reminds us that if someone dominates, partnership is lost and along with it, learning and coaching opportunities. Knight reminds us, “When you see the world through partnership glasses, you come to understand human relationships in new ways.”
Knight’s work, coupled with that of the Kansas Coaching Project, dovetail with what Deepak Chopra, an Indian-born American physician and spiritual guru, says about creating happiness in any moment:
Knight says, “Facilitators have to listen authentically, empathetically. For Stephen Covey, empathetic listening is ‘listening with intent to understand ... seeking first to understand, really understand … Empathic listening gets inside another person’s frame of reference. You look out through it, you see the world the way they see the world, you understand their paradigm, you understand how they feel…’”
2. Appreciation someone-- NOTICE A STRENGTH
“The more deeply you understand other people, the more you appreciate them, the more reverent you will feel about them. To touch the soul of another human being is to walk on holy ground.” —Stephen Covey
Keep appreciations sincere and specific; I think this can be done through positive, objective feedback.
3. Show affection by TELLING someone that you care
Without a sense of caring, there can be no sense of community.
--Anthony J. D'Angelo
***
Chopra says that if you do these things, those around you will feel happy—and so will you. Maybe that is why I love instructional coaching and feel so happy in my work.
I find Chopra’s list compelling because of the connections conferring strategies in the reading and writing workshops—and, of course, instructional coaching.
In both conferring and coaching, I think many times we omit #3 (telling someone we care). Instead, we substitute an “instructional move” to help guide and stretch the learner, followed by encouragement “have a go” with the new learning. In both teaching and coaching, the person doing the instruction will likely scaffold assistance and feedback to help ensure, sustain, and further stretch the learner.
It stands to reason, though, that we should be more intentional about including Chopra’s third strategy for creating happiness by telling our learners that we care about them. This is helpful in developing and sustaining “mutually enriching, healthy relationships”. So how might this sound in a conferring situation with students?
Can we tell teachers that we care and still remain objective?
I believe we can, as it shows your vestment in their success as a professional—and as a human being who is worthy of being cared for.
So how might this sound in a coaching situation? I think we can be guided particularly by this line from the Kansas Coaching Project’s definition, “Instructional coaches are colleagues, friends, and confidants who listen with care and share valuable information with teachers at the time when teachers most need it.”
I can imagine this sounding like this—with all of the things from Knight’s work, The Kansas Coaching Project’s work, Deepak Chopra’s work, Rick Warren’s work…and many more. Deepak says to TELL people that you care; I would add a plethora of ways to SHOW you care.
To me, showing that I care about co-workers often comes easier than saying it… though many can also fall under the categories of “listening” and “appreciating”:
Work-Focused Caring Words:
What would you add to this?
“Instructional coaches are onsite professional developers who teach educators how to use proven teaching methods. They employ a variety of professional development procedures to foster widespread, high-quality implementation of interventions, providing ‘on-the-job learning.’ …they respect teachers’ professionalism and focus their efforts on conversations that lead to creative, practical application of research-based practice.
Instructional coaches see themselves as equal partners with teachers in the complex and richly rewarding work of teaching students. More than anything else, instructional coaches work in partnerships to accelerate teachers’ professional learning through mutually enriching, healthy relationships. Instructional coaches are colleagues, friends, and confidants who listen with care and share valuable information with teachers at the time when teachers most need it.”
I love this definition because it shows that we are professionals with high expectations who truly care about our co-workers.
Coaches should work as partners with teachers; even when left “in charge” during staff development sessions, coaches need to respect the boundaries of partnerships to ensure that everyone is respected and treated professionally and courteously.
I am currently reading Jim Knight’s “Partnership Learning Fieldbook”. (This is free at the link I’ve embedded here.) Knight explains how equality, choice, voice, dialogue, reflection, and praxis are inherent to working together as partners in a coaching relationship. He provides practical applications and thoughtful reflection questions to guide coaches into deeper consideration of whether they are working as partners with their teaching colleagues. He reminds us that if someone dominates, partnership is lost and along with it, learning and coaching opportunities. Knight reminds us, “When you see the world through partnership glasses, you come to understand human relationships in new ways.”
Knight’s work, coupled with that of the Kansas Coaching Project, dovetail with what Deepak Chopra, an Indian-born American physician and spiritual guru, says about creating happiness in any moment:
- Give someone your attention--LISTEN
Knight says, “Facilitators have to listen authentically, empathetically. For Stephen Covey, empathetic listening is ‘listening with intent to understand ... seeking first to understand, really understand … Empathic listening gets inside another person’s frame of reference. You look out through it, you see the world the way they see the world, you understand their paradigm, you understand how they feel…’”
2. Appreciation someone-- NOTICE A STRENGTH
“The more deeply you understand other people, the more you appreciate them, the more reverent you will feel about them. To touch the soul of another human being is to walk on holy ground.” —Stephen Covey
Keep appreciations sincere and specific; I think this can be done through positive, objective feedback.
3. Show affection by TELLING someone that you care
Without a sense of caring, there can be no sense of community.
--Anthony J. D'Angelo
***
Chopra says that if you do these things, those around you will feel happy—and so will you. Maybe that is why I love instructional coaching and feel so happy in my work.
I find Chopra’s list compelling because of the connections conferring strategies in the reading and writing workshops—and, of course, instructional coaching.
In both conferring and coaching, I think many times we omit #3 (telling someone we care). Instead, we substitute an “instructional move” to help guide and stretch the learner, followed by encouragement “have a go” with the new learning. In both teaching and coaching, the person doing the instruction will likely scaffold assistance and feedback to help ensure, sustain, and further stretch the learner.
It stands to reason, though, that we should be more intentional about including Chopra’s third strategy for creating happiness by telling our learners that we care about them. This is helpful in developing and sustaining “mutually enriching, healthy relationships”. So how might this sound in a conferring situation with students?
- I really care about how you are doing with this. I will be back to check on how this is going before class ends today.
- You are really learning and growing! I am proud of you.
Can we tell teachers that we care and still remain objective?
I believe we can, as it shows your vestment in their success as a professional—and as a human being who is worthy of being cared for.
So how might this sound in a coaching situation? I think we can be guided particularly by this line from the Kansas Coaching Project’s definition, “Instructional coaches are colleagues, friends, and confidants who listen with care and share valuable information with teachers at the time when teachers most need it.”
I can imagine this sounding like this—with all of the things from Knight’s work, The Kansas Coaching Project’s work, Deepak Chopra’s work, Rick Warren’s work…and many more. Deepak says to TELL people that you care; I would add a plethora of ways to SHOW you care.
To me, showing that I care about co-workers often comes easier than saying it… though many can also fall under the categories of “listening” and “appreciating”:
- Co-planning
- Co-teaching
- Providing thoughtful, timely, constructive feedback
- Reflecting
- Sharing resources
- Doing an unexpected kindness, such as bringing a treat or small gift or card
- Giving a handshake, a touch on the arm, (or even a hug) in the right moment
- Work at least as hard as the teachers—maybe harder
- Assume the positive, if anything at all
- Always be on time and respectful of time
- Go out of your way to help in a crisis
- Be thoughtful about holidays, birthdays, weddings, etc.
Work-Focused Caring Words:
- I really care about you and want to help you realize your goals.
- GREET co-workers when you see them; if you’ve greeted them before, you might just look into their eyes, smile, or wish them a good day.
- Ask for and care about their opinions.
- Return calls and emails promptly and thank them for their communication and time.
- Thank people—work with gratitude
- Notice if someone is out of sorts; listen if it’s appropriate.
- Choose calming words, focused on solutions.]\
- NEVER gossip.
What would you add to this?
To Listen is To Love
“To listen is to love.” --Panache Desai
Here is a found poem based on the post, “I Hear You,” on Panache Desai’s website. I realized (after writing it) that it connects with and reflects a lot of my thinking on this blog, particularly in Slice of Life Post #9.
To listen is to love.
Listen
From a space of presence
Give
Your undivided attention
To listen is to give a great gift
To listen is to love.
Words met with spaciousness
Facial expression, body language
S o f t e n
The Speaker is most important
To listen is to communicate
To listen is to love.
Bringing sacred stillness
To everyday interaction
Nothing more powerful
Or more loving
Than being heard
To listen is to validate.
To listen is to love.
Not criticizing
Not judging
Not lecturing
Never invalidated or shamed
What we say matters
To listen is to suspend need for control
To listen is to love
Affirming
Building trust
Facilitating understanding
Lovingly holding space
Express what needs expressed
To listen is to be present
To listen is to love
L o o k F o c u s R e l a x
R E C E I V E
PAY ATTENTION! Be present.
Mirror back and be sincere.
To listen is to seek understanding
To listen is to love
Ask for clarification
Validate
Respond with empathy
Cultivate the practice
of lovingly listening
Listening is connecting with action
To listen is to love.
Here is a found poem based on the post, “I Hear You,” on Panache Desai’s website. I realized (after writing it) that it connects with and reflects a lot of my thinking on this blog, particularly in Slice of Life Post #9.
To listen is to love.
Listen
From a space of presence
Give
Your undivided attention
To listen is to give a great gift
To listen is to love.
Words met with spaciousness
Facial expression, body language
S o f t e n
The Speaker is most important
To listen is to communicate
To listen is to love.
Bringing sacred stillness
To everyday interaction
Nothing more powerful
Or more loving
Than being heard
To listen is to validate.
To listen is to love.
Not criticizing
Not judging
Not lecturing
Never invalidated or shamed
What we say matters
To listen is to suspend need for control
To listen is to love
Affirming
Building trust
Facilitating understanding
Lovingly holding space
Express what needs expressed
To listen is to be present
To listen is to love
L o o k F o c u s R e l a x
R E C E I V E
PAY ATTENTION! Be present.
Mirror back and be sincere.
To listen is to seek understanding
To listen is to love
Ask for clarification
Validate
Respond with empathy
Cultivate the practice
of lovingly listening
Listening is connecting with action
To listen is to love.
The Reading Places
The Reading Places
Home is
where books are
collected
accumulated
stored
squirreled away
piled
hoarded
stockpiled
amassed
read
loved
cherished
kept
Yearning to permeate
mind - spirit’s core
Paradise is
Where books fill
endless libraries
brimming with favorites
Old friends all gathered
Enjoying each other’s company
Whispering secrets,
Imparting knowledge,
compassion, tenderness,
and life - truths
collected
accumulated
stored
squirreled away
piled
hoarded
stockpiled
amassed
read
loved
cherished
kept
Just waiting for you
To set them free
Home is
where books are
collected
accumulated
stored
squirreled away
piled
hoarded
stockpiled
amassed
read
loved
cherished
kept
Yearning to permeate
mind - spirit’s core
Paradise is
Where books fill
endless libraries
brimming with favorites
Old friends all gathered
Enjoying each other’s company
Whispering secrets,
Imparting knowledge,
compassion, tenderness,
and life - truths
collected
accumulated
stored
squirreled away
piled
hoarded
stockpiled
amassed
read
loved
cherished
kept
Just waiting for you
To set them free
Teaching ID
Discovering Your Teaching Identity
"Read an hour every day in your chosen field. This works out to about one book per week, fifty books per year, and will guarantee your success."
--Brian Tracy, Motivational Coach and Author
On occasion, I have heard teachers wonder at the extensive knowledge base of some of their peers. For example, a teacher asked recently said, “I’ve been teaching a long time, but it seems like some teachers are way ahead of me in terms of what they know. How did that happen?”
My reply was to consider several things that we do to learn and grow. Had she attended workshops? Did she read professionally either on her own or with study groups? Did she participate in professional organizations? Did she write reflections or collaborate with peers? What is your “teaching identity?”
Workshops:
In my district, you may take two professional leave days per year (oftentimes, more are granted if needed). So, let’s do the math: if you attended just two professional events per year, over the course of 20 years, you would have accumulated knowledge from 40 workshops! Assuming each is 6 hours in length, that’s 240 hours of professional learning, which is about the same as having nearly seven weeks of classes!
Professional Reading:
I also thought about this quote. If you really did read 50 books about teaching per year, in 20 years you would have read 1000 books! ONE THOUSAND! Think of what that means!
On yesterday’s post, I made a list of my top 15 professional books but gave a nod to many educator-authors who just didn’t quite make the cut.
But if I could have made a list of my top one thousand professional books, I might have actually been able to make an exhaustive list of my favorites. I have definitely read hundreds, surely perused well over a thousand. And then I would have to consider the professional journals and articles that I’ve read. That must be well into the hundreds…
Professional Book Studies:
And then there are professional book studies in which you might participate (or even facilitate). I am trying to recall the books I’ve studied with teams of teachers over the years. I clearly recall the very first one—the one that opened up the world to me as a teacher: INVITATIONS: CHANGING AS TEACHERS AND LEARNERS, K-12 by Regie Routman.
I remember a few of the participants and how I marveled at the information in that book, not to mention how empowering it was to sit down with a group of teachers to share our thinking about the text. Suddenly, I realized that I had discovered the means to continuing my own education in one of the best ways possible—to collaborate with my peers.
I found book after book, many of which appear on yesterday’s list or whose authors I mentioned. Then a new principal came to my school, and she encouraged and even promoted book studies. She shared professional articles, and we often had casual, unplanned discussions about what we had been reading and thinking.
Professional Organizations:
Some teachers from my district (including myself) teamed with some teachers from another district to breathe new life into our local reading council (as division of the ISRA and IRA). We started sharing the expertise of some of our local teachers, eventually moving from after-school meetings in various buildings to larger dinner meetings in area restaurants. Over the years, we have evolved from about 10 members to 80, and one county into seven, and even have a few members who have crossed the state/county line to join us.
Coaching and Collaborating
Sometime around my tenth year as a teacher, a writing coach (part-time) was added to our staff. I had discovered my second literacy love (the first being reading): writing—more specifically, writing workshop. I had attended a week-long training over the summer, and I had discovered such lovely things as touchstone texts, writers’ notebooks, conferring, and the author’s chair. I was anxious to implement everything, immediately! RIGHT NOW. The coach who was new and stretched very thin, helped when she could and patiently looked through artifacts from my workshop. This was enough to sustain my work and to propel me forward, now as a reading teacher AND writing teacher.
Teaching Identity
Over the course of a few years, I quickly moved from being (and feeling like) a novice teacher to living and seeing myself as a true professional. As my learning grew rapidly, so did my excitement for teaching. Teaching went from being my career choice to being part of my identity. I felt as though I had found a large part of my purpose in teaching and in life.
And then, if you are a teacher, you need to read and know even more books. You need to know the literature that is available (or that you want to make available or accessible) to your students.
A natural outcome of my professional reading is the phenomenon that Brian Tracy calls “success” in his quote. As my knowledge base increased, so did my love of learning. In turn, I was increasingly drawn to quality literature and informational texts for children.
My own children were young, so we went to bookstores nearly every week. They would choose a few books, and we would read, read, read. Sometimes the books were not our favorites and would have to go back on the shelf. Sometimes, we read and cherished them immediately. We had to take them home, and they become part of us-- breathing their grace into our minds, whispering their secrets to us, often over and over again.
And, of course, there were trips to the school and public libraries… and to book sales at the Indianapolis Public Library (where I have purchased literally thousands of books over the years). The first time I went into that sale, just two years after reading INVITATIONS, I remember freezing in the doorway and then trembling with exuberance at how many books were there—at my fingertips—just waiting to be lovingly taken home or to my classroom and shared with children.
Whether a book made it to our house or classroom, our knowledge base of literature was ever increasing. We read in the bookstores, libraries, in our home, and in the classroom. Because of our access to such a variety of books, our tastes became increasingly impeccable; quality texts started to show themselves over other texts that were, perhaps, gimmicky or contrived. Favorites emerged.
Love of reading and of learning prevailed over all—this became another knowledge base in my professional life. I loved the books and authors. I remembered their names, their words, and could often quote text. When I needed a book for a certain theme, topic, or moment, I could think of a title without having to search online or the card catalog.
Guaranteed Success?
While “guaranteed success” seems like a surprisingly ambitious word choice, I think that Brian Tracy is right. When I think about what has led me to feel competent in my work, it’s the reading. When I think about what helps me to align instruction to my beliefs—to even know what I believe—it’s the reading. When I think about where I turn when I need answers or clarity—it’s the reading. When I think about what has caused me to continue learn, grow, and flourish—YES, it’s the reading.
Thank goodness for the reading.
"Read an hour every day in your chosen field. This works out to about one book per week, fifty books per year, and will guarantee your success."
--Brian Tracy, Motivational Coach and Author
On occasion, I have heard teachers wonder at the extensive knowledge base of some of their peers. For example, a teacher asked recently said, “I’ve been teaching a long time, but it seems like some teachers are way ahead of me in terms of what they know. How did that happen?”
My reply was to consider several things that we do to learn and grow. Had she attended workshops? Did she read professionally either on her own or with study groups? Did she participate in professional organizations? Did she write reflections or collaborate with peers? What is your “teaching identity?”
Workshops:
In my district, you may take two professional leave days per year (oftentimes, more are granted if needed). So, let’s do the math: if you attended just two professional events per year, over the course of 20 years, you would have accumulated knowledge from 40 workshops! Assuming each is 6 hours in length, that’s 240 hours of professional learning, which is about the same as having nearly seven weeks of classes!
Professional Reading:
I also thought about this quote. If you really did read 50 books about teaching per year, in 20 years you would have read 1000 books! ONE THOUSAND! Think of what that means!
On yesterday’s post, I made a list of my top 15 professional books but gave a nod to many educator-authors who just didn’t quite make the cut.
But if I could have made a list of my top one thousand professional books, I might have actually been able to make an exhaustive list of my favorites. I have definitely read hundreds, surely perused well over a thousand. And then I would have to consider the professional journals and articles that I’ve read. That must be well into the hundreds…
Professional Book Studies:
And then there are professional book studies in which you might participate (or even facilitate). I am trying to recall the books I’ve studied with teams of teachers over the years. I clearly recall the very first one—the one that opened up the world to me as a teacher: INVITATIONS: CHANGING AS TEACHERS AND LEARNERS, K-12 by Regie Routman.
I remember a few of the participants and how I marveled at the information in that book, not to mention how empowering it was to sit down with a group of teachers to share our thinking about the text. Suddenly, I realized that I had discovered the means to continuing my own education in one of the best ways possible—to collaborate with my peers.
I found book after book, many of which appear on yesterday’s list or whose authors I mentioned. Then a new principal came to my school, and she encouraged and even promoted book studies. She shared professional articles, and we often had casual, unplanned discussions about what we had been reading and thinking.
Professional Organizations:
Some teachers from my district (including myself) teamed with some teachers from another district to breathe new life into our local reading council (as division of the ISRA and IRA). We started sharing the expertise of some of our local teachers, eventually moving from after-school meetings in various buildings to larger dinner meetings in area restaurants. Over the years, we have evolved from about 10 members to 80, and one county into seven, and even have a few members who have crossed the state/county line to join us.
Coaching and Collaborating
Sometime around my tenth year as a teacher, a writing coach (part-time) was added to our staff. I had discovered my second literacy love (the first being reading): writing—more specifically, writing workshop. I had attended a week-long training over the summer, and I had discovered such lovely things as touchstone texts, writers’ notebooks, conferring, and the author’s chair. I was anxious to implement everything, immediately! RIGHT NOW. The coach who was new and stretched very thin, helped when she could and patiently looked through artifacts from my workshop. This was enough to sustain my work and to propel me forward, now as a reading teacher AND writing teacher.
Teaching Identity
Over the course of a few years, I quickly moved from being (and feeling like) a novice teacher to living and seeing myself as a true professional. As my learning grew rapidly, so did my excitement for teaching. Teaching went from being my career choice to being part of my identity. I felt as though I had found a large part of my purpose in teaching and in life.
And then, if you are a teacher, you need to read and know even more books. You need to know the literature that is available (or that you want to make available or accessible) to your students.
A natural outcome of my professional reading is the phenomenon that Brian Tracy calls “success” in his quote. As my knowledge base increased, so did my love of learning. In turn, I was increasingly drawn to quality literature and informational texts for children.
My own children were young, so we went to bookstores nearly every week. They would choose a few books, and we would read, read, read. Sometimes the books were not our favorites and would have to go back on the shelf. Sometimes, we read and cherished them immediately. We had to take them home, and they become part of us-- breathing their grace into our minds, whispering their secrets to us, often over and over again.
And, of course, there were trips to the school and public libraries… and to book sales at the Indianapolis Public Library (where I have purchased literally thousands of books over the years). The first time I went into that sale, just two years after reading INVITATIONS, I remember freezing in the doorway and then trembling with exuberance at how many books were there—at my fingertips—just waiting to be lovingly taken home or to my classroom and shared with children.
Whether a book made it to our house or classroom, our knowledge base of literature was ever increasing. We read in the bookstores, libraries, in our home, and in the classroom. Because of our access to such a variety of books, our tastes became increasingly impeccable; quality texts started to show themselves over other texts that were, perhaps, gimmicky or contrived. Favorites emerged.
Love of reading and of learning prevailed over all—this became another knowledge base in my professional life. I loved the books and authors. I remembered their names, their words, and could often quote text. When I needed a book for a certain theme, topic, or moment, I could think of a title without having to search online or the card catalog.
Guaranteed Success?
While “guaranteed success” seems like a surprisingly ambitious word choice, I think that Brian Tracy is right. When I think about what has led me to feel competent in my work, it’s the reading. When I think about what helps me to align instruction to my beliefs—to even know what I believe—it’s the reading. When I think about where I turn when I need answers or clarity—it’s the reading. When I think about what has caused me to continue learn, grow, and flourish—YES, it’s the reading.
Thank goodness for the reading.
A Romantic Novella: Starring Fluency
I have been trying to get a teacher-friend to read a wonderful book called PRACTICAL FLUENCY by Max and Gayle Brand.
Yesterday, she told me that she just couldn't get into it... that if it were a novel, she might be able to read it. This is for her... and anyone else who appreciates silliness and literacy. What a mix.
A Romantic Novella About Fluency:
LEYENDO'S FIERY PASSION FOR FLUENCY
On a dark moonless summer night, with only occasional bolts of heat lightning to relieve the blackness, Fluency stretched her smooth legs as best as she could while driving the rented moving van. All her favorite picture books and juvenile novels were stuffed behind her as she drove the long five hour trip. She turned left onto a gravel road, almost there now, almost to her new home in the country and to her new life in nearby Angola, Indiana.
Off in the distance, an orange, yellow, and red glow flickered on the horizon. A fire! Oh no!
Fluency made a return sweep to the left, pulling into the long winding driveway as flames leaped, dancing in the wind, while devouring the old weathered schoolhouse. With natural prowess, she jumped from the van and effortlessly toward the blaze. That schoolhouse was supposed to be an rural library and headquarters for her new job. Fluency felt like she was watching a funeral pyre for her new life. What kind of sign was this for her new beginning?
The fire, hot as the engine of her van, singed her chocolate hair as she rhythmically ran into the choking cloud of billowing black smoke. She collided into what felt like a brick wall and her knees buckled causing her to pause at just the right moment...
"Whoa….. little seniorita," a voice broke into the darkness. Large gentle hands clasped her shoulders to stop her from falling upon impact, and then guided her back out of the heat. Little did he know, but Fluency would be the best thing that ever happened to him.
Fluency's heart caught at the sound of the deep, rich baritone voice. His ebony eyes locked onto her sapphire ones then widened with surprise. Or was it appreciation? Perhaps the scorching heat was slowing down her rate of thinking?
Something firm pressed against her chest before she realized his brawny arms were filled with books that he was rescuing from the fire! Although glistening with sweat and smudged with charcoal, too sooty to distinguish his features, he seemed like a knight in not-quite shimmering armor. "Who are you?" Fluency whispered.
"I am…. Leyendo." He remembered his manners at the same time as the heavy weights in arms. "Here."
He thrust the bundle of books into her arms before brushing a stray lock of hair from her lovely heart-shaped face. He took a giant step back, as an emergent reader might retreat from a chapter book. Her smooth, fluid form seemed out of reach. Leyendo wondered why no one warned him he would yearn for Fluency so very much.
"You.. must be Fluency, the new reading teacher," he tossed a book over his shoulder as he again moved toward the schoolhouse to save more precious literature. He had many false starts, heading toward the building, stopping for reasons unclear, then strangely backing up and restarting. Fluency wondered if he would ever make it; he seemed so unsure of himself. He seemed to be relying on only one strategy in determining how approach the texts.
Fluency settled with the books on the grass, well away from the blazing schoolhouse, as fire engines roared into the driveway. Firemen hollered out directions to each other, working in harmony with hoses to blast water into flames. Leyendo hauled out Newberys and Caldecotts, handing them, along with three more classics, Fluency, before dashing back for another rescue. He had unsteady movements, yet she sensed his desire for her.
Professionals that they were, the firemen had the inferno down to a smolder in no time. One of the fire fighters led Fluency to a large neighboring ranch house at the end of the lane and told her to store her reading materials and conduct her lessons there for a while.
Although she kept her hands busy by wiping the soot from the books, her mind zoomed from one worry to another with the speed of a reader who thinks that rate is everything.
Oh no. Would her new teaching partner want to rebuild the library? She'd never spoken with him directly. What did the future hold for her?
Fluency sighed deeply. Only two hours ago she was felt like her life was going smoothly with virtually no unnecessary pauses or stops. She thought she was finally going to get to express who she really was and finally be deeply understood.
Despite the schoolhouse in ashes down the lane, again and again, she wondered just WHO precisely was Leyendo? Where had he come from and would she see him again? He wasn't what she would call handsome, covered head to toe in grime, but there was something about him – she sensed he needed her… and she was drawn to him… perhaps she could help him develop his prosody… he seemed so unsure of himself. When his gaze met hers, it was as alluring as eyes on text. If only she could put him at ease, help him build confidence.
Well, Fluency conceded, their head-on collision could have knocked her senses out of whack. She'd simply misread their physical impact. Nah. It wasn't chemistry. He just had to put in so much effort but still seemed stilted, and unsure of himself when he met her. He had to focus all of his attention on getting the books, but he didn’t seem to comprehend the importance of their contents. He could not infer what this meant to her life. She saw all of that in the dewy stare of his eyes when he had dropped the firm, heavy books into her arms. It was as if he had all of the desire and tools but just didn’t know what to do with them. Perhaps… yes, she could teach him. She would start out with easy things to build his confidence, gradually trying harder and harder work.
She no sooner settled the books into a make-shift bed, than she heard the smooth baritone that Fluency recalled from earlier. She turned her head toward its source and her mouth went dry. Surely this wasn't Leyendo? This man was freshly showered, his features no longer smudged and indistinguishable. She inhaled deeply as she detected the pleasant sensation of his desire to read with a hint of the smell of a newly opened book. With his bronzed coloring, salt and pepper hair, and ebony eyes that also held a mixture of uncertainty, particularly when he saw the books spread out on the bed. This was Leyendo-the-book-rescuer, a hero of sorts.
Yet he smiled slowly at her gaping mouth and that rich deep tone rumbled, "You okay… Fluency?"
Wow! Swallowing hard, she forced her gaze away from his before her face could betray her thoughts. He looked like a modern-day gladiator with broad shoulders, corded neck, and perfectly sculpted face. He leaned over her and picked up a book.
When she dared another glance, he stared at her for a moment. From the twitching at the corner of his mouth, Fluency guessed he was trying to read again. She wasn't sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him now. Instead, she cleared her throat. Twice. "I'm as full of expression and accuracy as ever."
Leyendo leaned his back against the wall and stuck his hands in his belt loops, regarding her with that same forced smile and a look behind his eyes as if he knew he needed to increase his reading performance. Disturbed, Fluency looked away.
Leyendo held out one large hand. "I'm Leyendo No-Fluidez by the way."
When her much smaller hand gripped his in a handshake, Leyendo attempted to regulate his breathing while he tried to find words for what he wanted to say. He kept hesitating. He would start to speak but then stop. He'd prayed for God to smooth his way, to make his path to better reading more obvious. Was Fluency the answer?
Now this woman was fresh-out of places to live until the schoolhouse was reconstructed as the new library. How did you invite a desirable creature like Fluency—something you have never known—into your life without sounding desperate?
He hesitated, then, "Welcome to Angola, Fluency."
She snorted, doubting his willingness to continue their relationship.
Leyendo tried to catch his breath, reminding himself of why he couldn't let himself pay so much attention to Fluency… He had worked so hard just to decode her face, her words. Now would he dare to get closer to her smooth, expressive body?
Yet he reached for her toned, paper-cut fingers. Her touch was smooth, expressive. "Hmm. Start an inferno… is right."
He reluctantly released her hand when she tugged. She nibbled on her bottom lip as her sapphire eyes narrowed on him. Her honey-sweet voice seemed to pick up a little spice when she asked, "How was it that you were there at the fire so quickly?"
"I live here. I… I have been reading… and re-reading… trying to build stamina… Fluency, you see, I am going to work here… in the new school. "
She swallowed hard, then practically squeaked her realization. "YOU … have been building your stamina? Have you tried oral reading? Cloze reading? Partner reading? REPEATED reading?"
It wasn't a question. For the first time, Leyendo wondered if the attraction went both ways. She didn't sound necessarily pleased about it. In fact, her next statement sounded more like an accusation. "YOU are my new partner!"
Leyendo nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Leyendo No-Fluidez at your service. Don't worry. We'll rebuild the library, while you and I build my… reading fluency. You hold the key.”
She tossed her hands in the air before hitching a thumb back toward the lane. "I can't exactly live in that moving van while the library—and your reading fluency--are under construction."
Leyendo took a step toward her and closed the gap. He watched her breathing speed up. "You can live with me until then. There's lots of rooms to choose from. I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship. We can read books together… we can cloze read, partner read, choral read, and re-read over and over again. I promise to improve my stamina and my overall performance.”
She shook her head, flipping chocolate hair back over her shoulder, then tipped her stubborn chin in the air. "That's partnership, mister. Not relationship. I can read you like a sight word."
"Yes," Leyendo agreed. "It takes an equal partnership for any relationship to work. Just like reading rate and accuracy work together to build prosody. I know that I need automaticity with sight words, too. After you interviewed for the job, the teacher you're replacing told me you're sweet, big-hearted, and a smooth reader. He failed, however, to mention how beautiful you are and how much meaning you could bring to my… reading."
She grumbled, "He failed to mention my future partner could double for a male model if he needed a change of employment… and that he would need to put some work into understanding that he cannot just race through a text and think he will have Fluency."
She whipped her eyes off his form-fitting t-shirt toward a treasured copy of FIFTY SHADES OF GREY... she silently wondered if this text would firm up his desire for the work that needed done; but she knew she would have to provide a lot of extra tutoring. Perhaps she'd start with having him track text with his fingers... perhaps she could even find his Lexile level. How "lexy."
Leyendo shook his head. Oh yes, this would be interesting. She was definitely interested in him whether she wished it so or not. God had definitely handed Leyendo a blessing when He sent Fluency. The schoolhouse’s burning down was like a flashing neon sign for Leyendo's life, sending Fluency into more than his business, sending her into his reading as well.
Leyendo motioned toward the hallway. "Pick a room, any room, for your stay. Then I'll help you carry in your suitcases so you can shower away the smoke and soot from the fire. In the morning, I'll help you unload the books from the moving van."
He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Welcome home, Dr. Fluency Importante." He seemed to accept that he needed to spend more time with Fluency.
Relieved, Fluency spun around and with a sweeping movement from left to right, headed toward the hallway. She looked over her shoulder and smiled, “We will start tomorrow morning, first thing with Cloze reading. I will need to cover text and keep you engaged. It will be fun.”
Leyendo smiled after her. Feisty. Dang but if he didn't like that about her too. He would have to work for her. He knew that she would never use the difference in their reading abilities to cause him embarrassment or confusion. He would learn to instantaneously recognize sight words and move into building his stamina across phrases… and longer, harder sentences. He pictured long hours of tenderly cradling her books in his longing hands, listening to her smooth, expressive lips model prosody for him. She might even have to direct him at first. And then he would practice with her… over and over… until it felt natural and comfortable, which is what he desperately needed. He would bring meaning to his work, opening up new worlds.
And then one day, he would possess Fluency. Yes, Fluency would be HIS.
Yesterday, she told me that she just couldn't get into it... that if it were a novel, she might be able to read it. This is for her... and anyone else who appreciates silliness and literacy. What a mix.
A Romantic Novella About Fluency:
LEYENDO'S FIERY PASSION FOR FLUENCY
On a dark moonless summer night, with only occasional bolts of heat lightning to relieve the blackness, Fluency stretched her smooth legs as best as she could while driving the rented moving van. All her favorite picture books and juvenile novels were stuffed behind her as she drove the long five hour trip. She turned left onto a gravel road, almost there now, almost to her new home in the country and to her new life in nearby Angola, Indiana.
Off in the distance, an orange, yellow, and red glow flickered on the horizon. A fire! Oh no!
Fluency made a return sweep to the left, pulling into the long winding driveway as flames leaped, dancing in the wind, while devouring the old weathered schoolhouse. With natural prowess, she jumped from the van and effortlessly toward the blaze. That schoolhouse was supposed to be an rural library and headquarters for her new job. Fluency felt like she was watching a funeral pyre for her new life. What kind of sign was this for her new beginning?
The fire, hot as the engine of her van, singed her chocolate hair as she rhythmically ran into the choking cloud of billowing black smoke. She collided into what felt like a brick wall and her knees buckled causing her to pause at just the right moment...
"Whoa….. little seniorita," a voice broke into the darkness. Large gentle hands clasped her shoulders to stop her from falling upon impact, and then guided her back out of the heat. Little did he know, but Fluency would be the best thing that ever happened to him.
Fluency's heart caught at the sound of the deep, rich baritone voice. His ebony eyes locked onto her sapphire ones then widened with surprise. Or was it appreciation? Perhaps the scorching heat was slowing down her rate of thinking?
Something firm pressed against her chest before she realized his brawny arms were filled with books that he was rescuing from the fire! Although glistening with sweat and smudged with charcoal, too sooty to distinguish his features, he seemed like a knight in not-quite shimmering armor. "Who are you?" Fluency whispered.
"I am…. Leyendo." He remembered his manners at the same time as the heavy weights in arms. "Here."
He thrust the bundle of books into her arms before brushing a stray lock of hair from her lovely heart-shaped face. He took a giant step back, as an emergent reader might retreat from a chapter book. Her smooth, fluid form seemed out of reach. Leyendo wondered why no one warned him he would yearn for Fluency so very much.
"You.. must be Fluency, the new reading teacher," he tossed a book over his shoulder as he again moved toward the schoolhouse to save more precious literature. He had many false starts, heading toward the building, stopping for reasons unclear, then strangely backing up and restarting. Fluency wondered if he would ever make it; he seemed so unsure of himself. He seemed to be relying on only one strategy in determining how approach the texts.
Fluency settled with the books on the grass, well away from the blazing schoolhouse, as fire engines roared into the driveway. Firemen hollered out directions to each other, working in harmony with hoses to blast water into flames. Leyendo hauled out Newberys and Caldecotts, handing them, along with three more classics, Fluency, before dashing back for another rescue. He had unsteady movements, yet she sensed his desire for her.
Professionals that they were, the firemen had the inferno down to a smolder in no time. One of the fire fighters led Fluency to a large neighboring ranch house at the end of the lane and told her to store her reading materials and conduct her lessons there for a while.
Although she kept her hands busy by wiping the soot from the books, her mind zoomed from one worry to another with the speed of a reader who thinks that rate is everything.
Oh no. Would her new teaching partner want to rebuild the library? She'd never spoken with him directly. What did the future hold for her?
Fluency sighed deeply. Only two hours ago she was felt like her life was going smoothly with virtually no unnecessary pauses or stops. She thought she was finally going to get to express who she really was and finally be deeply understood.
Despite the schoolhouse in ashes down the lane, again and again, she wondered just WHO precisely was Leyendo? Where had he come from and would she see him again? He wasn't what she would call handsome, covered head to toe in grime, but there was something about him – she sensed he needed her… and she was drawn to him… perhaps she could help him develop his prosody… he seemed so unsure of himself. When his gaze met hers, it was as alluring as eyes on text. If only she could put him at ease, help him build confidence.
Well, Fluency conceded, their head-on collision could have knocked her senses out of whack. She'd simply misread their physical impact. Nah. It wasn't chemistry. He just had to put in so much effort but still seemed stilted, and unsure of himself when he met her. He had to focus all of his attention on getting the books, but he didn’t seem to comprehend the importance of their contents. He could not infer what this meant to her life. She saw all of that in the dewy stare of his eyes when he had dropped the firm, heavy books into her arms. It was as if he had all of the desire and tools but just didn’t know what to do with them. Perhaps… yes, she could teach him. She would start out with easy things to build his confidence, gradually trying harder and harder work.
She no sooner settled the books into a make-shift bed, than she heard the smooth baritone that Fluency recalled from earlier. She turned her head toward its source and her mouth went dry. Surely this wasn't Leyendo? This man was freshly showered, his features no longer smudged and indistinguishable. She inhaled deeply as she detected the pleasant sensation of his desire to read with a hint of the smell of a newly opened book. With his bronzed coloring, salt and pepper hair, and ebony eyes that also held a mixture of uncertainty, particularly when he saw the books spread out on the bed. This was Leyendo-the-book-rescuer, a hero of sorts.
Yet he smiled slowly at her gaping mouth and that rich deep tone rumbled, "You okay… Fluency?"
Wow! Swallowing hard, she forced her gaze away from his before her face could betray her thoughts. He looked like a modern-day gladiator with broad shoulders, corded neck, and perfectly sculpted face. He leaned over her and picked up a book.
When she dared another glance, he stared at her for a moment. From the twitching at the corner of his mouth, Fluency guessed he was trying to read again. She wasn't sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him now. Instead, she cleared her throat. Twice. "I'm as full of expression and accuracy as ever."
Leyendo leaned his back against the wall and stuck his hands in his belt loops, regarding her with that same forced smile and a look behind his eyes as if he knew he needed to increase his reading performance. Disturbed, Fluency looked away.
Leyendo held out one large hand. "I'm Leyendo No-Fluidez by the way."
When her much smaller hand gripped his in a handshake, Leyendo attempted to regulate his breathing while he tried to find words for what he wanted to say. He kept hesitating. He would start to speak but then stop. He'd prayed for God to smooth his way, to make his path to better reading more obvious. Was Fluency the answer?
Now this woman was fresh-out of places to live until the schoolhouse was reconstructed as the new library. How did you invite a desirable creature like Fluency—something you have never known—into your life without sounding desperate?
He hesitated, then, "Welcome to Angola, Fluency."
She snorted, doubting his willingness to continue their relationship.
Leyendo tried to catch his breath, reminding himself of why he couldn't let himself pay so much attention to Fluency… He had worked so hard just to decode her face, her words. Now would he dare to get closer to her smooth, expressive body?
Yet he reached for her toned, paper-cut fingers. Her touch was smooth, expressive. "Hmm. Start an inferno… is right."
He reluctantly released her hand when she tugged. She nibbled on her bottom lip as her sapphire eyes narrowed on him. Her honey-sweet voice seemed to pick up a little spice when she asked, "How was it that you were there at the fire so quickly?"
"I live here. I… I have been reading… and re-reading… trying to build stamina… Fluency, you see, I am going to work here… in the new school. "
She swallowed hard, then practically squeaked her realization. "YOU … have been building your stamina? Have you tried oral reading? Cloze reading? Partner reading? REPEATED reading?"
It wasn't a question. For the first time, Leyendo wondered if the attraction went both ways. She didn't sound necessarily pleased about it. In fact, her next statement sounded more like an accusation. "YOU are my new partner!"
Leyendo nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Leyendo No-Fluidez at your service. Don't worry. We'll rebuild the library, while you and I build my… reading fluency. You hold the key.”
She tossed her hands in the air before hitching a thumb back toward the lane. "I can't exactly live in that moving van while the library—and your reading fluency--are under construction."
Leyendo took a step toward her and closed the gap. He watched her breathing speed up. "You can live with me until then. There's lots of rooms to choose from. I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship. We can read books together… we can cloze read, partner read, choral read, and re-read over and over again. I promise to improve my stamina and my overall performance.”
She shook her head, flipping chocolate hair back over her shoulder, then tipped her stubborn chin in the air. "That's partnership, mister. Not relationship. I can read you like a sight word."
"Yes," Leyendo agreed. "It takes an equal partnership for any relationship to work. Just like reading rate and accuracy work together to build prosody. I know that I need automaticity with sight words, too. After you interviewed for the job, the teacher you're replacing told me you're sweet, big-hearted, and a smooth reader. He failed, however, to mention how beautiful you are and how much meaning you could bring to my… reading."
She grumbled, "He failed to mention my future partner could double for a male model if he needed a change of employment… and that he would need to put some work into understanding that he cannot just race through a text and think he will have Fluency."
She whipped her eyes off his form-fitting t-shirt toward a treasured copy of FIFTY SHADES OF GREY... she silently wondered if this text would firm up his desire for the work that needed done; but she knew she would have to provide a lot of extra tutoring. Perhaps she'd start with having him track text with his fingers... perhaps she could even find his Lexile level. How "lexy."
Leyendo shook his head. Oh yes, this would be interesting. She was definitely interested in him whether she wished it so or not. God had definitely handed Leyendo a blessing when He sent Fluency. The schoolhouse’s burning down was like a flashing neon sign for Leyendo's life, sending Fluency into more than his business, sending her into his reading as well.
Leyendo motioned toward the hallway. "Pick a room, any room, for your stay. Then I'll help you carry in your suitcases so you can shower away the smoke and soot from the fire. In the morning, I'll help you unload the books from the moving van."
He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Welcome home, Dr. Fluency Importante." He seemed to accept that he needed to spend more time with Fluency.
Relieved, Fluency spun around and with a sweeping movement from left to right, headed toward the hallway. She looked over her shoulder and smiled, “We will start tomorrow morning, first thing with Cloze reading. I will need to cover text and keep you engaged. It will be fun.”
Leyendo smiled after her. Feisty. Dang but if he didn't like that about her too. He would have to work for her. He knew that she would never use the difference in their reading abilities to cause him embarrassment or confusion. He would learn to instantaneously recognize sight words and move into building his stamina across phrases… and longer, harder sentences. He pictured long hours of tenderly cradling her books in his longing hands, listening to her smooth, expressive lips model prosody for him. She might even have to direct him at first. And then he would practice with her… over and over… until it felt natural and comfortable, which is what he desperately needed. He would bring meaning to his work, opening up new worlds.
And then one day, he would possess Fluency. Yes, Fluency would be HIS.
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