This puts things into perspective. It is my annual display of annuals, my yearly display of yearbooks. From my first year (1990/1) to last year (2017/8), I now have a complete collection of 28 of these precious mementos.
Really! Twenty-eight years.
Really! Twenty-eight years.
This is more than a pile of pages, a plethora of pictures, a menagerie of moments. These are the last 28 years of my life - a big chuck of them anyway, 28 years of connections with other human beings, 28 years of entertaining and teaching, laughing and crying, 28 years of living, very nearly 53 percent of my lifetime.
This, the 29th year of this great experiment, and I continue to tweak and tighten my teaching. Those in the know have long realized that a teacher never "arrives", that we never experience mastery in this profession. I suppose that's because there is certainly a human factor to our job. We don't assemble our products on the conveyor in a standardized line. Here are some observations:
This, the 29th year of this great experiment, and I continue to tweak and tighten my teaching. Those in the know have long realized that a teacher never "arrives", that we never experience mastery in this profession. I suppose that's because there is certainly a human factor to our job. We don't assemble our products on the conveyor in a standardized line. Here are some observations:
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On and on we could go, filling the pages of a book with thoughts concerning our students. At this time of the year, I tend to have double vision: I look back to almost three decades of elementary students, and I look forward to the next one.
We're all a little apprehensive.
Nervous.
Anxious.
We're all a little frightened about what lies ahead - but all we need to know is this:
We're all a little apprehensive.
Nervous.
Anxious.
We're all a little frightened about what lies ahead - but all we need to know is this:
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