Going to the upper road: when life says "move on"

<blockquote><p><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-LVHrGjOA7EU/SSFyDaNy0cI/AAAAAAAAAh8/vIzx3fkUf4I/s1600/9908_11_7638_a3.jpg" target="_blank" style="text-align: left; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img alt="" class="alignleft" height="335" id="blogsy-1372767131801.9924" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-LVHrGjOA7EU/SSFyDaNy0cI/AAAAAAAAAh8/vIzx3fkUf4I/s500/9908_11_7638_a3.jpg" width="500"></a></p><p> I’m going by the upper road, for that</p><p><span style="text-align: center; ">still holds the sun,</span></p><p>I’m climbing through night’s pastures where</p><p>the starry rivers run:</p><p>If you should think to seek me in my</p><p>old dark abode,</p><p>You’ll find this writing on the door,</p><p>“He’s on the Upper Road.”</p><p>Streams in the Desert - July 2</p></blockquote> <p>There are times we must move on. We've lived in a place that served a purpose. We've gotten comfortable there. We've had good times there. Yet, there are new travels ahead with a new purpose and new mission.</p> <p>As we've been talking on my <a href="http://www.facebook.com/coolcatteacher" target="_blank" title="">Facebook page</a> about whether we miss our students, I'm struck by the comments of those teachers in transition between schools. Leaving a school must have heartache in it. Every teacher I know who is a great teacher loves their kids and many colleagues at any school - no matter how tough.</p> <p>My Mom still shows me the platter presented to her when she left her first school. My sister still misses some of her colleagues and talks fondly of her first class at Gwinett County schools near Atlanta. It is part of who we are. Our treasures are not dollars in the bank, but faces that come to mind and the stories that enrich our lives full of meaning. Good teachers are rich. We aren't biding our time, we are building it. When we retire, great teachers have castles of legacy built upon the stories and richness of lives forever changed.</p> <p>Today, I have lunch with Casey - she's in college and was one of the two students that Thomas Friedman mentioned when he wrote about the Flat Classroom projects in his version 3 of the World is Flat. She is doing great in college and I'm excited to hear her stories. She couldn't stay in her old abode (high school) but had to move on to the upper road (college) and then will move beyond. Like my son who just finished his first college test yesterday in Psychology. The upper road calls.</p> <p>I'm writing this because many of us educators have transition. We may have to give up coaching a sport and move to another. We may have to give up a club to do another. We may no longer be teaching a subject we love and have to move to one we're not so crazy about. If we're parents, we might even have to let our own child move to their upper road without the baggage of an overly sad parent hanging over their heads. (sniff)</p> <p>I never want to be the kind of teacher (or parent) who lives in the old, dank abodes of time past - wishing for how it used to be. It used to be hard and it will continue to be hard because that is the profession we have. The profession we have is tough. I pray daily to be like Moses' burning bush to be on fire without burning out (something only God can do, honestly, because teaching is sooooo hard.)</p> <p>So, teacher, as you face transition - let's move to the upper road with purpose. Let's remember the past abode with joy, but as our bodies move forward, let our hearts and souls move forward too. <strong>Let's be fully present in the present</strong> - learning from the past but not living there. Let it go and go on.</p> <p>The upper road calls. I'm packing my bags. Will you?</p> <p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img alt="Written by Vicki Davis, author - Flattening Classrooms, Engaging Minds - Posted with Blogsy from my iPad" height="20" src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" />Written by Vicki Davis, author - Flattening Classrooms, Engaging Minds - Posted with Blogsy from my iPad</a></div>

Inspiration parenting Teaching Going to the upper road: when life says "move on"

I’m going by the upper road, for thatstill holds the sun,I’m climbing through night’s pastures wherethe starry rivers run:If you should think to seek me in myold dark abode,You’ll find this writing on the door,“He’s on the Upper Road.”Streams in the…

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Let him fly

<p> It took the little boy behind me in seat 15A to realize how totally not ready I am for this.</p> <blockquote><p>"Daddy, I'm so not scared. I'm never afraid of anything, no not nothing," the tyke says as we taxi down the runway.</p></blockquote> <p>Just last week, I said,</p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAiSvxntc7a_dlubqsmQKWsOCLUxLHbG1hwfrsoMM7X2YsMyZrdkGUnBP8190P6Z6SY2y2hGQcwSsHcAUv7bFCQgiOELtekOzFbz8Q-ek0uYYU_BYiXZQAbIglKKNCPzn9Nl3OSSbJ7V4W/s320/Photo%252520Nov%25252030%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525205%25253A25%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=" "><img alt="" class="aligncenter" height="188" id="blogsy-1371729872369.3467" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAiSvxntc7a_dlubqsmQKWsOCLUxLHbG1hwfrsoMM7X2YsMyZrdkGUnBP8190P6Z6SY2y2hGQcwSsHcAUv7bFCQgiOELtekOzFbz8Q-ek0uYYU_BYiXZQAbIglKKNCPzn9Nl3OSSbJ7V4W/s320/Photo%252520Nov%25252030%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525205%25253A25%252520PM.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My son is #98 in this picture. He had a great senior year. Now, I have to let him fly.</td></tr></tbody></table> <p> </p> <blockquote><p>"Yes, Kip, I'm ready. I know it is time for our son to go to college. This is a good thing, we're ready. We'll adjust and he'll still come home sometimes. Sure, it is time. I'm OK and this is a good thing."</p></blockquote> <p>Right.</p> <p>I'm flying back from Dubuque, Iowa where I was presenting to 750 wonderful educators. Even there, I gave assuring words of how ready I am to move my son into his dorm at Georgia Tech today. </p> <blockquote><p>"It is time," I said confidently, believing it.</p></blockquote> <p>As we taxied and took off, the little boys tenor changed. </p> <blockquote><p>"Yeeeeeeeeeeh," he said at first, excited to be airborne.</p></blockquote> <p>But then, just as cars became the size of postage stamps, he changed his tune.</p> <blockquote><p>"I am scared for this, this one moment, Daddy." He peeped in a quiet voice.</p></blockquote> <p>He said these words and my eyes misted. I'm scared too. </p> <blockquote><p>"I am scared for this, this one moment, Daddy," I prayed.</p></blockquote> <p>I turned to the window and wiped the tears as they flowed. I realized that I'm not so ready.</p> <p>My life has centered around our oldest son for over 18 years. I quit work when he was a year old. I was pregnant with his sister. I was a stay at home Mom / entrepreneur till he was in 2nd grade.</p> <p>I wanted to live my life with no regrets. The moment I saw his sweet face and blue eyes - this boy wasn't born crying. He was born living and looking into my soul from day one. I saw his eyes and fell in love. He eventually cried - when he realized he was cold and probably hungry. He's always been hungry.</p> <p>My days have been centered upon making sure he is fed (along with my other 2) and in being the best Mom I could be. </p> <p>I really just wanted to be a Mom. More than anything else. Just a Mom. A Mom who'd give up anything for her babies. No price was too much. High paying job - Poof - who cares - my babies need me at home. We want you to teach - poof - I'm a teacher - all to be closer to my babies.</p> <p>Like the postage stamp cars, I now feel myself ascending - going further away from this tyke become a man. His brown mopped head ascended far beyond mine several years back - he's a whole head taller than me - at 6'6" he is taller than most.</p> <p>Yet, as I looked out my window hiding my tears from strangers, I didn't see tall linebacker- I saw my little boy in the red onesie with the sailboat on the front. We used to play this game - I made lesson plans for my kids to cover all areas--</p> <p>The science game was called "Sink or Float." I gathered up a lot of items and had a bucket of water. He would put the item in the water and see if it would sink or float. He did it to everything in the whole house.</p> <p>Now, he's the one going in the water. The waters of college. Will he sink or float? </p> <p>He doesn't have on the red sailboat onesie any more. He has on his favorite grey GT hat - the one that makes his hair look just right when he takes it off. He has on his jeans, hung a little low for me, but they cover everything. His yellow GT shirt with Buzz, the mascot, on the front. He's dressed the part, that is for sure.</p> <p>I remember him running around and his sister on my hip. All those years. It was yesterday. Last night I was up with his colicky sister. I remember being in church and able to count on two hands the hours I'd slept since last Sunday. I swear that was last night? Somehow it was 17 years a go. How does that happen?</p> <p>When he was two, I desperately read books to help me figure out how to help him sleep. I also remember the "wise" girl with one child - younger than my son- who gave me all this advice about how to help my son sleep. She had one - I had two. Her child slept. Mine didn't. She thought it was something she did - sad, clueless girl. My son is 18 - he still doesn't sleep. I smile and laugh realizing that I might have known more than I thought even though I would have done anything to sleep - even listen to an over-proud Mom who cluelessly thought she had anything to do with the fact her child slept.</p> <p>Yet now, I hurtle towards Atlanta Georgia ready to get a taxi to go downtown. It is time to move him in. It is, quite honestly, time to let go.</p> <blockquote><p>"I am scared for this, this one moment, Daddy," I whisper again as my jaw and back of my throat feel the strain of suppressed crying. </p></blockquote> <p>Yet, my son is not scared. He's picking up his bucket and he's jumping in. He's more ready than me, I'm not. I'm still just a Mama. It is all I really want to be. A Mama with one less at home but room in my heart for friends and a new family that one day I'll meet who will bear his name.</p> <p>I will fly on knowing I gave all I had to this young man. And what he needs most now from me is my belief, support, encouragement, and love. He needs me to let him go. He needs me to let him fly.</p> <p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img alt="Written by Vicki Davis, author - Flattening Classrooms, Engaging Minds - Posted with Blogsy from my iPad" height="20" src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" />Written by Vicki Davis, author - Flattening Classrooms, Engaging Minds - Posted with Blogsy from my iPad</a></div>

Inspiration parenting Let him fly

It took the little boy behind me in seat 15A to realize how totally not ready I am for this. "Daddy, I'm so not scared. I'm never afraid of anything, no not nothing," the tyke says as we taxi down the runway. Just last week, I said, My son is #98 in…

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Get help for children before the cute lisp becomes cumbersome

<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZ1GypMrms00_KSLn0fU0MgUbiEdwBh6K6EHnkFhYTmL7qovW6oQVEbvPZwHTOG_ZHgSAavCPfHtYYLmMmCx2OiZc7wfYYHbdjCQLDFYLpPihq7TbTW7QVuNxBuPqQcUfZ9HofOUpG0lC/s1600/2013-01-26+15.38.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZ1GypMrms00_KSLn0fU0MgUbiEdwBh6K6EHnkFhYTmL7qovW6oQVEbvPZwHTOG_ZHgSAavCPfHtYYLmMmCx2OiZc7wfYYHbdjCQLDFYLpPihq7TbTW7QVuNxBuPqQcUfZ9HofOUpG0lC/s320/2013-01-26+15.38.48.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramblin%27_Wreck_from_Georgia_Tech" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Ramblin' Wreck from Georgia Tech">I'm a Ramblin' Wreck from Georgia Tech</a><br />and a heck of a teacher dear. ;-) My trip last week<br />to Atlanta has me thinking about the importance of<br />speech therapy and how I'm glad I got it for one of<br />my own children.</td></tr></tbody></table>Last week, I was at the Georgia Tech men's basketball game and sat in front of eight boys who were about ten. I admit, I'm a people watcher - but not really a people watcher but a people lover. Precious children with the world ahead of them just pull on my heart strings every time.<br /><br />As I sat down, the boys were getting settled and one of them commented.<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"Hey, look, there's girls dancing."<br />"Hey, they don't have many clothes on."</blockquote>All at the same time all eight of them said.<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq"><br />"coooooool"</blockquote><br />(I guess they were just getting to the age that it was ok to say that.) We were sitting in some great seats that my Dad got us because he supports Georgia Tech's fundraising program. At halftime, they were debating what they would do and said:<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"What do we do? Sit in our seats and be bored, or get up and go eat desserts and drink drinks and tell stories and have fun?"</blockquote><br />They promptly got up and left. Because I work with teenage boys, it was just so like the teens (and grown men), that it made me smile. I love that about the men in my life... they love to eat and tell stories...and I love to listen.<br /><br />But the little, extroverted boy in the white T-shirt with the lisp just cracked me up. After his halftime during which he must have had quite a bit of the chocolate and Coca-Cola, he came back talking a mile a minute. First, there was the Zaxby's Foul shot.<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"He got the 'thaxby's thoul thot!' The 'thaxby's thoul thot!!'"</blockquote><br />Then, when they were shooting shirts in to the stands.<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"Pulease help usth! We need uh t-sthirt."</blockquote><br />Finally, near the end, he talked to his friend with the Wake Forest Tshirt<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"Dude, wake foresth losth - there is no way they can sthore 30 poinsth in the lasth sthecond."</blockquote>I wanted to turn around and say,<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"Oh, do you mean the last six seconds?"</blockquote><b>It was so cute.</b> But this conversation came back to me as I was talking to a person who was discussing when and if kids need speech therapy.<br /><br /><h2>Cute can become cumbersome.</h2>One of my own children had a lisp as a child. Sure, it was cute, but I knew if we didn't do something at a very young age, that it would no longer be cute, it would be cumbersome.<br /><br />So, in first grade we found a VERY GOOD <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speech_and_language_pathology" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Speech and language pathology">speech therapist</a> and by third grade, the lisp was gone. My child no longer has the lisp and I'm so relieved and sometimes don't even think of it. But this Mom was saying that she wasn't sure that she wanted to get her child help because it was 'cute." Another chimed in about an older child she knew who still had the lisp and it was no longer cute, in fact, it was limiting her in what she wanted to do but she couldn't "fix" it.<br /><h2>Speech Therapists are important</h2>All of this comes together to mention the importance of good speech therapist. Teachers come in all sizes and shapes and speech therapists are needed, valuable people -- especially good ones. I've watched speech therapists in action and it looks like they are playing games. The difference is that the good ones actually are able to get results and the others do not.<br /><br /><h2>Partnering with parents and teachers to help children is important to correcting speech issues</h2>I recall with my child that the speech therapist actually met with me and my child's teacher and we had cues that we'd give my child when he/she would revert into the bad habits. We were all partners to help the child move forward and speak articulately. Our health insurance even helped.<br /><br />I'm writing this to all of you out there who work with children or have children of their own. There is an age that children do need help with their lisp or their <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speech_disorder" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Speech disorder">speech impediment</a>... the tough thing is that age is just at the edge of cuteness turning into a problem. I'm so glad that we got my child help for this.<br /><br /><b>Physical therapists and speech therapists</b> - you are teachers too and my hat is off to you. If more parents would realize that cute turns into limiting very quickly and the longer you wait from "prime time" for helping children overcome such things, the harder it will be and more expensive it will be to help the child overcome the issues.<br /><br />Physical and speech therapists -- remember your noble calling. Work with teachers and parents and remember that we're all on the same team.<br /><br /><h2>Be the adult because kids won't know why they need to change</h2>Far too many parents care more about being popular than being a parent. From experience, when I've gotten my children tutoring, physical therapy or speech therapy, or even shots - my children were rarely happy about it.<br /><br />Kids complain about such things because they literally don't see or hear anything wrong with what they are saying or doing. It is our job to see the big picture and long term and do the right thing by our children when they become adults.<br /><br />Remember your noble calling, teacher... parent...therapist.  You are "coooooool" and important!<br /><br /> <div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/?px" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_c.png?x-id=39702500-564e-4e9f-89c4-0e88e1cd4265" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div>

parenting Teaching Get help for children before the cute lisp becomes cumbersome

I'm a Ramblin' Wreck from Georgia Techand a heck of a teacher dear. ;-) My trip last weekto Atlanta has me thinking about the importance ofspeech therapy and how I'm glad I got it for one ofmy own children.Last week, I was at the Georgia Tech men's b…

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Family Treasures

<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjNSbNJ_ss74wb_jC9PGasN05VwNHLTIuObZNfSekd5m-QkmYzuTUSaogrws7nua-l10DljZElHPxqdxNrFCn3TVx9XuaI9_lBjsJZH8rftUFNq4DJSCnQGUCt1r5bAkqhyphenhyphenN8aH8ttGNi/s960/Photo%252520Jan%25252015%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525206%25253A12%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter" height="375" id="blogsy-1358250105405.0251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjNSbNJ_ss74wb_jC9PGasN05VwNHLTIuObZNfSekd5m-QkmYzuTUSaogrws7nua-l10DljZElHPxqdxNrFCn3TVx9XuaI9_lBjsJZH8rftUFNq4DJSCnQGUCt1r5bAkqhyphenhyphenN8aH8ttGNi/s500/Photo%252520Jan%25252015%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525206%25253A12%252520AM.jpg" width="500"></a></div> <h3>Words are wimps</h3> <p> I'm supposed to turn in the words for my son's annual ad today. I've been writing at 5 am. It is just one page. One page to summarize how I feel and what I want him to carry with him.</p> <p>But one page can't capture it. It won't. It can't. I have to pick the words that will inspire him and hope that 18 years has been enough time to tell him how much I love him and all the things that he needs to know to make it in this world. </p> <p>So, how can I leave a tiny piece of me on this page, so that when I'm gone, he can look at it and say ... "yeah, that's my Mom... that is what she would say to me if she were here right now." How can capture a bit of immortality -- or at least a fleeting bit, as long as he's alive, because in the end, he's the only one who will really read or care what I said. </p> <h3>Tidal Waves of Change</h3> <p>I was completely clueless about what this means and still am. It is kind of like playing in the surf at the beach, I think I'm ok until the next big wave comes and smacks me in the face, stinging my eyes and causing my nose to run. I get to do this two years in a row - two tsunamis back to back, my daughter graduates next year. </p> <p>So much of who I am is wrapped up in my desire to love my children with abandon and to make them independent people who don't need me anymore. In this case, success means change. Success means letting go. My youngest will be starting middle school next year... I'm more thankful for him than ever because I've still got a lot of being a Mom left in these bones. </p> <p>Being a Mom has been the greatest joy of my life as a close second to being a wife of a great man. I had no idea how much I'd love these three little squirming, wet creatures who came into my life. </p> <h3>Tough Times Give you the Chance to Treasure</h3> <p>Sunday we were laughing about all of the times we had been in or to the hospital with our three. LAUGHING. We laughed about how my youngest inhaled a sunflower seed and had to be at Eggleston and how I held him all night as he screamed because he couldn't eat. We laughed about how my oldest woke up from wisdom tooth surgery with a violent temper and my daughter came out of having her tonsils removed sobbing. We laughed about those things that almost sent me over the edge and we told jokes and we remembered those times with fondness. Why? Because it is our story together.</p> <p>Families make memories together. <strong>Sometimes the tough times are an opportunity to show just how much you love someone</strong>. Without those times, they might be oblivious as to what they mean to us...let me demonstrate.</p> <h3>The Family Heirlooms</h3> <p>Yesterday I heard this story that fits from Dr. Charles Lowery who told a story about a little girl who was told not to do gymastics in the den because the family heirlooms were on the shelves and tables. The rug was thick, so one day when Mom was in the back of the house, she couldn't resist and started doing her back handsprings. She was fine for a while but started really getting into it and kicked a vase off the shelf. When she did, it cracked into shards and she fell on top of the vase, cracking it further but gashing her leg open.</p> <p>Her Mom heard the noise and came running. The little girl was so afraid because she knew she had broken a precious family keepsake. But when her Mom came in and saw the blood, she didn't even see or say anything about the vase. All she could do was look at the little girls leg to see if she was ok. And then the little girl realized something that changed her life. <strong>She was the family treasure</strong>. </p> <h3>See the treasure in your students</h3> <p>As you teach these precious children, remember that everyone one of them is the family treasure. And if they are not..make them yours. Every child deserves to be loved. These children in your classroom are your heirlooms. They are treasures. They are gifts. </p> <p>As we struggle through life, teaching, and everything else, let's keep clearly in focus who the treasures in our lives are.</p> <p> Notice, I didn't say what our treasures are... I said WHO.</p> <p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img alt="Written by Vicki Davis, author - Flattening Classrooms, Engaging Minds - Posted with Blogsy from my iPad" height="20" src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" />Written by Vicki Davis, author - Flattening Classrooms, Engaging Minds - Posted with Blogsy from my iPad</a></div>

Inspiration parenting students Family Treasures

Words are wimps I'm supposed to turn in the words for my son's annual ad today. I've been writing at 5 am. It is just one page. One page to summarize how I feel and what I want him to carry with him. But one page can't capture it. It won't. It can'…

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