Maybe the original idea for this gallery came from Hidden Gems by Katherine Bomer, or maybe it came from my last day at Columbia University’s Writing Project with Chris Lehman. My teaching life has been flipped upside down in the best of ways this year. Celebrating has been at the heart of it, and after two formal Writer’s Galleries in my classroom, I felt these eighth graders deserved a little more. Regardless of how the idea came about, I certainly did not realize what it would become . . .
It all started after Easter, true to form I asked the kids to generate ideas about what they would write about. We talked about the importance of writing strengths, we wrote seed ideas for some, we made mini-plans; we did what was natural. Then we chose our topics and drafted.
At this point we camped out with revision; we had Stacy and Evan visit our room to help us—I researched how to revise poetry. Our pieces were shifting, they were becoming stronger—we were talking more, giving good feedback and pushing each other; we all wanted the gallery to be good. By the time we got to editing, I could feel my nerves rising. We brought in Courtney for event planning and organization/mounting of their pieces in the gallery. When I tell you these kids worked hard on these pieces, I want you to know—they worked hard.
On the day of the gallery, we arrived (Courtney, Hannah, & I) at Café 110 around noon. Dressed in workout clothes and sweating from the lack of air conditioning, I looked at the blank walls and the huge stack of pieces. Doubt poured through ever fiber of my being. Would people come? Would they point out the two spelling mistakes I just saw? Would people just “hang out” and read nothing, negating the purpose of the event altogether? But regardless of the questions hanging in the thick air around me, I would have to press on; the event had 189 reservations—too much to cancel for tonight.
The three of us, moved through the afternoon, talk was quick and focused. As I pressed the sticky tack against the walls, I would look at the pieces and hear my heart pounding. I saw the countless revisions. I saw their work on sentence structure. I remembered asking them why this was important to share. It was then that I got it. This work, written by my students needed to be there, outside of the school, in a gallery. I needed to say with my actions, you’re right, this is important to share—I believe in you. Student by student the pieces went on the walls next to a nametag that bore the phrase, Featured Author. If we didn’t need to move so fast, I would have turned to mush weeping at the power of the affirmation of putting their words on the wall.
In no time at all, I was getting dressed and heading downstairs. At five o’clock exactly the first guests began to arrive. The rooms began to fill; my heart began to race. Soon, I was greeting people and hugging students (Have I ever mentioned that social situations like this give me anxiety? I don’t like parties of more than three, seriously what was I thinking?)
I wish I could tell you something that someone said to me that night; I wish I could describe a student’s face or tell you about the parents I saw cry over their child’s written words. But I can’t, it’s a blur.
But here is what I can tell you, people came, and lucky for me they wrote comment cards. I want to leave you with some of these comments typed out—they warmed my heart, they reminded me why I do what I do, they validated my theory that celebrating kids is one of the most important jobs a teacher can do.
Awesome event.
You have been a wonderful inspiration to_______. I feel she has really grown in her writing this year. You made her year.
My daughter and I teared up reading your letter. Thank you for this opportunity!
I never knew my daughter could write like that.
Every part of this night had a definite “touch of class”
This was a beautiful event that shows how much you care about your students.
I never knew my son felt that way about life.
Tonight felt so professional. I love being a real author.
I would have loved to be part of this when I was in 8th grade or any grade! These kids write incredibly!
Each child captured their heart and put it on a page. The beauty of their writing caught me off guard.
Twenty:5- A Writer’s Gallery was last night— I will blog about it; have no fear. For now though, I’m still in processing and feeling overwhelmed at the enormity of what an event like that meant to my students & I. Thank you for supporting us!
Today I’ve decided to post the piece I wrote for the gallery last night, in hopes that you might catch a glimmer of the love that I feel for these kids. Enjoy!
An Open Letter to My Students:
As a child I loved nothing more than to sit quietly in the back of my mother’s middle school classroom, and watch her teach. It was there, as an observer that I first fell in love with the art of education. During summers and after school, I would stand in the front of the room and instruct my imaginary class. I don’t remember any of them ever forgetting to bring a pencil to class—then again, they were imaginary.
Then I went to college, eager to find out how to be a better teacher. Soon, I became obsessed with knowing the top research and using only the best methods. I subscribed to magazines for teachers and went to seminars and workshops, all in the name of being the best educator around. When I first got my own classroom, I was meticulous; I made sure I followed the rules, if something didn’t go as planned, I turned to the experts. It was a beautiful thing.
And then there was you.
You broke the rules; the books had no answers for your heart and tenacity. There were so many times this year that I was unsure. Unsure of where to go next, unsure if something I was teaching would stick. It was then that I fell back on the best lesson my mother ever taught me: build relationship.
And build it we did.
Twenty: 5 is a testament to that investment, on your part and mine. You pressed through and journaled everyday, playing with your sentence structure, genre, voice, and content. Sometimes in the stillness of morning I would sit with your words, and oh how you moved me. Your stories of growing up captured my heart; I would not have had it any other way.
In the classroom, I felt most like a family when we were on the floor, huddled around a piece of chart paper. It was there that we learned to let down our guards and accept feedback on a piece we had poured our hearts into. Our room became a safe place to take risks, for both you and me.
Now, in the first week of June, I’m sitting the back of our classroom, trying to wrap my head around exactly what to say to you tonight. Your gallery pieces are almost ready, but my heart is not. I certainly will not know what to do when I arrive at Starbucks next Saturday morning without a bag of your writing beside me.
And so, right now, in this moment, I need you to know, I believe in you. Your words, your passion, your compassionate, and laughter filled hearts—you will go far and do big things.
As you move onto your next phase in life, I hope you’ll remember the time you spent with your journal in this classroom. I hope you continue to capture small moments and ask yourself the three questions we’ve heard over and over this year.
Why is this important?
That matters because . . .
So, what I’m really trying to say is . . .
Because in the end, what I’m really trying to say is: Thanks for the adventure, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
I wanted to start this blog post with a quote from Hidden Gems. I could not settle on one.
“An acceptance of all students’ attempts at writing must be build into the process from the very start, or else learning how to write feels sterile, scary, and without purpose other than because it’s at school.”—164
“…when you write; you don’t know where you’re going until you get there; that the process is messy and recursive and as Donald Murry reminds us, that you write to find out what you didn’t know you knew.”—164
“It’s like when you’re working on a thousand-piece puzzle or building a model car, boat, or airplane—you need the completed picture on the top of the box to envision what this pile of little pieces and parts will ultimately become.”—164
“Besides the party-time accoutrements, a celebration provides a formalized, ritualized way to lift up an individual and respond to his or her accomplishments.”—165
If you did not read chapter 10 of Hidden Gems, you are missing out. This chapter, along with The Columbia University Writing Project changed my teaching career, maybe even my life (That’s dramatic, I know, but I teach in a middle school).
I feel like so many people, so many of our kids, go through life without these kinds of celebrations, where adults and friends look them direct in the eye and say, “this is good.” And so this year one of my goals became to celebrate a little more, sometimes this came in the form of blog posts, other times e-mails, texts, notes in journals . . . and at other times it was more formal, more direct; a Gallery Walk or a classroom family reflection.
These formal and informal celebrations have become part of the ebb and flow of my teaching life this year. It’s changed what I look for and in turn made me happier to be at work on rainy Monday mornings; happier to revise a story that looks like it’s going nowhere; just happier? Because in the end, the smile on that persons face, the confidence in their heart, is worth way more than any grade I ever put in the book.
If you haven’t thought about attending my class’s last formal celebration of the year, check it out; we’d love to share our work with you. Click on our invite for more details.Gallery Invite
