The Hugs on My Shirt

Students learned about the missing victims posters that were hung up throughout the city after the 9/11 attacks. They learned about the museum that now displays many of the posters which were finally taken down months later, many of which were wrinkled, torn, and water-damaged while posted.

I just finished grading my students’ recreations. I told the kids that they needed to pull an emotion or two to pull at the heartstrings of those walking along the streets of Nrw York. I will be hanging their wonderful work up on Tuesday.

More sorting through Mom and Dad’s things, and we came across five photo albums hidden in an old shopping bag! This is from 1955, from my Dad’s first USAF tour of duty in Japan - a year before he and Mom got married.

Wish you both were here…

I love being a teacher.

I love being a veteran teacher.

I love being a veteran teacher of seventh graders.

I was walking my class back to the room after hearing and vision testing yesterday.

I was listening to a corny seventh grade joke which made me laugh.

It was then that I heard someone exclaim, “OMG! He has teeth!! I’ve never seen them before! He has teeth!!”

So close to retirement…

Walking Home
by Tim Ramsey

I first met “Emilio” nine years ago when I moved to my current school. He was a quiet, caring fifth grader who left little notes on my desk before he transitioned from my writing class to his next class each day. At the end of the school day, he always waited with me at my duty spot and talked to me about his life. Every afternoon, he waited until his mother got to the school so that she could walk him home.

He lived across the street from the school.

I moved up to seventh grade, and two years later, Emilio was in my class again. He still had his sweet disposition, and he still left several notes of gratitude on my desk. One day, a classmate who was angry at me for some juvenile reason shouted out, “I hate this class!” Emilio shot back, “Dude! How could anyone not see how lucky they are to be here?”

My defender continued to join me each day for after school duty. There were problems at home that he only shared briefly. He waited with me every day until the last kid passed and until the last car left the lot.

In time, his mother arrived on foot and walked him home.

In February of that year, he accompanied his mother to his parent-teacher conference. He pulled me to the side as the rest of the team spoke with his mom.

There were tears in his eyes. “Mr. Ramsey, I’m sorry we came late tonight. We got back from the doctor later than we expected.”

“That’s no problem,” I reassured. “I am glad you are both here now. I have so many good things to tell your mom!”

The tears began to flow. “Mr. Ramsey,” Emilio said. “About that…the doctor said my mom has dementia. He said she is not going to get better. I don’t know what to do.”

I hugged the boy. Nothing in my training prepared me for this. Come to think of it, nothing in my training prepared me for most of what I encounter on a daily basis.

Finally, leaning on my own experiences with my Dad who had had dementia, who had died five years previously, I said, “I am so sorry, Emilio. Just give her a whole lot of love and patience. She is going to need all you can give. And come talk to me any time. If you want, I’ll just listen.”

At the end of the conference, he walked mom across the street.

It has been five years since I last saw Emilio. Today, a college freshman (with a beard!) he showed up to after school duty. It took me a few seconds to recognize him!

“Emilio,” I hollered. “How the heck are you?”

“I’m fine. I came a few weeks ago, but I didn’t see you. I thought you might have moved.”

“I’m staying at least for a few years,” I said. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown up! I loved having you in my class!”

“I never wanted to leave your class.”

“Thanks! How is your family doing? How is your mother?”

There was a short pause in the conversation. Finally, he said, “She died, Mr. Ramsey. Two days before my 18th birthday.”

“No!” I exclaimed. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Ramsey. She had dementia, you know.”

“I know, Emilio. I know. I remember. I am so sorry.” I thought of my own dear mother who passed exactly one month ago today. “Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.

“Nah,” he replied. “I just need help getting financial aid for college. I mean, I got a few small scholarships. That’ll pay for this semester at the university.”

I advised him to get in touch with the counseling and financial aid departments at the school. “I will write a letter on your behalf if you would like. I can also talk with people at the college where I work and see if they can give us any more ideas.”

“Thanks, Mr. Ramsey. Can I get your email address?”

I shared my information. We shook hands and said goodbye. We promised to keep in touch.

And he headed across the street…on his own.

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I love starting the year with my writing / history unit about September 11. If you are going to have kids write with emotion, you need to give them something to be emotional about!

We read about the childcare center that was on the first floor of Tower 5. When the Twin Towers in front of the smaller Tower 5 were hit, the teachers jumped into action. Their emergency manual directed them to flee to Tower 7. However, that building was on fire. (It would crumble that afternoon).

So, the teachers grabbed up the kids and ran instead in the opposite direction, heading out on a three-mile hike into the city. They stopped at a grocery store, took three carts, tossed the kids inside, and soared. As people all around screamed and cried and also ran, the kids had a field day!

I asked the kids to write a paragraph from the point of view of one of the little kids. They were allowed to intentionally make a few spelling and grammar errors - because they were supposed to be toddlers.

Here is my favorite story from one of the boys. I love how the towers he is building are falling at about the same time the buildings outside are coming down. His development of his story and his pulling of emotions (especially in the last line), made my evening of grading worthwhile:

"One day I woke up like any other, my parents got ready and took me to daycare. (It's very fun). When we got there we did our normal routine: played, drawed, sleeped, ect. Me and my friend were playing with blocks making towers. We had just made our fourth tower when there was a rumble that shook the floor followed by a loud boom. All of our towers had fallen and made a mess. We didn't think much of it and just started to make more, we were half way done when our daycare teacher ran in screaming. We were confused on why she was screaming but once again our block tower fell. We sighed at each other. The daycare teacher ran to the other teacher and whispered something. After She whispered they both were panicking now, They ran and they were both picking up children all over the daycare. They finally got to me and scooped me up along with other kids. We started running, hitting corner to corner until we saw these carts. They put us in the carts and started pushing us around. The cart that was in was almost flipped over from how fast we hit the corners. Me and my friend were enjoying it, we've never experienced this before it was a thrill. We finally stopped somewhere, somewhere we've never been?. We got inside and it was a classroom, we played for a little bit and then we all went to sleep. I woke up not realizing what was going on and then I saw our teacher stressing, I saw her and then I went back to sleep. I woke up like 1 hour later and just got back to playing still not realizing what was happening. Soon after that I saw my parents and for some reason they were happier to see me that day than any other day."

Last night I had a teacher dream…close to a teacher nightmare. Throughout my day, school is always most prominent in my mind, so it is no surprise that all the day’s activities are scrambled by my mind while I sleep.

My district had purchased and renovated an old apartment complex. My “classroom” was a studio apartment with thirty middle schoolers sitting almost shoulder to shoulder, wall to wall. Having taught for over forty years, a cramped classroom was nothing new to me.

I had finally succeeded in getting everyone quiet and working on their writing when I was summoned outside for an impromptu IEP planning meeting with another teacher. I could hear the kids going crazy inside the room, so I excused myself and went in to give evil looks and another rendition of the expectations lecture.

When I opened the door, I noticed an older man sitting at my desk. Scribbling on his clipboard, he chastised me for leaving my students unattended. I apologized and proceeded to share my unhappiness with my students.

Then my cellphone began to ring. I looked at the screen and noticed it was my cardiologist. I glared at my kids and, once again, stepped out onto the balcony. The doctor agreed to an increase in the dosage of my blood pressure medicine and laughed when I told him I had to get back to my students.

I opened the door, and my jaw dropped. All of the furniture had been removed, all of the students had been reassigned, and an eviction notice was stapled to the wall.

And now, it is time for bed once again…I can hardly wait to see what story my brain has ready for me tonight…

Every middle school kid still has a little kid inside of them. Sometimes the hard adolescent exterior cracks just enough to let the child peek out for a little while.

Malcolm purchased a Spider-Man hoodie a few weeks ago. I was absent on the day he first wore it. My colleague told me that he rushed to my room early in the morning just to show me.

He has worn the hoodie every day since despite the Arizona heat.

Head coverings are not allowed inside the building, but I made an exception this afternoon. The child Malcolm had succeeded in emerging from the energetic middle school Malcolm, and I was not going to interfere with the power of Nature!

We were watching a video about 9/11, and Malcolm was quiet and comforted by the Spider-Man pillow I keep on a shelf by my desk. One of my best investments!!

I may be wrong here, but what is the point of teaching writing (or any subject for that matter) if kids are going to grow up to be adults who are not empowered to change the world?

I want my students to believe that their writing - their thoughts, their words - mean something, that they can give them the power to succeed.

Here is a Writer’s Affirmation we created in class and wrote into our notebooks last week - beliefs we will recite repeatedly until they are deeply embedded in our souls!

(Note the nod to Spider-Man!)

This crazy bird taps on my window every afternoon wanting me to feed him, his fellow pigeons, the doves, and the sparrows. His tapping is almost in sync with my feeding schedule for our cats now.

When I go outside, he leaves the others, all gathered in a mob in the backyard, and he flies to my side and waits for me to scoop the seed from the container on the porch. One day, as I was bent over the container, he even landed on my back.

Death visited me twice this past summer, and I am still hopeful for reassuring signs. Perhaps this bird is bringing one to me from my mother. Perhaps it is my dear Ollie who is trying to communicate from beyond.

Or maybe it is just a courageous, hungry bird who trusts an old human being holding a cup of birdseed.

A much-needed cloudburst arrived as the kids were departing school yesterday and as I was standing in the parking lot trying to keep parents moving along. Fortunately, I had my umbrella which I usually need to block the Arizona sun.

Unfortunately, the flow of cars doubled since Arizona kids need to be shielded from water.

Fortunately, a little first grader entertained himself (and us) by dancing and twirling in the storm.

Unfortunately, despite having an umbrella, I was thoroughly drenched as I continued waving cars through.

Fortunately, my colleague had her portable Bluetooth speaker, and she cued up “Singin’ in the Rain.”

Together, we took our cue from the little boy on the sidewalk and sang, danced, and splashed in the rain…

Singin' in the Rain (Full Song/Dance - '52) - Gene Kelly - Musical Romantic Comedies - 1950s Movies The complete title song and dance, Gene Kelly (also co-director with Stanley Donen and choreographer) as movie star Don Lockwood, tune by Nacio Herb Brown, l...

I stood at the classroom door to welcome my second period class and to allow them to enter the room. Standing at the front of the line were two girls copping an adolescent mood with my colleague from next door. I turned to glare at them and to give them some sage advice when Bobby flew out of nowhere and embraced me in a mighty bear hug.

Caught off guard, I completely ignored the moody girls and entered the classroom with a smile on my face.

“Let’s go, everyone!” I announced. “Agendas out. The day’s plan is on the board!”

Again, Bobby was suddenly in front of me. “I love this class!” he exclaimed. “Whenever I see you, Mr. Ramsey, joy flows from my heart!”

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I love my students, and I love my job, but things have changed a lot over the years. There are a lot of kids lacking in some very basic skills. There are kids who have so much apathy that, even if I passed out $100 bills for correct answers, they would whine, “this is boring”. Still there are those who both can’t do and who don’t care.

The task today was to make a foldable for taking notes. The task only involved two folds of a piece of copier paper - something that should have taken a seventh grader 60 seconds or less to complete.

In every class, it took five minutes and a lot of paper.

Two folds!

One boy opened his paper to reveal 8 squares. “Is this right?” he asked.

I took a long breath in and let it exit my lungs slowly. I tried to follow the guidelines of current educational “gurus” who preach, “Tell the student how pretty his work is and demonstrate again, this time more slowly and with more clarity.”

After four demonstrations on making two paper folds, I got a checkerboard and a bunch of snowflakes.

And we hadn’t even started with the actual note taking yet.

I repeated my mantra through clenched teeth:

I am a patient man…

Emotional Overdose
by Tim Ramsey

My September 11 unit began today with a video and a class discussion. “That day was filled with unbelievable horror,” I explained. “All day long, we kept saying to ourselves, ‘It can’t get any worse.’ Yet all day long, it indeed kept getting worse.”

“What this video does,” I continued, “ is condensing all of that day’s events into a 30-minute video. It will be intense.”

Austin raised his hand. “Is it alright if I cry?”

“Of course,” I replied. “It’s been 23 years now and I still cry and get goosebumps on my arms. By all means, you are allowed to cry.”

A few minutes into the video, the first plane is shown smashing into the first tower. Someone on the street hollers out, “Holy S---!” After all the gasps, I stopped the video.

“We’re not supposed to use that word at school, are we? So why do you think I left it in?” I asked.

“Because it is a historical event,” answered Nya.

“Yes…any other reason?”

Dylan raised his hand. “Because it is realistic. I mean, if a plane flies over your head that low to the ground and crashes into a building, are you really going to just stand there and say, ‘Golly, gee’?”

“Good point, Dylan.”

I restarted the video. Together, we watched the next plane hit the second tower, then another plane as it hit the Pentagon, and another heading for Washington, DC burning after plowing into a Pennsylvania farm. We watched a man jumping from the towers. We watched the towers crumble one after the other. We watched people covered in ash running to safety.

When the video ended, I handed out index cards. “I want you to write a little for me,” I said. “We’ve been talking about pulling emotions in our writing. Well, that day was a complete emotional overdose. Jot down a few thoughts about your reaction to what you learned today.”

Here are a few of their responses:

“When the first plane hit, my heart dropped, knowing that it wasn’t the last of it. Watching that person jump from the building with a fail of acceptance was almost like a movie made by Legendary Pictures or something with how unreal that looked.”

“I felt really, really sad watching everything go down. When the video showed the first plane crash, I was so surprised and terrified. Then the second plane… I wanted to cry so bad because it was so surprising. The Pentagon was also in danger. I can’t believe all that happened.”

“It feels like a disaster. So much happened in a small period of time. A lot of people died that day. They were just working like they do every day. It just kept getting worse and worse.”

“I felt sad for the people that had to go through that. I was surprised that it happened. I was also glad I wasn’t alive when it all happened.”

“I feel like if I was in that place, I would be scared for mu life and I would run.”

“As I was watching, I just imagined if my mom or dad was in the Twin Towers, dying, having no choice but to DIE. I felt as if half of my soul left my body.”

“On 9/11, it was probably one of the worse days in America. There was most likely a lot of fear which was also what I felt when I heart the screams and saw all the smoke and saw people throwing themselves out the window. I did not feel good.”

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Today was a heat advisory day. That meant that all lunch recess and all other outside activities were cancelled. That meant that the students needed to return to the classroom for the last ten minutes of their lunch break. That meant that my own lunch break was shortened.

I let the kids sit and talk for those ten minutes while I wolfed down the remainder of my lunch. Then we transitioned into our interventions period in which students worked independently on an online reading program for an hour.

I could barely keep my eyes open. Apparently, several of the kids had the same problem. At one point, I looked out across the room and noticed that five had actually fallen asleep.

I could have yelled at them for sleeping on the job. But I did not. I let them sleep.

Best intervention for a middle schooler on a heat advisory day...

One of the 973 things a teacher must get done in the first five minutes of class each day is to fill out the log reflecting how many free breakfasts were taken by students. The log must then be put back into one of the containers of leftovers and placed in the hallway for pickup.

I always fill out the form, but I frequently forget to put it in the box. This then leads to the cafeteria employee opening my door during my lesson to remind me.

I returned from bereavement leave last Wednesday and tried hard to get back in the morning routine. Sure enough, the door opened as I was beginning my lesson.

“I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed. “Let me see if I can find the log!””

“No…no,” the young man replied. “I didn’t come for that! I wanted to let you know I brought you some Spider-Man masks while you were gone. I knew you had a lot of Spider-Man stuff in your room! Look on your desk!”

This was the most this guy has said to me in five years.

I looked on my desk and saw his gift. “Do what you want with them,” he said with a smile. “I hope you like them!”

Mom even kept the copy of the Coolidge Examiner announcing the beginning of my teaching career in 1983.

Spent more time today sorting through Mom’s things. Found an old box of photos and discovered this pic with her holding me.

I took a load of donations to Savers and shared with the young worker who unloaded my car. I told him about losing my mother only a few weeks ago.

The young man listened politely, and before I left, he looked me in the eye and said, “I hope you’re going to be okay, sir.”

HIS mother raised HIM right.

For the first time ever in my 42 years of teaching, I had a girl break a fingernail at PE and, ten minutes later, convinced her mother that she could not make it the rest of the day. Her mom checked her out and allowed her to skip her afternoon classes.

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I miss you, Mom.

Today we celebrated my Mom’s life in a beautiful ceremony. As I carried her urn to my car, I was overcome with a feeling of love and responsibility. I thought, “She used to carry me, and now it is my turn to return the favor.”

When we got home, the first thought to cross my mind was, “I should call Mom and tell her how beautiful the ceremony was.” And then I remembered…

Love you, Mom.

Many of my maternal ancestors came to the US from Ireland where Celtic folklore proposes that bees are intermediaries between the dead and the living. This little one was on my car’s windshield for most of my 20 minute drive to work yesterday.

Thank you for watching over me Mom.

More gifts!! Emma presented me with a “Spider-Man inspired” painted rock.

After surveying me on my favorite snacks yesterday, Mercedes fulfilled my wish list during first hour this morning.

Thank you Diane Rousseau and Pamela Stipp for your fabulous donations!!

Yesterday, I sent a positive message to Teddy’s mother expressing how pleased I was with his kindness to others in class. She promptly sent back a message thanking me for the good news. I immediately copied her message and forwarded it to Teddy through Go Guardian.

“This is great!” the boy exclaimed. “Maybe now she’ll take me to McDonald’s!”

Without skipping a beat, I said, “Yeah, and maybe then you’ll get me one of their apple pies!”

“Okay,” he said. “On one condition - you stop drinking coffee for a week!”

Am I really that caffeinated?

I agreed to the condition and, true to his word, he came to school this morning with my gift from McDonald’s.

Names
by Tim Ramsey

There are so many names to remember. At the start of each new school year, I have 120 new names to memorize. It is difficult to recall many of the names of kids from last year, even though we have only been separated by a short summer vacation.

As I walk to my assigned spot for after-school parking lot duty, I am surrounded by my old kids, all chattering a mile a minute.

“What do you think about your new classes, Mr. Ramsey?” they ask.

“Were we better than them?”

“Was I your favorite student last year?”

“Would you take me back?

And then comes the dreaded question: “Do you remember my name, Mr. Ramsey?”

The loudest of the “forgotten names” asks the question twice more.

I draw a blank. I panic. “Does it start with an ‘I’?” I ask.

The boy rolls his eyes – either hurt or angry or frustrated – or all three. He marches off ahead of me.

Feeling like a heel, I hurry to my spot, struggling the whole journey to remember the boy’s name.

About and hour later, I am at Costco, standing in the freezer section and his name pops into my brain.

David!

How could I have forgotten this young man’s name?

David!

At the beginning of last school year, the boy had had some minor behavior problems. To squash those problems, I quickly reached out to his mother. She did not play. “You will not have any further issues this year,” she guaranteed.

And I didn’t.

I allowed David to sit at my desk – initially because there were no seats left for him, but later because I needed him to answer the phone while I was teaching and to run errands for me.

I paid that boy daily for his hard work with mints. (I stock up on many bags of mints to give to kids with sore throats). In addition, he came to my room before the school day began every morning to get a handful for the morning.

And I forgot his name!

During my prep, I called my colleague in eighth grade and asked her to send David down to my classroom.

The boy entered the room (a couple of inches taller than he did last year) wearing a big grin.

“David!” I exclaimed. Handing him an entire bag of mints, I apologized and attempted to explain: “I am so sorry for forgetting your name yesterday! I should’ve remembered! You were such a great help all last year! There are just so many new names swimming around inside my head with all of last year’s names! Plus, my Mom just died last week, and my brain is a big pile of mush… I’m just so sorry…”

Before I could continue, the boy reached out and wrapped his arm around me in a comforting hug.

“It’s okay, Mr. Ramsey,” he replied. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

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I stood at the classroom door this morning as students switched to their next class. I made small talk with each student and collected the response card they had completed as their ticket out. Most were either still sleepy from the weekend or surly from the adolescent hormones pumping through their bodies.

Very few engaged in any form of human communication whatsoever.

Undeterred, this elderly, caffeinated teacher continued to chirp (loudly) to each student:

“Have a great day!”

Silence…

Until, Carlos stepped up and timidly handed me his response card…

“Have a great day, Carlos!” I chirped. I prepared to be shunned once again.

Instead, ever so quietly, the boy replied, “I am…because you’re here.”

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Teachers are required to pack up their classrooms at the end of the school year. This includes stacking up desks and chairs in the back of the room, moving all other furniture to the back of the room, tearing down bulletin boards, and stuffing books and other materials into the cabinets. This gives the custodians access to clean floors, shampoo carpets, and to dust and clean counters and windows.

At the start of the next school year, the process needs to be reversed with teachers expected to re-set up their classrooms. Usually, teachers return to campus a week before the kids. In theory, they have time to get everything done. In reality, there are far too many “important” meetings along the way that prevent a stress-free room set-up and the planning of lessons.

So, many teachers come in on their own time during their summer vacation, and they do the work for free. For 41 years, I was guilty of this.

But this year, life intervened, and I had no time to prepare. I have no regret. My Mother was much more important.

Fortunately, I work with a fantastic grade level team: Evelyn Ginter-Kelley, Sheri Shannon Darling, and Nancy D'Amour - true angels of mercy - who set up their own rooms and then focused on mine as well. I walked into my room the first day of my 42nd year – a mere three days after my Mother died - with a smile and a lump in my throat. All I had to do was open my “All About Me” PowerPoint and wait for the kids to arrive.

I am truly blessed.