Bring on the snow days…

1.23.11 By Kati Delahanty

On every single possible-snow-day eve, you will find me praying, hoping, rooting, and wishing for a snow day—even if having one means being in school an extra day or two in the summer. And it’s not just because I’m from California and struggle to drive in Boston during perfect weather. Snow days force me to slow down, to zoom out, and to get some much needed—at times—perspective.

A colleague recently sent me an interesting article about emotional resilience, and it starts with this quotation by Israeli educator Haim Ginott:
“I’ve come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It’s my daily mood that makes the weather.”

I feel like I’ve always known this. It’s why I don’t go out during the week—wine hangover = slow, irritable weather. It’s why I talk to my family and friends spread all over the country on Sunday nights—warm, full heart = a more patient and kind weather on Monday morning. And it’s also why when I’m a fired-up-red-faced-can’t-stomach-the-bureaucratic-nightmare kind of mad I write really long, circuitous, and grammatically incorrect e-mails to my administrator (who—God bless him—always takes them seriously and responds to each of my concerns). Because I know that if I don’t let my anger go before class the next day, there is no appropriate analogy for that kind of weather.

Usually I can live with this reality, but I resent the fact that sometimes I have to be a bright sunny day in a room plagued by thunder-snow.

BUT then the real weather steps in and I get a SNOW DAY to recharge—during which time, I realize that:

1.) It’s just a hat. And he might keep it on EVERY SINGLE MORNING until I ask him to take it off just so that I’ll notice him—not because he is trying to ruin MY day or because he is a disrespectful person.
2.) She isn’t doing any of her homework because she is reading at a second grade level even though she’s been in high school for two years already. She needs me to support her not nag her (and there is a difference).
3.) Being a teenager is a beautiful MESS—so, yeah, it’s going to be a little messy.
4.) I can’t do anything about the fact that she loves him even though he loves a different her. And for me to expect them to stop feeling the second they come into my classroom is completely ridiculous. I can, though, try to make my lessons relevant and engaging enough to get them thinking (critically—of course) about something else for a short while.
5.) And finally, when, during the whole-class debate, he rebuts with: “my _____’ing ass the US is operating with a global perspective.” It means he is engaged in the learning. He does need to be held accountable for his language, and he does need to figure out how to repair the harm that his language created, but that doesn’t mean he should be kicked out of the classroom and the learning entirely. I need to teach him how to learn within his energy and enthusiasm—not shut it down and force him to hide it away.

Mostly, though—when Mother Nature gives me 24 peaceful hours to be introspective—I remember that it’s not all about me. It’s about us. And while being aware of my mood is important, not making assumptions about or trivializing theirs is important too.