katievale22

M

I never really wanted to know about a kid before he stepped foot in my classroom.  I didn’t want to have a bias or a preconceived notion as to how a kid will behave, but in a middle school when you teach 8th grade, you will have to cover for the younger grades (many times).  We don’t have subs at my school, and teachers are allowed to be fully human much to society’s chagrin, and we sometimes get sick, so onward we go to cover our people because they will be covering us.  If you know, you know!  

So, I knew M before he stepped into my class as my student because we had battled in 6th grade when I covered, and we had battled in 7th grade when I covered.  And, to be honest, everyone in our middle school knew M.  He had a way about him that made you forgive him almost immediately because of his sheepish grin, and he was just so darn cute.  The counselor put him on our team on purpose.  Our team was strong, and I played the mother figure well, and it wasn’t an act.  I love every kid that walks through my doors as if they were my own children.  One of my best friends, and teacher soulmates was on my team.  He,too, loved big, and is still to this day one of the best, most innovative educators I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.  He often played bad cop with M as he was his football coach too.  I often played good cop with M always telling him how I loved him too much for this behavior or that.  He would give me that sheepish grin and hug me.  “I know Ms. Kinder, you right!”  He would always say.  

As the year went on, we battled M on a near daily basis.  One step forward, and three back.  M was headstrong and his abilities in the form of debate were his strongest.  He LOVED when we had a formal debate in my class.  He came to life almost always winning the debate for his side.  When we worked in collaborative groups, I always made him the ‘leader’ of the group.  He never failed to work hard when I gave him that role.  He took it up with pride.  

One day in February, there were rumblings amongst the kids that there was to be a fight.  Not just a fight, a brawl.  A girl brawl.  We alerted all authority figures that this might happen, and the kids were still determined to fight, and they did.  I was getting ready for 5th hour when a sweet girl came in and said, “Ms. Kinder, they are fighting down by the tornado shelters!”  As a teacher, your instincts kick in, and you run.  You just can’t imagine one of your school babies getting hurt on your watch.  I was the only adult in the vicinity.  I’m scrappy, but I am 5’3, and that is generous.  I couldn’t break it up alone.  I took one look at M because he was there, and I said, “help.”  He sprung into action grabbing the alpha girl and hauling her away to the principal’s office.  The fight subsided because he was there to help me.  M had grown to over 6 feet that school year, and it was light work for him.  We were all shook the rest of the day, the teachers, principals, kids, everyone.  

At the end of the day, with my head in my hands, in walked M.  “Are you okay, Ms. Kinder?”  he asked ever so gingerly.  I had taken my teacher mask off because I thought the kids were well on their way home for the day.  

“I’m really grateful you were there, M.”  I said back through tears.  He hugged me. 

“I will always come through for you.”  He grinned that grin.  I always told him he would make millions one day in his future career because of his charismatic self.  He would laugh.  

“And when you do,” I said, “You will donate money to my classroom because I need new desks.”  He always promised he would.  About a week later, I had promised my basketball kids that I would catch a game.  It was the last of the season.  M was on the team.  He was not as adept at basketball as he was football, but I raced home to get my own kids to head back up to school to catch the games.  They were in 3rd grade and 5th grade at the time.  After the games, we took pictures, and I went to work in my classroom for a minute to get ready for the next day.  A minute turned into an hour and a half later…oops.  IYKYK.  It was 9:30 p.m. and I was ushering my kids into my ever-present minivan when I looked over and saw M sitting on the school steps.

“What’s up, kiddo?” I asked. 

“I always get left places,” he said seemingly to no one.  It was true; we all knew M needed rides home if he ever missed the bus or that he would ride his bike the five miles to school and back if need be.  He squeezed into the minivan and my son was thrilled to have a big 8th grader talking to him about sports.  I already knew the way to M’s apartment.  

“See you tomorrow, baby!”  

“Thanks, Ms. K.”  It wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the last time he needed help.       

Three weeks left in this particular school year, M made a horrible mistake, and was kicked out for the remaining days of school with promises that he could come to 8th grade graduation if he stayed away.  It was bittersweet because we would be lying if we said it wasn’t easier without his presence in our classrooms and hallways.  His personality was BIG, and so much of our time was eaten up by his ever changing demands and personality.  But it was sad too, because he was making such progress.  His heart was as big as his personality as much as it would pain him to admit.  

I got to see him at 8th grade graduation.  He was thrilled to be there with that big ole grin.  “Please keep me updated on your life, okay?”  I said to him that day.  

“Oh, I promise Ms. Kinder,” he exclaimed, “You were like a mom to me this year.”  The lightheartedness of the last day of school is levity in the souls of educators and kids alike.  

I kept up with M through the years.  He found himself at our alternative school his sophomore year in high school, but kept himself on the right path until this past Saturday.  

He was shot and killed in Oklahoma City.  He was 18 years old.  Never to make all that money or have a family or grow old.  I will attend his funeral this week.  This is teaching.  We lose kids who mean the world to us and to their families, and we mourn.  And we get up the next day to fight the good fight and go hard for kids.  

Teach on, Beautiful Warriors.  The Ms of the world need us.  

-Katie  

 #katiekinderfromokc   #relatetheneducate  #oklaed    #teachercoach #teacherlife #professionaldevelopmentforteachers  #thespringshift  #thebreakroom  #thebluewall  #hallwayleadership  #premierprofessionaldevelopment  #untoldteachingtruths       

katievale22

Consent Matters….

I absolutely loved my time in the classroom.  With my blue wall standing at attention, my illegal scentsy wafting vanilla through the room, and my students streaming into my classroom, I always stood at the door with some sort of prop greeting them.  Skeleton Hand, yes, please.  Giant Gandalf staff, I had that too.  I once confiscated these plastic Halloween finger props that looked like witch’s fingers complete with long nails.  

“Hello, my pretties!”  I would say to my kids as I wiggled my witch’s fingers at them.  

“Ms. Kinder,” they retorted back, “You do too much.”  Which was usually true; I do too much, but you can never say I didn’t have a blast every single day in my classroom that felt like my home away from home.

Back in 2015, I had a little girl in my class that was just plain going through it.  Her mom called me in a panic and asked if I could keep snacks for this sweet girl in my room, so she didn’t have to go to the lunchroom which was a huge source of stress and anxiety for her.  Let’s call her, Kayla.  My answer: “Of course.”  Little did I know how much Kayla was actually in trouble at the time.  I just made my room available to her for lunch, so she felt safe.  When the snacks got low, I purchased some backups.  

After a while, Kayla asked if a few other girls could come eat lunch in my room too.  “Of course,” I said, and I was pleased she had made some friends, and so was her mom.  It turned into a little, girl-led therapy circle most days.  These girls were grappling with puberty, who they wanted to be, who they didn’t want to be, and sometimes the topics ranged from something light like favorite foods to deeper things like a fear of someone hurting them or taking advantage of them.

The best teachers help kids come to their own conclusions by asking open-ended questions to create meaningful discussions without telling kids how and what to believe.  I won’t pretend that there weren’t tears sometimes because this space that Kayla cultivated with my help was a safe one.  By April, we were averaging 30 girls deep at lunch on any given day.     

One particular day, one of the girls from ‘lunch bunch’ aka ‘girls’ club’ came storming in mad as a hornet.  She had on a skirt with a t-shirt and she was rocking Vans to boot.  The other girls were eating and gabbing and laughing and came to a complete halt when this girl stomped in.  

“This is why we can’t wear skirts anymore,” she lamented.  “Some guy just came up behind me, put one hand on my waist and the other up my skirt.  When I pushed him off of me, he just ran away laughing with his friends.”  

I sometimes used this time to catch up on emails while the girls ate, but this had me up out of my seat in a flash, “Excuse me!” I yelled.  “That is assault!  Who was it?!”  But try as I might, I couldn’t get the young lady to tell me the who behind it for fear of retaliation.  

“Girls,” I said, “You are the boss of your bodies, and no one gets to touch you without your permission.  Consent matters!”  

“Yeah,” they all agreed.  “We are the bosses!”  

I went home that night and looked at my own daughter and son and began the dialogue of consent, bodies, and respectful behavior.  My goal as a mom is to always keep the lines of communication open.  That when something crazy happens, instead of them being fearful to talk to me, they will run toward my safety net of love.  “My mom will know what to say/do.”  That is my hope.

The next day at school there was a commotion in the hallway.  The girls from my lunch bunch all had skirts on and white t-shirts with the words, “CONSENT MATTERS,” emblazoned on the front of each shirt; put on haphazardly with black sharpie markers.  They were marching down the hall yelling, “We are the bosses of our BODIES!”    

“Oh no,” I thought to myself.  “This is going to be a thing all day.”  And a thing it was.  My principal, one of the best I ever worked with, sauntered over to me.  “Is this your doing?” He smiled and asked.  “No,” I said, “I just told them they were the bosses of their bodies and no one is allowed to touch them without their permission!  The matching outfits and skirts were all them!”  

He chuckled, “This is going to be a day!”  He was right; it was a day.  Complete with an impromptu, emergency assembly for all 8th grade boys and girls in the gym to talk about appropriate behavior.  Things can escalate quickly in middle school without those pre-frontal lobes fully developed.

I stayed close with these girls for the rest of the year, especially Kayla.  When 8th grade graduation came around, Kayla, surrounded by her lunch bunch, cried tears of sadness and joy at the end of their middle school life.  Pictures were taken, promises to keep in touch were made, and the year had come to an end, but that wasn’t the end of the story.  

Years later, I took a job as an Instructional Coach, teaching and supporting teachers, at a completely different school in the Fall of 2020 when things were far from normal in a school setting.  On the first day the students came back into the building, complete with masks hiding their faces, and masks hiding ours, it was pouring down rain.  It was a mess.  I stood at the door greeting students in my Ms. Kinder way, but I knew no one.  I felt sadness and ached for my classroom with the blue wall and students and staff I missed fiercely from the previous years.  When all of a sudden a woman approached me, “Are you Ms. Kinder?!” She asked, “From Cooper Middle School.”  

“Yes,” I answered, and I pulled my mask down.  She pulled hers down and burst into tears.  

“I owe you my daughter’s life,” she sobbed through tears.  “I’m Kayla’s mom, and you did something back in 2015 that made her not take her own life by suicide when she was in 8th grade.  You talked her out of hurting herself.”  Kayla’s mom clung to me in this rainstorm while we both sobbed.  Kayla’s younger brother had changed schools, and was attending the school I was placed at as an Instructional Coach.  Now, in 2015, I didn’t know Kayla was in as grave danger as she was; I just filled up her snack drawer, and gave her a place to belong.  But looking back on it now, I can see the gravity of the situation.  I don’t remember what I said to keep her from hurting herself, but as Kayla’s mom hugged me and cried that day, I was humbled at the impact that not only I had on Kayla’s life, but the impact she had on mine.

As teachers, sometimes we don’t know or feel the true impact of what we do until years later.  Sometimes, never.  When I do professional development workshops for educators all over the nation, I have my attendees think of a teacher, someone impactful in their school lives, and I challenge them to find that teacher on social media and tell that teacher what she/he meant to them.  So many times, the teachers I teach will reach out and say, “I found Mr./Ms. ___________ and I said thank you to them like you said to, and it made all the difference in the world in my mood and theirs.”

Teach on, my most beautiful warriors!  We have almost made it to the end of the year.  

-Katie Kinder   

 #katiekinderfromokc   #relatetheneducate  #oklaed    #teachercoach #teacherlife #professionaldevelopmentforteachers  #thespringshift  #thebreakroom  #thebluewall  #hallwayleadership  #premierprofessionaldevelopment  #untoldteachingtruths