http://tellitlikeitliz.com A Unique Perspective Mon, 05 Sep 2011 10:25:57 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3 http://tellitlikeitliz.com/2011/09/04/where-were-you-on-911/#comment-49 ebscully Mon, 05 Sep 2011 10:25:57 +0000 http://tellitlikeitliz.com/?p=116#comment-49 Wow. Just wow. Thank you for sharing Katie. I can't even imagine trying to figure out how to handle that for the kids. Wow. Just wow. Thank you for sharing Katie. I can’t even imagine trying to figure out how to handle that for the kids.

]]> http://tellitlikeitliz.com/2011/09/04/where-were-you-on-911/#comment-47 Katie Bee Mon, 05 Sep 2011 03:46:02 +0000 http://tellitlikeitliz.com/?p=116#comment-47 It was my fourth day of teaching science in a new school in an affluent Boston suburb. My planning period began at 8:49. I went to the teachers' room and heard a strange silence from my fellows as they were listening to a radio. I returned to my classroom, got a TV, and plugged it into the cable jack. I watched the towers in my empty classroom. The burning of the buildings. The people jumping. The dust. The repeated showing of the plane hitting the tower. The crazed misinformation of news reports. My father was flying at that moment, and I did not know if he was on one of these planes. I could not reach him and his secretary had kept telling me to call back in an hour. Then one of the towers crumbled into itself. Dust. Blood and dust. People running. Where is my father? Call back in an hour. The next tower fell. Where is my father? Call back in an hour. As for my planning periods, it turned into a check into finding all the parents of my 89 students. How many of them were on the flights which came through Boston? How many have family in NYC? With classes still going, administration decided not to tell the students as long as possible- at least until each child's parent was contacted. It was so hard to hold back my tears as my classes came in and out. My students were still children, if only for a few more hours. And I had to pretend that nothing was happening, for the sake of the children. Isolated from other adults and surrounded by innocent children. I could not process or discuss what was happening. I was harboring a horrible, scary, emotional secret that caught in my throat. I retrieved a phone message from my mother between classes, as she cried and told me how much she loved me. I called her back, but the phones were jammed. While we teachers could talk for 24 minutes at lunch, the travelling art teacher never got the memo not to tell the students, so he told the students about the terrorist attacks, even describing all the images and reports from the television. Children were upset and frantic, and came to their teachers seeking answers. After lunch, we put all our 8th grade students in a large room, and I had stood on a stage and told them all what had happened, and what had not happened. I never wanted to be that person- how 89 kids found out about that tragedy, asked questions, cried, hugged each other, asked about their family and friends. Trying to give them instructions not to let them watch television without an adult, and to especially not let their younger siblings watch the television. If they were supposed to go home to an empty house or apartment, we kept our classrooms open for these students until there was an adult in their home. I called my father's secretary again, and she said that they had put his plane down in Atlanta, and he was okay. I did call my mother and she was okay. There was not much adult processing for teachers- it was all about the kids. I wonder how they recall it, and whether we did a good job as teachers, as this event changed their childhoods, and altered their lives as it has for all of us. I know my story is not traumatizing with loss, as it was for millions of others. But as I watched my children in class, I held the power of fear, sadness, and confusion in a unique way. I will always remember where I was and my small role in the "where were you" stories for my students. It was my fourth day of teaching science in a new school in an affluent Boston suburb. My planning period began at 8:49. I went to the teachers’ room and heard a strange silence from my fellows as they were listening to a radio. I returned to my classroom, got a TV, and plugged it into the cable jack. I watched the towers in my empty classroom. The burning of the buildings. The people jumping. The dust. The repeated showing of the plane hitting the tower. The crazed misinformation of news reports. My father was flying at that moment, and I did not know if he was on one of these planes. I could not reach him and his secretary had kept telling me to call back in an hour. Then one of the towers crumbled into itself. Dust. Blood and dust. People running. Where is my father? Call back in an hour. The next tower fell. Where is my father? Call back in an hour. As for my planning periods, it turned into a check into finding all the parents of my 89 students. How many of them were on the flights which came through Boston? How many have family in NYC? With classes still going, administration decided not to tell the students as long as possible- at least until each child’s parent was contacted. It was so hard to hold back my tears as my classes came in and out. My students were still children, if only for a few more hours. And I had to pretend that nothing was happening, for the sake of the children. Isolated from other adults and surrounded by innocent children. I could not process or discuss what was happening. I was harboring a horrible, scary, emotional secret that caught in my throat. I retrieved a phone message from my mother between classes, as she cried and told me how much she loved me. I called her back, but the phones were jammed. While we teachers could talk for 24 minutes at lunch, the travelling art teacher never got the memo not to tell the students, so he told the students about the terrorist attacks, even describing all the images and reports from the television. Children were upset and frantic, and came to their teachers seeking answers. After lunch, we put all our 8th grade students in a large room, and I had stood on a stage and told them all what had happened, and what had not happened. I never wanted to be that person- how 89 kids found out about that tragedy, asked questions, cried, hugged each other, asked about their family and friends. Trying to give them instructions not to let them watch television without an adult, and to especially not let their younger siblings watch the television. If they were supposed to go home to an empty house or apartment, we kept our classrooms open for these students until there was an adult in their home. I called my father’s secretary again, and she said that they had put his plane down in Atlanta, and he was okay. I did call my mother and she was okay. There was not much adult processing for teachers- it was all about the kids. I wonder how they recall it, and whether we did a good job as teachers, as this event changed their childhoods, and altered their lives as it has for all of us. I know my story is not traumatizing with loss, as it was for millions of others. But as I watched my children in class, I held the power of fear, sadness, and confusion in a unique way. I will always remember where I was and my small role in the “where were you” stories for my students.

]]> http://tellitlikeitliz.com/2009/01/10/action-can-precede-motivation/#comment-2 E! Thu, 22 Jan 2009 00:05:26 +0000 http://tellitlikeitliz.com/?p=12#comment-2 I hope you continue to tell it like it Liz. I will come back no matter what you have to say. I don't have to think about it at all! I hope you continue to tell it like it Liz. I will come back no matter what you have to say. I don’t have to think about it at all!

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