I do like spring. It’s right up there with fall in terms of my favorite seasons. I love the flowers that spring brings. The problem with spring has always been determining her exact arrival date. There have been years when she hasn’t shown up until well into April. I always cross my fingers and hope that she will appear in early March, but that is often wishful thinking.

My college students were duped by Miss Spring very recently. We had a few days of balmy temperatures, and my dear educated students showed up wearing shorts and flip-flops to class. “You silly children,” I told them, “Miss Spring doesn’t show up in February!” They were insistent that the groundhog had determined that she would appear early this year. But I knew better, I have much more experience with the fickle girl!

For many years, my son and I have ventured to Florida for a few days to catch some baseball spring training. Spring has definitely shown her face to Floridians by March. I feel a bit of guilt as I pack my shorts and short-sleeve shirts for our trip. I know that my friends and colleagues will be sporting heavy sweaters, coats and hats while I venture south. I sit in the sun during those games and practices. I bask in the glory of sunny skies and warm temperatures.

But I know deep down that it’s only temporary. When I board the plane to head back north, I am uncertain about what kind of weather will face me when I exit the airport. It’s usually in the airport that I change from shorts to more appropriate clothes. Sometimes I even have to scrape ice or snow from my car when I finally get there.

One year, we got stuck in Atlanta on March 18th. The reason for the sudden stop in our travels: massive snow storm in the northeast. In March! Surely Miss Spring was enjoying her time in Florida too much to head north. Desperate to get home, my son and I flew into Raleigh, North Carolina, rented a car and drove the rest of the way home. We left any hint of spring once we crossed the state line into Virginia.

I realize that our dear friend in Punxsutawney indicated that we would see spring early this year, but as the first of March is rapidly approaching, I am fearful that once again she will take her time getting here. However, the optimistic me did order twenty-five bags of mulch to be delivered the second weekend in March. You never know, she might indeed decide to surprise us!

One of my students

I was discussing with my reading class today how we as teachers can have a huge impact on our students. I shared the story of one of my experiences with a particular student. I had written a journal entry about Jered a year ago, but never posted it here on my blog. Jered and I are now friends on Facebook and he is a teacher himself. I thought it time that I posted that story. So, here it is...

When I first began my teaching career, I had little idea of the impact I might have on my students. During that first year of teaching, I was asked to help out with a particularly difficult 8th grade music class. Because I loved music, I eagerly accepted an assignment co-teaching with the band/chorus teacher. There were about twenty students in the class, so I thought to myself, "How difficult could this be?". I was eager to begin working with them and hoped to instill in them a love of music.

I was in for a rude awakening that first day of class. Most of the ninety-minute class period was spent on behavior management. We were simply trying to get students to perform the activities that met the objectives of the class lesson. The real difficulty was that there were several students who were very interested in learning about music and there were those who quite obviously were not remotely interested in learning anything. To say that class was a disaster would be kind. It made me doubt whether or not I wanted to return. So the other teacher and I began creating our master plan to engage the students and make them want to learn. We drafted a behavior management plan and with the blessings of our administrator, we were off.

For a few weeks, the plan worked. The students were singing, discussing dynamics and harmonies, and it seemed-ever so briefly-that they were learning. After each class, my colleague and I would discuss activities that were working and those that were not. We would adjust things and re-adjust. I felt like progress was being made. We even began to plan for the students’ participation in the county wide choral adjudication. And that’s when the explosion occurred.

It wasn’t really an explosion. It was more like a very dramatic mutiny. Behavior that week went ballistic. My colleague was labeled the good guy-he was responsible for their grading-and I was the wicked witch. Now mind you, I am a theater person and the Wicked Witch has always been one of my favorite roles, just not in this setting. The climate in the classroom by the end of the week was so bad that I walked out. I went directly to the principal’s office and told her I was resigning from the chorus position. She empathized with me and reiterated the difficult demands of the education profession. “Sometimes,” she told me, “we see the results of labors immediately. Sometimes it’s years down the road. And sometimes we never see them. But when we do see them, it makes all the difference.”

That next week, I received a bundle of letters from the students in that chorus class. They apologized for their behavior and asked for another chance. They said they were eager to give their best performance at the adjudication. So, I returned. They pulled off the adjudication and a spring concert with much success. They were very proud of their efforts, and so was I. I saw some of the students on occasion after that year, but those encounters faded off.

Some five or six years later, I was attending a Frederick Keys game and decided to leave early because it was getting cold and I hadn’t prepared for the weather. As I was leaving the stadium and heading to the parking lot, I heard someone call out, “Mrs. Jarman.” I turned around to find Jered, one of the students from that chorus class. “You don’t remember me,” he said. I told him of course I did-how could I forget his class! And then he thanked me. He thanked me for sticking with them, to help them do their best. He said it made a difference for him. In the fall, he would be entering his second year of college on a basketball scholarship. I gave him a big hug. As I walked towards my car, the words of my former administrator rang through my head, “sometimes it’s years down the road.” Yes, I had seen the results of my labors and they made me so happy that I cried the entire drive home.

Mardi Gras

Well, it’s just about time to pull out the Mardi Gras decorations. I’m wondering how many of you decorate for this festive occasion. My son swears that we’re the only people in our community who even recognize the day. But Mardi Gras is a holiday, and this old lady loves a good holiday.

I decorate for any holiday. Of course, there’s Mardi Gras, but there’s also Valentine’s Day, Easter, St. Patrick’s Day, Memorial Day, Flag Day, July 4th, Bastille Day-July 14th (the French National Holiday—but I teach French!), Labor Day (celebrated in May in France), Halloween, Veteran’s Day (Armistice Day), Thanksgiving and Christmas.

In December, we hosted a dinner party at our house and I had my menorah displayed on the hutch near my wall hanging that says, shalom. One of my guests pulled me aside and said, “I didn’t realize that you were Jewish.” I explained to her that we weren’t, but it was a holiday and I love decorations!

Now, I don’t just frivolously decorate. It is important to understand why we celebrate holidays. So my students get lessons on the history of Saint Valentine, Saint Patrick, the treaty of Versailles, labor unions, All Saints, Plymouth and other historical and cultural events. So on March 8th, my students will experience a lesson on Mardi Gras that I have created based on all of my research on this holiday.

Mardi Gras is the official end of the carnival season. Carnival begins on Three Kings Day or Epiphany-January 6th. It is the festival of feasting and celebration before the season of Lent. In my classes, we’ll feast on king cake, and I will explain the Mardi Gras colors: purple, green and yellow. Purple representing justice, green is faith, and gold is power. Mardi Gras in French means Fat Tuesday, so it is a time for eating and celebrating. In France, the day is followed by Mercredi Maigre or skinny Wednesday. We call it Ash Wednesday.

Mardi Gras is celebrated in Frederick by the Women’s Civic Club with their Mardi Gras ball. In 2001, my daughter Tiffany had the wonderful experience of being a Mardi Gras princess. Our family spent the evening dancing and smiling. There were masks and Mardi Gras colors, and a wonderful time was had by all.

But even more importantly, Mardi Gras signifies to me the ending of winter and the beginning of spring. We end the days of hibernating in winter to look forward to the glorious days of spring. Happy Mardi Gras!