A face from the past

     I have had many memorable students over the years. Few as memorable as Victoria, who I taught directly before and during the Covid remote year, during her 6th and 7th grade years. A high academic striver and a natural leader, she was honored at the end of her 8th grade year as Student of the Year. Watching the surge, the eruption of emotion on her face as she realized she had achieved this signal honor still brings a shiver up my spine and goosebumps to my arms. It is my enduring metaphor for overarching success, the epiphany of unexpected recognition and success.

    This is the year she graduated high school. 

    As a junior high teacher, I follow my students' progress as long as they are still on my campus. As they move from my ESL classroom to the general education setting, I check in with their teachers, listen to the daily announcements for success, send them postcards or emails to celebrate signal accomplishments. Athlete of the week. National Junior Honor Society induction. Student Government Association officers. Things like that. I have always operated on the principle that as long as they are at McMeans Junior High School, they are part of Barber's Crew.

    But when they leave for high school, I lose contact with them. Sometimes I see former students at the grocery store, or sometimes they come back with younger siblings registering at the beginning of the year. I have gotten a handful of letters and emails through the years during Teacher Appreciation Week, and those always inspire and move me.

    But this time I heard indirectly of Victoria through another teacher, a friend of mine who watches social media closely. Last week she sent me a screenshot shared from Facebook. One of the high schools flooded its Facebook page with candid shots of graduation. 

    Her message, under the picture of beaming graduates, was "Our girls graduated! I saw this on Katy ISD Facebook page."

    In the group shot were Victoria and Constanza, best friends in our class and still best friends today. They have grown so much in the years since they sat in my class and tried to figure out irregular past participles in 7th grade, but I recognized them both immediately.

    And there was something else about the picture...

    I enlarged the shot.....

    They were each wearing, along with the crimson robes of Cinco Ranch High School, a white satin stole with an embossed design:

White satin honor stoles, gold cords, and all.

    Not only did these girls catch up to their American peers between 6th grade and 12th by dint of hard work and natural ability, but they surpassed the norm to graduate with honors in one of the most competitive school districts in Texas.

    All of my students have to overcome adversity of some sort. In addition to the language barrier, they struggle with culture shock and homesickness at the very least. They face significant obstacles to taking their place in American society, much less the high achievement some experienced at home. 

    Congratulations to my most astonishing students, who have achieved beyond expectations! 

    "The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it." -Moliere

    

Show some decorum...

     Weddings. Funerals. Graduations. Christenings. All events at which you are expected to show decorum. Which means politeness, respect, appropriate restraint, and orderliness. Lack of decorum is tied to immodesty, bad behavior, and worse. Lack of decorum? That is described as uncultured, disrespectful, uncouth, common, coarse, redneck, ghetto....

    So last week was Marley's high school graduation back home in Opelika. 40 years since my own graduation. Opelika High School has been rebuilt as a newer and fresher model. I do not know whether Bulldog Stadium is the original, the one I graduated in before Adam and Shawn followed a few years later. But it sure felt the same-huge overflow crowds filling concrete bleachers on both sides, impossibly green football field lined with 300-some folding chairs filled by gowned and mortarboarded candidates. 

    Together we all suffered through the usual fare--the senior address by administration and one by the president of the student body, the senior song which went on for about twenty stanzas too long. Then came the meat and potatoes of the ceremony. 

    The Moment Long Awaited. The awarding of diplomas.

    The instructions given to the audience, to the Honored Families and Guests, are always the same at academic ceremonies. 

   Remain in your seat. No loud conversations are allowed so all graduates' names may be heard. No air horns or other noisemakers.

    And....please hold your applause until the end of the ceremony. 

    Having attended both high school and college graduations in many different venues over the last 40 years, I can attest that few events rival a hometown Alabama high-school graduation for-well, for energy and enthusiasm. I think by that I mean noise.

    Throughout the calling of 300 names, the crowd  erupted in raucous cheers, blasts of air-horns, and hoarse-throated screams almost constantly. For crying out loud, some families even wore screenprinted tees in garish colors trumpeting the merits of their child. Of course, those of us who were raised to show decorum were, if not aghast, at least eye-rollingly discomfited. 

How DARE such BOORISH behavior be exhibited?

    

    And so it went, until almost half-way through the hullabaloo. 

    

    And then...

    

    And then....

    A young man, nervously schlepped to the stage, his posture unsure and cautious. He extended a hand awkwardly, seemingly unused to the handshake proffered by the official, and grasped it haltingly. With the other grabbed his diploma and tucked it under his arm.

    A tight scrum of family maybe 20 yards away from us flared into ecstatic applause, exploded into exhilaration punctuated by the bleat of air horns. His head snapped in our direction, and suddenly his face was wreathed in rapture, beaming and beatific. He immediately executed a smart pirouette toward his family, double-fist-pumped with the diploma, and strutted down the ramp and back down the sideline. His back ramrod-straight and his gait long and unencumbered, he absolutely loped back to his seat, fist-bumping all the way.

    This was my moment of epiphany. Instead of a low-class display of boorishness, I was confronted by the reality of a family that was insanely proud of their graduate. The immediate impact on his confidence of such enthusiasm was PROFOUND.

    What a powerful affirmation for him that his family supports and loves him, that they make merry regardless of the disapproval of those around him. 

     Not how DARE they exhibit such loud uncouth cheering, but how DARE I judge them for their enthusiasm. 

       

    For their pride in his accomplishments.

    The next morning, walking around my Mom's neighborhood with the dog, I chanced across a house with a gigantic banner in the front yard. More than life-size, in full color. Cap and gown photo, resplendent in OHS colors, gold lettering.

    

    Loud and proud. Absolutely trumpeting their daughter's success. 

    Wherever she goes next, whatever happens next in her life, I am assured that right now she knows of her family's overwhelming pride in her.

    Congratulations to all the 2025 graduates! And at least 3 blasts of an air horn to you all!

    

A second chance this year

    Another Awards Night. Another opportunity to celebrate not only academic performance but also citizenship and character. Ever since I've become a teacher, I have grown to appreciate Awards Night more each year. Especially when I see the impact it has on kids. Especially upon my niche population.

    When I was in college, I took the advice of one of the assistant principals I knew from my bus route. Upon her recommendation, I pursued a degree as a 4th-8th grade Generalist. Able to teach English, math, science, or social studies in junior high or higher elementary. I also got my ESL (English as a Second Language) certification simultaneously.  In Texas, at least 20% of students have a primary language other than English, and ESL certification is preferred now and will be mandatory in the future.

    I designed my certifications to hedge my bets and make myself a more desirable candidate. But I did not really expect to end up as a English teacher--I actually preferred to teach math. But when I graduated, at the end of the fall semester, in the middle of a contract year, there were no jobs at all open in the district. 

    Of course not...since teachers work on annual contracts. So I took substitute jobs, finally working my way into a long-term sub position as an ESL English teacher. At the end of the year, my experience got me an interview and a full-time position for the next year at another campus in the district. 

    Where I still am today, 8 years later. I still teach English--to Newcomers, who are students with no English or very little English, who have been in the country a year or less. I also teach Texas History, and this year I taught a unit of English to general education 6th graders. 

    Which brings me back around to Awards Night. Since most of my students are not very visible in the general population, the honor and attention they receive in front of their entire class is a significant milestone. While many students don't attend the ceremony--conflicts with other activities, mostly--it is rare for my students to miss it. They show up---usually with their entire families. Taking pictures. Beaming. Shaking hands all around.

    So that is why I was a bit perplexed when my first two awarded students were no-shows. 6th grade twin boys from Egypt, with the work ethic of honeybees and the manic energy of squirrels, who had proudly told me they would be at the ceremony just that morning. So I called their names at the podium, scanned the audience fruitlessly, then sleeved their certificates for delivery later. Sat back down as other teachers announced their awards. By dint of tradition, English goes first at Awards Night, so I settled in for the rest of the content areas.

    Five minutes later, they entered. The twins along with their parents and younger siblings. They caught my eye, waved, wandered to the back of the room rather than the reserved-for-honorees rows near the stage. I had prepped my awardees that day on the procedure--where to sit in the audience, the hand-off/handshake protocol, where to stand on the stage until the end of the awards to let proud parents approach and take photos--but, oh well, kids forget. Came in late. Missed their awards. Forgot where to sit and what to do.

    So I did what any teacher should do. 

    I got up and slid down the side aisle, hissed their names so only they could hear. I took them to the second row and found them seats, told them to listen for their names to be called.

    Then I got back in line. Behind science. The last content area to be awarded. True, the old rule of presentations is You Must Be Present To Win. If we stopped and started ceremonies as latecomers arrived, it would cause delays. Chaos. But....

     Traffic happens. Parking issues happen. All these things are out of control of students, the very people being recognized. What could be more disheartening for an 11-year-old than to come in five minutes late and miss the opportunity of glory?

    So of course they deserved a second chance. Deserved to be called to the stage, to shake the Principal's hand, to stand under the glaring stage lights and have their delighted father take picture after picture. Yeah, it took an additional 30 seconds of time for me to loop back around and call them again, but that was 30 seconds they will long remember. That is a bargain.

It's all in the bag : Words Matter

      The paper bag is worn. Tattered, splitting at the seams due to countless hands inthrust to the depths. I forget about it for weeks, until the kids remind me that it's time, Mr. Barber....

    Maybe five years ago, we had a classroom community-building exercise. At the end of the exercise, the kids got a challenge, which was to write a compliment to five classmates and to bring them back to class the next day for delivery. That was a success, but I noticed that some kids held back, too shy to write something to another student. And some treated the compliments as an opportunity for roasting or for jokes about Minecraft or Fortnite.

   Soooo...a lot of potential, but needing tweaking.

    Since I wanted to continue this as an ongoing experiment, I brainstormed--with the class--to iron out the kinks. After a couple of months of back-and-forth, we figured out a way to make it work better. We added anonymity, timelessness--we balanced giving and taking. We added safeguards to keep sarcasm at bay.

    It really works, now. In the bag are folded crumpled crinkled creased notes.

     The advice given on crafting a note is simple--imagine if you were having a blah day a meh day a terrible day--and opened up a note. What would make you smile? Change your mood? Inspire you?

     Some write from the heart. Some look up inspirational quotes. Some just scrawl "You are awesome." 

    They can leave them anonymous or they can sign them.

    So into this bag eager hands reach and draw out inspiration, compassion, jotted drawings, Dad jokes. Most kids keep their notes-I see them slipped into phone cases, Chromebook cases, the backs of ID sleeves. 

    Since we have to preserve cosmic balance, they write a note in return for what was received. In the spirit of community, they will often write an extra note to build the bank.

    In an astonishing incident of sacrifice and paying it forward, I have had a handful of students each year ask to return particularly moving notes back to the bag--because they desire that someone else draw it out later and be equally inspired. Wow.

    This year, students added the wrinkle of dating their slips. They know that some of the notes in the bag were written by kids years ago, and this awes them mightily. I suppose when you are twelve, a letter from 5 years ago feels like a time capsule. So, ever inventive, one of my 6th graders decided to start dating her notes so "future generations" (her description) can be likewise duly impressed.

    We have installed protections, of course. Given the characteristics of middle school behavior, it is plausible likely almost certain  that a jokester could might possibly  will find a way to inject inappropriate humor, mean comments, or irrelevant tangents--Roblox comments, anyone? So the first couple of  notes each year get "vetted"-which means that I scan them before adding them to the bag. After all, I don't want to nurse a viper in the bosom of Rome, as the Emperor Tiberius would put it. 

    Junior high kids are stereotyped as mocking and sarcastic,  but I am continually amazed that they have made this almost a sacred occurrence. Maybe it is the opportunity to receive unqualified praise or maybe it is the possibility of making someone else's day memorable, but they clamor to be heard. Perhaps the name helped--WORDS MATTER is scrawled on the bag with heavy Sharpie. 

    And they do.

Staying out of the weeds

     Sometimes it all comes flooding back to me. Having spent two decades with my pulse pounding, with my head on a swivel, seeking out and resolving bottlenecks--it is only to be expected that memories wash over me from time to time. 

    I am talking of Restaurant Mode, of course. 

    A couple of days ago, I dropped by Starbucks for a cup of their bitter black elixir. Courtesy of one of my students who gifted me a card for Teacher Appreciation Week. The hour between seven and eight in the morning must be their major rush, because they were packed. Out the door. And they were hustling. Five or six baristas and cashiers, moving with purpose and grace and speed without panic. 

    The best crews are always those who are cross-trained and who back each other up. This team was impressive; the cashiers at the window dropped back to pull drinks, the person manning the sandwich station also took orders, and everyone everyone everyone stayed out of the way of the two baristas making frozen drinks. From experiences behind bars, I know how time-consuming and twiddly frozen drinks are, so it makes a lot of sense to steer clear of anyone knee-deep in frozen drinks.

    Instead of taking my coffee to go, I sat down in an upholstered wing chair. And watched. And remembered.

    20 years I worked in different restaurants. Fast food, family dining, white tablecloth. Back-of-the-house, front-of-the-house, I did it all. So when I sit and watch a well-trained crew in the zone, it brings back all those memories. Of Sunday lunch services at Cracker Barrel, Friday dinners at Applebee's, the football rush pouring into Shoney's after games in Auburn, banquets of 150 people filling the event rooms at Ruth's Chris. No matter the menu, no matter the plate price average, no matter whether coffee comes out in a demitasse cup with a tiny spoon or in a stoneware mug with the spoon already in, the basics are the same. Teamwork, speed, accuracy, and hospitality.   

    

    20 years of Restaurant Mode gave me an amazing handle on stress. Nothing compares to the stress of being screamed at by a drunk you've just cut off on New Year's Eve, or a dimwitted area supervisor ordering you to scrub out a dumpster in the middle of a Saturday dinner rush, or a breakfast shift where your opening server and opening cook both no call-no show. That's stress, and that is why I smile and shrug off minor disasters in the school day. Sometimes I feel like Paul Hogan in Crocodile Dundee--

It's all relative....

        But I do miss the surge of adrenaline that kicks off the rush. The feeling of floating through a good shift, everyone cranking together to get butts in seats and food to tables. When it is smooth, it is a magnificent display of organization and speed and purpose. That is how it felt at Starbuck's. No one was visibly in charge, which speaks even more highly of their operation--when a team is tight and cohesive, it works organically without need to be managed. Managed was always sort of a dirty word to me, anyway, I much preferred the word led. Led always meant that I was part of the action, leading the charge and reinforcing the lines and filling the gaps that needed to be filled. 

    So that is what was running through my head while I sat sipping my coffee instead of taking it to go. I am usually a stickler for early to work to set up everything before the kids get there. That is probably the result of those 20 years of pre-shift checklists and shift meetings. But I was still okay to roll through the door right on the dot--cause I am also really really accomplished at time management, at following an opening procedure with full focus. You know, because of training. 

    Thankful that my restaurant experience still helps to keep me out of the weeds.