by Krissy.Venosdale | Feb 17, 2014 | Reflect
There are few people in my life who “get” me. People who get that I need to create, the same way I need to breathe. People who know that within my extreme quiet, so much more is being said. People who know that if I stop writing or creating, something is wrong. Not something surface level, like a broken nail, but something more of the internal conflict kind. People who understand me know the things I do are far more about pieces of my heart than seeking some sort of recognition.
And since it’s really about my heart, I believe in sharing all of it. The good, the bad, the happy, and the hard times. Authentic means real. Life can be more real than we all like to admit some times. But, in it’s ‘realness’ is often where we find our strength, our support, and our selves.
Growing up, my dad had Multiple Sclerosis, and we didn’t dwell on it as a family, but I’ve always known, life is short and what you can do today may be taken from you tomorrow, so be happy. I can remember hearing his stumbles as a kid, in the quiet darkness of the house, knowing I couldn’t stop it from happening, but wishing I could. I saw him lose hobbies that he once loved and enjoyed. I saw him forced into an early retirement and miss out on things like chasing his grandkids. The disease may continue to change him physically, but he is still the same strong person in my eyes.
He had always promised, “I’ll dance at your wedding,” when I’d do something around the house as a kid. He held his promise. I don’t think we made it through the whole song, but that doesn’t even matter. We danced. A few spins around on a dance floor under the glow of lights. A long promise, meaning far more than any original intentions, fulfilled. That moment? It’s a reminder. Nothing should ever taken for granted. Not a little dance, nor a chance to jump in a puddle. Happiness is born out of overcoming, believing, and looking for the moments that make your heart burst. Because in your happiness, you’re making others happy. Happiness through color, noticing the details, doing your best, working hard, accomplishment, and the laughter of great friends. True friends who believe in you sometimes more than you believe in yourself.
It is those people. The people who text, message, or stop me to say, “Are you okay?” Those people have saved me in ways I’ll never be able to explain. One of them I married, and the others? They are some of my closest and dearest friends and mentors. It’s not that their words are groundbreaking or innovative, or that they have some sort of perceptive superpower. It’s more important than that.
They understand my heart.
by Krissy.Venosdale | Feb 9, 2014 | Reflect
“You’re so smart!” We’ve all said it. We say it with the best intentions. We mean well. We feel that saying that builds confidence, encourages kids to live up to to their best, and reminds them how great they really are.
But it does more.
“You’re so smart” carries a message. You need to always be smart. You are good at everything. Shy away from risks, because it might be revealed that you are not as smart as I once thought. Struggle doesn’t feel so good when you’re being told “But, c’mon, you’re so smart at this.” In fact, it feels worse that failing and having someone tell you how dumb you are. That might sound crazy.
But when a kid is struggling and hears “You’re so smart,” that struggle feels worse. It causes internal thoughts like, “But, I thought I was smart, why can’t I do this?” or “They are not going to think I’m smart anymore.”
Smart is not something that people talk about gaining through effort. It’s something people just say you are.
Effort on the other hand, is born through struggle. Trying. Reaching. Thinking deeply. Working around problems. Effort feels so good when you finally make it as far as you could, and that effort? It’s celebrated. Not because you are “smart”, but because of hard work.
What if the very idea of ‘gifted’ is so caught up in the weight of the word ‘smart’ that people just never to get to see what it’s really about. If we know gifted learners are just wired differently, then is it really even about being ‘smart’? It’s about thinking differently. It’s about perceiving deeper. It’s about an intensity that causes you to question things at a harder level than some even understand. Things like ‘being smart’ and simple phrases that we grow up feeling we have to live up to.
I never thought I’d write a post that seems to be saying, ‘Stop with the compliments.’ But, I’m just realizing how it’s not even really a compliment. It’s more of an unfair expectation.
by Krissy.Venosdale | Feb 8, 2014 | Reflect
Things we hear a lot of in education….
- “Because of Common Core we’re going to…”
- “With testing coming up…”
- “Our schedule says we have to…”
- “The next chapter in the textbook is…”
- “It’s time for PD, listen to me read you this Powerpoint about data…”
- “Let’s look at the data again…”
- “Here is a chart of our scores….”
- “It’s time to implement ____” <–insert expensive program name
- “We’re cutting ___ because of funding…”
Why are the things we end up talking most about in school, the things we actually need to spend the least amount of time on? The requirements, policies, and ‘things that have always been done this way,’ are there, covering up the things that matter.
What if we found a magic wand, and it would all just <poof> be gone?
Uncovering so much. Authentic engagement. Thinking fun. Problem solving with reflection. Endless inquiry. Constant connection building. Projects in the real-world. Fantastic learning. Discovering passions. Building upon interests.
Edcamp always reminds me of one thing. We are the magic wand. Together, day by day. We collaborate, connect, and get creative together. We can continue to learn from each other and uncover what kids need and what works in schools.
And it’s all far too important to just give up.
by Krissy.Venosdale | Feb 2, 2014 | Reflect
I want to share a story. It’s the story of two children and their school experiences.
Child A struggles. She wears a small leg brace on her left leg due to a bit of cerebral palsy. PE was hard for her, but with her teacher’s support, she learned to jump rope, to climb, to enjoy physical activity. She was often withdrawing in the classroom, running out of the room, looking for a place to hide. She even would lash out in crying fits that nobody could seem to calm. She got to go to “social skills” group with the counselors and they worked with her in a way that helped her so much. Eventually, she received a diagnosis of Asperger’s. That diagnosis immediately resulted in a big meeting, a room filled with school psychologists, teachers, and paperwork to document support. Her mom cried at the table at the way everyone came together to help her child. There was support. Sensory Breaks. 15 minutes to swing, to play with sensory tools. It helped her so much. Her struggles? They belonged to everyone and nobody was fighting for her learning alone. She thrived. She grew. She still struggled, but she had support. Support makes all the difference in the world.
Child B struggles. She learns differently. Her memory makes “facts” stick and she rapidly progresses. But her motor skills are lacking. Her handwriting is almost unreadable. Her math is 3 years above and her reading is 4 years above. These kind of “gaps” create real problems in the classroom. Eventually, her parents discovered that it she is gifted. That diagnosis was met with misunderstanding. She needed a higher level, to relieve her frustration. But, “it wouldn’t be fair for her to get different math,” it was often said. The sensory breaks? They would help with her overexcitabilities. She learned differently and needed tasks broken down so that her overly fast processing could allow her motor skills to catch up. But, people thought now, that since’s she’s “so smart, can’t she overcome the Aspergers.” People assumed, “She must just be spoiled.” Thoughts that were just wrong and misguided. She needed something different too. The meeting never came. There were no documents, no written plans, and no outpouring of sympathy and hugs. Her mom cried again. This time alone. Because nobody understood anymore. Even worse, they think saying your child is gifted is bragging. Even when THAT couldn’t be further from the truth. Her struggles? They continued.
That mom is me. Child A and Child B? They are the same child. I’ve cried tears at the amount of support and tears at the lack of understanding. There are parents in every school, in every town, in every place in America. People who feel lost, misunderstood. People who know what 2E, or Twice-Exceptional, truly means because they are living it, every day. They know very well the heartbreak of what it means for very few to understand.
This story is personal, but I will continue to share it. Because if I can help one administrator, one teacher, or one parent see that our failure to look past labels and understand needs is the most damaging thing we can do in education, then sharing is worth it. If even one of you who reads this, reaches out to a parent to ask how you can help? Then our journey has been worth it. It’s already worth it — our child is exactly who she is. Not defined by labels. Defined by spunk, spirit, wit, and a drive to improve and overcome. She is beyond capable, greatly loved, and has a happy spirit that notices sunsets, glowing lights, and beauty in things most of us don’t take time to notice. It is because of every person in her life that has looked past the labels to understand her. Be that person for someone else.
