In my school, teacher evaluations follow a particular cycle that varies from year to year. Sometimes, an administrator will observe us and provide feedback. Other times, we invite a group of colleagues into our classroom and ask them to respond to a specific query about our teaching. And still other years, teachers engage in a self-study that examines a topic of their choice. This school year was one of self-study for me, and my focus addressed the question:
"How might student photography inform and improve my teaching practice?"
"How might student photography inform and improve my teaching practice?"
It was an enormously enlightening experience. In reviewing the children's photos, I noticed that their subjects usually fell into one of three categories: The environment, their peers, and the teachers. Those subjects alone were very telling in terms of what comprises their daily experiences: What is important to my students, and how do they view those things?
There were so many things I noticed and that translated into immediate action on my part. The classroom floor was highlighted again and again in the photographs, so I committed to keeping it clean and inviting. The teacher workspace looked like a cluttered mess from the students' vantage point, so it got some tidying up. Many of the photographs were blurry from the constant movement of both photographer and subject, so we made sure to include lots of outdoor time every day for exuberant, whole body movement.
When I took a closer look at myself in these photos, I actually saw a lot that made me proud. I saw a teacher lovingly preparing the environment; getting on the floor to be with the children; guiding her students through conflict; communicating with other adults; giving hugs. I'm happy that that's the teacher my students see - one who cares, who is engaged, who takes her role seriously.
But I also noticed something that was missing.
My smile.
My smile.
I want my students to see all those things in me, yes. But I also hope that they see a teacher who enjoys her job. One who finds joy in their company, who is approachable, loving, and warm. This spring, I made the conscious decision to simply smile more often in the classroom. And it was a powerful experience. I hadn't realized how much I was censoring myself, holding back from allowing myself to have fun just for its own sake.
Reggio-inspired practice is, by nature, thoughtful. Teachers reflect constantly, evaluating their ideas, observing the children, anticipating what may come next. In lots of ways, it's a great fit for someone like me. I love noticing the details and exercising my creativity. On the other hand, though, I can think things to death, ruminating a choice over and over until I'm practically paralyzed, unable to choose at all. My teaching is always seeking a sense of balance. In this case, it's balancing thoughtful planning with the freedom to just do.
My students' photos helped me give myself permission. We had a dance party on my birthday. I asked them silly questions. I played alongside them with no agenda at all. I remembered to include my own passions in the classroom.
I smiled.
