Leaders Begin With Themselves

“If you touch a rock, you touch the past.  If you touch a flower you touch the present.  If you touch a child, you touch the future.”

~ Author unknown

107846054_6eb73979e9Today I’m handing the Mic to my best friend and wife.  We are teaching a writer’s workshop for fourth graders starting this afternoon, and celebrating with her very first guest post. Daisy’s ready to write full time now. Starting on Monday, you can catch her three times a week in her office over at Namas Daisy.

When it comes to setting goals and realizing results, there are 3 certain conclusions.

  • You must compete against yourself to achieve the most desired outcome.
  • When you commit yourself to a task, you are already a success.
  • The best outcomes are those earned; when you can look behind with pride in the integrity of your actions.
  • Mia’s principal gave a keynote address on Back to School night with an overview of student achievement.  We saw the overall picture of the school’s academic performance; growth, decline, and yearly progress by grade in math, reading and language arts.

    These numbers made perfect sense to me and I naturally honed in on the high stakes year – fourth grade. Fourth grade is where the rubber meets the road. It’s considered a high stakes testing year because it is the first one when students take a writing exam in addition to general testing. Fourth grade standardized scores are used as one indicator to determine placement for middle school programs such as GATE (gifted and talented) and special performing arts programs.

    Students are given a writing task and accompanying prompt. The prompt may be “Narrative Writing,” “Summary Writing,” or “Response to Literature.” The students do not know which genre will be administered, and the teacher’s goal is to ensure they are prepared for whatever is tested by the state. This year’s exam falls on March 10th.

    Mia’s principal noted the decline in scores in English-Language Arts. Sean and I looked at each other… he knew what I was thinking… this is how we could give back to our school.

    Every parent signs a school-home compact agreement requiring parents to pledge the following: “As a parent at  _______ school, I know that knowledgeable, involved, encouraging parents have children with positive attitudes toward school.  As the parent/guardian, I will do the following…

    There is a list of 6 things you agree to do. I won’t bore you with all 6, but #4 on the list, “contribute at least 10 hours of support to the school,” sent sirens through my mind. We need to teach a writer’s workshop for the 4th graders, I thought, crunching test scores in my head. Since my last position in a public school was teaching 35 4th graders how to make a habit of  lifelong writing, it seemed natural for Writer Dad and I to roll up our sleeves and get busy modeling some good old fashioned nuts and bolts.

    What do good writers do?  What does good writing look or sound like, and how do you get there?

    Needless to say, our principal was thrilled with our action plan to assist 30 students for 10 weeks in an endeavor to make them more proficient writers.  Tomorrow is day 1 of our journey.  We have our mobile classroom (a small carry-on with wheels) packed with writing tools and an agenda to bulk up, buck up and attack a prompt with confidence. Max and Mia will be in the back of the classroom writing along with the class.

    Why not? Start early, finish strong.

    We are all teachers with or without a degree. Teachers wield influence, volunteer your time to a school. You may be the only stable adult in a child’s life, the only person passing on culture or hope.  The only ones who dreams for them that they might find a brighter tomorrow.

    Daisy

    You can subscribe to Daisy’s feed (for free) here.

    Momma Meme-a

    “The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new.”

    ~Rajneesh

    Today I have a guest post of sorts from my mom.  She’s answered the six questions to last week’s meme.  Each one has a short note from yours truly.  I’ve already read them to the old lady.  If you think them unkind, I promise they’re not.  It’s just how we roll.  Enjoy.

    trash_heap1)  My name is Margaret.  In Spanish, my first, middle, and maiden names translate, embarrassingly and prophetically, to “Daisy Rose Bouquets.”  This was not done on purpose, rather God’s little twisted joke.  I wear many hats.  I am a floral designer, artist, crafter, teacher and antiques peddler.  I choose to be a “starving artist” with freedom rather than working a 9 to 5 with a regular paycheck.

    Editor’s note:  This often makes her reliant on the kindness of others.

    2)  My addiction is thrift shops.  I am a thriftaholic, a cluttermonky of gargantuan proportions.  Recycling discards into altered art feeds my soul, much to the detriment of my surroundings.  I am a recycled soul.  When I handle vintage objects from the ’30′s and 40′s, I feel as though I was there before.  My children squabble over who will be the unfortunate one to deal with my stuff when I croak.  They pray for me to live until I’m 200.

    Editor’s note:  Snort.

    3) I am a product of the 50′s and 60′s and a survivor of twelve years of Catholic school.  I was raised with one foot in the “good girl – June Cleaver” world and the other foot leaping towards the rebellious “burn your bra” era.  This might explain why today I am a curious mixture of Martha Stewart, Stevie Nicks, Betsey Johnson and Mother Earth; a flower child adrift in an impersonal world of technology.

    Editor’s note:  Mother Earth?  Really, Mom?  Mother Earth cries at your backyard.  Remember the trash heap from Fraggle Rock?  ‘Nuff said.

    4)  I feed strays of all shapes and sizes.  I HAVE become the “crazy cat lady” of the neighborhood who puts out troughs of cat food for all the feral kittens and cats that people have abandoned.  It is not on unusual to see a lineup of cats, possums, and racoons on my porch patiently waiting their turn to chow down.  I might add I live in a bustling urban area, not in a rural woodland.

    Editor’s note:  The crazy cat lady probably doesn’t feed the racoons for years on end and then wonder why they are living beneath her abode and chewing through her wires.

    5)  Up until about three months ago, I had no clue how to operate a computer.  I can cook, decorate the hell out of anything, teach non creative people to explore and develop their right brain – but program a cell phone or figure out any technological thingy, yikes!  I enrolled in a computer class and can now browse E-Bay, Etsy, and my children’s websites.  I can send e-mails, and hope to expand my earning potential through my newly found skills.  A brave new world awaits.

    Editor’s note:  Before she can step into the brave new world, Grammy must clear a surface in her house.  We’ve been waiting a year.

    6)  I love music, mainly classic rock and current compatible tunes.  I love movies and great television, particularly quirky whimsical stuff and fun dark films.  Coen brothers and Tim Burton are favorites.  I have a wicked sense of humor, am very outspoken and liberal, sometimes without the most politically correct views in the room.  People either love me or absolutely think I’m “wacko” (a direct quote from a non-fan)  I am mostly quite happy with who I am with the exception of a few serious life style improvements needed.  I love my children to death and feel blessed with the mix the universe has given to me.

    Editor’s note:  I love you and think you’re wacko.  Thanks for the words, Mom.

    Writer Mom

    Today belonged to my mom, but I’ll still mention you can hire me as a ghostwriter.  I specialize in custom SEO blog posts.

    Sure Mom, You Can Have a Guest Post.

    “When you teach your son, you teach your son’s son.”

    ~The Talmud

    My grandfather happened to pass, the day I told my family I’d started writing.  Every Saturday for the last few months of his life, I sat next to him in bed and read him my rhymes.  At his funeral, I read a rhyme I wrote for him.

    The following Wednesday, my mom came to dinner with a page of prose to match the piece she’d heard.  Her tip of the bonnet to me.

    When I told her I was planning a post on the power of praise, she asked if she could publish the poem she’d penned.

    “Um… sure,” I said, preceding a twitter of nervous laughter.

    One day, I’m certain, my mom will join us in Blogopolis.  This will be good for her, and save me from random phone calls explaining the events of Xena, Warrior Princess, Angel, and Nip Tuck. Actually, now that I think about it, twitter would be right up my mom’s alley.

    Without further ado, here’s Grammy:

    When Sean was just a little guy,
    he was the apple of my eye.
    My first, my baby, my pride, my joy.
    But oh my God, was he all boy!
    He certainly put me through my paces,
    with mischievous acts and silly faces.
    Then along came a sister, we saw as a thrill;
    he was a rascally Jack to her sweet little Jill.
    A brand new playmate, the perfect target,
    for pranks that would daily challenge Margaret.
    When teachers called me to complain
    about behavior quite insane,
    I took it all with a granule of salt,
    never wanting to launch parental assault.
    Life is not black and life is not white.
    It’s many shades of grey in my sight.
    Kids will be bad, and kids will be good,
    but kids should also be understood.
    Sean was fun, a total charmer,
    but true in heart, a never harmer.
    I knew that in spite of his wit and his spunk,
    immature actions and juvenile junk,
    I saw the spirit of someone great
    who could be a father and perfect mate.
    Take some maturity, add on the years,
    all life’s experience and some of its tears.
    Sprinkle some patience, then you will see,
    the outstanding man he was destined to be.
    As I have grown in age and in girth,
    I have never regretted once giving birth
    to a rascally, bright, and challenging child.
    Sometimes tender, occasionally wild.
    He’s grown to be more than I could expect;
    honest, straightforward, mature, and direct.
    Still ten years old when we are alone,
    but wise beyond years when needed at home.
    His grandma and grandpa look down in pride
    at the man he’s become, past history aside.
    He certainly gave them a run for their money,
    but now walks the path of his Papí and Honey.

    Writer Dad

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    In an upcoming post Writer Dad’s gonna rap about the grueling difficulties of a good edit.. and how they’re exponentially worse when doing them with your mother.