From Detritus to Dazzling Dishes

“The floor is the biggest shelf in the house.”  — Carol K. (playful artist)

My water color teacher complains about my pallet, how messy it is.  She makes me an example to the new students.  “This is the worst pallet you’ll ever see.  This is what you don’t want.”  But then she goes on to say, “But you should see her paintings.  They’re clean and dazzling.”

My pallet is like my refrigerator, like my home, like my life.  From my dark and mysterious refrigerator I create seductive, one-of-a-kind dishes.  From my messy, disorganized home requiring a rake and wheel barrel, I emerge all sparkly, ready to dance and laugh and sing.  And from my life of unleashed hostile teenagers, demeaning administrators and burnt out, damaged adults, I crawl out of the gauntlet limping, yes, but on my two feet, my hands raised in the air to cheers from the crowd.

Many times I’ve fallen apart at school and have cried in the hallway.  I usually assume my tears are invisible because I’m usually invisible in the hall.  I say hi to kids, even say their names and many of them look past me to the people they really care to be greeted by.  I don’t take it personally, mostly.  Sometimes my fellow teachers don’t even return my greetings.  I realize we teachers are a distracted bunch, so again, I don’t take it personally.  But being invisible allows me to navigate through crowds with tears and a red nose.

I fell apart this time after a meeting with our principal.  He told the special education department we were doing it all wrong.  He told us we could be shut down because of our mismanagement of student placement.  “I’m not blaming anyone.  We just need to fix it.”  He said he understands the hardships of special education because he himself is very close to being certified in that area.  He reminded us that the law says we need to provide the least restrictive environment for disabled students and that means we have too many in self-contained classes. He said that incoming freshman should be placed in inclusion classes automatically.  And if they fail, then we move them into self-contained classes.  “I would never want to limit a student by placing him in a self-contained class.  Let them show us they belong there,” he said.   And so he is hiring a consultant to look over students’ IEPs (Individual Education Plan) to decide who should be moved into inclusion classes.  An expert.  Our principal said we are failing them because we are not exposing them to the same curriculum and materials in the self-contained classes. 

I was stunned.  Yes, I agree that some of my students in my small, special ed only classes should be placed in regular reading classes.  I was already making those recommendations.  But I can’t imagine my kids reading the titles of Antigone or To Kill a Mockingbird, let alone the first page.  Many of my kids are reading at a Dick and Jane level.  The assistant principal suggested books on tape.  My kids wouldn’t understand the first three words: “blah blah blah.  Time for a nap.”  I was scared for the students and me.  Letting them fail is much more harmful than not challenging them enough.  I work hard to provide them with interesting materials and lessons at their level in order to move them forward as readers, thinkers, and learners.  I was bedraggled rather than bedazzled.  I didn’t understand how this different approach could work. 

“Out of confusion comes a new clarity.”  I knew I was unhappy about this, but it wasn’t until I turned to a like minded friend, one of the counselors, that I got to my real issue.  In the crowd of slothy students slithering to their first classes, my friend reminded me that I’m the expert.  My chin quivered and the tears poured out.  He held my hand, saw my tears.  I realized that yes, altruistically I was concerned for my students who didn’t need to fail once again.  And yes, I didn’t want to have to modify Antigone instead of reading great works by Sherman Alexie or Paul Fleishman.  But the thing that had me down the most was that I was minimizing my expertise and deep understanding of flesh and blood students, and letting others tell me about paper and print students.  I was once again giving power to someone else because of authority of position.

My friend the counselor helped me clarify and in that way was the color of my pallet, a rich ingredient in my dark refrigerator, the landscaper of my messy home.  When I reach out to like minded people, I can emerge from the muck, shake off each foot and glow.  Nothing has changed, but I have more confidence in what I know.  I can be dazzling in a bedraggling, dark CPS hallway.

Here’s a simple, dazzling dish that comes from a mess of leftovers.

Butternut Cups

Bottom of butternut squash (Ask a friend to bring their leftover squash butt and make two.)

Cover in oil or add ½ c. water in the dish and bake uncovered for 30 to 40 minutes at 375

Black rice, cooked (takes about 35-40 minutes)

½ large sweet onion chopped

2 medium Portobello mushrooms sliced

7 or 8 chicken tenders cut in bite sized pieces

6 or so sage leaves chopped

Salt and pepper (Don’t be salt shy)

Hot Hungarian paprika

These are so cute.  While baking the squash, sautee onion, mushroom, chicken and spices in olive oil until done.  Last add the cooked rice, just as much as you want.  I used about a cup for two.  Stuff in squash cups and set around on outside too.  Top with asiago cheese and close up in foil.  Bake 20 minutes at 375 degrees. 

If there’s no room on your table, ask your friend to help rake away the mess on the floor and sit on the rug to eat these yummy treats.  They might spur you to make the most of what you possess.