It's been 5 years.

On April 27th, I woke up a 20 year old girl. As a sophomore at the Capstone, I was to attend several classes that day. Western Civ, Elementary math, and Women's Studies. We knew the weather was going to get bad that afternoon. After a phone call and a few texts to friends, my boyfriend at the time, and my mom, I went off to class, thinking nothing of the weather.

As a kid, we would sit in the back yard as the tornado sirens went off. Being from North Alabama, it was something that was totally normal. Through no fault of my parents', we just didn't know the magnitude of what a tornado could do, much less that a tornado could tear a mile wide stretch to pieces and take the lives of kids who had no idea it was coming. So... to my last class I went without hesitation or reservation.

My last class was to start at 3:30 in Manly Hall at UA. Formerly a dormitory for military students, Manly Hall consisted of 4 stories of staircases and doors to classrooms accessed from an open air balcony. It was old, a little run down, and very central to campus. I remember the sky turning a dusty, coal grey as I looked out the windows of the classroom. Not five minutes went by from that moment and I heard sirens. Emergency alerts. "This is an emergency alert from the University of Alabama. Please move to a ground floor room or a safe space. Do not drive."

I began the descent to the ground floor of Manly and across the parking lot and bus lane to Gorgas Library. Inside, I sat with other students who were stuck on campus. I don't know if it was the staff at the library or our own gut instincts, but we got in the staircase. All but one of us lost our WiFi connections. My classmate next to me was streaming the news out of Birmingham. "An EF4 tornado is headed straight for the campus and Bryant Denny Stadium of the University of Ala....." Blackness. She lost connection. We were sitting ducks.

Wind and rain slapped the outside of the building. In silent solitude, I heard prayers from a few students down. Cries for mercy. Begging for the tornado to skip over us. Tears.

And then silence.

Without really understanding what had happened, I walked outside the library toward my sorority house. My friends were there and were supposed to take me to my car. Little did I know at that point, half a mile away from where we huddled together in the library stairwell, the tornado's path had flattened a stretch of land that was so wide it was almost incomprehensible.

After an hour of driving around and seeing a small part of the death and devastation, I retreated to campus and to the dorm of my then boyfriend. I was in shock at what I had seen, but I had no idea just how bad it was yet.

That night, a friend and her boyfriend came to meet us to check in and make sure we were okay. Cell reception was down, so no one really knew if their loved ones were alive, injured, or trapped. As it turns out, her boyfriend had been pulling rubble off of dead bodies since the storm. Entire neighborhoods had been wiped off the map. In an audio clip I once heard, a 911 dispatcher asking a location of the caller. In response, the caller said, "I don't know where I am. There's no addresses anymore."

In the aftermath of one of the deadliest storms in American history, our town came together. I saw college students helping the elderly, professors moving logs off the road, and football players clearing trash out of the government housing. In discussing the aftermath, I learned of people thrown hundreds of yards from their homes, people being crushed in the rubble and dying because no one knew where they were.

I say all of those terrible, gut-wrenching details to say this: I realized I wasn't invincible on April 27, 2011. I learned I am a small speck in an ocean. I am tiny. I am breakable. I saw Mother Nature's true power. I saw people truly broken. I saw raw, real redemption.

I've told this story many times; to family, friends, and fellow survivors. I've relived that day every time a tornado siren goes off. I've experienced the grace I felt that day over and over again. And that grace, God's grace, is so good. I was spared that day. I am a lucky, lucky woman.

A Letter to My Students, 10 Days from Testing

Dearest 5th grader,

The morning of the 18th,  you will wake up, most likely nervous, eat breakfast, and go off to school. I will greet you at the door and you will have a seat in my room. We will discuss best practices of test taking, the format of the test, and how much time you will have. Then, we will walk downstairs to the computer lab.

Your test will begin and one hour of standardized testing will pass. As soon as you push submit, your test scores will be sent off to the graders. They'll read your writing, score your answers, and put a number on your learning, or so they think.

I beg to differ.

I see the lightbulb moments, I see the formation of knowledge behind those bright eyes. I feel connections being made that cannot be quantified into a test score after one sitting of you spilling whatever comes to mind into your answer choice box.

Sure, you've learned this year. You've learned to change classes. You've learned to say please and thank you. You've learned how to help your classmates with Autism, ADD, and other various behavioral disorders succeed in our classroom. You've learned tolerance, kindness, and strength. You've learned to love, to trust, and to thrive in situations you may not want to be in. You've learned that you need to wear deodorant and shower daily (EW, I know). You've learned that your friends aren't always your friends. It has been hard.

Your schooling is boxed in. You're over-tested. You're not allowed to run and play as you should. I know its hard. I see it happening every day. You need to be a kid.

So with that, I urge you: don't let this test score define you. Better yet, let me tell your parents: don't let these test scores define your child. They'll succeed with life experience. They'll succeed with social interaction. They'll succeed because I've seen it happen. Each one of them is a success.

So, dear 5th grader, know your worth. You are so much more than a number.

Go into these test with confidence. Go in with the knowledge you have. Do your best, but remember this... You are more.

Love,
Miss Robertson

Exhaustion Sets In

On any given day, I set my alarm for 5:30. Do I EVER get out of bed at 5:30? Nope.

So maybe I've got a vitamin deficiency. That's quite possible. But honestly, y'all... some days it gets to be 4:30 pm and I can't handle keeping my eyes open.

Let's rewind to the beginning of the day. If I have my caffeine, all is fair. Morning classes go well, I'm happy-go-lucky. I can conquer anything that crosses my path. But then, as if a shift in the cosmos has occurred, afternoon sets in and what comes across the threshold to my classroom, but a tiny package of attitude and hormones in a 10 year old girl's body.

She twirls her hair, she chomps the forbidden gum I've already asked her to throw away. The other kids give her sideways glances, knowing I am watching her like a hawk. They're uncomfortable. Heck, I'm uncomfortable. She has not a care in the world.

Now folks, not to toot my own horn, but I am QUITE patient. *toot toot*

This situation pushes me to my edge. I STARE her down. Daggers, y'all. Daggers. She fears nothing.

Right then and there, I have to remind myself that jail is looked down upon by future employers. And God. So I pray. "God give me the strength to be the adult here. Give me patience where I have none. Let the words of my mouth be acceptable. Amen."

I think I say that prayer every 3 minutes.

Then the Good Lord reminded me of her background. Her homelife. Her circumstance. And He showed me her heart. I saw through that little 65 pound bulletproof shell. As if I were a half-pint of Ben and Jerry's on the back porch in July, I melted.

Without heart, there is no use in doing this job. As educators we have a duty. That duty is to love, even when exhaustion sets in and you're just pissed. (Sorry, guys. Theres no other way to phrase that feeling)

Love them with all you have, and when that runs out, love a little more.

No Day is Complete Without a Little 10 year old Wisdom

In 5th grade at our school, we have a behavioral system that is as follows:

• I rule all. I am the ruler of the classroom.
• Everybody should follow my rules.

Just kidding. I wish. 

It's actually like this: I have a call and response system of classroom management. It is modeled after the Whole Brain Teaching model. Check it out here: 

Whole Brain Teaching

So, in Whole Brain Teaching fashion, I call "Class!" and they're to respond with "Yes!", or any variation of the word class and other words it can be related to. I even go as far as "Hey, yo, class!" and they come back with "Hey, yo, yes!". Immediately, they have to get quiet and listen for directions. 

Now, I know what you're thinking. There is no way on God's green Earth that that many 10 year old children get quiet immediately after their teacher says a string of words they might not even hear. And you know what? You're right.

They are so loud sometimes that I feel like my head is literally filled with pre-pubescent children that are screaming at the top of their lungs. It gets noisy. My life is noisy. 

When they're THAT loud, I get a "point" on a scoreboard. If they get quiet, they get a point. We race to 15 points, and when they get to 15, they get a reward: free time, school nurse approved popsicles (don't worry Michelle Obama), or open seating in their class. If I get to 15 first, you would think I stopped class, brought in a puppy, and kicked it in front of them. A DREADED PUNISHMENT HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT! Today's was a reflection.

Here is an example of one of the responses I got. 

What a wise child. In the frustration I had with this class, I found a small shining light in his response. In a world where children's parents hand them an iPad or iPhone to appease them, this child has had SOMEONE tell him that his education is golden, he should be slow to anger (Psalm 103:8) and that Donald Trump CANNOT be president. Guys, we aren't doomed. Our future doctors, lawyers, and leaders think like this! 

My day to day can get frustrating. I have had more conversations with 10 year olds in the past three years than I've probably ever had with an adult. Some days I don't speak to anybody over age 10 before 11 am. I get mocked, talked back to, and disrespected on a daily, hourly, and minute to minute basis. 

At the end of the day, I do not necessarily think that some of those things are to my detriment. Childlike faith is real, y'all. They see the world for all the good, and I love it. Their perspective on our surroundings are refreshing and I think we could all learn a bit from these little monsters.

Despite all the ugly, they know that life can be refreshing, or at least it should be. 

Today

Today was one of those days; one of those never-going-to-end-help-me-Jesus days. For those of you who don't see/hear me on a daily basis, I teach 5th grade. I have for almost 3 years, and I wouldn't trade my job or my kids or my school for the world.

BUT today. Let's revisit today. Woke up late, got to school late, didn't get to copy because once again... I was late. Lateness, to me, is unpreparedness. I struggle when feeling unprepared, as is human nature. In comes my first period class. Full of spritely 10 and 11 year olds, my first period class brings their own set of challenges each day. Within that room sits a handful of children with above average IQs, fantastic test scores, quick wit, and one HECK of a collection of attitudes. 

Today, before 8 am, I had an extended conversation about an attachment to Cool Ranch Doritos, taking over the world, and Windows 95 (what the heck is THAT, Miss Rob?!) Needless to say, we do a lot of redirection.

After a mid-afternoon meltdown session, I struggled to get my "Academy Award-winning Actress" face back on due to numerous mishaps and detours to our ultimate goal - that 2:40 dismissal call. I was down and out; complaining and whining. I was a mess.

My drive home is when I do my best thinking. I reflect, ponder, and sometimes obsess over the details of my day. Today's drive home led me to one realization. My day is not only my day. My day is Joe's day. My day is Taylor's day. My day is my boss's day, my team's day, the lunchroom lady's day, and our after school custodians' day. My day is never JUST my own. A sideways glance may cause a child anxiety for the rest of the afternoon. A harsh comment could cause a deep-seated issue with authority.

So, in all my morose-ness, I came around. I know my attitude can change a day - possibly a life. I am not unprepared, I am blessed. I am not in a constant state of struggle, I am blessed.

I am blessed because I know each and every one of my students. I am blessed. Today was - and is - good.