Your
Anthology by Suzanne Fraley Cornerstone, Communications
Afterward we invited you to take time to reflect upon those in your life who have left their “footprint” in your attitudes and perspectives as a learner. We are currently binding those reflections into a second Cornerstone anthology, with a copy being sent to each contributor. We want to peak your curiosity by sharing a few of the stories written.
Joanne Wilson-Keenan A person who has made an impact on my life as a learner is my husband, John. He is a cool, calm problem-solver. He thinks projects through ahead of time, does the research, gathers the materials needed and divides and scaffolds the tasks. One learning experience we shared was creating a 25-foot long, 4-foot wide walkway made of Goshen Stone. It comes from the Massachusetts town of the same name. This beautiful rock has lots of mica in it, so it shines and sparkles. It also contains iron so, over time, it rusts from the snows and the rains. Our stone was cut into large flat slabs that were delivered to our house by truck and dumped on the front lawn. It was as if our own personal meteor shower had landed. But the height of the stack of rocks did not deter John. He and his apprentice (me) spent two weeks preparing the path carrying the stones and setting them into a pattern on the walkway. The task was like assembling a 20-ton jigsaw puzzle without seeing the picture on the box! But, at John’s urging, we persisted. Some of the stones were too heavy to lift, so we devised ways of “walking” the stones into place. We pondered their placement, assembled the design and tucked in small stones to complete the walk. Then we filled in the spaces between the stones with gray/blue stone dust. Our hard work paid off. Our walkway shines and rusts to this day.
Jennifer Parr When I enter my grandmother’s living room, much has changed since I was a child. The furniture is all the same, but bears the mark of old age. The trim paint has lost its smooth luster and the swirled plaster ceiling has cracked. The biggest, most influential change in the living room that greets me on each visit is in fact my grandmother. As a young child, I spent countless hours at her home after a.m. kindergarten and during summers. Having been a teacher for 43 years, she knew the value of an education and was determined that I would excel in school. Even though I started school a year earlier than my peers, my grandmother challenged me academically every chance she got. I, wanting to play and explore, would stubbornly protest, but she and her 72 years of stubborn experience would always win the countless arguments. She would quiz my knowledge of words during read-alouds, pointing to each word. I resented that. I knew the answer, but wanted to merely listen. I recall this memory when I teach. I loved and still love my grandmother, but she did not always appeal to me as a learner. Her phonics drills did nothing to entertain me and left me craving to play outdoors. I learned because of her, but now carry regret for all the stubborn fights. I want no student to carry that regret and I learned that to avoid that, learning must intrigue and students must have the desire. I must push and challenge, but I must be cautious of how hard and to what limit. As I see my grandmother now, bearing the mark of old age just as the living room, I still have regrets. Riddled with paralysis and Alzheimer’s, I can never reach her, but each day I work to redeem myself and try with all my might to reach my students. |
For
many of you, recollections still surface from our recent Cornerstone
Winter Meeting in Stamford, CT. Standing tall among them, I
would imagine, are memories of Neil deGrasse Tyson sharing those
riveting experiences from his early formative years, some good and
others not so positive. He challenged our thinking not only
about the “myths” of science and learning, but also about
the impact of others in his academic pursuits.