Here goes nothing. . .

Take a deep breath. 

Turn the handle. . .

Walk through the door. . . 

When I walk into a classroom of unsuspecting kids, I never know what awaits. 

All I do know is that I have exactly one hour to engage, instill, and foster. One hour to earn their trust, one hour to instill a sense of success, and foster any idea and creative energy they put out in the room. 

And then I leave. That's it. 

Yesterday, I found myself in a local classroom, and my task was to teach about Native Americans and teamwork. 

That's all the school gave me. Consider that. . .Native Americans. There is a wealth of information to learn. Important information. Information that should not be skimmed over, but taught with heart and clarity. Not to mention teamwork--a life skill that is crucial for any productive and creative individual. 

So what do you do? Go small. Grab one aspect of the topic and develop a plan that digs deep. 

I chose the Cherokee and their homes. They live in the Carolinas, have a rich heritage, and are a particular tribe I really connect with personally. And homes? Homes are something everyone relates to instantly, and the Cherokee made theirs from mud and brush and river cane. They problem solved and worked with each other. 

The class started out with lots of energy and enthusiasm. 

Then the nitpicking, arguing, mean words, and frustration leaked in. With each task came more ugly words and inability to work together. Every time we sat and discussed what worked and what didn't, the students would say the right things: "We didn't listen." "We need more teamwork." "We need to care about each other." 

The right words came out so easily, but putting the words into practice is the road block. 

So what does a teacher do that only has an hour to cover an enormous topic and leave the kids feeling accomplished and successful?

Go smaller. 

Chuck out the lesson plan and focus on what the kids need.  Focus on the process and not the product. 

So, we created a house with our bodies. We learned that we needed each idea and each body to make it work. We listened. We received. We participated. 

However, I left that room, tired, defeated, and confused. 

Every class starts the same way--a breath, a turn of the handle, coursing anticipation. 

Every class ends completely different. This time I left frustrated, tired and confused. Asking "Where did I go wrong?"

But like I tell the kids, don't ask "What did I do wrong?" Ask: What did I do right? What did I learn? What will I change next time? 

What I did right this time? One boy who was not wanting to hold hands, talk or participate, ended up doing all three. 

It sounds small, but it counts. It definitely counts.