Chalk and Markers: Chapter 7 & 8

 Chapter 7

In the early morning one day in the first months of 2011, our class loaded onto yet another activity bus. Needless to say, it was something we had grown accustomed to doing. The trip we were set to take was a bit different than the past two we had to close out the 2010 part of our school year. The main reason for this had to do with the nature of the field trip itself. It was not only because we were no longer the only class involved. Yes, the entire fourth grade would be attending. We were more than happy to let them in on the action designed to give us a first-hand encounter with our curriculum. While our recent solo adventures into the “field” were fulfilling learning opportunities, they were categorized more in the subject of “life” than our actual classroom studies.

This trip would be much more than going a few minutes up the road, or even to a neighboring county. Instead, we were set to make the two hour plus journey to our state capital of Raleigh, North Carolina, where we would spend an entire day. We first had to get there, which would take a big chunk of that day. It would certainly be wrong to omit the “plus” part of that time length description. From our school location, a perfect traffic scenario could get most vehicles to our destination in just under two hours. Our departure time and mode of transportation made for a less than ideal combination of a school activity bus maneuvering its way through morning work traffic. Even though our drivers took the buses to their mechanical limits, there was no way of bypassing them.

From our seats in the bus, we watched each and every passing car with no desire to be in their position. We were content with the prolonged road trip, though I can confidently say our bus drivers did not feel the same way. As if their job was not hard enough, pushing through the slow motion pace on a highway was only the beginning. Beyond that challenge was an even greater one waiting for them in Raleigh’s downtown area. No matter the size of a city, “downtown” and “activity bus” make for a difficult pairing. It was an unavoidable one for this trip, as every one of our planned stops would be near the city’s center. Navigating a school bus around the sharp turns and crowded traffic moved the level of difficulty to even greater heights. The earlier pulse-slowing slog of highway traffic transitioned into a high stakes, edge of your seat, grimace-inducing final portion of the morning’s travel.

Ultimately, the bus safely found its parking spot and everyone aboard made it off in one piece. Walking down its stairs, the surrounding city setting was much different than the one we had long left behind back at our home base. While most of us students tilted our heads to fully capture the scenery, Mr. Eddie Gibbs, to maintain his own amazement, just kept his focus in our direction. 

“I think the wonder of all of that was just amazing. That’s how it has been for every field trip that I have ever taken,” he recalled. “You know, it is the educational part that I do love, but I like watching kids experience it. There were kids who would never ever get that experience otherwise. Yes, it’s a little bit selfish on my part, because I love watching the kid’s faces when they get to have those experiences. I mean, that’s good stuff to me. So that’s really what motivated me to take you all.”

The first stop waiting for us was a dome building with four columns lining the front center. Resembling an ancient Greek structure, what brought it slightly closer to earth was one of the flags flying from a pole mounted on its roof. Waving in the morning wind and glaring under the sun’s spotlight was our state flag … the same one we saw each day at our usual place of study. It was a neat thing to wrap our heads around the idea of how an entirely new, larger than life world in our state … our home. 

Helping lay the groundwork for our “home” is the business that occurs within the building we approached. It was the North Carolina State Legislative building, where our lawmakers convene to formulate and debate various laws specific to the state. This process was a key part of the social studies material associated with North Carolina history. While there may not have been an end-of-grade test for social studies, Mr. Gibbs still presented the material with the same attention and emphasis of importance. 

As participants of off-campus trips, we never did appreciate or consider the amount of effort it took to make them happen. The further we went and the longer we were away from school, the more logistical details there were to consider and address. Our trip to the state capital would be the farthest one of the year. This alone provides all proof of the significance Mr. Gibbs, who spearheaded the day’s events for the entire fourth grade, put on the connected subject.

He explained it by saying, “A part of that, truthfully, was the fact that I had kids in my class who had experience in that world.”

I happened to be one of the two “kids” he referred to. The other was my first cousin, who was also fortunate enough to be in his class that year. The “experience” he mentioned involved my cousin’s father, who served as a member of the North Carolina State Legislature. Our close association to him, as my uncle and cousin’s father, gave us a personal connection into the world we were studying. My own love for political history was well established by the time of my fourth grade year. It was as early as first grade that the interest was developed, much of which came from the example and influence of my family.

After my earlier shortcoming in the year, having failed to find joy in coloring our state’s three geographic regions, I gravitated toward every other North Carolina-related assignment in our class. It was right up my alley to hear the rich historical narrative as Mr. Gibbs made sure we saw ourselves as characters in our state’s continued story. In its latest chapter, the theme was centered around government and how laws are formed. 

In speaking of it, Mr. Gibbs noted, “I thought it was a really good opportunity to introduce my kids to it because I had an ‘in.’”

When it came to educating us on this law-making process, Mr. Gibbs understood the mere explanation of it would be in line with teaching a foreign language. Always in search of the most effective ways for his students to learn, Mr. Gibbs sought any way to avoid tainting our view of the subject.

Regarding the utilization of any and all possible resources, Mr. Gibbs explained, “You always take advantage of that ‘in’ as a teacher.”

It was this day in our state’s capital city that I began to have a genuine understanding of my own “in” when it came to North Carolina’s government. Mr. Eddie Gibbs, more so than I did then, knew of the “why” behind my developing passion. When my uncle entered his former stomping grounds he became more than a parent chaperone for our group. His involvement also went further than using his established connections to enhance our access. First and foremost, Mr. Gibbs ensured his role was one of an example for the entire group. Going a step above presenting the “why” in regards to my personal interests, it was about showing us the “how” in doing something meaningful in life. 

Mr. Gibbs explained, “Yes, I wanted to teach you all about state government, but I wanted the kids to realize that there is honor in it. You can come from a small town and be somebody. That really was my motivating factor.”

With continued emphasis on the storytelling trend he followed religiously, Mr. Gibbs gave my uncle a prime platform to share his own journey with us. He did so right outside of the legislative building’s main entrance. His personal story was fresh on our minds when we entered and began our tour of the interior. The expectation of reverence may have been unspoken, but it was deeply felt while we ventured around the building halls. It was as if the space itself demanded our respect as we neared the main chamber. On several occasions our tour guide seemed astonished at the well-kept behavior, almost begging us to interact. Speaking for myself, though, the atmosphere was almost too overwhelming to do anything but soak it all in. During this time, Mr. Gibbs was able to take a step back and give his observant nature free reign to kick in. 

Happily sharing those observations, he said, “I think the wonder of all of that was just amazing. That’s how it has been for every field trip that I have ever taken. You know, it is the educational part that I do love, but I like watching kids experience it.”

After walking the entire circular loop along the chamber’s outer edges, we were led down to its main floor. We reached a point in the tour where the setting reached a peak level of power. Our group congregated in front of the room’s main podium where our guide did their best to keep our focus. For me, and I am sure many of the others whose eyes wandered, the guide’s voice turned into background noise. While their further context to what happens in the chamber was necessary information for us, there was one basic, broad strokes understanding I could grasp … this is the room where important things happen!

It was also the room where my uncle proudly represented our district for six years. The pride was evident as he walked my cousin and I over to the desk he was assigned to during his tenure. While my cousin, being his daughter, was the one who sat in his former seat, Mr. Gibbs made sure I remained close by and could sit in the place next to her. With this unique vantage point, we all were given exclusive access to the inner workings of state government as the entire group filled out the surrounding seats. Mr. Gibbs understood the value in physically being where the action happens. There was just a different feeling in the air … one a textbook or lecture would never never be able to create.

Mr. Gibbs put this first-hand exposure in simple terms, saying, “It becomes real.”

From our humble abode in a small town multiple hours away, the lore of state government might as well have been from another planet. Sitting there in that environment, what had once been a far-fetched place of fantasy transitioned into an attainable world. The close proximity to a fast-developing interest of mine was morphing it into a passion.

Seeing my uncle in his element, I felt a great sense of pride toward his public service. That, along with sitting among my fellow classmates, it became easy to imagine myself a part of future scenarios in the legislative building. Potentially returning to the same spot one day, around me would be my fellow lawmakers, each of us with the same opportunity to make a difference … to do important things. 

All thanks to Mr. Eddie Gibbs, this mindset continued well after we arrived back from the trip. From his prolonged state observation that day, there were some key mental notes he took. Quick to put them into fruition, they could be felt from the moment we entered his classroom the following day. It sported a quite different look from the room we were last in the day before. The desks, instead of the usual group-of-four square-shaped set-up, were in an almost identical position as those we sat in on the chamber floor. 

Happily finding my new seat, I embraced the set-up with a newfound inspiration to achieve. Completely dialed in, my ambition raised the stakes of everything the school day entailed. Subjects big or small carried the same increased weight, as if the betterment of an entire state’s worth of people were at stake, just as they are in the legislative building. My demeanor, sitting posture, all the way down to my attire, were revved up to a more aspirational standard. I was determined to hold myself to it, no matter what the classroom activity entailed. Though these extreme shifts away from the normal approach of a fourth grader did not last beyond a day or two upon our return, there was still a more sustainable transformation underway. What led me into the intense phase of personal growth was my new desire to have something to strive toward. To go beyond the status quo  … to stand for something … to be someone. 

Mr. Gibbs was all-in on investing in these individual desires, saying, “I felt like if you all were going to want to be things, want to read about things, and learn about things, we needed to have some background knowledge and experience with those things.”

The atmospheric impact provided a great amount of substance for our class discussions on the subject we had just seen with our own eyes. 

“After we went to the legislature,” said Mr. Gibbs, “we came back to school and we did stuff with that. You were able to do that so much better because we had had that experience.”

The words in our history textbooks suddenly had the power to leap out of each page. Mr. Gibbs gave us permission to allow their three-dimensional effect to capture our full focus and span of attention. 

“At that time there was a big deal about building background knowledge,” he explained, “If you’re going to read something it’s always good to have background knowledge about it and then it makes it meaningful.”

Adding even more meaning was my urge to defend those far-reaching dreams of mine. Mr. Gibbs, having been the one to encourage and enhance their existence, proved himself willing to fully back them. The drastic idiosyncrasies of my post-trip awakening  may have been temporary, but I was still dead-set on vocalizing my all-important future ambitions. I do not think I felt any entitlement at that age of innocence. There was, however, an undeniable sense of belonging I felt toward the world of government. It soon became apparent to me that some of my classmates felt differently. Just as I was willing to vocalize my high hopes, they were more than ready to try shutting them down. Key word … “try.” 

Their attempt came at an opportune moment for those doubters to have the biggest platform and most powerful projection, all thanks to the format of our latest class discussion. While the details concerning this particular class-wide rap session are now scarce in my mind, I vividly recall the manner in which it took place. Seated directly on the floor in front of our desk arrangement, the nature of our discussion became one of an open forum. As was usually the case, our focus transitioned away from the “business” of our school work once it had been completed. Harking back to the Mr. Gibbs philosophy of “there’s a time to work and there’s a time to play,” there was one other category that was always given some time in our class, a time to dream.

“Part of that was taking those dreams, what you envisioned in your head, and making it real life,” said Mr. Gibbs.

Mine went through a cycle beginning at my heart, then to my head, and eventually projected from my mouth. The dream cycle continued to the ears of those around me, in this case it was my classmates, some of whom revealed themselves as “those doubters.” From their ears, my dreams ricocheted right back in the direction of my heart, where they first started. Only this time they had been sharpened to cause damage like that of a bullet.

The semi-circle we sat in became more like a “show and tell” session, with less of the “show” part of the combination. Yet to fully come down from the recent class trip’s high motivational mountain, I used the platform, as any good political candidate would do, to make the case for the future … my future.

Saying something to the effect of “I will one day be President,” I naturally skipped over many of the required steps to reaching such a position. Even stating a plan to be in our state’s legislative body could have been viewed as a stretch. But President? That was crazy talk, and a few people around me were not shy in letting me know about it. They needed not to verbally say anything as their scornful laughs told the entire story. But to assure I received the message in full, statements of “yeah right” and “there’s no chance” followed suit. While I may have skipped several progression levels with this declaration, it was there at the highest one where I found Mr. Gibbs waiting for me.

That bullet I spoke of? He was the one to jump in front of it. His leap into action protected me from a direct threat to the survival of my young ambition. Even more so, those aspirations were bolstered to the highest possible levels. 

It is all attributed to Mr. Gibbs’ defense, which he began by breaking into those disparaging remarks with, “Wait a minute, now!”

Silence

Had nothing else been said by him, the “minute” of waiting would have begun to accumulate. Everyone seated knew not to do anything else but follow those instructions … wait. Nobody dared to make a peep in anticipation for whatever Mr. Gibbs would do or say next.

While speaking to the group at large, his words were pinpointed at those who outwardly  vocalized their disbelief. He told them, “One day, when I get invited to the capital for Matt’s inauguration, and you’re all just sitting at home, you can think back on this as the reason why.”

Some, myself included, mistook this as a continuation of the jabs. In actuality, the sentiments were far from them. Those jokes could be classified in the same category as Mr. Gibbs’ level of seriousness … dead. One by one, the look of those smirking grins began to mirror the stone-faced image presented to them by Mr. Gibbs. They, along with the entire class, were quick to understand how each of our dreams not only deserved every possible layer of protection, but were guaranteed to receive it. As long as we could call Mr. Eddie Gibbs our teacher, this was without any further question or hint of doubt. We would always have the privilege of calling him our teacher, yes, but to categorize him as our current one was a temporary pleasure soon to end.

With the school year’s remaining time fading fast, it was our cue to come alive and be present for its big finish. For any one of us to slow up as the finish line neared, everything we had collectively worked for would go to waste. Resenting any of my classmates for their disbelief would have been just as petty as their showing of it. Their words were repurposed as the fuel I needed to rev up and push through the final stretch. With a “glass half full” lens, I determined they had ultimately done a favor for me. Just ahead on our year’s horizon was the ideal opportunity to return it.

Chapter 8

EOG!! We are ready. Bring it on. 

Written with purple marker, with an eye-popping font style, those words still stand out like a sore thumb among a hodgepodge of others written around it. While penning each one, there was no way of predicting my appreciation for them all the way into adulthood. Ahh, adulthood, I thought as a fourth grade student, a world with no EOGs … if only it were that easy. EOG, I must remind you, as in “end-of-grade.” Yet there would be no “end” without a test. 

“Appreciation” is the only way I can describe my feelings upon unfolding the canvas that had been permanently stained with the purple marker. What began as a plain white pillow case had become the backdrop of a rainbow pallet of words, phrases, and drawings. Yes, I said pillow case. Covering its surface was a summation of the school year’s material in both Math and Reading subjects. For example, on the pillowcase’s Math side, information such as “mode=most, median=middle” could be found. On its Reading side would have “main idea=mostly about.” Subject specific tips such as “circle important things” and “compare and contrast,” as well as more broad test-taking ones like “think good thoughts” could also be found on either side of the pillowcase. 

The originality came not from the terms we were writing, but the ones we each chose to include and just how much extravagance and style we would add. Naturally, each of us would make note of the terms and topics that came less natural to us. Naturally, my pillowcase, a true sign of the masterwork of a nine-year-old with full creative license, was absolutely crammed with Math material. It was all right there for me to see upon unfolding the pillowcase, once removed from its safely tucked away spot in my closet, where it had been for many years. Never far from my mind, there is a sense of safety in knowing something is within reach and fully accessible when needed. In opening my closet door, I did not have to rummage through anything to find it. Without any second guessing, I just instinctively knew it was there. While I thought its services were to purely spark an idea to begin this chapter, I was swiftly transported to a moment where its purpose was to fulfill a much more critical need in my life.  

There I was … there we were … back on the carpeted floor of Mr. Gibbs’ classroom. I now understand the space to be a dangerous spot for fourth grade students to run wild with boxes of sharpie markers in every imaginable color. So that’s why classroom floors are now tiled. 

I must say, the air in our classroom space was much lighter than it had been when we last congregated on that carpeted floor. Then, it was the defense Mr. Gibbs had for my dreams that birthed a hushed tone among all of us. It proved our aspirations, no matter how big or small, were no joking matter. From that, it would be reasonable for one to imagine how the final days of EOG test prep would push us further into the depths of reality. However, upon the start and explanation of this “pillow case” activity, it appeared that the theme of “dreaming” was its entire purpose.

“What was the value of the pillow case?,” Mr. Gibbs rhetorically asked, “number one, the pillow case was more for you all than it was for me. It was really not a study guide. It was a tangible thing that let you know every morning that you woke up, that me and your classmates, and your family, believed that you were going to be successful that day. That you already had the tools that you needed because you slept on it overnight.”

With ages ranging from nine to ten-years-old, we had a class filled with individuals on the precipice of a transformative period of adolescence. Just before entering a phase of life where the evolving mind pushes against the simplistic nature of innocence, this activity caught us just in time.

Had it taken place a year or two later, I could hear our reactions now … Really? Is it that easy?

Looking back, having survived that particular season of life, I can see that, yes … it absolutely was, and is that easy. For us on that day with markers in hand, and no sign of textbooks or worksheets, we were fully on board with the instructions Mr. Gibbs gave us. It had less to do with any philosophical or psychological reasoning, but was based purely on yet another alternative method of learning and revision Mr. Gibbs introduced. It all comes back to the philosophy he so strongly stood behind and defended when it came to the testing topic.

In sharing his philosophy, Mr. Gibbs noted, “Well, in all sincerity, I didn’t feel pressure because of test scores. I never felt that because I always believed I had worked as hard as I possibly could to prepare my children for the end-of-grade test.”

There was no such thing as last-ditch efforts to cram material and make up for lost time. Every moment of our year, whether we knew it or not, had a purpose in preparation. With that came the confidence, which began with Mr. Gibbs and worked its way into each and every one of us. 

He continued on, stating, “We, in the classroom, approached it as ‘it’s a big deal, we’ve got to do our very best,’ but you think about it, every single day that we learned a lesson, we reconnected to the EOG and we connected to questions we were going to see.”

In understanding that fear-based instruction comes out of a teacher’s own insecurity and regret toward missed opportunities, caused by wasting time, Mr. Gibbs suggested, “I think I would have had far more anxiety if we had not done that and I had a group of kids that I’d look at and go ‘oh God, I just hope that they do something.’ That’s not what we were. I mean, my kids were ready.”

Ready or not, the end-of-grade test day was finally upon us. My morning route to class was noticeably different on the first test day. The entire school seemed to be on edge. Even those who were not participating in the tests were instructed to keep an air of seriousness in reverence to those who were. It was never lost on them that their own test-taking time would one day come. My observant state put focus on the terrorized expressions of the vast majority of other third, fourth, and fifth grade students. Even with some of their teachers, I could see the same sensation brooding just beneath the surface.

That’s too bad, I remember thinking with each and every stride I took, as though I was in on some secret. 

I bet they just slept on plain ‘ole pillowcases last night. Not me! I had all the answers by my side the entire night! That has to mean something, right?

Right … but not in the way I understood it then. Creating the most meaning came not from some otherworldly impact of sleeping on a pillowcase with Math and Reading material on both sides. It was purely based in the belief that success comes when an opportunity and preparation meet up to form a powerfully unbreakable bond.

Joining my fellow classmates on day one of testing, I hardly noticed our classroom’s testing transformation, as every hint Math or Reading material had been removed or covered, but was in tune to that of each of us within the space. Gathering together on that day, it was the ultimate exposure for what Mr. Gibbs had helped to construct within each of us on his roster.

“I always tried to build excitement, not fear,” he said, “I just felt like, if you’re excited over something, you’re going to do better at it than if you’re afraid of it.”

There was a defiant look on every one of us, even those who, deep down, felt their chances of passing the test were very slim. A “slim” chance never meant “no” chance … especially when you have your very own EOG pillowcase! The confidence those particular students experienced came not from their own abilities, but those cumulative ones combined from our entire class unit. The competitive juices were flowing when we congregated and were set to show-off all we had devoted ourselves to from day one. We never felt as though we were better than the other classes, just better prepared. 

While there were plenty of tools to equip us for each test itself, very little could be used to prepare us for what was to come after they were all said and done. We assumed that, by taking those tests, it would serve as the final and steepest stretch of the school year’s mountain top expedition. When the final bubble was filled and our sheets were sent to the scanners, we were alas at the top. 

I made it! It is finished! We made it!

Those mere words were exactly that … mere words. It was then, while at the highest peak, I looked down below. My eyes were not set on the ground I had already covered to get there, but on the other side of the mountain. It was a side I was seeing for the first time. There was not another immediate mountain top climb, there would be plenty of those to come in my educational life. Instead, there was a seemingly steeper decline to the end of this particular journey. No matter how high or how hard one climbs, nobody can stay on the mountain top forever. 

I temporarily basked in the completion of my tests, as did everyone else in the class, then received instruction for the next steps to come. As one year veterans of the EOG tests, us fourth graders knew the following week’s schedule would be one of two possible outcomes; remediation or relaxation. This would be no collective “class” schedule, but more so an individual one, combined with other students in the entire fourth grade unit. With a total of four classes, the schedule was pretty straightforward. Two teachers would lead the remediation groups, with one leading the Reading subject and the other did Math. 

When it comes to the two “relaxation groups,” it is important to note that I use the term very loosely in this case. As the alternative option from continued EOG review, it certainly did seem as such in comparison. But the ultimate goal for this particular group was geared more toward continued preparation, not for another fourth grade test, but a brief glimpse at what was to come in fifth grade. Sounds pretty nice, right? You may wonder how one could so fortunately find their way into this group, as opposed to the “remediation” one. The answer was simple … pass your EOG test. 

Ah, yes. The steep, treacherous decline begins. 

To lessen the dramatization of what came next, post EOG, Mr. Gibbs shared his thought process and viewpoint toward the test results. 

“It wasn’t always about that, because at the beginning of the year I always wrote down what you made the year before.”

The grading scale was pretty straight forward. On a scale of 1 to 4, there is a range of grades associated with each number. Any grade in the range of 3 or 4 was a pass. Those within the 1 or 2 grade threshold were not. 

Mr. Gibbs continued, “I knew what you were starting with. So for those kids that still made a 2, who I knew they were going to pass anyway, I would always approach it with, ‘let’s look at what you made last year, now let’s look at what you made this year. Yes, I know it’s not a 3, but look how close you came to a 3, look how many points you grew.’ So there was always an opportunity for positive growth in that conversation.”

Soon to come was that “conversation” he referred to, but the dramatics would usually begin in the immediate aftermath of each test’s completion. When, at that time, every paper and bubble sheet was collected, I can recall many of my other teachers acting as though the country’s nuclear codes were in their possession. In reality, it was just a stack of papers and test materials in a clear container … big whoop. Those teachers would hold the container in a manner associated with a treasure box while exiting the room, leaving students with a testing proctor or assistant teacher. It is not a stretch to assume they were just getting into character, living up to the intensified atmospheric standard of their next destination … the scan center … aka, the library. Completely off limits to anyone other than teachers or staff on these days, I can remember, and begin to chuckle while doing so, the blocked off doors and the complete commitment to secrecy and, most importantly, seriousness. It was yet another reminder to a bunch of elementary kids that this was a big deal.

To Mr. Gibbs? Not so much. His approach to pushing this narrative was in digestible increments from day one, as opposed to force feeding it in the latter half of the school year. There was such a casual nature to the way he carried himself in front of us on those test days. A creative activity to close out our preparation was one thing, but continuing that air of ease and confidence on the actual test days was another level of commitment. From the first words he spoke when reading the initial testing instructions, the all-important tone was upheld until the last student finished. 

This did not mean there was not a lot weighing on the mind of Mr. Gibbs at this point. When it was seemingly all said and done for some of us in his class, there would be other students who were not exactly in the clear. Every individual in this grouping had a specific reason for not quite making the mark of a passing score. There was no better person to identify it.

Mr. Gibbs explained, “If it was somebody who had not done anything all year, I would be honest. I would say, ’you had a chance to do this and you chose not to.’ And yes I would put the ‘Eddie’ effect on it, saying, ‘it breaks my heart and it makes me so sad, and I really wish you had,’ well, life is like that. You don’t always succeed. You don’t always get what you feel like you’re due, but I always tried to temper it with my kids as much as I possibly could because it was a very rare thing, very very rare thing, that I have ever had a class of kids that even my weakest students did not grow.”

Our class, like many others I have been in, was made up of students with wide-ranging positions on the spectrum of academic ability. Each and everyone of us was due to take part in the dialogue Mr. Gibbs described. Just a day or two removed from the tests, the results would be in and the stage was set for their “make or break” impact on each student. It was the ideal way to end a week of heightened pressure and intensity with what I will describe as “the walk.” One by one, we were each summoned out of the classroom when our name was voiced by the teaching assistant. If we expected Mr. Gibbs to be waiting for us in the hallway, we were wrong. Instead, it was the teacher workroom a few doors down from our class. Beginning the walk once it was my turn, my nerves grew with each and every step.

Though Mr. Gibbs had done well to maintain a sense of normalcy for us, there was no getting around the intensity of this upcoming exchange. It was only right to embrace the moment’s dramatics. Any avoidance would signal that we were not equipped to handle it. No, the test scores would not appear on our permanent academic records. Instead, they would stand for something even more important … the culmination of nine months worth of mutual investment between a student and teacher. This would ultimately hold as much permanence and importance.

Finally reaching the room, there would be nothing or nobody else aside from a single table, two chairs, and that very student and teacher. I am not confident enough in my memory to directly quote what was said by Mr. Gibbs when I entered the room. Having seen the workroom countless times before in passing, it felt much smaller than I had expected it to be. When I took a seat, it seemed as though the white walls were closing in at an increasing pace. Thankfully, with a list of students left to speak with, Mr. Gibbs did not beat around the bush. The specifics of his words may be lost, but the two most important ones remain firmly intact in the caverns of my memory … “two threes.”

Two threes as in two passed tests.

The specifics of my grades for each test were not disclosed and I was certainly not seeking them out. Any growth from the prior year, when I earned the same exact scores, may or may not have taken place. Yet, regardless of any grading uptick on paper, I can confidently confirm a much deeper and worthwhile progression as a student and human being during the 2010-11 school year. I can say with even more confidence that such a thing would not have been possible without the man who gave me the good news that day.

As the bearer of this kind of relief and excitement, I am sure it gave Mr. Gibbs a great deal of joy. But while the sweet nature of this sensation may have been strong, the bitter taste from having to share less than ideal news must come with an even heavier burden. Even with the outlook of growth, despite receiving a grade below the passing threshold, telling those students they did not make the mark was still the introduction to an additional week of review, followed by another full day of testing. No amount of improvement from the previous year could replace the detour’s disappointment. But you could always count on Mr. Gibbs to turn obstacles into even greater opportunities. To him, there is simply no greater opportunity than the chance to encourage and uplift a student.

He explained his mindset toward the remediation process by saying, “I just took it with the approach of, if I can help you with one thing, if we can just look at one thing that you can get better, and invariably those kids did improve, but it was hard for them, it was hard.”

With a top priority of helping to ease this strain, Mr. Gibbs chose to harken back to the tried and true power of relatability.

He continued, “If you’ll remember, I always described myself as someone who struggled. We learned together and so I would say to them, ‘I had a hard time with this, too. I’m glad that you’re here to go through it with me, so that we can learn it together.’”

Mr. Gibbs’ position of vulnerability could be traced back from his very first days as a student, which so just happened to be the very motivation for devoting his life to the education profession.

“It goes right back to that Ms. Carma story,” Mr. Gibbs mentioned, “‘I’m so glad you dropped your lunch, because I wanted somebody to eat with me.’ That was my opportunity to be Ms. Carma to a kid.”

What often proves to be a critical quality is to maintain a realistic viewpoint of surrounding circumstances. In Mr. Gibbs’ case, in the immediate EOG test aftermath, it was a handful of days to go through a year’s worth of material for those who were afforded another attempt.  

“Number one, I tried very hard for kids not to be embarrassed. It was, to me, that was a no-win situation that I had to do for the state because if you didn’t learn it in 180 days, it is very unlikely that 3 days of my vast amounts of knowledge is going to ooze into your head in 3 days. It’s just not going to happen.”

Regardless of whether this process was truly effective, Mr. Gibbs’ classroom certainly seemed to be the ideal environment to learn in, review in, heck … to just simply be in. I put emphasis on “seemed” because I was then on the outside looking in. Spending the days in rotation between the two fifth grade introduction groups, I found myself periodically gazing across the hall. Even if I could not see what was going on inside of Mr. Gibbs’ classroom, I could only imagine the inventive ways those students were reintroduced to the year’s material. The refreshing perspectives he presented so well must have been a game changer for those set to retest. 

An odd sense of envy would sneak into my psyche every so often during those days. Each time, I would be quick to remind myself that, no … you’re in the ideal spot right now! It’s time to focus on what’s to come in the future, not what has already been in the past. Learning how life’s sweet tastes never seemed to be without a hint of bitter in the mix, my conflicting feelings of the school year’s end were completely new to me.

In the years before, summer break was the only thing my brain could grasp amid that end of May and early June timeframe. This new sensation of feelings was bypassing summer altogether! They transported me nearly three months ahead, all the way to the next school year … fifth grade. Sure, the fifth grade classrooms were just at the other end of the hall, but it still felt like a world away. As did Mr. Gibbs’ classroom during my week removed from it. Recognizing the feelings of displacement from just one week, I was not ready to experience those brought on from an entire school year. Thankfully, there was still a sliver of time left to keep them at bay.