I believe people need to be reminded of what they already know. Think about it --as they say, we take our health for granted until we find ourselves flat on our backs and are reminded of just how great feeling good is.  When things are good, our awareness of that goodness fades more and more as the goodness continues, until taking for granted finds us seldom thinking of those good things at all. Throughout history even church attendance increases during a war, as each remembers that special gift called peace. I suspect it is impossible to even recognize something as good without that dreaded something bad serving as a sort of gauge. Getting accustomed to "the finer things in life" robs us of appreciation, making us apathetic. We all need gentle reminders from time to time reawaken us to just how fortunate we are.
   Our gifted programs provide students wonderful opportunities --chances to explore, invent, and create in a setting that is in keeping with who they are. Students begin a path that allows them "to do" and "to make" in ways that reveal the value of our programs. However ...
   ... with time,  the "awareness" of what is accomplished in our programs can stagnant unless we continually find ways to share what students are doing. The community and our school need to see our students in action; they need more than the occasional article in the paper --they need to BE THERE in a manner that provides ongoing gentle reminders of why our programs are valuable. 
   "People need to be reminded of what they already know." I have that on a sign near my desk.  It's there to make me think  about how crucial it is to deliberately plan ways for my students to reach out beyond the door of our classroom --something I know  ...but something I sometimes forget without being reminded.

   Most gifted students take their ability for granted.  In truth, all of us pretty much take all aspects of our lives for granted --walking, hearing, seeing, loved ones; even things we think we hate we take for granted --hard work, responsibility, time demands, chores --things that under certain conditions we are shocked to discover bring us joy.
   There is a sign in my classroom that states:  "I will honor my undeserved ability by doing by best."  At the beginning of the school year I tell students a true story that is personal to me because it is about a young mother I know and respect --a story that helps students begin to grasp the inherent expectations of exceptional ability:
   "Dana's" son was born normal, however within a few hours of going home from the hospital, he began languishing. He arrived at Childrens' Hospital in Little Rock after what must have been an extremely terrifying helicopter ride. Dana and her husband learned their son's bilirubin level had been misread at the hospital --the jaundice escalated and complication upon complication left this little boy with cerebral palsy. 
   One day Dana heard a group of mothers discussing their son's t-ball teams. She heard comments such as: "They have my son in the outfield --he's should be playing shortstop," ...or "My son is really the best hitter, but he has to sit out several innings so everyone plays the same amount, and we always lose." Dana remained silent thinking, as she told me, "I only wish my son could run."  Instead of being angry with her group of friends, a feeling I was certain she must have felt, Dana said she instantly forgave them in her heart. She explained by saying, "I know for certain that would have been me talking if my son had been like theirs; they never realized what they took granted."
   When I finish telling the story to my students, I ask them to talk about why they think I see a connection between Dana's story and the "undeserved" quotation on the wall. I admit that, depending on the age of the students, I sometimes have to cleverly direct their thinking to my point; however, I do not apologize for breaking that rule of teacher led discussion. Just as Dana's son did nothing to deserve his cerebral palsy, so too, not one of us has done anything to determine the abilities we were born with or that life sometimes thrusts upon us. The important point is, "What do you do with what you have?"
   Viktor Frankl, survivor of Auschwitz, said, "It doesn't matter what we expect out of life.  What matters is what does life expect from us?" Gifted students need frequent reminders of this truth.  Each of them is a steward of their undeserved ability. Do they use it to realize their full potential and serve others, or do they take it for granted, refusing to see their ability for what it is --an undeserved gift.

   In between my junior and senior year of college I worked at a girls summer camp  in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania along with several other college friends.  The area was beautiful with a clear running river that bordered the camp,  perfect for swimming and canoeing.
   I soon made friends with another counselor whose background was very different from my own. She was Amish; her family used a horse and buggy and had no electricity in their home. This surprised me because there was nothing about her that even hinted at her background. She told me that several years before, she chose to leave that way of life and go to college. "Those were hard times," she said, "my parents were greatly saddened."  However, she and her family worked through it all and despite her decision they maintained their relationship. 
   The camp allowed counselors to take every other weekend off to either go home or visit nearby places. My A.S. U. friends and I went to Washington D.C. one of those weekends and to Atlantic City another. I had been at the camp a month when my new friend asked me if I would like to go home with her on our next weekend off to visit her family. I told her that all I had were shorts, and I was afraid her parents might frown upon that. She explained that would not be a problem. After thinking it over, I'm sad to say that I told her "no."  Oh, I said it in a nicer way than that, but she gently smiled and told me she understood. Now, forty-three years later I am still beating myself up for not taking advantage of that opportunity. What an experience it would have been to spend time in an Amish home and experience that culture. I had the opportunity, but let it pass --a regret I have to this very day. That poor decision taught me to never let fear rob me of a chance to more fully experience our wonderful world and those who live in it. From that time on I intentionally thought back to my Amish friend each time something came up that would take me out of my comfort zone.
   This lesson really tested my resolve when I was in the Czech Republic (on a Fulbright Group Projects Abroad) and our group visited the site of a medieval silver mine. We were warned that anyone deciding to go down in the mine would need to wear a hard hat and other protective gear. They also warned us that if we had a fear of tight places to wait for the others because once you were down there you couldn't change your mind and come back up. I remembered my Amish friend and decided to do it despite my fear. Let's just say it was so tight in places that we had to push our way through narrow passages that were dripping water. When we returned to the surface (I admit I rejoiced to be out of there) I purchased a necklace with the emblem of the silver mine as a medal of valor; I was proud of myself.
   Several years ago my niece, who was a senior at the University of Arkansas, encountered an obstacle to her university sponsored trip to Spain. She was to spend four weeks there immersed in the culture and language, however a few days before her departure there was an outbreak of bombs in Madrid with several deaths occuring on the city transportation system (which she would be using). Her parents were alarmed, as was she. The news reported the outbreak was the work of an organized militant group. She questioned whether she should go or not; in fact, several other participants backed out. She emailed me, asking what I thought she should do. My reply?..."You can stay here and absolutely nothing will happen to you, absolutely nothing, absolutely nothing, absolutely nothing, absolutely nothing."  That's all I wrote. Being a smart girl and my niece she drew from her well of courage and had a wonderful trip that created lasting memories.
   I am convinced that we tend to regret the things we didn't do much more than the things we did. I tell this story to my students at least once a year, explaining that I know they've already heard it, but I want them to hear it again ...and again ...and again ...and again.

   It all began in April of 2010. I had been sitting on a Holocaust play I'd wanted to do for years about the experiences of Auschwitz survivor, Charlotte Delbo.  I knew the intensity of that play required a special group of young women who could step outside their own lives and enter that dark place.  I knew I had that group of girls.  I enlisted the help of a friend I've known all my life who loved drama and had the time to help me work with these young women. 
   The personal transformation of each girl was incredible. They learned to put aside who they were and empathize with their character in a way that released them to show feelings few teenagers have ever considered or felt. What began with a strong sense of awkwardness and discomfort for each actor ended with real onstage tears and a genuine sense of all consuming agony. We worked extremely hard, even incorporating rhytmic choreography, settling for nothing less than perfection. The play was presented seven times, including presentations for other schools, the community, and at another location. After the first performance we were told that we needed to scatter boxes of Kleenex in the seats, which we did.There were seldom dry eyes in the audience; even many of the men shed tears  This wonderful group of hardworking young women felt a burden to tell Delbo's story in a manner that both educated their audience and dared the audience to imagine --to see. 
   The personal growth I witnessed within this group of girls convinced me that our gifted students truly need experiences in drama within the G.T. setting. They need to develop the ability to speak confidently before a crowd, they need the opportunity to problem solve when it really matters, they need a chance to use creativity for a real purpose, they need to view criticism as a valuable tool, they need the personal satisfaction of giving of themselves to an audience, and they need the joy that comes from working, working, working to achieve something truly outstanding, something memorable, 
   To those who say, "What's high school drama for?  Can't they achieve those outcomes there?"  I would answer, "Do our gifted secondary students have the luxury of even taking those classes?"  The requirements for graduation and the demands of AP coursework rob them of the time to experience drama and other classes that are not purely academic.  After that play, one of the young women decided to apply for Governor's School with a concentration in Drama, submitting a video from the performance.  
   As a result of that April 2010 experience, I have since involved all my students in grades 2-12 in some type of theater-based project during the year. In my 24 years of working with G.T. students I have found absolutely nothing that begins to achieve for the gifted student what creating a theater presentation from beginning to end achieves --more importantly, it brings students, parents, the community, and the school together, creating a synergetic bond that makes us more than we were before.

The Japan Fulbright Memorial Fund Teacher Program was established to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Fulbright Program --a U.S. government-initiated project created in 1946 to foster mutual understanding through exchanges of university students, faculty and researchers.  I participated in the program in 1999 and spent three weeks in Japan, visiting schools, tourist sites, and attending seminars on education.  While visiting with teachers at a large middle school on the west coast of Japan, I met a teacher who impressed me with her outgoing personality and obvious love of the profession.  Curious about what she would say, I asked her what she thought was the single most important quality of a good teacher.  She smiled and said, “Creating good memories for children.” That stuck. It is a humbling truth. Whatever we do or don’t do as teachers, we are making some type of memory for each child we serve. I guess you could say I kinda stole her saying –it is now part of my email signature; in fact, I use it wherever I can.  However, I did add another truth to it –one that for me makes her words more complete: “There is nothing more fun than creating good memories for students.”  ...I think she would agree.

   Today my students completed their Lewis Carroll-type nonsense poems. As I informally conferenced with the kids, I practiced my long tradition of NOT holding a pencil.  I don't know why, but as a student and I talk, if I have a pencil in my hand I feel an inner force, compelling me to make corrections or mark areas that need closer attention. If I have a pencil in my hand, I'm right there leaving a trail of lead to point out, underline, and even on occasion, draw sketches.  After years of doing this (I'm a slow learner),  I finally realized what I was doing! 
    I was doing the work! It was my pencil indicating where the run-on sentence lived; it was my pencil circling the misspelled word; it was my pencil pointing out the error in calculation, and it was my student who needed those challenges, not me.  I should have known better, but the force within the pencil consumed my very being. What was I doing?  From that "ah-ha" moment on I began teaching WITHOUT a pencil. It's kinda like asking students to share a computer; the kid using the mouse is absorbed in what he's doing, while the partner not controlling the mouse can vegg out and watch ...by the way, I'm not touching their mouse either.

   Now don't think that I think I will blog every day --I don't see that in the future, but today's Jabberwocky Challenge warrants attention.  From now until the play, each week students will do a mini-project focusing on a specified part of Lewis Carroll's book -- today the Jabberwocky.  I showed students several Jabberwocky videos, including the Muppets and a college choir who sang the poem.  They also saw a four year old reciting the poem ... rather humbling even for a 7th grader.  The challenge was for students to develop their own "creature", give it a personality, a name, a story, and then construct a nonsense poem --Lewis Carroll style.  The poem had to include nonce and portmanteau words just as he did. I, too, worked on my own version of the project --something I almost always do.  I have found that kids cease wearing a path in the floor coming to ask you questions they already know the answer to when they see that you, too, are working.  Besides, they enjoy seeing what the teacher makes.  It is important for kids to see the teacher struggling somewhat; they have the misconception that teachers do everything effortlessly and perfectly.  Anyway, I finished my creature and began working on my nonsense poem; I "thought-up" my word bank of nonce and portmanteau words and began writing.  It was a little slow, but I was making progress when I met one of those writing roadblocks that is hard to get over.  One of the students said, "Miss Hesse, do you know what you just said?"  What?  Did I talk out loud and not even notice?!!!  She enlightened me:  "I heard  you saying something under your breath and then you said, 'This is hard!'"  You know what?  It was.  They all laughed, seeing me as something more than a teacher; they saw me as a learner...  teachers need Jabberwocky projects from time to time.

   Okay, I admit I'm starting this blog because I'm doing a workshop at AGATE this year on creating a G.T. website.  I've had a website for several years now, but every time I log into the site I see this message that says "add a blog to complete the site."  I figure if I'm trying to encourage teachers to more fully develop their G.T. websites I probably should have the blog.  Besides, it will force me to reflect on the direction our program is going, making me feel guilty if I don't keep things up-to-date. 
   One of my favorite education-type quotes states: "How do I know what I think unless I write it?"  I tell kids that all the time.  Expect no earth shattering revelations --I don't.  But I do plan on talking about what I have learned from my students and the insight  I've gained from spending so many years in a classroom.   Besides, now I don't have to see the "add a blog to complete the site" message anymore...