She took us outside (it was a beautiful Pennsylvania spring day) and gave us no context about what we were going to do. She provided us a ball of string and asked us to throw the ball to someone in the class and share words about how we appreciated that individual. It turned into a web of yarn as depicted by the picture, which we were then tasked to untangle. This was a memorable moment because it enacted what communal learning we sustained through out the semester. We honored each other's contributions and were united as a whole, symbolically and figuratively with a string.

This moment was memorable to me because it was a milestone/transition about how we progressed as a class. It reminds me of all the icebreaker questions she asked about each class, how she grouped us, and gave us questions to form meaningful relationships with each other during class discussion. The reason why it was a powerful moment is because it echoed and also concluded all the smaller moments of relationship building we did each day of the class.

The author describes transitions by describing different types of celebrations, especially within the 15 year age window in young adult life. For instance, "Coming-of-age rituals are boundary markers, attempts to crisp up an

otherwise gradual evolution from adolescence to adulthood"(18). This made me think about how within school calendar (grades, semesters, quarters, units, weeks, activities) there are many moments we establish and transition across. I liked the opportunity to reflect at what a powerful transition was to me as a student. Framing "transitions" as ceremonies, rituals, and milestones, helped me understand the moments of teaching that I remember the most. Later in the text, the author describes this phenomenon as "Boosting sensory appeal is about “turning up the volume” on reality" on page 59. For instance, when I give my first test, I have my students do 5 minutes of a guided meditation because tests are scary and overwhelming. It's a really awkward activity, but since its so early in the semester, it gets the most compliance, and makes the test feel like a ritual to be remembered. I learned about this technique through a powerful moment of my own on my first day of my HS theater class, where a guided meditation positively set the tone for the first day. On the flipside, at the end of major units, I throw parties for certain classes to honor the end of EdTPA, or the end of my student teaching. Later in the text, the book would recognize the phenomenon I'm calling "Boosting sensory appeal is about 'turning up the volume' on reality," or to make the mundane special. As teachers, we get to institute ceremonies and rituals that set the tone for the classroom culture we aspire to have. Unit openers and ( in best case scenarios) unit closers are ceremonies that mark transitions within a school year. Although in chapter 1, the book points out "40th birthday parties are common sense; 1,000th-day-in-school parties aren’t," I actually argue that as teachers we do get to control how we celebrate and honor learning as we switch through units. At least for me, I am always more excited to start a unit than I am in the middle or the end because often times, I find a way to introduce a new phenomenon and probe prior knowledge. On the flipside, I'm not sure I know what activities best fit "the pits." Hopefully it's something I can explore in future text.

While science ed research would agree I should start a unit with a moment of elevation, I wished I did a better job of creating a moment of elevation at the end of a unit. As it stands, I have the hardest time as I gradually release responsibility because a student-centered project also requires sustained focus. I'm not a fan of giving students extended time on projects when they don't use the time efficiently and I lag behind other teachers who neatly wrapped up their unit days ago with a test.

The book's example of the Trial of Human Nature requires student investment and buy-in. I don't think the assignment is inherently powerful, instead, it's the culture that the teachers formed around it that makes it a powerful moment. For instance, inviting guest judges increases a sense of urgency and professionalism which class presentations don't induce. The author later describes this as "To raise the stakes is to add an element of productive pressure." I've taken a lot of teaching materials from an organization that wraps up units with an engineering inquiry problem in addition to the test (my "pit"). When I tried to implement them, I found the activities incredibly resource and time intensive so I removed a lot of components to the final assessment, focusing on the lab versus the write-up. I retrospect, I removed the "stakes" for the sake of time.

In the spirit of exploring this problem, I drew from my most memorable lab which ALSO supported my learning. In 7th grade science, we covered a unit on Hydroponics to learn about photosynthesis (AKA grow plants in non-soil so we can feed urban spaces). I don't recall the pre-planning for this project or anything... I don't even recall building the hydroponic system. I just remember looking at the back of the class the UV light set up where we grew seeds without soil and maybe the videos we watched to learn what hydroponics look like. Ten years later and in two separate STEM pedagogy courses, I watched a video where harvard students incorrectly identifying where most of the mass of a tree comes from (soil, air, water, sunlightl). When asked the same question, I aggressively eliminated "soil" because of my 7th grade hydroponics unit. Though I haven't taken a biological science since 9th grade, the content knowledge is intuitive to me, I had a visual anchor to the phenomenon.

From this experience as a student. The hands-on experience of growing hydroponics wasn't itself memorable... it served as a visual snapshot. In the book, the the author describes this as a moment "if people feel the need to pull out their cameras." I remember a lot of biology knowledge because my teachers always showed us a WEIRD or unintuitive phenomenon in nature. It didn't have to be a lab it could have just been a video or a picture.... but it was powerful. I think I forget this since I'm fogged by science unit planning which focuses on what "students are doing" and how they are "using science and engineering practices". In that entire mess, I realize that student-centered labs are not the only form of elevation. A lot of my memorable experiences 10 years later were never about what I did in science but what I saw in science. I remember seeing celery carry up food dye as an example of capillary action. Sometimes I forget the power of a demonstration since I plan for what students are doing in a unit plan as opposed to what I'm doing.

Ungrading, as I later found this is called was a really meaningful moment of "breaking the script." As I mentioned in my anecdote, we did not start with the answer key. If we did, I likely would not have been so motivated to improve (I probably figured out where to get released exams and begin cheating). Sometimes, I wondered if my teacher just ran out of time at the end of the semester to give us timely feedback. I've experienced different versions of ungrading over the years. But I think Ms. Lin's approach was the most perfect version (for our class of 18 students). It was a powerful moment for me because it was the first time anyone had "broken the script" in a way where I felt like I earned a grade.

What was powerful about this hypothetical anecdote to me was the "expectation" and the negative sentiment after it is discontinued. Because of this, I drew from my ungrading experience as a student and contrasted to how it played out as a teacher. I begin ungrading at the beginning of the semester with my standard kids on both tests and quizzes. With my honors kids, I did ungrading for a low-stakes assignment (which students took as high stakes through my deception). I found that if I broke the script through ungrading (test corrections, partner work, open note) too frequently or with too many aids, my students began to expect it or even plan for it. While I think ungrading is a powerful way to break the script, especially in how it alleviates stress and forces students to reflect on their learning, it's only powerful if students make a 100% attempt the first time. This is where the balance between "expectation" and "surprise" is a tentative balance.

I think what is challenging is to differentiate a routine from a powerful moment. I think this chapter reminds me that even with good routines, they become a script. In creating powerful moments, subverting the routine intentionally is what makes a learning experience memorable. In my anecdote, I realized my teacher flipped the script by making small changes to the routine, which subverted our expectations. That looks different depending on the student population. The students I teach are really different from the students in my HS chemistry class. It ultimately reminds me that "breaking the script" doesn't have to be a large moment of elevation. Instead, it could be small changes that take the training wheels off for more independent thinking. I think of the biscotti at the coffee shop I go to. The cookie is decorated differently each time. Sometimes when it's too busy, they don't even bother serving the cookie. Therefore, it's not an expectation to receive a treat, and when I do, it's not the "same" cookie; there's some novelty to it. Same with routines in a class, there can be some novelty to routines. I remember I was in a lab group that did "rose bud thorn" for every meeting every week. I got sick of this icebreaker by week 6. But when I compare this to Kelly's class, she did a different icebreaker for every class. While it was a routine, ita also broke the script and foster deeper connections and memorable answers.

Working in WSFCS, I don't see "lifelong learning" as a mission. A lot of my students view their classes as a "means to graduate", a "holding place" before real adulthood. One reason I hate the career center is that you have to leave school to get relevant classes and sometimes even "better" teachers. When I ask my students what they want in the future, it's to "get rich" (if they come from wealth or from lack of wealth).

When I think about the "purpose" of secondary education, it isn't to be "workforce ready" because the workforce is constantly changing. If it's to prepare students for higher education, the vectors of power in the academy create an established, and sometimes unnecessary, tradition. The purpose of secondary education should be what the author describes as mentorship, where self-insight is generated by "A mentor’s push leads to a stretch." My theory of knowledge teacher is famous for saying, "You don't know what you don't know." Similar to the sanitation CLT story, "You can’t appreciate the solution until you appreciate the problem"(81). Students, parents, teachers, administrators, and superintendents have committed to the solution of "education for all," but can't identify exactly what problem they are attempting to address. We allow (or force) students to create trajectories with temporary destinations and their accompanying consequences. We want to challenge students, but we also want students to understand the purpose of that greater challenge. "College for all" and "Pursue STEM" are all cure-alls birthed from "our instinct with the people we care about is to protect them from risk,"(95).

In my anecdote, I had equal amounts of risk in either grad school. But it was up to me to make the choice. I did not inform my choice with optics or even ease. I chose "lifelong learning" and accepting that "I don't know what I don't know" helps put into perspective the purpose of my choices. It makes me a better teacher because my vision will always be contextual rather than risk-averse. I'd like for this attitude to shape the culture of my classroom and the experiences I generate in this pursuit. As a teacher leader in a community that generally looks down on students, I'd like for my actions to contribute to a paradigm shift.

By the spring of my junior year, I found my own strive, maintained straight As and proved myself to sit in these classes. This time, I was also applying for pre-college scholarships. Since English was always my favorite class and where I felt the most comfortable, I asked my IB English teacher to write it for me. In context, this was the first year she taught at my school and IB in general. In my sheepish request for I recommendation, I shared that I was nervous to speak up in her class because I was not from the magnet program. She then admitted she was surprised to find out I was a neighborhood kid. Teachers were given a list of who was magnet program and who was not. But she didn't want to know and treated us as we were. She even shared that she thought some of the magnet kids didn't belong or produce quality work in this class.

In this conversation, I learned that she would rather teach her on-level juniors instead. She, too, came from a rural/poor school system and was recognized by her English teacher. She liked working at her previous lower-income school and the relationships she formed with those students. It was a common pattern I noticed in all my teachers. That while teaching "perfect" students has its perks, my teachers often spend time teaching the kids who need quality teachers the most. While the magnet program wasn't designed to admit or benefit neighborhood kids like me, there were teachers in the school fighting for us to get in their classes.

In that same love, I decided to teach at Title I schools to make the exact same impact my teachers made.

I don't know what life is at Parkland, though on a few visits, it didn't take long for me to see teachers yell at students like dogs on an hourly basis. Unlike a counselor in a moment where he was clearly in the wrong, I can't stand up to other teachers because, as my anecdote showed me, it only escalates my situation. Instead, "standing up" for my students is actually in making my class a safe space every day (or so Sam has shown me). There's a lot (fights, bag searches, who knows what) that is going to be happening in my hallways and cafeteria, and I barely know what's happening in my students' lives. I think holding firm is showing students what learning can be like (and why it's different from the instructional approaches of my colleagues) because I believe my students can achieve great things. When I have my students take their first test, I have them do the Freedom School chant:

I

I can

I will

I must

I can achieve

I will achieve

I must achieve

I can achieve greatness

I will achieve greatness

I must achieve greatness.

This was a powerful call-and-response exercise and strong call to action. I don't know if my students remember this as much as I did when I learned it. But I want this to be a routine, powerful moment in my class.

This past semester, I had a CT who had his tables in rows. Yes, we had 30 students, but I had the hardest time making my students work in groups. In fact in one class, they got so used to re-arranging themselves that it didnt matter once I assigned them to groups and re-arranged the seats into tables. What I like about assigned table groups is that you never know when students will click. I had a class where two pairs of students started dating after my seating arrangements. It was a lot harder to build this same magic when starting in rows, especially getting students to bond with people outside of their immediate friends.

During COVID, in an education class, we were given 5 minutes to talk with an assigned partner. While most of these relationships were pretty short-lived, I became really good friends with my partner. My boyfriend was my assigned physics partner, my lab partner became a lifelong friend. Creating a shared meaning among students supports my greater mission which is "we need to hear multiple ideas to develop our scientific thinking"

What I love about being a teacher is that the classroom CAN BE a 3rd space for a lot of students. There is "school", "home", but sometimes students are lucky and they have a "class" where they can be a different self. Usually, I feel like electives are these classes. And sometimes, I bite my fingers at imagining classroom management when everyone is friends, because nothing gets done. In my previous moment, I talked about making a class a safe space. A "safe" space is a different atmosphere than the dangers outside. But a welcoming space is a space where you seek to find belonging within.

I knew in context, the surrounding area was historically high poverty. When I asked the secretary what the "sauce" was, she explained that the parents feel like their kids' needs are met here. For instance, her nephew has autism, and this is the only safe space for him. Since the school K-5 is faith-based, the relationship the school taps into the families' funds of knowledge. The community members, parents, and church worked together to create a place to educate the needs of their kids 20 years ago. Seeing little kids get excited to read out loud the Lord's prayer made me think differently about private school vouchers. Parents were happy and engaged. While the elementary school is "private," it depends on the parents' income. The purpose was to get families to take enrollment seriously. Compared to the "for-profit" feel of other religious and non-religious private schools I was at, the Yellowstone schools had a clear mission that everyone wanted to be a part of.

Neighborhood/Church visits are part of my school's plan to connect with families as described in this passage. While it's something I can be a part of, it's so awkward to do with few observable outcomes. For instance, I called a parent of a truant student (attended class maybe 4 times that semester). I got a Noah's flood of parenting despair, anger, and hopelessness, which was too much for a 24-year-old who wasn't the teacher of record. I can see how "deepening ties" is an ongoing process, but a futile one.

While a lot of moments in this book make me think about small actions with great significance, this home-visit moment feels like the most number of "small actions" to make great significance. At the end of this chapter, he writes "Relationships don’t deepen naturally. In the absence of action, they will stall." It makes me think about how I stopped calling home after the first month of school. Instead, it's an on-going process. It also requires courage, which this passage doesn't describe really well.

There are two dimensions to recognition. One is taking kids on a blank slate, like the teacher in this chapter and my English teacher, who started from a clean slate. On the other hand, it could be valuable to recognize the past. Not all kids want to be vulnerable, but all kids appreciate it when we tune to their level.

When I talked to teachers while interviewing at Parkland, a teacher admitted his biggest qualm with the school is the low expectations teachers have on their students. With our speaker from Lowrance Middle school, this sounds like giving picture books to teenagers. I want to treat my kids on a blank slate, assuming they can and will achieve anything like my English teacher did. On the flip side, honoring that they achieved in spite of other challenges, is what makes the moment so powerful.

Kids are hot and cold. They're inconsistent, they change, they're a lot of things. I know that as a teacher, expecting praise or raving reviews from students is a huge mistake. But I think worse of all, is focusing on what sucks in the class versus the few moments that do beam.

Gratitude doesn't have to be audible, visual, or tangible. It doesn't need a holiday to happen. While the passage is focusing on "expressing" gratitude, I'm sure it's happening in multiple forms in my classroom, I just don't get to see it. But what I do learn is that my kids get to experience it, and are having a more positive time than I am. Likewise, when students do give me a Valentine's day present, spend lunch in my classroom, or annoyingly beg for another class party in the middle of a unit, I should cherish that more.

On the flipside, since group work is part of my classroom, I want students to express gratitude for one another. In my first powerful moment, I talk about how we ended class by honoring another classmate. I recognize that my professor structured a moment of gratitude for each other. When I have groups evaluate each other, I don't think it creates that genuine/authentic moment of gratitude like I would hope. This is something to brainstorm about in future.

When planning for science instruction, I think about how the science and engineering practices are these "skills" we are practicing. We learn how to read a graph before we plot a graph and interpret a graph to make a prediction. Planning for earth science, I'm thinking similarly as I work my students up to writing an explanation. From high scaffolds to low scaffolds. Similarly since my instruction is 90% Spanish 10% English, I think about how language instruction too fits into this scheme. I'm planning for skills rather than content. But most of earth science is taught for content rather than skills (the standards themselves lend to this paradigm). In the same vain, the "levels" in this passage are towards sklls in application rather than "know how to conjugate -er verbs" or "memorize vocab related to the kitchen," which is how I remember learning french.