The Art of Moving Mountains

It's been a week now since I have returned from my trip to Amsterdam with 21 of my 7th graders.
There was a moment where we didn't think the trip was going to happen: Mother Nature decided to do some talking up in Iceland, and for once, the whole world just kind of shut up and listened. Or tried to. Although many of my kids were nervous about whether the flight was cancelled or not, I took a "let's take this one step at a time" approach. Luckily, all worked out and in the end, on the evening of Friday 23rd we met at the airport and took off for Amsterdam, volcanic ash and all.

I love Amsterdam and not for the stereotypical reasons. First of all, it IS a beautiful city. The architecture and structure yells innovation and is inspiring. The cosmopolitan atmosphere speaks to my soul and every time I go there (now 5 times) my heart can't help but whisper, I moved to the wrong city for to me, a city that lacks diversity is an anemic city. It also doesn't hurt that every time I have visited Amsterdam, the weather has been magnificent and this time, at about 20 degrees, was no exception.

The idea of going to Amsterdam came shortly after I began working at my present job. I inherited quite a disillusioned lot of 6th graders who had already been exposed (poor things) to a string of teachers who chose not to stick around. It was a difficult class for me to read: Individually, I saw them all with their talents, promisse and passions BUT as a collective group I faltered, or felt I did whenever in their midst. It had been quite an intimidating exercise in trust and "control" for me. A big part of the struggle was my inability to trust in myself to be, well, myself. Anyway, anyone with half a brain could see that what we needed was an experience to bring us all together...and that ended up being Amsterdam.
With a generous donation from a parent, the school, some fundraising on the part of the students we got the money and took off to Amsterdam to visit the Anne Frank House, sightsee and well, just plain hang out with each other!
The Anne Frank House was quite a visit. It was something to be in the house where she and her family hid for so many years...one of the reasons I have always loved The Diary of Anne Frank is that is was written by a young girl and truly illustrates the power of the written word. If I had to share one thing with you, the reader, it would be Otto Frank's words where he said that in the end, after reading his then dead daughter's diaries, something he knew he was not intended to read, most parents do not really know their children. And for all of the parents who entrusted me and my colleague with their precious ones for the weekend, all I can say is, recognize the greatness of your children! They are simply awesome...
farvel,
the lab