A. felt safe in period six this year, and I am soooooooo happy. I hope she has discovered that making mistakes is no biggie, that she has a voice, and that she has meaningful contributions to make.
Showing posts with label mistakes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mistakes. Show all posts
Monday, June 19, 2017
Maybe the best compliment a middle school girl can give her teacher?
"In most classes I am very shy and don't tend to participate but in your class I love to raise my hand and say something even if I am wrong."
A. felt safe in period six this year, and I am soooooooo happy. I hope she has discovered that making mistakes is no biggie, that she has a voice, and that she has meaningful contributions to make.
A. felt safe in period six this year, and I am soooooooo happy. I hope she has discovered that making mistakes is no biggie, that she has a voice, and that she has meaningful contributions to make.
Friday, October 7, 2016
Chess in B-5
Seating charts can be tough.
But every year, one class will be a chessboard of tricksy dimensions. This year one of my classes has two Queens, and it almost doesn't matter where you put them because they are so strong wherever they are placed. They are powerful in their own ways, taking down Pawns with scorn or eye rolls or mocking laughter. The same class harbors an unpredictable Knight; how he moves from day to day is anyone's guess. He can be a strong ally to the Queens. There are a few Kings in the class, young men who love learning but have limited personal power and sometimes they are vulnerable. I am lucky to have a few Bishops, really super smart self-controlled students who are fantastic and compliant. It helps to move a Bishop next to a Queen or unpredictable Knights. When I set my pieces on the little seating chart boxes that represent their chairs, I have to use quiet kids or the English learners as Pawns to "block" the chatty pieces' volubility (and hey, that sometimes helps a quiet kid come out of her shell or the English learner practice his English more).
My class is in a double horseshoe in order to facilitate students addressing each other and so everyone can see the Almighty Promethean board. But that also means it's easy for Queens to make eye contact with each other, or even with the unpredictable Knight.
The moment of truth comes, of course, during the game itself. Sometimes kids have friendships with pieces I didn't suspect would block progress, and sometimes the seating is genius. Sometimes my game is limited by Individual Education Plans that say "Preferential Seating," and that leaves some pieces anchored all year.
Anyway, I just finished the chessboard for this tricksy class. Truth will tell. I just wish I were a better chess player.
Strategic, like Stratego. ("Jojo needs to sit up close to see the board better, but he's really tall and his head blocks others from seeing.....hmmmm")
Little bombs hide right under your nose, like Battleship. ("I didn't know they went out last year!")
Some classes are easy--you can let the computer randomize the kids for you, or if you want, seat kids so their names amuse you. You can have a Wild West corner and put Colton M., B. Weston, A. Silverthorn, and Wayne H. all in one corner, and you can have the Alex corner and stick all the Alexandras, Alexes, Alexises, Allies, Lexys all together, maybe center them around an Obiyashi for some fun cognitive dissonance. Lately I've wondered about a row of Leys--Ryley, Kyley, Lee, Bailey, Hadley, Kayley, and of course the perennial Ashley.
 |
| So. Many. Moves. Some fatal! |
My class is in a double horseshoe in order to facilitate students addressing each other and so everyone can see the Almighty Promethean board. But that also means it's easy for Queens to make eye contact with each other, or even with the unpredictable Knight.
The moment of truth comes, of course, during the game itself. Sometimes kids have friendships with pieces I didn't suspect would block progress, and sometimes the seating is genius. Sometimes my game is limited by Individual Education Plans that say "Preferential Seating," and that leaves some pieces anchored all year.
Anyway, I just finished the chessboard for this tricksy class. Truth will tell. I just wish I were a better chess player.
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Seeing What We Do Not See: Not for Nothing
His parents and grandparents found out he had flunked out of high school at the moment they waited for him to walk across the stage--and he didn't.
He went on to a life of alcohol, low paying jobs, broken relationships.
Around age 48, he got sober and he realized that if he ever ever ever wanted to rise in the work world, he'd need a diploma, so he went back to school at night - he had a family that needed him to.
At age 50, Phillip Esquibel told this story during his address at his graduation from Grossmont Adult School--his parents were cheering for him, but I swear they weren't louder than I was. (They were glad, but I was crying like a baby. And for the record, some babies cry A LOT--those are the babies to whom I am comparing my crying output.)
I was at his graduation because a student I'd never even had on my roster asked me to come.
I'd met M in an after-school program our 8th grade history department had dreamed up after we realized that most of the Fs in our classes were because kids didn't seem to have one of the two fundamentals a person needs to succeed--adequate personal drive or an adult able/willing to MAKE them take care of business. We decided I'd be that adult, forcing them to come after school, making them stay an hour doing history work. They could "graduate" from our prison of love and responsibility once their habits or grades seemed established (we had only one or two kids exit). I didn't get paid for this, and we didn't have any help beyond the counselor who called the parents and talked to them about this intervention as if it were not an option. We had such limited success and it took so much of my energy that we only did it this one year.
Imagine my surprise when, seven years later, M came to visit the DP teacher's lounge at lunchtime with an invitation for me to come watch her get her GED at Grossmont Adult School. My heart leaped up that she had gone on to TCB on her own, coming to the realization (at age 20) that this was better done sooner than later. (NB: she invited me, not her regular teachers, to the event, although many of them were sitting right there as she asked me. I felt she had given me a crown or a Major Award in singling me out. It was awkward, but while embarrassed, I felt honored and touched to my core.)
I had never been to an adult school graduation and had no idea what to expect. It wasn't like other graduations I'd been to. It was small, for one thing; there were far more graduates than guests, even though guest seating was limited and some had to stand. The air somehow smelled a little bit like privation and the crowd was weathered and worn after the long day's work. Love was there, and all kinds of pride. The teachers in particular stood out to me, relentlessly positive, faces beaming, full of the stories that their students had told them of broken pasts healed, language and learning obstacles surmounted, wasted time redeemed, aimlessness turned to purpose, goals achieved, new goals set. The students themselves were full of hope and encouragement; one grad's mortarboard's glittered message: "I'm a g-ma--if I can, U can!"
It was the best graduation I've ever been to, better than the Harvard commencement address in Latin (which was hilarious because the student kept slipping into commonly used Latin words and phrases and into Pig Latin so the non-Latin speakers understood his gist) or the 1997 address by Madeleine Albright.
It was a validation of the human spirit, of the old saying that you're never too old to start, or it's not how you start but how you finish and dozens more old sayings about tenacity.
And watching beautiful M shake hands, taking pictures of her like mad, I wondered if it was also a validation of that long ago program that we'd jettisoned.
Or maybe it was a testimony to time given, to high expectations, to the influence of relentless attention, to the power of relationship. September is coming, and while I do love my summers and, like a proper Beach Boy look forward to my Endless Summer, I can pick up my new teacher year with a renewed sense of faith in the power of Love, knowing that while we teachers do not usually get to see the direct outcome of our efforts or caring, we do not love in vain.
He went on to a life of alcohol, low paying jobs, broken relationships.
Around age 48, he got sober and he realized that if he ever ever ever wanted to rise in the work world, he'd need a diploma, so he went back to school at night - he had a family that needed him to.
 |
| Grossmont Adult School |
I was at his graduation because a student I'd never even had on my roster asked me to come.
I'd met M in an after-school program our 8th grade history department had dreamed up after we realized that most of the Fs in our classes were because kids didn't seem to have one of the two fundamentals a person needs to succeed--adequate personal drive or an adult able/willing to MAKE them take care of business. We decided I'd be that adult, forcing them to come after school, making them stay an hour doing history work. They could "graduate" from our prison of love and responsibility once their habits or grades seemed established (we had only one or two kids exit). I didn't get paid for this, and we didn't have any help beyond the counselor who called the parents and talked to them about this intervention as if it were not an option. We had such limited success and it took so much of my energy that we only did it this one year.
Imagine my surprise when, seven years later, M came to visit the DP teacher's lounge at lunchtime with an invitation for me to come watch her get her GED at Grossmont Adult School. My heart leaped up that she had gone on to TCB on her own, coming to the realization (at age 20) that this was better done sooner than later. (NB: she invited me, not her regular teachers, to the event, although many of them were sitting right there as she asked me. I felt she had given me a crown or a Major Award in singling me out. It was awkward, but while embarrassed, I felt honored and touched to my core.)
 |
| This Major Award is also awkward and embarrassing. |
I had never been to an adult school graduation and had no idea what to expect. It wasn't like other graduations I'd been to. It was small, for one thing; there were far more graduates than guests, even though guest seating was limited and some had to stand. The air somehow smelled a little bit like privation and the crowd was weathered and worn after the long day's work. Love was there, and all kinds of pride. The teachers in particular stood out to me, relentlessly positive, faces beaming, full of the stories that their students had told them of broken pasts healed, language and learning obstacles surmounted, wasted time redeemed, aimlessness turned to purpose, goals achieved, new goals set. The students themselves were full of hope and encouragement; one grad's mortarboard's glittered message: "I'm a g-ma--if I can, U can!"
 |
| Much nicer than the glitter of the grandma graduating--but the idea is the same. BTW, the g-ma looked to be around 50 years old; that told part of her story. |
 |
| A great speech, sure, but Phillip's made me cry. |
And watching beautiful M shake hands, taking pictures of her like mad, I wondered if it was also a validation of that long ago program that we'd jettisoned.
 |
| Beautiful M shakes hands, ready for the next step in Life |
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Roll, firedrills, dead fish, and a tender psyche
The bell rings.
In a perfect world with a perfect teacher, this is the time roll is taken.
But the world isn't perfect, and neither am I. Class begins, I launch the lesson, and then--the fire alarm! I did not know (or I have forgotten) there was a drill today! Or is this real?
It doesn't matter. I send the students out the door, grab the red backpack containing our first aid and fire drill paperwork, and realize too late that, oh no, I don't have the paperwork AND I don't know who is absent. I fumble around inside the backpack, searching, finally realizing I'll just have to go out there and try to piece this together with my kids' help; I'm the last to arrive at our gathering spot.
When I'm out there, I count and recount students. "Can you think of anyone not here?" I implore the students. I send a paper up to the admin with my best guesses, the last to send the official red paper (except mine is white and unofficial).
After the drill, I search for my boss to apologize. He is angry. Let me write that again, properly: ANGRY. I tell him I don't have a good excuse but that I feel badly and it won't happen again, offering my hand in forgiveness. He places his in mine and it is as cold and lifeless as the dead fish that cold and lifeless handshakes are often compared to. He can't even look at me, he is so furious. I have made him look bad in front of his boss.
I wake up. Cheesy, but true. I begin to ponder the dream's significance.
Truth be told, I am quite bad about taking roll even when I am awake. It is one of those secretarial details that I find interferes with my launch into class. It has to be done six times a day because our school receives funding dependent upon the body count--the bodies don't have to be conscious, so far as I can tell, fyi. I have found a way around this which I don't care to share with the wide world; suffice it to say that apparently my psyche has some anxieties about taking roll. And maybe my psyche harbors anxieties about pleasing my boss, or about dead fish. But the bigger question is:
WHY AM I HAVING SCHOOL DREAMS DURING THANKSGIVING VACATION?
In a perfect world with a perfect teacher, this is the time roll is taken.
But the world isn't perfect, and neither am I. Class begins, I launch the lesson, and then--the fire alarm! I did not know (or I have forgotten) there was a drill today! Or is this real?
 |
| The law says we have to have one a month |
It doesn't matter. I send the students out the door, grab the red backpack containing our first aid and fire drill paperwork, and realize too late that, oh no, I don't have the paperwork AND I don't know who is absent. I fumble around inside the backpack, searching, finally realizing I'll just have to go out there and try to piece this together with my kids' help; I'm the last to arrive at our gathering spot.
 |
| We make our middle schoolers sit down for counting ease |
When I'm out there, I count and recount students. "Can you think of anyone not here?" I implore the students. I send a paper up to the admin with my best guesses, the last to send the official red paper (except mine is white and unofficial).
After the drill, I search for my boss to apologize. He is angry. Let me write that again, properly: ANGRY. I tell him I don't have a good excuse but that I feel badly and it won't happen again, offering my hand in forgiveness. He places his in mine and it is as cold and lifeless as the dead fish that cold and lifeless handshakes are often compared to. He can't even look at me, he is so furious. I have made him look bad in front of his boss.
I wake up. Cheesy, but true. I begin to ponder the dream's significance.
Truth be told, I am quite bad about taking roll even when I am awake. It is one of those secretarial details that I find interferes with my launch into class. It has to be done six times a day because our school receives funding dependent upon the body count--the bodies don't have to be conscious, so far as I can tell, fyi. I have found a way around this which I don't care to share with the wide world; suffice it to say that apparently my psyche has some anxieties about taking roll. And maybe my psyche harbors anxieties about pleasing my boss, or about dead fish. But the bigger question is:
WHY AM I HAVING SCHOOL DREAMS DURING THANKSGIVING VACATION?
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Chatty Cathy (and Charlie, and Christy, and...)
One of my classes this year has a majority of kids who just like to talk. They sing to themselves under their breath, even, when they aren't talking. There are so many that I am sometimes reduced to elementary school management techniques such as writing the word Q U I E T on the board and erasing letters as a threat to keep them after class right before (oh, I am the Lord's favorite to have the talkers this period) lunch.
I am not proud of this.
I spent a whole week on interactive lessons wherein the kids were supposed to learn that many people thought our first constitution was too weak and our country was skidding toward chaos....
Me: "So there were two extremes our founders feared. Can you name them? One, two three--"
Class, tentatively and not in unison: "Dictatorship and anarchy..."
Me: "Nice. After what we learned all week, to which extreme does it look like the US was closer?"
Class, enthusiastically as one: "Dictatorship!"
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
My colleague who shares many of the same kiddos observed me and said this batch just likes to bellow out just to be heard, no thinking. I must cling to that.
The other classes understood the lesson completely.
I am slightly mollified.
I am not proud of this.
I spent a whole week on interactive lessons wherein the kids were supposed to learn that many people thought our first constitution was too weak and our country was skidding toward chaos....
Me: "So there were two extremes our founders feared. Can you name them? One, two three--"
Class, tentatively and not in unison: "Dictatorship and anarchy..."
Me: "Nice. After what we learned all week, to which extreme does it look like the US was closer?"
Class, enthusiastically as one: "Dictatorship!"
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
My colleague who shares many of the same kiddos observed me and said this batch just likes to bellow out just to be heard, no thinking. I must cling to that.
The other classes understood the lesson completely.
I am slightly mollified.
 |
| Nooooooooo! |
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Free Advice!!!
Best advice: don't complain about your boss.
Good advice: if you do, make sure s/he isn't within earshot.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Haiku for a Disappointed Parent
 |
| Every day is a new day. Every day is a new chance to be better. |
Didn't use the study guide
or look at his notes...
...He didn't ask questions
Or write out practice answers
the way others did....
.....I sent you notice
of what would be tested, and
essay questions, too....)
You "know he can do
better--he wants a retake--
Can he please have one?"
Oh, dear parent friend
This is not a driver's test
A D won't kill him
Do you know what? I
know he can do better, too.
ON THE NEXT TEST. Watch.
I do believe in
second chances; just
not on the same test.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
A Haiku Series Advocating Student Diplomacy in the Face of Missing Class
Based on a true evening email exchange between myself and a student:
STUDENT:
I have been absent--
Did I miss anything that was
important today?
TEACHER:
Can you find a way
to ask without implying
my class wastes your time?
I am off to bed.
In response to your question,
the answer is "yes."
---------------
Of course, sometimes I tell these offenders that Beyonce performed for our class. Or that we all took naps. And when the kid gives me the "C'mon, tell me what really happened" face I tell them the truth: I taught my guts out and they can get notes from another kid and hope another person can explain to them what they've missed.
Sometimes students expect a private tutoring session. Am I a bad teacher for refusing to do that? For refusing to try to encapsulate what took me 55 minutes of extraordinary effort to teach? To recreate for an audience of one what I orchestrated the day before for an audience of 159 in five classes?
I obviously don't think so. It wasn't the student's fault she was sick, but those sorts of losses are not the kind we can just restore with five minutes and a pat on the head. The losses are real. The book can tell the kids the basics. The book cannot recreate our conversation, our inquiries, our interactions. The book does not crack dumb jokes or pose useful analogies to help kids make connections the way I do. The book cannot explain what it means the way I do in a class. Insofar as explaining after school something that a student didn't understand in class, that's fine with me, and I am eager to do so--unless the said kid was busy not paying attention.
Here's another teacher who was moved to write a poem:
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours
Everything. I gave an exam worth
40 percent of the grade for this term
and assigned some reading due today
on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
worth 50 percent
Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose
Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel
or other heavenly being appeared
and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
to attain divine wisdom in this life and
the hereafter
This is the last time the class will meet
before we disperse to bring the good news to all people
on earth.
Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?
Everything. Contained in this classroom
is a microcosm of human experience
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been
gathered
but it was one place
And you weren’t here
All rights reserved.
STUDENT:
I have been absent--
Did I miss anything that was
important today?
TEACHER:
Can you find a way
to ask without implying
my class wastes your time?
I am off to bed.
In response to your question,
the answer is "yes."
---------------
Of course, sometimes I tell these offenders that Beyonce performed for our class. Or that we all took naps. And when the kid gives me the "C'mon, tell me what really happened" face I tell them the truth: I taught my guts out and they can get notes from another kid and hope another person can explain to them what they've missed.
Sometimes students expect a private tutoring session. Am I a bad teacher for refusing to do that? For refusing to try to encapsulate what took me 55 minutes of extraordinary effort to teach? To recreate for an audience of one what I orchestrated the day before for an audience of 159 in five classes?
I obviously don't think so. It wasn't the student's fault she was sick, but those sorts of losses are not the kind we can just restore with five minutes and a pat on the head. The losses are real. The book can tell the kids the basics. The book cannot recreate our conversation, our inquiries, our interactions. The book does not crack dumb jokes or pose useful analogies to help kids make connections the way I do. The book cannot explain what it means the way I do in a class. Insofar as explaining after school something that a student didn't understand in class, that's fine with me, and I am eager to do so--unless the said kid was busy not paying attention.
Here's another teacher who was moved to write a poem:
Did I Miss Anything?
Tom Wayman
Nothing. When we realized you weren’t herewe sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours
Everything. I gave an exam worth
40 percent of the grade for this term
and assigned some reading due today
on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
worth 50 percent
Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose
Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel
or other heavenly being appeared
and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
to attain divine wisdom in this life and
the hereafter
This is the last time the class will meet
before we disperse to bring the good news to all people
on earth.
Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?
Everything. Contained in this classroom
is a microcosm of human experience
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been
gathered
but it was one place
And you weren’t here
From Did I Miss Anything? Selected Poems 1973-1993,
1993
Harbour Publishing
Copyright 1993 Tom Wayman.Harbour Publishing
All rights reserved.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
That moment when the high school usurps your curriculum...AGAIN
Last post was about my thrilledness (Humpty Dumpty and Shakespeare give us all permission to invent words) over my highly gifted kids getting into Lord of the Flies. I was exuberant.
(I never blogged about why this unit was a big deal. See, I'd been teaching Animal Farm and To Kill a Mockingbird to my 8th graders for four years when the high school VP emailed my principal and told him those books were now (thanks, Common Core) going to be taught in 9th grade. It was more than lame--for one, I was getting ready to launch AF in a week or so, and two, TKAM is just my favorite. For three, teaching TKAM was so awesome after teaching Elie Wiesel's Night--to teach about a man of courage just brought me joy and was a wonderful counterpoint to Night's darkness. OK, I reconciled myself to writing units for two new texts this year. I asked the VP what the upper grades were teaching and only heard from one 9th grade teacher.
Fine. I spent days creating a unit for Lord of the Flies, and boy did I get excited. Talked to a teacher friend in Texas. Stole a few ideas from a teacher in Pennsylvania. Got some ideas straight from the Creator. Man, this was gonna be waaaay better than AF, waaaaay deeper. You can see read about my excitement here and here.)
Things just kept getting better, especially when I assigned chapter 8 for reading and the kids came in all shaking their heads about the answer to the question, "Who IS 'Lord of the Flies?'" Whoo!!!
After school that day I had a couple of formers come by to visit, sophomores in Honors English at the local high school. "Guess what we're reading, Miss M?" Oh dear Lord, please, no....
I dashed off an email to my principal and the high school VP, forwarding an old email where I'd asked for what the upper grades taught. I told them I'd heard no reply. I told them SOME of what my unit contained--Hobbes, Rousseau, leadership theory, Christ figure symbology, Freud--and got the response: "My best advice is to check with the department head before you select novels."
Are. You. Serious....
If my kids could do this in 8th grade, shouldn't the 10th grade teacher tackle something tougher? Give them Plato. Or just TELL ME WHAT THE UPPER GRADES ARE DOING, AS I'D ASKED. Or ask US what WE'VE done at the lower grades!
Anyway, my principal wrote a response supporting me: "Please understand that we need to keep Lord of the Flies here at DP." I haven't heard anything back from the high school or from him. I am hoping no new news is good news, but it's been a loonnnnng time since I have been that deflated. Gonna press on this year with my plans--comparing Peter Brueghel's paintings to the novels, finding music that goes with each character (compiling the definitive LOTF soundtrack with rationales), writing fine literary analysis papers, and celebrating all of it with a luau complete with PORK (bahaha) and the "islands" creating displays of the symbols and characters chosen from the text: fire, specs, the conch, the beast, pigs, Ralph, Simon, Jack, Piggy......and when they get to high school and the high school forces them to do the same things I had them do already, it will be upon THEM to write a new unit. These kids are ready for more.
And I think I am done giving up the books that work so well with my history course.
(I never blogged about why this unit was a big deal. See, I'd been teaching Animal Farm and To Kill a Mockingbird to my 8th graders for four years when the high school VP emailed my principal and told him those books were now (thanks, Common Core) going to be taught in 9th grade. It was more than lame--for one, I was getting ready to launch AF in a week or so, and two, TKAM is just my favorite. For three, teaching TKAM was so awesome after teaching Elie Wiesel's Night--to teach about a man of courage just brought me joy and was a wonderful counterpoint to Night's darkness. OK, I reconciled myself to writing units for two new texts this year. I asked the VP what the upper grades were teaching and only heard from one 9th grade teacher.
Fine. I spent days creating a unit for Lord of the Flies, and boy did I get excited. Talked to a teacher friend in Texas. Stole a few ideas from a teacher in Pennsylvania. Got some ideas straight from the Creator. Man, this was gonna be waaaay better than AF, waaaaay deeper. You can see read about my excitement here and here.)
Things just kept getting better, especially when I assigned chapter 8 for reading and the kids came in all shaking their heads about the answer to the question, "Who IS 'Lord of the Flies?'" Whoo!!!
After school that day I had a couple of formers come by to visit, sophomores in Honors English at the local high school. "Guess what we're reading, Miss M?" Oh dear Lord, please, no....
I dashed off an email to my principal and the high school VP, forwarding an old email where I'd asked for what the upper grades taught. I told them I'd heard no reply. I told them SOME of what my unit contained--Hobbes, Rousseau, leadership theory, Christ figure symbology, Freud--and got the response: "My best advice is to check with the department head before you select novels."
Are. You. Serious....
If my kids could do this in 8th grade, shouldn't the 10th grade teacher tackle something tougher? Give them Plato. Or just TELL ME WHAT THE UPPER GRADES ARE DOING, AS I'D ASKED. Or ask US what WE'VE done at the lower grades!
Anyway, my principal wrote a response supporting me: "Please understand that we need to keep Lord of the Flies here at DP." I haven't heard anything back from the high school or from him. I am hoping no new news is good news, but it's been a loonnnnng time since I have been that deflated. Gonna press on this year with my plans--comparing Peter Brueghel's paintings to the novels, finding music that goes with each character (compiling the definitive LOTF soundtrack with rationales), writing fine literary analysis papers, and celebrating all of it with a luau complete with PORK (bahaha) and the "islands" creating displays of the symbols and characters chosen from the text: fire, specs, the conch, the beast, pigs, Ralph, Simon, Jack, Piggy......and when they get to high school and the high school forces them to do the same things I had them do already, it will be upon THEM to write a new unit. These kids are ready for more.
And I think I am done giving up the books that work so well with my history course.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Feeling lucky? I can't believe what I just said---
 | |
| If Johnny Depp couldn't bring this style back, | no one can |
As the test goes on, I ask, "Can you just FEEL the luck seeping into your brain from that hat?" Tolerantly, she nods her head.
Soon enough, M. rises to turn in her test. "Can you just FEEL the A-ness of your test?" Instantly
I turn red, and I wish I could, like Cher, turn back time and say "A plus-ness," but it is too late. The class laughs, and pretty swiftly, the kids return to their tests.
 |
| Cher is trying to turn back time |
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Is good spelling a waste of time, or a waist of thyme?
 | ||
| I can never buy this dress. |
Man oh man. We are are either getting dumber or lazier, not sure which. Tooling around on a fun fashion site, I clicked on a link that took me to a sentence containing two consecutive Autocorrect problems that no editor checked/caught/knew enough to spot--read it and weep, and try to ignore the unnecessary comma:
"Day At The Races Dress- Black
We love the fit of this dress! So classic, and cute! The synched waste is sure to show off the best parts of you!"
I am grateful that I was born a great speller. Got a word that needs spelling? I'm your
go-to. (Except "occurance" or "occurence" or "occurrance" or
"occurrence"--only one of these is right* and I truly didn't know without
the little spell check feature on this bloggy.) But I know that
spelling is not a function of intelligence. HOWEVER, good publishing
demands that someone spend some time editing and checking, lest embarrassing moments happen to otherwise good writers:
 |
| That's one laep forward, two laeps back |
 |
| Mr. Rogers wants you to be his neighhobor |
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| Hey, aren't we supposed to be creative? |
*The last occurrence is correct. It was the last one I typed and I truly was surprised. (Every time.)
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Feeling like a loser....
Why oh why do my kids bomb the Constitution test every year?
I give them a study guide. The study guide even tells them the exact essay question on the test.
My lessons teach what's on the study guide. Our notes explain the text.
The kids are involved in the Convention--they "become" a member of one of the original states and see how the compromises would affect their state.
The homework reinforces what was in the lesson that will appear on the test. They have a project wherein they actually draw the powers and checks of each branch.
I relate the past with their present with school-based analogies. For example, federalism divides power between the national govt and the states, just like school, because the front office has power like the national government and so do the classroom teachers, like states. Another example is when we have a three-legged race to show how our three branch government prevents any one branch from abusing power, the effectiveness of separation of powers. Or when we use rock paper scissors to show how each branch gets checked by the others.
I truly am not just a talking head.
Granted, the concepts are abstract and the terms are fancy: ratification, federalism, checks and balances, separation of powers. I check for understanding. In the moment, they get it.
I am turning to my colleagues for help, because I am apparently being blind to some glaring weakness or issue. I need their eyes to help me see what's going on. Or not going on.
I do expect them to look at their notes for one minute every night, and pretty much no one does. Is that me shifting the blame to them? Is it wrong for me to expect them to carry some of the intellectual weight around here? How much learning responsibility is theirs? If I don't blame them, I have to blame me. Doggone it, I work so hard it's demoralizing to accept responsibility for the results.
Fourteen kids in each of the three classes earned a grade below C level--even with a free point for the question #34: "Hey! How'd you like to earn a free point right now? A. No thanks, trying to cut back. B. I am just randomly bubbling, hoping to work two minimum wage jobs someday. C. Why thanks Miss M--that's so awesome!"
Every year.
Ugh.
I give them a study guide. The study guide even tells them the exact essay question on the test.
My lessons teach what's on the study guide. Our notes explain the text.
The kids are involved in the Convention--they "become" a member of one of the original states and see how the compromises would affect their state.
The homework reinforces what was in the lesson that will appear on the test. They have a project wherein they actually draw the powers and checks of each branch.
I relate the past with their present with school-based analogies. For example, federalism divides power between the national govt and the states, just like school, because the front office has power like the national government and so do the classroom teachers, like states. Another example is when we have a three-legged race to show how our three branch government prevents any one branch from abusing power, the effectiveness of separation of powers. Or when we use rock paper scissors to show how each branch gets checked by the others.
I truly am not just a talking head.
Granted, the concepts are abstract and the terms are fancy: ratification, federalism, checks and balances, separation of powers. I check for understanding. In the moment, they get it.
I am turning to my colleagues for help, because I am apparently being blind to some glaring weakness or issue. I need their eyes to help me see what's going on. Or not going on.
I do expect them to look at their notes for one minute every night, and pretty much no one does. Is that me shifting the blame to them? Is it wrong for me to expect them to carry some of the intellectual weight around here? How much learning responsibility is theirs? If I don't blame them, I have to blame me. Doggone it, I work so hard it's demoralizing to accept responsibility for the results.
Fourteen kids in each of the three classes earned a grade below C level--even with a free point for the question #34: "Hey! How'd you like to earn a free point right now? A. No thanks, trying to cut back. B. I am just randomly bubbling, hoping to work two minimum wage jobs someday. C. Why thanks Miss M--that's so awesome!"
Every year.
Ugh.
Monday, June 18, 2012
They can't say I didn't try...
When kids finish my final, I have an optional, anonymous survey for them: I ask them to rate each technique on its effectiveness or inspirational quality, from 1 - 4, and leave a space for them to 'splain anything they want to:
1) passing around the grade sheet on Monday and then posting it
2) making you keep track of your grades in your agenda
3) if the teacher could somehow force you to use your agenda
4) assigning goal sheets asking you to set goals and write out your game plan
5) passing out tickets for random candy drawing--tickets for academic or citizenship excellence
6) rewarding good work with bonus points
7) knowing that late work is half credit
8) getting donuts when the whole class turns in hw three times
9) Stupid Teacher Plays where we act stuff out with the teacher narrating
10) our mnemonic songs
11) Stupid YOU plays where YOU invent the skits
12) having kids teach a section/topic
13) the Constitutional Powers project
14) getting a printout of your missing assignments
15) notifying parents when you are missing three assignments
16) the teacher writing a note in my agenda when I did something fabulous
17) knowing my class ranking
18) taking graphic notes (all those cartoons the teacher drew!)
19) keeping your notes in one separate, bound composition notebook
20) doing reports and projects
21) knowing that the homework will be directly helpful for doing well on the tests
22) review game: brain gambling [note: other teachers call it "Las Vegas"]
23) review game: jeopardy
24) review game: steal the bacon
25) knowing that if your grade is high enough, you can skip the final
26) earning a free hw pass for having six weeks of perfect hw turn ins
27) the study guides
28) when the teacher draws a star on the class chart with the highest class average that week
29) when what we study in history overlaps with what we are reading in English
30) getting tests signed by a parent
31) knowing your teacher believes you can do better than what you are doing
I end with this: "What else could your teacher do or try that would encourage kids to do their work, learn, or try harder?"
And then I read them. This year the big winners are #9, 1, 19, 31, and 10. The relative losers (most were still helpful, but not comparatively) were #30, 11, 12, 3, and 4. I am sad about #4 and don't intend to stop it, but I need to figure out a way to revisit the plans and make them more immediate. The kids do write their goal percentage in their agendas so they see their goal every Monday, and #2 scored pretty high, but....sigh, there is just too much to do in 55 minutes--or there are just too many chilluns.
It was interesting to see how many kids shot down being taught by their peers. I asked my seminerds about that, and they explained that you really learn your section, the one you are teaching or performing, but you get next to nothing from the other groups.
Suggestions this year:
• replace tests with more projects to "engrave the info in our minds" (but some kids hated projects)
• use more puppets (apparently the one I have, Citizen Genet--a critic of the Proclamation of Neutrality--is a big hit and the kids asked about him all year.)
• get privacy boards to use during tests
• change seats more often
• more review games (not different ones, just do more games in general)
• during the Civil War game, give kids points for answering, not just points for their side
• use more graphic notes--they really help and they are motivating
and the "I wish" award goes to:
• make the kids think in a positive mind frame
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Madness, I say--madness!
The school calendar:
Finals are on Thursday, but
school's out next Tuesday
Don't you think this is
expensive babysitting?
Or insanity?
Finals are on Thursday, but
school's out next Tuesday
Don't you think this is
expensive babysitting?
Or insanity?
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Testing...testing...1, 2, 3, 4 days of testing!
The state's high stake test
comes more than a month before
school actually ends
The test tests learning
of content that they haven't
had a chance to learn
comes more than a month before
school actually ends
The test tests learning
of content that they haven't
had a chance to learn
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Fat Albert, The Lion King, and Disrespected Deer
Early December: Students write their intros for their Animal Farm papers, using a step-by-step process, teacher demonstrating each step. All students EXCEPT A. turn in intros; teacher edits/critiques them; students now have direction and really good intros. (Except A.)
Mid-December: Students bring in drafts of papers; randomly assigned fellow students read, instructed to give kind, helpful, and specific criticism. A. receives N. as his "critical friend;" she is insightful--he is lucky.
Five minutes ago: Teacher reads A's paper and despairs. The intro is awful, but A is just getting started. Here is a transcript, but just a sampling of a much longer and more awful paragraph in a much longer and more dreadful paper--mind you, his paper is supposed to be about Orwell's Animal Farm:
"Deer aren't respected; they just mind their own business and are shot, cooked, and eaten. Why was the play called "The Lion King" and not "The Monkey King"? I personally think an ape should be king of the jungle. And why is Fat Albert so fat? I mean that has nothing to do with my point and point is in the next sentence. My point is that class issues isn't always how we interpret it."
As much as his paper makes me want to fall on my sword, it is an indicator of my next steps. Upon return, our class will read some of the successful papers and identify what makes them good. This student will be required to write a new, PROPER intro, and if I have to personally ok every sentence as he writes it, so be it. I am not allowed to throw up my hands (although they can't stop me from throwing up) and dismiss him; I am going to educate the pop culture out of him. I am gonna work him until he writes a paper he can proudly show his grandma, who happens to be a friend of mine from my early teaching days.
I have my work cut out for me.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Santa, Linus, Compassion, and Education
This past December 9, during my prep period, I turned a corner and found one of our most fabulous 6th grade teachers SOBBING, a student comforting her. The teacher saw me, waved me on. I ran and hugged her and then left them, respecting her wish to continue the conversation with the student.
Yesterday she shared what had happened, her eyes flooding.
"I ruined Christmas," she whispered.
A supporter of all things magical and joyous, a generous soul who quietly gives to her students, a Martha Stewart in the classroom which is tastefully decorated according to each season--there was no way this statement was true, even aside from its hyperbolic breadth; my face told her I didn't believe her.
"Inadvertently, of course. But parents have written and complained that I have no respect for imagination or the magic of Christmas and that I am an insensitive soul."
You see, my "callous" colleague thought it would be wonderful for her students to participate in the Make-A-Wish Foundation's® holiday campaign. She wanted her students to remember children across America who are experiencing medical challenges, to remind her class that thinking of others is important, to help them do something practical and easy to help others. (Can't you just feel her insensitivity and lack of imagination?)
But when a student asked why the class needed to stamp the envelopes to send letters to Santa...nonbelievers hooted, and the student looked to the teacher to call foul, but this HONEST EDUCATOR, who loves all things magical and respects truth and wants her kids to trust her, said something neutral along the lines that "Myth or not, we all can support this wonderful cause."
So. Some kids at age 11 believe Santa is real, that he's the one who, at no financial cost, is able to bring gifts to good kids, who sees them when they are sleeping and awake, omnipresent and omniscient, reaping all the love for the labor and sacrifice of the flesh-and-blood True Givers, flooding him with all the love that is due to others. (Obviously I have a strong opinion about Santa). This teacher's diplomatic reply was brought home, mistranslated: "Mrs. X says Santa isn't real," voiced in front of younger siblings. And the parents wrote mean letters, telling my friend she ruined Christmas for the whole family, that she is insensitive and doesn't care about imagination or the magic of Christmas. Yes, my colleague is so insensitive that she cried all weekend and now tears up if Santa is even mentioned.
Look, tell your kids what you want, but: If your idea of "CHRISTMAS MAGIC" overshadows greater notions of GENEROSITY, TRUTH, and HELPING OTHERS, then you need some schooling about what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown--so take it from the best, Linus himself, and back away from big hearted souls who are trying to make this life easier for your kids and less fortunate kids:
Macy's Believe holiday campaign benefits the Make-A-Wish Foundation®. The nostalgic campaign was inspired by the New York Sun's famous "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" editorial from 1897 and includes letter-writing "Believe Stations" in Macy's stores across the country. For each letter dropped in Macy's Santa Letterbox, Macy's makes a $1 donation to the Make-A-Wish Foundation, up to $1 million. And for each letter received on National Believe Day, December 9, Macy’s will donate an extra $1 to the Foundation.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Stolen soda/Stolen trust
They were just sodas.
But when I discovered their
theft, my heart nearly broke...
Friday, November 12, 2010
Sobs and Shock
Poetic justice and a few heavy hearts this morning. I tell ya, middle school is many things, but "boring" isn't one of them.
Before school on campus this morning, a well-loved colleague noticed a boy launching an aerosol can into the air, an impressive use of physics' principles of pressure and force. She strolled over to stop the ersatz rocket antics. "Boys will be boys," she thought.
When she picked up the spent can, though, her heart sank. The can's label had been whited out and on it was scrawled "Jew Repellant."
Imagine the walk to the office. Imagine the kid looking for a loophole, saying he didn't know what "repellant" was. Imagine the kid blaming "South Park" for the idea. Imagine the kid's horror upon learning that my colleague is Jewish. Imagine his tears--real sobs--his apologies, his "I didn't mean to hurt you." Imagine her letting him know she forgives him. Imagine the kid's dread of the call to his parents. Imagine the kid's shock when the police come to the school because yes, this is a reportable hate crime.
You know what I have trouble imagining? What to say to him when he returns to school.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
RIP Bruce Davis, Jr.
shot dead, and for what?
so furious I'm crying
heartbroken-- such loss--
you bought a lie, Bruce.
thugging only ends two ways
one of them found you
you shone with promise
charisma trailing your steps
everyone loved you
the biggest crime: your
choice robbed all of us of you,
of our pride and joy
walmart's parking lot?
I was going to vote for you
I believed in you
it's hard enough to forgive, but when the criminal is also the victim...?
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