Part 5

Year 5 of my career came, and I was teaching my heart out. I have video of myself from those days, and my lecture is well-organized, witty and topical, with just enough sarcasm to keep it edgy and interesting (gosh, I don't think I've ever seen a better presentation of narrative point-of-view), and a dynamite follow-up assignment, too. Looking back on my approach, I see now that it was the definition of teacher-centered instruction, although you would have had a hard time convincing me of that at the time. It was really nothing more than the Tracey Show: all eyes on me, kids, let me bestow my vast wisdom and knowledge on you. No need for thanks; it's just what I do. There are many adages that try to delineate the roles and responsibilities of teacher and pupil. One that our school adopted for a time was a Chinese proverb, "Teachers open the door, but students must pass through on their own." We all had it hung on our classroom walls in an attempt to encourage our students to accept their part in their education, and even though there were many days when it felt like I was gesturing toward a deserted entryway (anyone? anyone? open door right this way...) I held on to that as a sound metaphor for what we do. At the end of that year, our team leader took another position in the building, and the math teacher who had been her main ally in our team disputes left also, and the way was finally clear for Leila and me to pursue the changes we had talked about for so long. (But what happened next?)

Part 4

Wes had been hired to teach math, but that wasn't his first choice of disciplines. He'd always hoped to teach social studies, and when a position opened up on the other sixth grade team, he took it, splitting up our tight little trio. His departure, another one of those August surprises, shifted the dynamic on our team, but the underlying tension from the year before remained. As with any conflict, there were allies and adversaries, and lines of allegiance drawn in the chalk dust. We had some volatile personalities on the team, and there were a few blow-ups in our meetings, but eventually things settled into a tepid truce.

All of that was a distant second concern to what was going on in our classrooms, anyway. Once inside with the door closed, it was easy for me to forget any disagreements we may have had when the students weren't around. Teaching was my first priority, and we had some tough kids that year. What do I mean by tough? Well, over half of our students were on free or reduced lunch, and, at that time, the school was about 30-30-30% Black, Hispanic, White, and 10% Asian or other. Over 20% of our student body was special education, and at least 25% were second language learners. Even so, those kids I considered "troubled" cut across all those lines. They didn't have much in common, except that they didn't like school in general, and they didn't like my class in particular.

How many students is it acceptable to give up on? To cut your losses on, say you've done more for than can be expected (because, likely, you have), chalk up your failure to reach them to their laziness or lack of family support or a personality difference? To justify turning your attention away from them because they are depriving other students who want to learn? Is it five percent or maybe ten? Just one or two out of each class that aren't getting with it-- isn't that okay, because, after all, nobody's perfect-- you can't win 'em all?

If I look back on my class lists from that time, I could give you a number. I could point out the names of the kids in my class who never engaged and were not successful, and I'm abashed to admit that, at that time, I thought it was fine. I believed that I was doing all that I could, and that it was enough.

(Note to self: include redemption in later installments?)

Part 3

So, there we were, three teachers with a lot more confidence than experience. We hit it off right away. Those early days of teaching were intense and exhilarating: we never got tired of talking about our lessons, our colleagues, and the 100 students we had in common. Conflict and drama nourished us as we negotiated the complex multi-tasking that our new career demanded; there were always kids that gave us trouble, activities that bombed or succeeded, stacks of papers that needed grading, or supervisors who observed us. Every day something amazing happened, and we were learning as much or more than we were teaching.

The next year, two more new members joined our team, tipping the configuration to 5 teachers with under 5 years experience and one veteran of 20 years. Oh, how time has changed my perspective on those days. Then, we chafed at the traditions and customs of the team, rolling our eyes at the same annual activities and bulletin boards and resenting the tyranny of seniority. Our favorite question was, "why," first asked only in the privacy of our own conversations, but inevitably leaking into our team meetings, too. I tried to be diplomatic rather than challenging as I assumed the role of spokesperson for the newer teachers, but we got caught up in the politics of the situation, once again fueled by the drama, and we often spoke wistfully of how things would be different, if only we were in charge.

more to come

Something I've Learned, continued

Wes and I started together as newly-minted teachers the year before Leila joined our team. When I think back on that time now, as a team leader and a new teacher mentor, I have a lot of respect and gratitude for our team leader then. I think there are two kinds of new teachers-- the naturals and the iffies.

In my mind, a natural approaches a classroom full of students with confidence, even if you have no idea what the hell you're doing. A natural has sound instincts, and the ability to improvise convincingly when caught off-guard. These choices are not always best practice, but later on, when reflecting on the day or reading or researching (because a natural thinks about teaching a lot of the time), this teacher will recognize a good idea when she or he comes across it and will be able to apply it to future planning.

At the risk of sounding arrogant, I think the three of us were naturals. Actually, arrogance can be one of the biggest challenges for a natural, and combined with all that authority in the classroom, such an attitude can be very detrimental.

(Yeah, this story still has a ways to go.)

Something I've Learned

Nine years ago I stared out the tinted window of a charter bus on my way to Cape May, NJ. I, a sixth grade teacher on a middle school team called the Dolphins, was taking a hundred city kids to go dolphin watching, some of whom had never seen the ocean before. Cool, right?

As our bus rolled north on that well-traversed ribbon of highway that makes up the mid-Atlantic stretch of I-95, the students buzzed with excitement. Seated next to me in the garish plaid upholstered seat was the last person I wanted to spend 7 hours round trip with, my best teacher friend, Leila.

At this point in my teaching career, I had nearly seven years of experience-- enough to feel like I knew what I was doing, but which in retrospect, was also enough to be dangerous. I don't think I'll ever forget the first time I met Leila. It was the summer after my first year of teaching, and I was attending an in-service for summer school teachers that just happened to be held in my building. My attention was distracted from the meeting when my eye caught our principal ambling past the interior windows. A few minutes later, on his return trip, he poked his head into the library, catching my eye and waving me into the hallway.

"Tracey, this is Leila, the new science teacher on your team." Even as I reached out my hand to shake hers, I felt my eye brows knit-- what happened to the old science teacher, I wondered. This was my introduction to one of the few absolutely true things I know about teaching: no matter how similar you think the next year will be when you leave in June, it will be completely different in ways you can't even imagine-- starting when you come back in August and continuing on through the year, until all those discrepancies become the norm, only to surprise you with their own transformation the following year.

to be continued

Super Sentence Finalists

I wrote about this challenge in the March 13th post-- One of the kids on the Lit Mag staff came up with it: "Write the best sentence of your life!" We had about 50 entries, and these are the top 15, as narrowed down by the students on the editorial staff. See what you think.

1. The crazy, man-eating, blood-sucking green dolphin sucked the blue blood out of his master named Maddie Washington Clooney-Key.

2. Family is pretty good, except for the fighting.

3. As she cries, the tears streaming down her face, staining her cheeks with black eyeliner and mascara, my heart is broken.

4. The sun shined through the dirty-paned window, and I knew one day I would escape.

5. The people that live in your head only speak in your head.

6. If it comes when you climb, you will fall; if it comes when you run, you will stop; when it comes when you are not ready, you will always fail; it is fear.

7. Sprinting through the wet, pitch-black jungle, I darted through the murky rivers and mucked through the mud to escape the shaggy figure clawing at my back: whack!

8. I leaped for my life as the building burst into flames, sending shards of fire blasting past me.

9. Never lose faith in something you have always dreamed of.

10. In the age of the modern, the high-class, and the intelligent, where there also lives the traditionalist, the low-class and the less fortunate, in the land of hope, somewhere in the United States, begins our story.

11. As I walked out into the blinding sunlight that often follows a severe storm, like the one we had just experienced, and watched the last cloud vanish beneath the horizon in a slow and peaceful motion, I realized that everything before me represented some part of my life; that although some difficult times lie behind me, and there would, no doubt, be more horrific periods ahead, I could enjoy this happiness and peace for now.

12. Everyone was watching the moon soar closer and closer into the Earth: while we were frightened, knowing the apocalypse was coming nearer with every second of every minute of every hour, we couldn't help marveling at its size: even our planet seemed to hold her breath, just an exhale of wind every now and then.

13. They listened for the rain to dry its tears and then walked out to see a bright spectrum ofcolors smiling after misery.

14. Love is giving someone the ability to break your heart but trusting them not to.

15. You are you, and you should be proud of that.

Still slicing

Today, I put the dish sponge in the refrigerator.

I got home a little earlier than usual-- the irony being that the reason was that I had a meeting. It was away from my school, and once it ended at 3:55, there was no rational reason to go back to my desk. I stopped at the grocery, but I was home at least an hour before the usual time. What to do with such a windfall? I opted to cook.

I cook almost every night, not as a chore, but as recreation. The actions of slicing, dicing, sauteeing and their kin comfort me after my day of talking and reading and supporting children in being their best selves. I must think, but not in the same ways, and so I unwind. But, today, with the extra time, I wanted to get some extra things done-- banana bread from the too ripe fruit on the counter, breakfast sandwiches for the freezer, blanched veggies to toss into salads on other nights-- and I was cooking dinner, too. (Turnips were involved, but that's all I'll say.)

Preheat, scramble, slice, mash, marinate, whisk, open, measure, taste, julienne, bake, consider, melt, add, drain, trim, fry, rinse, wrap, shock, steam, taste, roast, sprinkle, check, wrap, take the dish sponge out of the fridge, and serve.