"So, I was thinking," a teacher friend started, "isn't middle school the time in their lives when kids are gravitating toward their peers and away from adults? Think about it-- school is run by adults! Doesn't it make sense that they wouldn't like it? Could it be developmental?"
I'm so happy she's reading my blog, I thought, and the look on my face must have tipped her off to something.
"Uh oh," her toned changed. "Is this going to show up on the internet?"
"It's funny you should bring that up," I returned to the original subject. "Yesterday, I asked my students to decide if they liked school or not and explain why, and then they were to write a slice of life story that showed what they meant." I took a stack of papers from the corner of my cluttered desk, and examined my informal data. "It's about half and half," I reported.
"But how much of that is kids who don't like school because of the social challenges?" she wondered.
"That's a good question," I said. "There are a few who say they don't like school because they don't feel like they fit in. BUT, there are just as many, or more, whose primary reason for liking school is that it's the place where they see their friends."
We pondered that in silence for a moment.
"Other kids say that they don't like school because it's not worth their time," I continued. "My favorite example is the boy who wrote, probably the biggest waste of time was when my third grade teacher tried to teach us to read lips," I laughed, "but that was followed closely by the girl who said that if she wasn't stuck at school, she could be doing really important things like playing games or hanging out at the mall." My friend nodded, unsurprised at the mall thing.
"Then there are some kids who don't feel challenged, some who think there's too much work, and some who don't think their teachers treat them fairly." I flipped through the papers. "But... several said that they do like school because they learn new things and their teachers are nice," I added hopefully. "That's not too bad."
"I'm kind of compliant," she said, "and I went to Catholic school, so I was used to doing all sorts of things I didn't want to, but I didn't mind middle school."
"I liked school," I agreed. "Look, I came back forever."
"Well, keep thinking about it," she said. "It's good material."
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Ten
In case you're wondering, I'm not quite sure where this whole series is going. I'm pretty much writing for discovery. It's like what I've told my students, if you have something on your mind, write about it, work it out. Well, okay, I don't say "work it out," but secretly I hope they do, and some have tried.
I have a group of girls in my class this year who have been friends since kindergarten. They are lovely children: thoughtful and compliant, but with a bit of an edge. As similar as they all seem on the surface, they are really very, very different, and as the teacher who reads their writing, I can see that clearly. I haven't cracked their social code well enough to know exactly who is best friends with whom, but I understand that as close as they all seem to outsiders, there is a hierarchy.
One of the girls has written several slice of life stories about another, who is in a different English class. She starts each piece by explaining that they are best friends, and then describes an incident in which she was mistreated by the other girl. "Maybe you guys should talk about this," I told her after reading the third one. "It doesn't seem good to hold on to your resentment."
She laughed. "Oh, she'll never change," she said, "but I do feel better writing about it."
Is that what I'm doing, too? Public education and I are pretty tight, but I do harbor some doubts.
I have a group of girls in my class this year who have been friends since kindergarten. They are lovely children: thoughtful and compliant, but with a bit of an edge. As similar as they all seem on the surface, they are really very, very different, and as the teacher who reads their writing, I can see that clearly. I haven't cracked their social code well enough to know exactly who is best friends with whom, but I understand that as close as they all seem to outsiders, there is a hierarchy.
One of the girls has written several slice of life stories about another, who is in a different English class. She starts each piece by explaining that they are best friends, and then describes an incident in which she was mistreated by the other girl. "Maybe you guys should talk about this," I told her after reading the third one. "It doesn't seem good to hold on to your resentment."
She laughed. "Oh, she'll never change," she said, "but I do feel better writing about it."
Is that what I'm doing, too? Public education and I are pretty tight, but I do harbor some doubts.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Nine
On the day that I received the phone call telling me that I finally had a teaching job of my own, I was babysitting my oldest nephew, who was a little over a year old at the time, and it was with him that I celebrated my new career-- we went out to lunch and got balloons. Hooray Aunt Tracey! Since then, I have had the great privilege of teaching both him and his brother when they were in sixth grade.
I have no children of my own, and it's likely that these boys are the closest thing I will ever know to that. Both of them are smart, thoughtful and inquisitive people who demonstrated curiosity and a genuine delight in learning from the earliest of ages. When they were little, it seemed as if they were destined to do well in school, and they have. Neither one of them particularly likes school, though, and that's a fact I find hard to dismiss. They are intelligent, compliant and successful, but they don't like school.
I have no children of my own, and it's likely that these boys are the closest thing I will ever know to that. Both of them are smart, thoughtful and inquisitive people who demonstrated curiosity and a genuine delight in learning from the earliest of ages. When they were little, it seemed as if they were destined to do well in school, and they have. Neither one of them particularly likes school, though, and that's a fact I find hard to dismiss. They are intelligent, compliant and successful, but they don't like school.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Eight
The other day I was in the computer lab when another class came in. It was at the end of my teaching day, and my students had gone on to P.E. and electives. I was gathering my things and straightening up the lab when a small group of eighth graders arrived. Their teacher gave the directions, and they logged in and were waiting for their settings to load when someone said, "Why do we have to do that?"
"It's school, Dummy," another student answered.
"Man! I HATE school," the first student replied in disgust.
The other students laughed. "EVERYBODY hates school, Dummy," one of his classmates told him.
"I wish I could have my own school," another student added. "Nobody would ever have to come."
What's the objective of compulsory public education anyhow? Is it for the good of society or for the benefit of the individual? I suppose most people would agree to a middle ground where the purpose of education is to prepare the individual for success which in turn will benefit society by adding one more productive citizen to our numbers. That's the theory, anyway. How, then, do we resolve it when the needs of the individual clash with the needs of the group? Or when the school doesn't prepare the individual for success? What then?
When it came time for Ruth's boys to go to school, they didn't like it. For three years she tried switching schools and changing programs, but they were profoundly unhappy and chronically complained of having to go, and so she resolved to try homeschooling them, instead.
"It's school, Dummy," another student answered.
"Man! I HATE school," the first student replied in disgust.
The other students laughed. "EVERYBODY hates school, Dummy," one of his classmates told him.
"I wish I could have my own school," another student added. "Nobody would ever have to come."
What's the objective of compulsory public education anyhow? Is it for the good of society or for the benefit of the individual? I suppose most people would agree to a middle ground where the purpose of education is to prepare the individual for success which in turn will benefit society by adding one more productive citizen to our numbers. That's the theory, anyway. How, then, do we resolve it when the needs of the individual clash with the needs of the group? Or when the school doesn't prepare the individual for success? What then?
When it came time for Ruth's boys to go to school, they didn't like it. For three years she tried switching schools and changing programs, but they were profoundly unhappy and chronically complained of having to go, and so she resolved to try homeschooling them, instead.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Intermission
And now a brief respite from the tale of my teaching trajectory:
I decided to do a Slice of Life Story Challenge with my students for the month of May. I started writing this blog as part of such a challenge, sponsored by the Two Writing Teachers website (which is an excellent resource). My goal in participating was always to find an application for my classroom, although I've discovered much more over the last 70 days. In our state, May is usually chopped up by standardized tests and the like, and so I figured that a dependable activity on those days when we do meet this month might be helpful in maintaining consistency for my classes, especially in the face of that test craze that has a way of taking hold.
One of my objectives for this activity is for students to practice writing a conclusion that explains the significance of the experience they're writing about. I've told them that sometimes they won't understand why they remember these events or what they mean until they have written about them, and that's another of my objectives, to show kids that they can use writing to make sense of things.
So far, it seems like my students are enjoying it, and they have done some wonderful writing. One boy wrote of visiting his grandmother in Bangladesh last summer. Bored, he folded some paper airplanes and launched them off the balcony of her apartment. Watching the planes glide to earth, he saw another boy, close to his own age, who was working as a street cleaner, lift one from the ground and then look up, searching the skies for its origin. I looked at him, and I knew he wanted to learn. So I made more planes and wrote instructions in each of them and sent them down to him. In his conclusion he reflects on how lucky he is to be able to go to school and learn when so many children in Bangladesh can't afford the same opportunity.
I think he's getting it.
(And that's what I mean about writing for discovery. It wasn't until I posted this entry that I realized it wasn't an intermission at all.)
I decided to do a Slice of Life Story Challenge with my students for the month of May. I started writing this blog as part of such a challenge, sponsored by the Two Writing Teachers website (which is an excellent resource). My goal in participating was always to find an application for my classroom, although I've discovered much more over the last 70 days. In our state, May is usually chopped up by standardized tests and the like, and so I figured that a dependable activity on those days when we do meet this month might be helpful in maintaining consistency for my classes, especially in the face of that test craze that has a way of taking hold.
One of my objectives for this activity is for students to practice writing a conclusion that explains the significance of the experience they're writing about. I've told them that sometimes they won't understand why they remember these events or what they mean until they have written about them, and that's another of my objectives, to show kids that they can use writing to make sense of things.
So far, it seems like my students are enjoying it, and they have done some wonderful writing. One boy wrote of visiting his grandmother in Bangladesh last summer. Bored, he folded some paper airplanes and launched them off the balcony of her apartment. Watching the planes glide to earth, he saw another boy, close to his own age, who was working as a street cleaner, lift one from the ground and then look up, searching the skies for its origin. I looked at him, and I knew he wanted to learn. So I made more planes and wrote instructions in each of them and sent them down to him. In his conclusion he reflects on how lucky he is to be able to go to school and learn when so many children in Bangladesh can't afford the same opportunity.
I think he's getting it.
(And that's what I mean about writing for discovery. It wasn't until I posted this entry that I realized it wasn't an intermission at all.)
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Seven
Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I am the product of private schools. When I was thirteen, my family moved to Saudi Arabia, and that was the end of my public school experience. I went to an international school there and then on to boarding school in Switzerland for high school.
Living overseas was life-changing: I think it's hard for Americans to develop a true international perspective any other way, maybe because our culture is so dominant-- so loud and brash-- that it's nearly impossible for us to hear any other voices but our own. I don't mean that in an entirely critical way; it's simply that the vibrancy of our American life preoccupies us, leaving very little room for anything else.
As a teenager abroad, I missed the din of the States, and I brooded about how deprived I was living in the foothills of the Alps and traveling all over the world. I was convinced that all I wanted was a "normal" kid's life with Doritoes and Dr. Pepper and Friday night football games.
Yeah, I was an idiot (and on so many levels!), but losing out on all those things also meant that I never suffered through the downside of American public schools. Maybe that's part of the reason why, that to this day, I carry a fierce idealism about public education, despite how well-acquainted I have become with its flaws.
Living overseas was life-changing: I think it's hard for Americans to develop a true international perspective any other way, maybe because our culture is so dominant-- so loud and brash-- that it's nearly impossible for us to hear any other voices but our own. I don't mean that in an entirely critical way; it's simply that the vibrancy of our American life preoccupies us, leaving very little room for anything else.
As a teenager abroad, I missed the din of the States, and I brooded about how deprived I was living in the foothills of the Alps and traveling all over the world. I was convinced that all I wanted was a "normal" kid's life with Doritoes and Dr. Pepper and Friday night football games.
Yeah, I was an idiot (and on so many levels!), but losing out on all those things also meant that I never suffered through the downside of American public schools. Maybe that's part of the reason why, that to this day, I carry a fierce idealism about public education, despite how well-acquainted I have become with its flaws.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Six
I won the pool when Ruth's first baby was born. It was during the pre-service week of my second year of teaching, and my guess was closest to his weight and date of birth. The year before, her principal had pulled through right at the end of August and hired me to teach sixth grade English (mostly on the merits of my spaghetti cooking, I think), and it was he who stepped to the mike during one of those endless faculty meetings we have before the students return and announced the good news that our colleague was a new mom.
Sometimes, the longer you know someone, the more you find that you agree on, but the opposite was true for me and Ruth. Don't get me wrong: the longer I knew her, the more I liked her, and our disagreements never got personal, but we had some distinct political and ideological differences. Ruth's empathy for the students was unparalleled, though, and I wasn't at all surprised when she took a high school job at the end of that year. I understood that theater had always been a safe place for her when she was a teenager, and she wanted to provide that for other kids. And so we parted ways again.
Sometimes, the longer you know someone, the more you find that you agree on, but the opposite was true for me and Ruth. Don't get me wrong: the longer I knew her, the more I liked her, and our disagreements never got personal, but we had some distinct political and ideological differences. Ruth's empathy for the students was unparalleled, though, and I wasn't at all surprised when she took a high school job at the end of that year. I understood that theater had always been a safe place for her when she was a teenager, and she wanted to provide that for other kids. And so we parted ways again.
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