A few years ago I was at a family gathering. My nephews were 6 and 9 at the time, and they were off in the corner playing some color version of Pokemon on their Gameboys. There was a younger, distant cousin who had never met the boys before, but he was drawn to them and stood close by listening intently to the patter of their conversation as each not only played his own game, but also gave a running overview of the action to his brother, in addition to receiving and offering strategic advice in turn.
Impressed, the little boy ran off to find his mother. "Mommy," he asked, "what language do those kids speak?"
"They speak English, Honey," she told him, but he did not look convinced.
"What language do we speak?" he asked her.
"We speak English, too," she told him.
"It doesn't seem like English to me," he said.
Last week, one of my students turned in a writing piece called, War of Epic Rune and I. It had a pretty gripping lead: The first time we fought, he was a cheap shooter. As I read on, though, I discovered that I was not the intended audience of this piece. I couldn't have been, because I had no idea what was going on.
He used dds-ags glitch. He killed me. I stocked up on my pk stuff! I went into the wilderness, I attacked him! 26, 25, he ate healed 22. I hit two more 27's, and I took out my dds. I specialed him (it's a 2 time attack). Before I attacked I switched to ags (You can only attack 1 time with it because it's so high damaging!) Then my dds spec came. I had age on, so then I hit- bang bang! 60 23! He died! Then I was standing there healed myself. He came back with with pk-ing stuff and said, "Glitcher,"and attacked me. I said back, "You too...." Then we fought. I had two HP (heart points hit points). Until I died I was going to eat, but Epic had like 15 HP, so I didn't and attacked. I hit 18! I won again !
I felt a little dazed sitting there at my desk trying to fathom this incomprehensible narrative. It was disorienting to know most of the vocabulary but have no clue about the rest. I tried to use context, but I didn't have nearly enough background information to be successful. I laughed because it was ridiculously hard. I also understood then that many of my students probably have this experience regularly. I couldn't have asked for a better simulation of what a struggling reader goes through when confronted with a text that is too difficult.
It doesn't seem like English to me, I thought, and I photocopied War of Epic Rune and I and tucked it into my writers notebook so that I can remember what that feels like.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
NO Whining
I felt bad after I posted yesterday. I like to think that it's not really "me" to get upset about little things like that. (Except when it is, eh?) Honestly? I'm sure the field trip will work out fine: everyone will have a good time, and in retrospect it will all have been worth it. I guess that sometimes it's hard to find that balance between planning for the future, living in the moment, and reflecting on the past. What can you do, though?
Just keep practicing.
Just keep practicing.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Travel Agency 101
Or: Things They Don't Teach You in Grad School
Every year in June our sixth grade team takes a trip to go dolphin watching. It's about three hours away, so we charter buses, spend a couple of hours at the beach, and then board a really big boat for a 2-hour cruise skirting the capes of Delaware in search of marine mammals. Next it's back on the bus, and a few hours later we're home. It's usually a nice day and a pleasant way to end the year. It also offers experiences that many of our students have never had: the beach, the boat, or both.
It's my job to organize this trip, and over the years it has gotten easier, but even so, every year there seems to be a new set of complications. Part of the challenge of planning it has to do with pricing. Your typical charter bus has 55 seats, and the boat charter is based on a minimum of 100 passengers. Depending on the year, we have had anywhere from 80-100 students, plus 8 teachers. Although it is always our goal, we have never had 100% of the students participate on the trip. The trick then becomes estimating the number of students and chaperones who will pay to come and pricing it accordingly. We have to break even... there's no reserve fund to cover it if we don't. BUT, we know that some kids won't be able to afford the trip, and so we solicit donations for scholarships, and we know that every passenger over that original estimate will also subsidize a student whose family can't afford the whole cost.
Some years I'm sweating it out because we haven't got that minimum number of people. Last year, I accepted a check and permission slip on the morning of the trip, because I knew it would get us out of the red. (Plus, the kid wanted to go... I have a hard time saying no to that after we went to all the trouble to plan such a great trip.) This year it's the opposite; we're short on seats, and I've been in the difficult position of telling some parents who have paid to go that, as much as we appreciate the support, we need their seat for a student. This new situation is just as stressful as it was to worry about staying out of debt in the past. Despite the refund, there have been some unhappy folks.
I received an e-mail this afternoon from just such a parent. It read in part:
I worked for (another school system) for 6 years and never seen a situation like a school system doesn't have a plan for their trip. It is not I don't believe what the excuse for (my son's) mom involvement but it's hard to believe. I expect to be treated fair, though this is a tough time. I hope your school and you understand my pain. My son was talking about the trip and now he can't go.
He continued:
Nothing personal, I feel like very much insulted and humiliated but what I can do? nothing. In my culture teacher is consider to be the highest respected person...teacher is the designer of child's life path. You are all same respected force of educator. But This is what I believe. Something totally wrong in this trip turmoil.
I regret the misunderstanding with this family, but I stand by our goal to have as many students participate as possible, and does anyone appreciate how above and beyond our job description this whole thing is? Chalk it up to end-of-the-year fatigue, but I am officially aggravated.
Every year in June our sixth grade team takes a trip to go dolphin watching. It's about three hours away, so we charter buses, spend a couple of hours at the beach, and then board a really big boat for a 2-hour cruise skirting the capes of Delaware in search of marine mammals. Next it's back on the bus, and a few hours later we're home. It's usually a nice day and a pleasant way to end the year. It also offers experiences that many of our students have never had: the beach, the boat, or both.
It's my job to organize this trip, and over the years it has gotten easier, but even so, every year there seems to be a new set of complications. Part of the challenge of planning it has to do with pricing. Your typical charter bus has 55 seats, and the boat charter is based on a minimum of 100 passengers. Depending on the year, we have had anywhere from 80-100 students, plus 8 teachers. Although it is always our goal, we have never had 100% of the students participate on the trip. The trick then becomes estimating the number of students and chaperones who will pay to come and pricing it accordingly. We have to break even... there's no reserve fund to cover it if we don't. BUT, we know that some kids won't be able to afford the trip, and so we solicit donations for scholarships, and we know that every passenger over that original estimate will also subsidize a student whose family can't afford the whole cost.
Some years I'm sweating it out because we haven't got that minimum number of people. Last year, I accepted a check and permission slip on the morning of the trip, because I knew it would get us out of the red. (Plus, the kid wanted to go... I have a hard time saying no to that after we went to all the trouble to plan such a great trip.) This year it's the opposite; we're short on seats, and I've been in the difficult position of telling some parents who have paid to go that, as much as we appreciate the support, we need their seat for a student. This new situation is just as stressful as it was to worry about staying out of debt in the past. Despite the refund, there have been some unhappy folks.
I received an e-mail this afternoon from just such a parent. It read in part:
I worked for (another school system) for 6 years and never seen a situation like a school system doesn't have a plan for their trip. It is not I don't believe what the excuse for (my son's) mom involvement but it's hard to believe. I expect to be treated fair, though this is a tough time. I hope your school and you understand my pain. My son was talking about the trip and now he can't go.
He continued:
Nothing personal, I feel like very much insulted and humiliated but what I can do? nothing. In my culture teacher is consider to be the highest respected person...teacher is the designer of child's life path. You are all same respected force of educator. But This is what I believe. Something totally wrong in this trip turmoil.
I regret the misunderstanding with this family, but I stand by our goal to have as many students participate as possible, and does anyone appreciate how above and beyond our job description this whole thing is? Chalk it up to end-of-the-year fatigue, but I am officially aggravated.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
School Spirit
Today was the retirement party for three teachers on our staff. Some schools have a traditional retirement event, but our school doesn't, and as far as I know, never has. Every year we do something different, and it seems like people's feelings get a little bruised sometimes. So this year, in response to a request from 2 of the 3 veteran teachers retiring, a small committee formed to plan... something. In addition to planning a nice reception, we hoped that whatever it turned out to be would also be the template for an annual thing-- we wanted to start a tradition for our school.
It was a really fun party. There was food and wine, beer and music, speeches and dancing. All three of the women retiring had taught a long time, so the guest list was full of ghosts of our school past in addition to our present colleagues, and it seemed like everyone who was there understood that something a little magical was happening. We are not a particularly cohesive staff, and most often we feel defined by our differences of philosophy and opinion. That was not true this evening. We gathered in warm camaraderie to honor and celebrate our colleagues who have served long and in good faith, and by so doing, we honored each other and our profession as well. And it may have been the wine, or the women who were retiring, or the songs that the DJ played as many hands made light work of the clean up, but there was a connection among us that could not be denied.
It was a really fun party. There was food and wine, beer and music, speeches and dancing. All three of the women retiring had taught a long time, so the guest list was full of ghosts of our school past in addition to our present colleagues, and it seemed like everyone who was there understood that something a little magical was happening. We are not a particularly cohesive staff, and most often we feel defined by our differences of philosophy and opinion. That was not true this evening. We gathered in warm camaraderie to honor and celebrate our colleagues who have served long and in good faith, and by so doing, we honored each other and our profession as well. And it may have been the wine, or the women who were retiring, or the songs that the DJ played as many hands made light work of the clean up, but there was a connection among us that could not be denied.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Step Right Up
Recently, I discovered carnivals... blog carnivals. These are traveling digests of blog posts on a certain topic. So, as a writer, you can submit an entry to the host, and they may publish your link, which could increase traffic to your blog, and, ideally, expand the conversation. To the reader carnivals offer exposure to many blogs on a topic of interest. Apparently, there are tons of them out there.
So, I submitted a post to the current Carnival of Education, and what do you know? The host included my link. That's cool-- who has never desired the life of a carny, even for just a minute? And, there I am in the company of other teachers who are working hard at leading the examined life. Awesome. Check it out if you have time.
So, I submitted a post to the current Carnival of Education, and what do you know? The host included my link. That's cool-- who has never desired the life of a carny, even for just a minute? And, there I am in the company of other teachers who are working hard at leading the examined life. Awesome. Check it out if you have time.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
And the Award Goes to...
Another ubiquitous feature of this time of year is the school award ceremony. We give class awards, team awards, grade awards, school awards-- you name it, we honor it. I came up in a strong tradition of middle school team awards and recognitions. Oh, our team did the awards ceremony proud, back in the day. My contribution to the occasion was a power point presentation with an appropriate quotation for each award and a drum roll sound effect before the slide revealing the winners. We congratulated these elite students with certificates, their names engraved on a plaque that hung permanently in our hallway, and even savings bonds solicited from local businesses and organizations.
For years I sat in that annual team teacher meeting where we listed the awards and the kids we wanted to recognize and spent hours trying to match them up. Inevitably there would be that colleague who insisted on black-balling a kid because of some unforgiven slight from January. The veteran teacher versus the almost-twelve-year-old's character and reputation is never a pretty fight. I confess, I rolled up my sleeves and joined a few of those frays, and not always on the student's behalf, I'm ashamed to say, now. My own nephew received our student of the year award, too, after I made the case that he shouldn't be ruled out because of the appearance of favoritism.
I can't say exactly what soured it for me. It could have been an unkind remark or an ugly exchange in one of those contentious meetings that made me realize how arbitrary it all was. Or, it might have been one of the countless students who worked up the courage to ask me why they hadn't been recognized, too. Or was it one of the many disparaging remarks I overheard students make over the years about what was supposed to be such a motivating event? It also might have been all the certificates that ended up in the trash later on the day of the ceremony.
Whatever it was, three years ago, I decided to approach my team with a radical proposal. Let's not give awards this year. The fact that we had lost the plaques when we sent them out for engraving the year before raised my confidence slightly. I felt like it might have been a sign. In addition, I had done my homework on the issue; I'd carefully read Alfie Kohn's book Punished by Rewards in which he makes the cogent anti-behavioralism argument that we are harming kids by the overuse of extrinsic motivation.
Indeed, Kohn addresses awards ceremonies specifically: "in the typical ceremony for "recognizing excellence," the people in charge have unilaterally selected, at their own discretion and based on their own criteria, some people to recognize over, and in front of, others. It is their power to do so that is ultimately being recognized." (page 111)
Ouch, I thought, and so-armed, I brought this idea to my team, and guess what? As much as I'd like to believe in my leadership and vision, realistically, I'm pretty sure that, at the end of a long year, they had neither the energy nor the desire to argue about it. Either way, our awards presentation is no more than a revenant that occasionally haunts me at this time of year.
For years I sat in that annual team teacher meeting where we listed the awards and the kids we wanted to recognize and spent hours trying to match them up. Inevitably there would be that colleague who insisted on black-balling a kid because of some unforgiven slight from January. The veteran teacher versus the almost-twelve-year-old's character and reputation is never a pretty fight. I confess, I rolled up my sleeves and joined a few of those frays, and not always on the student's behalf, I'm ashamed to say, now. My own nephew received our student of the year award, too, after I made the case that he shouldn't be ruled out because of the appearance of favoritism.
I can't say exactly what soured it for me. It could have been an unkind remark or an ugly exchange in one of those contentious meetings that made me realize how arbitrary it all was. Or, it might have been one of the countless students who worked up the courage to ask me why they hadn't been recognized, too. Or was it one of the many disparaging remarks I overheard students make over the years about what was supposed to be such a motivating event? It also might have been all the certificates that ended up in the trash later on the day of the ceremony.
Whatever it was, three years ago, I decided to approach my team with a radical proposal. Let's not give awards this year. The fact that we had lost the plaques when we sent them out for engraving the year before raised my confidence slightly. I felt like it might have been a sign. In addition, I had done my homework on the issue; I'd carefully read Alfie Kohn's book Punished by Rewards in which he makes the cogent anti-behavioralism argument that we are harming kids by the overuse of extrinsic motivation.
Indeed, Kohn addresses awards ceremonies specifically: "in the typical ceremony for "recognizing excellence," the people in charge have unilaterally selected, at their own discretion and based on their own criteria, some people to recognize over, and in front of, others. It is their power to do so that is ultimately being recognized." (page 111)
Ouch, I thought, and so-armed, I brought this idea to my team, and guess what? As much as I'd like to believe in my leadership and vision, realistically, I'm pretty sure that, at the end of a long year, they had neither the energy nor the desire to argue about it. Either way, our awards presentation is no more than a revenant that occasionally haunts me at this time of year.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Lost
I gasped this morning when I heard that an Air France flight was "missing." My sharp intake of breath startled me, because it's not often that one literally gasps. It was early, before seven, when I heard the news on the radio; it was still a breaking story; they didn't have many details, and, at first, I couldn't believe it. How do you lose a commercial jet in this day and age? I wondered, because I really thought that such calamities were all in the past, pure fiction today found only on TV and in the movies. My heart went out to those on the plane and their loved ones.
I probably have a bit more interest in airline news than the average citizen. Most people have heard of the military varieties of brats, but I'm of a lesser-known type, the airline brat. My parents met and were married while working for TWA in the early 60's. I took my first plane trip at 6 months and spent a great deal of my childhood and teen-aged years jet-setting around the world. We didn't have money, but we did have term passes-- little plastic cards that enabled us to fly in any vacant seat for a pittance, and thanks to my mother, travel we did. (Of course as we grew older, first class was always our choice.)
Many things have changed in my lifetime, but none so drastically as air travel. Flying is barely recognizable to me now. It's not only that TWA and Pan Am, the two major US airlines of the 20th century, have been gone since 2001 and 1991, respectively. And it's not the extra security, although I remember vividly the days when anyone could stroll down to the gate to meet an arriving passenger, or the 10-40 extra seats crammed onto every plane. It's not just the food (What food? There's nothing to even make fun of anymore.) or the baggage charge. I guess it's more that flying used to be kind of fun, but now it's just a necessary nuisance.
Come to think of it, I've heard some teachers describe school in close to those words. Hmm. Maybe they should drive.
I probably have a bit more interest in airline news than the average citizen. Most people have heard of the military varieties of brats, but I'm of a lesser-known type, the airline brat. My parents met and were married while working for TWA in the early 60's. I took my first plane trip at 6 months and spent a great deal of my childhood and teen-aged years jet-setting around the world. We didn't have money, but we did have term passes-- little plastic cards that enabled us to fly in any vacant seat for a pittance, and thanks to my mother, travel we did. (Of course as we grew older, first class was always our choice.)
Many things have changed in my lifetime, but none so drastically as air travel. Flying is barely recognizable to me now. It's not only that TWA and Pan Am, the two major US airlines of the 20th century, have been gone since 2001 and 1991, respectively. And it's not the extra security, although I remember vividly the days when anyone could stroll down to the gate to meet an arriving passenger, or the 10-40 extra seats crammed onto every plane. It's not just the food (What food? There's nothing to even make fun of anymore.) or the baggage charge. I guess it's more that flying used to be kind of fun, but now it's just a necessary nuisance.
Come to think of it, I've heard some teachers describe school in close to those words. Hmm. Maybe they should drive.
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