When you teach the same lesson five times in a row, it's bound to evolve, and there's nothing wrong with that; although sometimes I feel a little guilty that my first period class is the perennial trial run. That happened today.
We read our first common text of the year. Because my students select their reading for English themselves, we start most classes by reading a very short text together, usually a poem. I use the approach that Nancie Atwell describes in her book, Naming the World: A Year of Poems and Lessons. Like Atwell, I have found that almost any writing lesson can be illustrated with a poem.
If I err in planning and executing these bite-sized literature lessons, it is in the amount of participation I allow myself in the discussion. I am well-credentialed and opinionated when it comes to literature, and sometimes it just seems like it would be easier and faster if I tell the students what they should get out of the text, especially if they are quiet or tentative. I know that's not so, and I'm always happy when I get concrete proof, like I did today.
I asked the first group to box the verbs and highlight something they noticed about the text, and I had a question prepared to extend the conversation. The kids started slow and sleepy, understandably so-- it was early, and they've only known me and each other for two days. We had a decent discussion, though, and at the end of the lesson I asked them, as I always do, to rate the poem on a scale of 1-10 and tell us what they gave it and why. First period gave it solid sevens with a few outliers-- not such a ringing endorsement.
The verb activity wasn't going the way I wanted it to, so I dropped it for the next class, and asked them to do the highlighting and prepare their answer to my question in advance. Again, 7-8 rating for the poem. For the next class, I asked them to highlight two things and write a question for the group themselves. Big improvement, the quality of the conversation was a lot higher: I was much less involved in extending and re-directing the comments; they made great connections between the text and other texts and their own experiences; they proposed interpretations to each other and worked them through.
All of my classes are heterogeneously grouped, so it wasn't the ability of the kids. The same thing happened in the next classes. AND, all three groups rated the poem consistently higher than the first two. One student actually said, "At first I didn't think much of it, but after we figured it all out, I really liked it," and she held up the page with a big purple 10! written at the top.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Reading Requirements
Today I introduced the weekly reading log to my students. This document has been a staple of my English class since day one, September 7, 1993. I have required my students to read at least one hundred pages from a book (or books) of their choice 5 out of 7 nights a week from September until June for the last sixteen years. (Wow-- you know that's got to be way over a million pages.)
Back when I started, I knew I wanted them to read because reading is a skill that improves with practice, but if I thought of myself as a coach, I was definitely in the drill-Sargent-inspired, you-WILL-read category, and woe to those students who crossed me, mm mm mm. And woe to me, too, as it turned out, because some of those kids gave me a run for the money. Imagine not appreciating being forced to read.
These days, I'm a kinder, gentler literacy coach, and honest conversation is my motivator of choice. I told one class today that if they weren't reading, I wouldn't yell at them, but we would definitely have to have a conversation about it. "I'm going to ask you some questions, figure out what's going on, recommend some books, help get you back on track," I said.
"Yeah," I heard one boy whisper to another. "I think I'll just go ahead and read."
Back when I started, I knew I wanted them to read because reading is a skill that improves with practice, but if I thought of myself as a coach, I was definitely in the drill-Sargent-inspired, you-WILL-read category, and woe to those students who crossed me, mm mm mm. And woe to me, too, as it turned out, because some of those kids gave me a run for the money. Imagine not appreciating being forced to read.
These days, I'm a kinder, gentler literacy coach, and honest conversation is my motivator of choice. I told one class today that if they weren't reading, I wouldn't yell at them, but we would definitely have to have a conversation about it. "I'm going to ask you some questions, figure out what's going on, recommend some books, help get you back on track," I said.
"Yeah," I heard one boy whisper to another. "I think I'll just go ahead and read."
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Telling Tales Out of School
My first day of school went pretty well; we have some nice sixth graders, and I don't have any complaints. Teachers do talk though, and I submit the following for your consideration:
The teacher who spent the whole first day telling the students about himself, complete with family photos and a quiz at the end.
The teacher who showed every class the wrong way to enter his room, slamming his door at least ten times.
The teacher who asked students to share an anecdote from their summer, and when they finished, called on the kids who didn't raise their hands and made them contribute, but, unbeknown to the students, only gave participation points to the ones who volunteered.
The teacher who felt her intensified class is over-crowded and so intends to lay on the work load to see who "should" be there.
The teacher who lectured on rules and procedures the whole first day, promising at the end of each class that it wasn't going to be like that every day.
The two teachers, one a specialist and the other a special ed teacher, who kicked two special education students and a general ed kid out of a class of 15 the first period of the day.
Oh my.
The teacher who spent the whole first day telling the students about himself, complete with family photos and a quiz at the end.
The teacher who showed every class the wrong way to enter his room, slamming his door at least ten times.
The teacher who asked students to share an anecdote from their summer, and when they finished, called on the kids who didn't raise their hands and made them contribute, but, unbeknown to the students, only gave participation points to the ones who volunteered.
The teacher who felt her intensified class is over-crowded and so intends to lay on the work load to see who "should" be there.
The teacher who lectured on rules and procedures the whole first day, promising at the end of each class that it wasn't going to be like that every day.
The two teachers, one a specialist and the other a special ed teacher, who kicked two special education students and a general ed kid out of a class of 15 the first period of the day.
Oh my.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Farewell to Summer OR The Dogs Ate My Sock
Summer comes to the household of two teachers with a different timetable and a new set of rules. Every day is a vacation day for us, and everyone we know knows it. This summer has been the summer of dog-sitting. It seems like every other week there's been a visiting canine in addition to our own dog and two cats.
Our place is not that big; in fact for many years we resisted getting a dog at all because of our concern about lack of space. One day we realized that we probably weren't going to move anytime soon, and so we've found a way to make one dog work, and it really does work-- she's a treasure to us. Sometimes, we think she's so great that it seems like it would be a good idea to get another one.
As willing and able as we are to help out our friends and family, it's back to work for us tomorrow, and the dog-sitting gig just won't be as convenient. Plus, vacation time is over for most other people, too, so our opportunities diminish. I'd like to think that the inevitable nuisances of caring for a dog who is not your own has cured us of the notion that we should be a double-dog duo, like this morning when our dog and her guest pulled out the sock I had carefully tucked into my shoe last night and used it for an energetic game of tug-of-war. I really liked that sock.
Our place is not that big; in fact for many years we resisted getting a dog at all because of our concern about lack of space. One day we realized that we probably weren't going to move anytime soon, and so we've found a way to make one dog work, and it really does work-- she's a treasure to us. Sometimes, we think she's so great that it seems like it would be a good idea to get another one.
As willing and able as we are to help out our friends and family, it's back to work for us tomorrow, and the dog-sitting gig just won't be as convenient. Plus, vacation time is over for most other people, too, so our opportunities diminish. I'd like to think that the inevitable nuisances of caring for a dog who is not your own has cured us of the notion that we should be a double-dog duo, like this morning when our dog and her guest pulled out the sock I had carefully tucked into my shoe last night and used it for an energetic game of tug-of-war. I really liked that sock.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Conference is a Noun
I read a fair number of teacher blogs, some for inspiration, some for validation, some for shared experience, and some just for the are-you-kidding-me? factor. I think that almost all teachers want what's best for their students and work in good faith and to the best of their ability to provide that. I know that teaching can be frustrating, though, and working day after day in what you feel is a lose-lose situation will erode your dedication. The other side of that coin is arrogance-- the certainty that you know without question what your students, their parents, and the administration should do. If only they would keep their side of the bargain, all those children would be successful.
Knock on wood that I'll never be that first case, but I have to admit that the second category of teacher reminds me of my earlier self. I can almost pick out their blogs by the stridency in their voices and that certain incredulous tone to the tales of the mishaps and malapropisms that they are burdened with. When posting assignments for their students, they use the words "all" and "must" a lot, as well as bold font and all caps to emphasize the importance of certain directions, such as these I read just tonight: Reminder: ALL students must conference with me AND a peer before September 18.
Such assertive confidence can propel an inexperienced teacher through the first few years, perhaps with great success, but it usually lacks empathy, which is what my experience has taught me to be the most productive approach to students, parents and colleagues. Empathy doesn't remove all the frustrating episodes of teaching, but it helps to alleviate the frustration. Not to mention that if we stand in judgment of others, we must be prepared for others to judge us just as harshly.
Knock on wood that I'll never be that first case, but I have to admit that the second category of teacher reminds me of my earlier self. I can almost pick out their blogs by the stridency in their voices and that certain incredulous tone to the tales of the mishaps and malapropisms that they are burdened with. When posting assignments for their students, they use the words "all" and "must" a lot, as well as bold font and all caps to emphasize the importance of certain directions, such as these I read just tonight: Reminder: ALL students must conference with me AND a peer before September 18.
Such assertive confidence can propel an inexperienced teacher through the first few years, perhaps with great success, but it usually lacks empathy, which is what my experience has taught me to be the most productive approach to students, parents and colleagues. Empathy doesn't remove all the frustrating episodes of teaching, but it helps to alleviate the frustration. Not to mention that if we stand in judgment of others, we must be prepared for others to judge us just as harshly.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
An Independent Thinker
A retired teacher friend and her husband came over for dinner last night. Twenty three years separate us in age, but our friendship has already spanned fifteen years. I confess that sometimes I wonder what she sees in me: author, activist, and scholar, my friend sets the bar high for those who admire her and might wish to follow her example.
One of the most important lessons that I learned from working with her is that it's possible to disagree with someone without losing respect or affection for them. Professional disagreements can become rather heated, especially in a school, probably because the stakes seem to be so high... we're talking about the future of children here!
I don't even remember what it was that we disagreed about, but when you work on a team, it's impossible to see eye to eye on everything. It's my impression that many people confuse our opinions with ourselves. If someone doesn't like what I'm thinking, how can they value me? And if that's my frame of mind, then all of a sudden, a simple disagreement becomes much more personal and difficult to resolve amicably without losing self-respect.
My friend showed by example what it means to be open-minded. In even the most contentious of discussions, she listened without interrupting, never lost her temper, and never even raised her voice. On those rare occasions that she and I were on opposites sides of the debate, she'd go out of her way to find me after the meeting. "I don't see it your way, Toots," she would tell me, "but good people can disagree."
One of the most important lessons that I learned from working with her is that it's possible to disagree with someone without losing respect or affection for them. Professional disagreements can become rather heated, especially in a school, probably because the stakes seem to be so high... we're talking about the future of children here!
I don't even remember what it was that we disagreed about, but when you work on a team, it's impossible to see eye to eye on everything. It's my impression that many people confuse our opinions with ourselves. If someone doesn't like what I'm thinking, how can they value me? And if that's my frame of mind, then all of a sudden, a simple disagreement becomes much more personal and difficult to resolve amicably without losing self-respect.
My friend showed by example what it means to be open-minded. In even the most contentious of discussions, she listened without interrupting, never lost her temper, and never even raised her voice. On those rare occasions that she and I were on opposites sides of the debate, she'd go out of her way to find me after the meeting. "I don't see it your way, Toots," she would tell me, "but good people can disagree."
Friday, September 4, 2009
Access Denied
On Tuesday, President Obama is speaking at a high school right down the road from us. That happens to be the first day of school around here, and so today was the last day of our pre-service week. At our school, we kicked it off with, what else? A lengthy meeting. Although gathering as a staff is necessary, two-and-a-half hours seems like it may be overdoing it. I slipped into a seat at 8:33, just in time to hear the principal say that she was starting with an item that was not on the agenda.
Before I could roll my eyes, she told us that she'd been struggling with the issue of the president's speech. Some around me were confused because they had been unaware of the plans for his visit, but even though I was ahead of them on that particular 4-1-1, my brow was furrowed just the same. I listened as she continued, telling us that she had decided that no students at our school will be permitted to view the speech live on that day. At first, it was my assumption that such an activity might be too disruptive on the first day of school, but that was not her reasoning at all. She went on to say that there was a lot of controversy surrounding the address; in fact several parents had already called the school to say that they did not want their children to view it, and since we could not arrange for information letters with opt-out pieces, we weren't exposing any students to the telecast.
Go back in time with me twenty-four hours, or so... pretend that you haven't read or heard of the furor that is being raised over the president's plan to address the school children of our nation. All you know is that the President of the United States is coming to a high school in your district to make a televised speech for kids. Can you imagine how irrational the principal's decision seemed? What an over-reaction it appeared to be? That's where I was this morning, unaware that partisan politics have become so divisive in our time that there are citizens of this country who will not allow their children to hear the remarks of a democratically-elected president carried by a free press. And tonight, I'm wondering where our trust in democracy is.
Before I could roll my eyes, she told us that she'd been struggling with the issue of the president's speech. Some around me were confused because they had been unaware of the plans for his visit, but even though I was ahead of them on that particular 4-1-1, my brow was furrowed just the same. I listened as she continued, telling us that she had decided that no students at our school will be permitted to view the speech live on that day. At first, it was my assumption that such an activity might be too disruptive on the first day of school, but that was not her reasoning at all. She went on to say that there was a lot of controversy surrounding the address; in fact several parents had already called the school to say that they did not want their children to view it, and since we could not arrange for information letters with opt-out pieces, we weren't exposing any students to the telecast.
Go back in time with me twenty-four hours, or so... pretend that you haven't read or heard of the furor that is being raised over the president's plan to address the school children of our nation. All you know is that the President of the United States is coming to a high school in your district to make a televised speech for kids. Can you imagine how irrational the principal's decision seemed? What an over-reaction it appeared to be? That's where I was this morning, unaware that partisan politics have become so divisive in our time that there are citizens of this country who will not allow their children to hear the remarks of a democratically-elected president carried by a free press. And tonight, I'm wondering where our trust in democracy is.
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