The Sincerest Form of Flattery

This year, I'm trying to express a focus of the week (or weeks) in a question. So the weekly schedule sort of goes like this: on Monday, the students explore the question by interacting with their independent reading, on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, they work to answer this guiding question through our common texts and apply the principles we've uncovered to their writing.

I think it's a sound idea, and I'm trying to make the questions broad enough that we can circle back to them throughout the year in different contexts with different genres in order to build understanding of concepts.

So far the focus questions have been:

What draws you into a book?
How do writers use sensory details to create an experience for the reader?
Where does poetry hide?
How do writers use figurative language to create meaning?
How do writers use models to improve their craft?

The last one is our focus this week, so today I asked them to choose sentences from their books, break them down, and then write similar sentences. What an interesting day we had. We started with a conversation about how artists or craftsmen use models. Students offered ideas about painters, musicians, carpenters, and chefs. Then we used a model that I had chosen because it had figurative language, sensory details, and a dash, to review what we'd already focused on and to introduce the notion of deliberate punctuation. Finally, they did their own thing, and by their work, I was able to assess how much they got of the lesson.

Using sentence-level models from real literature offers an effective way to talk about and teach grammar and punctuation in a meaningful context, especially if students have chosen both the passage and the book. Tomorrow we're going to read George Ella Lyon's poem, Where I'm From, and the students will have a chance to use it as a model for their own poems.

Art and Discipline

My sister-in-law is an artist who chose to become a public school art teacher. We were talking at dinner tonight about her homework expectations for her students. "I just want them to do some art outside of school," she said. "I think it's really important." I completely understand; I want my students to read and write outside of our classroom, too.

Recently, there was a piece on The Washington Post website by David C. Levy, former director of the Corcoran Gallery, called The Problem with School Art Programs: Teachers Who Can Barely Draw. His premise is that "the majority of K-12 art teachers graduate without rigorous training in the fundamental skills that underpin competence in their discipline." He compares art teachers to music teachers, positing that no school system would ever hire a music teacher who could not read and play music. He also compares art teachers to English teachers, writing, "For example, while English teachers may not be able to write The Great American Novel, the chances are pretty good that they can compose a competent essay."

Art, music, literature-- I agree that to be an effective teacher in these disciplines one must be a proficient practitioner as well, but I also believe that proficiency is too low a standard. What we hope for our students is that our instruction and their discipline will yield genuine artistry, and voluntary practice beyond the classroom is evidence that they are moving in that direction.

Circle the Wagons

Sometimes, before I compose my post, I click through the new entries on my blog roll. It helps me get down to business... or does it help me avoid business? Either way, it's a habit, and I did it tonight. It was a pleasant surprise to see that my 14-year-old nephew had posted to his blog in the last 45 minutes, especially since I'd just seen him a couple of hours ago, when we had taken him to see his older brother perform in a School of Rock show.

When he was finished with his part in the show, my older nephew, who is 17 and has his own car, decided to stay until the end, but we were ready to split, so we got on the road an hour or so ahead of him. It's been raining all day here, and the roads are terrible. In the dark, the glare off the wet pavement makes it impossible to see the lane lines, and the tires of any car ahead of you spray a fine mist onto your windshield that even the best wipers can't keep clear. After my own safe arrival home, though, I wasn't thinking of any of that when I clicked on the link to Nemo's latest post. I gasped when I read what he had written:

Um, I just found out my brother was in a car crash. I think he's okay, but it's really scary to think about. We just lost someone in our family. What if he wasn't okay? It seems wrong that bad things can happen to people I care about. HEY UNIVERSE DO YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG? Well, I guess we're lucky that he's okay.

Amen to that.

Guilty as Charged

Our counselor routinely meets with small groups of kids at lunch, just to check in with them. Today she and the minority achievement coordinator had four or five boys eating together, so they asked them how things were going. "Fine," one guy answered, "except my English teacher is trying to turn me into a poet."

A Virtue

I'm feeling impatient.

It seems like I'm still not doing a good job giving my students time to write, mostly because the poem and mini-lesson are taking too much time at the front end of class. It's not as though they could sustain more than 15-20 minutes of solid writing anyway, but the transitions continue to be a little rough, and it seems that the bell rings too soon after they've finally settled.

Today was no exception, we were very rushed at the end of each class, although at last I'm beginning to see the groundwork of the last several weeks come together. We finally have the foundation of a common language for talking about free verse poetry that the students can apply both to what we are reading and to their own drafts. They are conversant in line breaks, sensory details, figurative language (simile, metaphor, and personification), the quality of the verbs and nouns, and basic punctuation choices. In addition, they are getting pretty good at discussing what meaning a poem has for them.

OK... I guess we are making some progress.

Back to Work

The weather has turned cool and a little raw here, more so than usual for this time of year. I was weary when I rose this morning, but the soft brush of my fleece jacket on my bare arms when I walked the dog soothed me, just as the chill in the damp morning air woke me up and helped me to think clearly as I considered the day ahead.

When I got to school my classroom was bright and warm, and crossing the room to my desk by the window, I was comforted by the space that I have worked in for so many years. Everything was ready for the students who would arrive shortly, and I was, too.

In Which Regularly Reading Poetry to My Students Comes in Handy

None of Judy's children felt that they could get through the passages she chose for her funeral without breaking down, so last evening, during the visiting hours, one of her sons pulled me aside and asked me if I would do a reading at the service. I said I guessed so, but then my social skills kicked in, and I added that I would be pleased to do it and was very honored that they asked. Which I was, truly. A little while later, he approached me with Judy's own dog-eared Bible in hand. I recognized it from her bedside. She had bookmarked the three pages with tiny post-it notes and had penciled brackets and asterisks next to the verses.

Holding the book and running my finger over the lines she had drawn just days before, I swallowed hard and wondered if I would be able to do it either, but when I got home, I looked up my passage again. It was a short excerpt from Paul's second letter to Timothy, and I read it over to be sure I knew it.

At noon today, the October sun through the clouds gave just enough light to make the stained glass windows of the chapel glow. When my turn came, I rose and walked to the lectern. The microphone was adjusted a bit high, so I stood on tip-toe and read the words I'd practiced:

As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

I think I did it well.