Undercover Boss

Reality TV is one of my guilty pleasures. Oh, I don't watch just anything; I'm actually pretty discriminating in my own way. One newish show that I kind of like is Undercover Boss. The premise is that the CEO or some other high-ranking executive of a big corporation goes undercover as an entry-level new hire in some of the stores in order to get a more complete perspective on the company. How do they explain the cameras, you wonder? They tell everyone that they are filming a documentary on the newly employed and let that tape roll. Oh my.

I saw the Hooters and White Castle episodes. Who knew that both were family-owned businesses? And, consequently, since neither of the principals wanted to let their forefathers down, there were tears. I guess it shouldn't come as any shock that wealthy, white collar guys aren't very good at manual labor, but what does that say about our economy and what we value?

Fundamentally, though, I think I like the show because it reinforces one of my fondest beliefs, which is that all educators should teach. I just don't believe that there is a completely separate skill set that qualifies a person to be school administrator. Frankly, I have a hard time following the advice and guidance of anyone who hasn't done it themselves and who isn't still doing it today. In my experience, even the most rational and grounded of teachers lose perspective once they are out of the classroom. Facing a roomful of kids every single day keeps you humble and on your toes.

Hm. Those sound like the qualities of a good leader.

Sense and Sensibility

This morning I entered the building with some students who were headed either to breakfast or to get some work done in the library before school started. The entrance I used has one flight of stairs going up and another leading down. As we climbed the steps, a student was asking me about our current writing contest when we were interrupted by a gasp and the clatter of a book bag hitting the stairs below us. We both stepped to the banister and peered over. Another student sat awkwardly on the edge of a step, tottering back with her legs outstretched in front of her and a panicked look on her face. She had obviously slipped, but how far she had fallen and whether or not she was hurt, I couldn't tell.

"Are you all right?" I called. Her eyes met mine, but she didn't answer. "Are you hurt?" I tried again and started down to her, but I was moving against traffic, so I didn't get too far.

"Esta bien?" a voice to my left inquired. The girl nodded, then climbed to her feet, and continued on her way to breakfast. I turned to the student I had been talking to on the way in. Although she speaks English like a native, her first language is Amharic. She had diagnosed our communication gap immediately and used the Spanish she is learning now to help. I was both impressed and proud of her reaction; as minor an incident as it was, it illustrates what we hope for in our students.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

So, I'm running this Professional Learning Committee for the English Language Arts department in our district. I've posted about it here before. The idea is sound: it's supposed to be a continuation for teachers who have participated in our local Writing Project, and so the focus is on using our own writing to support our teaching of writing.

Up until now, my main complaint has been that we weren't allotted enough time to meet and share our writing and teaching experiences. That situation was aggravated last month when we were canceled because of snow, but what can you do?  Back in December I arranged to have a guest speaker for our March meeting. It's tomorrow. Yesterday and today, four out of the ten people in the group have e-mailed to say that they won't make it. Given that there are typically a couple of people who are absent without notice, I'm probably going to cancel the speaker. It seems like a waste of someone's time to ask them to speak to a group of four or five, especially a group over half of whose members couldn't be bothered to show up.

I feel angry and discouraged.  Facilitating this PLC is a voluntary position, and right now it seems like it's been a pretty big waste of time.

Walking the Dog

We took a walk with the dog around the tidal basin yesterday. It was a blustery afternoon; the wind pushed the clouds across the sky like so many ducks in a carnival game. The sun was in and out, and when it was out it seemed a tiny bit warmer and more golden than one has the right to expect on a day in late February. Even so, geese and gulls huddled against a stiff northerly breeze, bobbing on the choppy gray water. As we made our way around, we encountered piles and piles of cherry branches trimmed and stacked neatly below the trees they had come from. Broken during all that winter weather we had a few weeks ago, they were ready to be hauled away. Passing by, I saw that the tips were loaded with buds. They were still as hard as pebbles and many weeks from blooming, but I mourned the thousands and thousands of cherry blossoms that would never be. We rounded the other side of the basin, the wind quieting at our backs, and it occurred to me to snap some twigs off to bring home. In a vase they should bloom in a few days. Tonight as I left school the air was mild, and I knew that spring is not far away.

365

March brings the Slice of Life Story Challenge sponsored by the Two Writing Teachers blog and website. It was in response to this challenge last year that I began posting to my blog every day, and tomorrow begins my second year of doing so.

This time around I asked my writing group members to try the March challenge, too, and I can't wait to read what they write and see what they think of the experience. Anyone else out there who is interested in participating, the premise is simple: write about an event in your day and post it to your blog. (No blog? Start one! It's easy.) Then link your post to the TWT website every day in March.

They have drawings for nice prizes at the end, but the coolest thing about the challenge is that you get a built-in audience. Slicers try to read and reply to a few of the other writers every day. Last year, I was surprised at how powerful the experience of receiving responses to my writing from people I didn't know was, and it was amazing how quickly a community of writers grew.

Now it's a Party

Yeah, something got broken.

Filed under the category of man-what-a-bummer:

Purchased new car on Tuesday, knocked passenger side mirror to pieces on Saturday. Blame it on the parking garage, but don't I feel like an idiot?  I've been thinking all week that new cars are nice, but a certain sense of ownership and familiarity is definitely missing. Unfortunately, this little mishap hasn't helped with that; now I just feel like I'm driving somebody else's broken car. Maybe I'll go wipe muddy foot prints on the floor mats or something.

What's in a Name?

The recent snow days out of school gave my students some fresh memoir material. There are many tales of igloos, snow forts, and shoveling misadventures. As they've been working toward a final draft, we've done some mini-lessons on the qualities of an effective memoir. First, they worked in small groups to brainstorm improvements for a rough draft that was in obvious need of expansion. Then we turned that list around. So, if the title of the first piece was boring, then we agreed that a memoir needs a great title. Since the lead didn't grab them, they understood that for a successful piece, the lead should be strong, and so on. I'll use this same checklist for both their self-evaluation and my own assessment of their final drafts.

We're getting close to finishing, and a student who wants the best grade for the minimum effort approached me today waving her two page memoir. She's a talented writer who always takes pains to let me know she hates the assignment, whatever it might be. "Is this good enough for an A?" she asked me.

"Do you think it's good?" I replied.

"I don't know. I can never tell about my own writing," she told me.

"That's a shame," I said, "since you're the only one you can always count on to read what you've written. Let's work on that. How about this title? The Igloo? Does it grab you?"

"Not really," she said, "but why does it have to? JK Rowling's books have boring titles. They're always Harry Potter and the something." She thought a moment. 'Like Deathly Hallows. That's boring. But the books are the best."

"Deathly Hallows is not boring," I argued. "Far from it. Both death and hallow are very engaging ideas." She shrugged. "Go brainstorm three more titles for your piece," I directed her. "Then come back."

A few minutes later, she returned with these titles: The Great Igloo, The Snowy Night, and The First Night of Snow. I rolled my eyes and told her to keep working. Meanwhile, the author of another igloo story had been listening intently to our exchange. He handed me his piece with some concern and asked for ideas. I mentioned that the verb "dug" and his comparison to a foxhole stood out for me. A few minutes later he had these: Frozen Foxhole and I Know What You Dug Last Winter.

Now that's the spirit!