My brother caught the first firefly of the year tonight. For some reason, he brought it in the house, imprisoning it gently in a loose fist, as you must. It wasn't long before the wily insect snuck out the gap formed by his curled thumb and pointer and fluttered around a bit, entertaining us between dinner and dessert. Oh, we set it free before the strawberry shortcake was served, but what memories it stirred.
When I was a kid we used to spend most of our summer evenings from dusk until dark chasing fireflies. My mom punched holes in the top of a Skippy jar, and my brother and sister and I worked to capture as many lightning bugs as we could. Unlike a lot of the other kids, we never tore their lights off or smeared their luminescence on the sidewalk or wall. To us, that dull yellowish glow was nothing but an ugly shadow of the bright flash of a living insect. To make it interesting, we set nightly quotas for ourselves, upping the target to an impossible number of bugs as the days warmed and both our hunting proficiency and the population of our quarry reached their peaks.
What does 500 lightning bugs in a peanut butter jar look like?
We never found out, and although others might have kept their captives overnight in an effort to make it to that magic number in a day or two, we never did. The rule was to let all of them go at the end of the evening: a glass jar lies sideways in tall grass, lid tossed carelessly nearby; scores of fireflies crawl out into the cooling air, scale the nearest green blade to its very top, and then with wings beating in a silent blur, blink once and are gone. At least that's how I imagine it, because we were already fast asleep in bed by then.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Whose Room This Is I Think I Know
We're moving back to our original classrooms this weekend, and so I've been liberated from the yellow dungeon, and although I will miss its immensity, if not the maddening drone of that invisible fan, I have other things to worry about.
As hard as it was to pack my room up five weeks ago, confronting the jumble of furniture and boxes that awaited me there this morning was more than a little disheartening. It was hard to know where to begin. Complicating things was the fact that the data and telephone drop were demolished when they enlarged the window. My desk has been in the same place for sixteen years, and now I was going to have to raise a ruckus to get the necessary hook-ups for my phone and computer to keep it there. I left school yesterday in despair over the news; it was simply too much at the end of a long day.
I can't think of a time in my entire life when "sleeping" on something made any difference. Perhaps it's my stubbornness, but things generally look pretty much the same to me the next morning. Not this morning, though. Sometime in the middle of the night it occurred to me that I have colonized the window in that room way too long. Put aside the rubbish about distraction, everyone who enters that room should have equal access to the view. It's really not my room, it belongs to all of us who work there.
With that in mind, I moved my desk to the other corner and set up the library and reading area of the room over by the window so that the kids can grab a book and throw a pillow down to read in the sunshine.
That's if all the boxes with all the books ever got unpacked. Sigh.
As hard as it was to pack my room up five weeks ago, confronting the jumble of furniture and boxes that awaited me there this morning was more than a little disheartening. It was hard to know where to begin. Complicating things was the fact that the data and telephone drop were demolished when they enlarged the window. My desk has been in the same place for sixteen years, and now I was going to have to raise a ruckus to get the necessary hook-ups for my phone and computer to keep it there. I left school yesterday in despair over the news; it was simply too much at the end of a long day.
I can't think of a time in my entire life when "sleeping" on something made any difference. Perhaps it's my stubbornness, but things generally look pretty much the same to me the next morning. Not this morning, though. Sometime in the middle of the night it occurred to me that I have colonized the window in that room way too long. Put aside the rubbish about distraction, everyone who enters that room should have equal access to the view. It's really not my room, it belongs to all of us who work there.
With that in mind, I moved my desk to the other corner and set up the library and reading area of the room over by the window so that the kids can grab a book and throw a pillow down to read in the sunshine.
That's if all the boxes with all the books ever got unpacked. Sigh.
Friday, May 28, 2010
I'm So Money
Was I flattered to be included in so many of my students' slam poems today? Given my post a couple of a weeks ago about being a character in other people's blogs, you might think so. And, if you find the urge to wrap me in duct tape, throw me in the hideous yellow cupboards, and steal my lollipops and iPhone complimentary, then you might also say yes.
Chalk it up to concrete details, but I think my name was a good luck charm: every kid who mentioned me was in the top three.
Chalk it up to concrete details, but I think my name was a good luck charm: every kid who mentioned me was in the top three.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
A Lune at Last
Today Slam Poet did a competition with my students featuring lunes, eleven word poems. Kind of the American version of haiku, they are arranged in lines of three-five-three words. "If you can write a good lune, you can write anything," he told the kids. "A lune should be a tiny three act play or an entire story in eleven words." Of course they rose to the challenge.
Here's one of mine:
How come my
dad was nothing like Kurt's
dad on Glee?
Here's one of mine:
How come my
dad was nothing like Kurt's
dad on Glee?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Slammin
Slam Poet will be back tomorrow and Friday to prepare the kids for the big slam next Wednesday. It's been challenging to get them to finish and polish their writing for his return... in some ways I feel like the bad guy who's all about drudgery and deadlines, and then he gets to come in and sweep them off their feet with all that drama and charm. It's not about me, though, so I let it go.
Like any lesson or unit, once I've actually taught it, it's easy to see ways to improve the experience for next time. For example, today I showed the students some short clips of slam performances, and frankly, it seems a little late in the process to be doing that, even though they do have time to incorporate what we talked about into their writing. The video probably should have come before most of their revision, so that they could rework their poems with performance in mind. Some kids were a little scared off by the prospect of slamming, too. What if we don't have our poems that day? they asked me a little too hopefully.
It was also a bit of a challenge to find slam performances that were appropriate for middle school, but I have to say, I'm really happy with the ones I chose. Anyone who's interested in including this form of poetry in your class might like to check them out. I showed them in the following order and asked the students what they could deduce about slam poetry after each one. It turned out to be a well-rounded introduction to the art form.
What is Poetry Slam? This one minute animation introduces the basic rules of competition.
Timothy Medel slams about video games in the 2007 Knick's Poetry Slam. The topic and performance were super accessible to my sixth graders.
What I Will by Suheir Hammad. This is a defiant look by an Arab-American woman at violence in the Middle East. My students applauded at the end, and it gave me goosebumps every time I showed it.
I Want to Hear a Poem by Steve Coleman. This is a poem about poems and a slam about slamming; the kids appreciated the complexity of the concept.
Finally, this last clip showed several examples of student performances to give them a yardstick for what their peers have done.
In the end it was an engaging lesson, and I didn't feel quite so much like the mean one in my poetry partnership.
Like any lesson or unit, once I've actually taught it, it's easy to see ways to improve the experience for next time. For example, today I showed the students some short clips of slam performances, and frankly, it seems a little late in the process to be doing that, even though they do have time to incorporate what we talked about into their writing. The video probably should have come before most of their revision, so that they could rework their poems with performance in mind. Some kids were a little scared off by the prospect of slamming, too. What if we don't have our poems that day? they asked me a little too hopefully.
It was also a bit of a challenge to find slam performances that were appropriate for middle school, but I have to say, I'm really happy with the ones I chose. Anyone who's interested in including this form of poetry in your class might like to check them out. I showed them in the following order and asked the students what they could deduce about slam poetry after each one. It turned out to be a well-rounded introduction to the art form.
What is Poetry Slam? This one minute animation introduces the basic rules of competition.
Timothy Medel slams about video games in the 2007 Knick's Poetry Slam. The topic and performance were super accessible to my sixth graders.
What I Will by Suheir Hammad. This is a defiant look by an Arab-American woman at violence in the Middle East. My students applauded at the end, and it gave me goosebumps every time I showed it.
I Want to Hear a Poem by Steve Coleman. This is a poem about poems and a slam about slamming; the kids appreciated the complexity of the concept.
Finally, this last clip showed several examples of student performances to give them a yardstick for what their peers have done.
In the end it was an engaging lesson, and I didn't feel quite so much like the mean one in my poetry partnership.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Count Your Blessings, Pardner
On the heels of my gripy post from yesterday, I spent another session invigilating standardized state tests for my students this morning. The teacher I was working with is new to our school district, and in stark contrast to my opinion that we over-emphasize these tests, she couldn't get over how lax we are. To her, there was too much noise (our computer lab is off the cafeteria), unclear directions for the proctor (she wanted to know exactly what words to say when a student asked any question), and non-existent test security (no one monitored the two of us to be sure we weren't improperly assisting the students).
Her last job was in Texas, and she told me the story that they tell all teachers down there before they administer their first state assessments: Seems there was this teacher who was telling her husband about her day. They were in their backyard, and she mentioned something about the TAKS test. Her neighbor overheard the conversation and reported her, and she lost her teaching license.
Urban legend? Texas tall tale? Whatever it is, I'm thankful we haven't gone that kind of cowboy cuckoo around these here parts.
Yet.
Her last job was in Texas, and she told me the story that they tell all teachers down there before they administer their first state assessments: Seems there was this teacher who was telling her husband about her day. They were in their backyard, and she mentioned something about the TAKS test. Her neighbor overheard the conversation and reported her, and she lost her teaching license.
Urban legend? Texas tall tale? Whatever it is, I'm thankful we haven't gone that kind of cowboy cuckoo around these here parts.
Yet.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Allow Me to Gripe a Moment
There are many things that bug me about high stakes standardized tests, but I guess the main thing is how reductive they are. Every thing we do and every student we teach is reduced to a number, and then people actually use that number to judge schools, teachers, and kids. If that doesn't seemed screwed up, then I don't know what does.
Let me give you an example. Today we administered the state reading test to our students. Among the small percentage of children who failed (yes, through the miracle of modern technology, we received their official scores less than hour after they finished the test) was a girl who was found eligible for special education this year on the basis of emotional disturbance. We know she can read, but the test pissed her off, and she refused to take her time and do her best.
What does her score prove to anyone?
Let me give you an example. Today we administered the state reading test to our students. Among the small percentage of children who failed (yes, through the miracle of modern technology, we received their official scores less than hour after they finished the test) was a girl who was found eligible for special education this year on the basis of emotional disturbance. We know she can read, but the test pissed her off, and she refused to take her time and do her best.
What does her score prove to anyone?
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