At the open house the other night, I saw a former student who is now in eighth grade. She had been tapped to serve as one of our school's "Ambassadors," eighth graders who welcome guests and guide them through the building when they visit.
This particular kid had been an avid reader when she was in my class, and so I asked her if she'd had a chance to read the third book in The Hunger Games trilogy. She told me that she hadn't even read the second book, yet, so before the night was over, she ducked into my room and grabbed the book from my class library. The next day, I found it on my desk with a note-- Loved it! Can't wait for the next one! I know she'll be by before school starts on Tuesday morning to borrow that next book, and that kind of stuff always makes me smile, because I like being part of a community of readers and writers, and I love helping kids get their hands on books they want to read.
Last week we heard through the grapevine that our school system is implementing a policy that forbids teachers from having non-school-issued furnishings in their classrooms. Couches, rockers, bean bags, pillows, and their like will have to be removed. Such a rule bothers me, because beyond making me get rid of the ways I have personalized the room for my students, it smacks of other changes to come. How long will it be before teachers are not allowed to have any books that aren't issued by the school system in their rooms, either?
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Oppositional
... and a couple of last marathon meetings (with fire alarm tests included) to end the week. It wears you down, that it does. I tried to make the best of the situation this morning by searching for the best metaphorical description of the alarm sound, "cicada from hell" was my favorite, and then by counting the earsplitting bursts in an attempt to find some pattern to the maddening din.
Of course I was hanging on the talking points of every presenter, too. Don't worry, friends, I did not miss a single word of that 2 1/2 hour meeting. I'll prove it: At about two hours in the principal went through a list of thirteen procedural items that were deemed so important that we had to initial a staff roster to verify that we had been there for her presentation. (Way more on the procedural trends later-- I'm just not ready to write about them, yet. It's that bad.) When she got to the part where we weren't allowed to use our smart phones to access any social networking sites during the contract day, I flipped my iPhone on and punched the facebook app, something I have never done at school before.
Had I not been distracted by an alarm or some other nonsense, I might have even posted an update: Missing: Two hundred and fifty work hours, value at least five thousand dollars. If found, please return to the students of our school system.
Of course I was hanging on the talking points of every presenter, too. Don't worry, friends, I did not miss a single word of that 2 1/2 hour meeting. I'll prove it: At about two hours in the principal went through a list of thirteen procedural items that were deemed so important that we had to initial a staff roster to verify that we had been there for her presentation. (Way more on the procedural trends later-- I'm just not ready to write about them, yet. It's that bad.) When she got to the part where we weren't allowed to use our smart phones to access any social networking sites during the contract day, I flipped my iPhone on and punched the facebook app, something I have never done at school before.
Had I not been distracted by an alarm or some other nonsense, I might have even posted an update: Missing: Two hundred and fifty work hours, value at least five thousand dollars. If found, please return to the students of our school system.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Good Night Bad Day
In his latest piece for The New Yorker, David Sedaris makes the observation that when certain misfortunes befall you (in his case complications regarding air travel) it seems like a national tragedy that everyone should know about, and "only when it happens to someone else do you realize what a dull story it is." That's good advice coming from a master storyteller.
I'm going to risk it anyway and take a few paragraphs to describe how awful our day at school was today. We are still in preservice, working in our classrooms and meeting with colleagues to prepare for the students' first day next Tuesday. As I've mentioned before, our school is at the end of a year-long update which has entailed all sorts of outrageous inconvenience for every staff member in the building for what is, in my opinion, very little improvement. The project was supposed to be finished as of last Monday, but like the vast majority of renovations, the contract ran over.
The punch list is extensive: the a/c has been sporadic, which we have dealt with; yesterday the power went on and off at least half a dozen times, which was kind of a nuisance, especially if anyone was trying to work on the computer, but today, today was the day when they were testing the new fire alarm system, ALL DAY.
What does that mean, you wonder? It means flashing strobe lights and ear splitting alarms at unpredictable intervals five or six times an hour from 9 to 3. The lunch break only made it worse; just when you felt like you were recovering from the traumatic ordeal, it started again without warning. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the experience could have been modified and used as torture. Physically and psychologically it was so draining that I honestly can't believe they allowed the testing to go on in an occupied building. We should have left, but there's too much to be done to get ready for the kids.
And bless their hearts, it was the kids who came to my rescue tonight. We had our open house for sixth graders from 6:30-7:30, and when I left school at 4, returning to that building was the last thing I wanted to do. I had to, though, and it was still with a bit of a headache that I dragged myself into the theater at 6:25, but there must be something magical about eleven year old energy-- by the time I waved good bye to the last family, and for the first time since June, I had my teacher groove on, and I felt completely revived and excited about the new school year.
I'm going to risk it anyway and take a few paragraphs to describe how awful our day at school was today. We are still in preservice, working in our classrooms and meeting with colleagues to prepare for the students' first day next Tuesday. As I've mentioned before, our school is at the end of a year-long update which has entailed all sorts of outrageous inconvenience for every staff member in the building for what is, in my opinion, very little improvement. The project was supposed to be finished as of last Monday, but like the vast majority of renovations, the contract ran over.
The punch list is extensive: the a/c has been sporadic, which we have dealt with; yesterday the power went on and off at least half a dozen times, which was kind of a nuisance, especially if anyone was trying to work on the computer, but today, today was the day when they were testing the new fire alarm system, ALL DAY.
What does that mean, you wonder? It means flashing strobe lights and ear splitting alarms at unpredictable intervals five or six times an hour from 9 to 3. The lunch break only made it worse; just when you felt like you were recovering from the traumatic ordeal, it started again without warning. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the experience could have been modified and used as torture. Physically and psychologically it was so draining that I honestly can't believe they allowed the testing to go on in an occupied building. We should have left, but there's too much to be done to get ready for the kids.
And bless their hearts, it was the kids who came to my rescue tonight. We had our open house for sixth graders from 6:30-7:30, and when I left school at 4, returning to that building was the last thing I wanted to do. I had to, though, and it was still with a bit of a headache that I dragged myself into the theater at 6:25, but there must be something magical about eleven year old energy-- by the time I waved good bye to the last family, and for the first time since June, I had my teacher groove on, and I felt completely revived and excited about the new school year.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Share and Share Alike
Sometimes I want to live in a collective. For example, I want a kayak, but storage space and the knowledge that I'm too busy to use it very frequently prevents me from buying one, so what I'd really like to do is share a kayak with some other people.
This notion could extend to many other possessions as well, particularly kitchen appliances and power tools. As a matter of fact, a couple of minutes ago, I wished for a dehydrator. There are certain things that I'd like to preserve that way (like shallots and chilies) but not enough to justify owning one. I know my sister has just such a device, and if only she lived closer than Atlanta, I would ask her to borrow it. Along the same lines, I myself recently purchased a pressure canner. It's not a super extravagance, but it cost enough that I thought about it for over a year before I laid my money down. It's in my attic right now; surely somebody could be getting some use out of that baby.
Wet saws, chop saws, reciprocating saws-- I know how to use them, and they would probably come in handy once a year or so, but if I owned any of them, they would join the pressure canner languishing in storage, declining in value.
Most Americans have too much stuff, me included, and there is a certain transcendence to using the right item for the job that is undeniable, but access rather than ownership might be the way to go. I think that sharing would be a huge step toward eliminating the consumerism that plagues many of us.
Who's with me? (I'm bringing a lot of sweet kitchen appliances to the deal!)
This notion could extend to many other possessions as well, particularly kitchen appliances and power tools. As a matter of fact, a couple of minutes ago, I wished for a dehydrator. There are certain things that I'd like to preserve that way (like shallots and chilies) but not enough to justify owning one. I know my sister has just such a device, and if only she lived closer than Atlanta, I would ask her to borrow it. Along the same lines, I myself recently purchased a pressure canner. It's not a super extravagance, but it cost enough that I thought about it for over a year before I laid my money down. It's in my attic right now; surely somebody could be getting some use out of that baby.
Wet saws, chop saws, reciprocating saws-- I know how to use them, and they would probably come in handy once a year or so, but if I owned any of them, they would join the pressure canner languishing in storage, declining in value.
Most Americans have too much stuff, me included, and there is a certain transcendence to using the right item for the job that is undeniable, but access rather than ownership might be the way to go. I think that sharing would be a huge step toward eliminating the consumerism that plagues many of us.
Who's with me? (I'm bringing a lot of sweet kitchen appliances to the deal!)
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Topic Was Grammar
Today my friend accused me of choosing my English Department professional study group just so that I would have something to write about this year. Of course, she made the allegation on the ride back to school after our first meeting about which I was, if not complaining, exactly, at least making some acerbic observations.
There was some surprise among my peers when I told them that I had chosen the session on approaches to teaching grammar. I guess they assumed that as a process-based workshop-approach teacher, I would be anti-grammar instruction. (Hyphen check! Where should they be in that sentence? I think there are too many.) That's not true at all, though. Although I am against teaching grammar out of context, particularly in a skill and drill format, I understand that correct grammar is an essential and valuable tool for communicating clearly and effectively, which is why I signed up for the group.
It so happens that out of over a hundred English teachers in the county, only five others picked the grammar group, and it became clear to me early on that there were some philosophical differences between me and most of the others. I don't mind, though. It will give me something to write about.
There was some surprise among my peers when I told them that I had chosen the session on approaches to teaching grammar. I guess they assumed that as a process-based workshop-approach teacher, I would be anti-grammar instruction. (Hyphen check! Where should they be in that sentence? I think there are too many.) That's not true at all, though. Although I am against teaching grammar out of context, particularly in a skill and drill format, I understand that correct grammar is an essential and valuable tool for communicating clearly and effectively, which is why I signed up for the group.
It so happens that out of over a hundred English teachers in the county, only five others picked the grammar group, and it became clear to me early on that there were some philosophical differences between me and most of the others. I don't mind, though. It will give me something to write about.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Happy New Year!
My first year of teaching there was a story going around about a guy who got his job by answering one question in the interview.
"What makes you think you'll be a good middle school teacher?" he was asked.
"I'm a tree; I can bend," he replied.
According to legend, he was hired on the spot.
Today was the most chill first day of school ever. There was none of the hectic pace that has welcomed me back in years past. It is counter intuitive, too. Our building was updated over the summer and was only released to us this morning. Let's just say there is a rather lengthy punch list of finishing touches that must be completed before the students arrive next Tuesday (like furniture in the art room). It seemed like the staff kind of rolled with it, though, and what good would it have done to do otherwise?
(Oh, there was another interview story, too, that first year of mine. In reply to the question Why do you want to be a teacher? the candidate had rehearsed his answer carefully and meant to say I really want to help kids and touch lives, but he mixed the phrases up. As a result he looked the principal dead in the eye and said, I really want to touch kids, and...
That guy was not hired on the spot.)
"What makes you think you'll be a good middle school teacher?" he was asked.
"I'm a tree; I can bend," he replied.
According to legend, he was hired on the spot.
Today was the most chill first day of school ever. There was none of the hectic pace that has welcomed me back in years past. It is counter intuitive, too. Our building was updated over the summer and was only released to us this morning. Let's just say there is a rather lengthy punch list of finishing touches that must be completed before the students arrive next Tuesday (like furniture in the art room). It seemed like the staff kind of rolled with it, though, and what good would it have done to do otherwise?
(Oh, there was another interview story, too, that first year of mine. In reply to the question Why do you want to be a teacher? the candidate had rehearsed his answer carefully and meant to say I really want to help kids and touch lives, but he mixed the phrases up. As a result he looked the principal dead in the eye and said, I really want to touch kids, and...
That guy was not hired on the spot.)
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Buzz
It's the little things, folks. Sure, simple pleasures are the best, but tiny annoyances are also the worst. As I type, there is a single fly buzzing through the house. This same little nuisance banged its tiny brain relentlessly against the living room window as I read this afternoon, refusing to exit the house when offered the opportunity but also avoiding the swatter (make up your mind, buddy). Later, it accompanied me to the kitchen while I prepared dinner, and now it's here, dive bombing my keyboard.
It's tempting to cast it in the metaphorical role of end of summer messenger, that little reminder all through the day that indeed school starts tomorrow, but seriously? If a fly can bother me this much? I need to go back to work.
It's tempting to cast it in the metaphorical role of end of summer messenger, that little reminder all through the day that indeed school starts tomorrow, but seriously? If a fly can bother me this much? I need to go back to work.
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