The other day in my homeroom, we were talking about left-handed people. Four of the ten students in there are lefties, which is a way higher percentage than in the general population. I had seen an article in The New York Times about southpaw presidents, and I mentioned it to them. "Presidents Obama, Clinton, and Ford are all left-handed," I said.
"Who's President Ford?" somebody asked.
I was only too willing to jog their memories. "Y'know, he became president after Nixon resigned because of Watergate?"
"What's Watergate?"
That question came as a bit of a surprise, and I could see that the five minutes we had left was not going to be enough time to explain, so I told them we could talk about it another time, if they were interested. I supposed 1974 was a long time ago, especially if you're eleven or twelve.
In English class a little while later, the students were working on their fiction pieces, and one girl raised her hand. "What year were the twin towers destroyed?" she asked. Now, that questioned stunned me, because in 2001 I was standing in the same room that we were in right then when the Pentagon was attacked less than three miles away.
Of course, these kids were toddlers then, why would they remember? At the time, it seemed like those wounds would never heal, and maybe they won't, but there's a whole new set of people who weren't old enough to be scarred on that day. To them, it's history.
I know, I know. "Time marches on," but it's still a little surprising when I realize that the parade is passing me.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Friday, March 11, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
All Bets Are Off
When I first started teaching I recognized the power of good seating assignment right away. I confess to spending a good deal of time scrutinizing that chart, arranging, rearranging and tweaking, looking for that perfect student combination, mostly in the interest of management. I could make a mean seating chart, too. Every class would groan with my cheerful announcement of new seats.
I overlooked the resentment, whether because it was I had separated buddies or deliberately made a group that was destined to be unproductive, because it was always for the benefit of the class. I deflected complaints blithely with the observation that, "we all have to work with people we don't care for sometimes."
Somewhere along the line it occurred to me that middle school kids, like most of us, need a sense of control, and I realized that choice is one way to give it to them, so I became less of a stickler about assigning seats. I adopted a flexible grouping approach. Now they have different groups for different regular activities and then some days they can sit where they like. On those days, I always direct them to "sit somewhere you'll be able to work." (And of course I have to make adjustments, but at least it's as a consequence of their actions, not preemptive, and as non-punitive as possible. It is what it is, no hard feelings.)
Today was such a day in my class. As usual, I encouraged my students to choose a place with as few distractions as possible. Sure enough, in the class right after lunch, two boys who are good friends and can be silly sat down at a table together. "Are you sure?" I said to one.
"Oh yeah," he answered, "I'm going to get a lot done here."
My expression was clearly skeptical, because he continued talking.
"Really!" he said. "I promise. No! I BET you that I will work the whole class period."
It was unorthodox, but I wanted to see where he was going with this. "Bet me?" I answered. "What do you bet me?"
So sure was he that he could spend 45 consecutive minutes in productivity, despite the proximity of his silliest friend, that he challenged me. "Twenty dollars!"
"I'm not allowed to win twenty dollars from a kid," I told him. "What else?"
He thought a minute. "How about a week of reading?" he suggested. My students are required to read a book of their choice for five nights a week for a total of at least 100 pages.
"What if I win?" I asked.
"Then I'll read an extra hundred pages," he offered.
"I'll help you! I'll work really hard, too," his friend promised, and I knew then that whatever happened it was worth the wager.
We shook on it, and I gave the class their directions to continue composing, typing, and/or revising their fiction pieces. It was quiet in the room as I made my way from student to student to confer. I was sure to glance over and check on my bet every few minutes, too, but both boys were working diligently, until...
Fifteen minutes into the workshop, I looked over and saw my betting boy staring wide-eyed with a ridiculous expression on his face. He caught my eye and cringed. "You owe me a hundred extra pages," I told him. "That is definitely not working."
He conceded without a word, which I thought was weird until his friend, who was sitting with his back to me, stood up and asked to go to the bathroom. For the second time in two days, I gasped and then giggled. His lips, teeth, and tongue were solid black. My first thought was licorice, nuclear licorice. "I bit my pen," he said, and I nodded as it sunk in. Then I gave him a paper cup.
"You're going to have a lot of rinsing to do," I told him.
As for the wager? We decided it was a draw.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
I overlooked the resentment, whether because it was I had separated buddies or deliberately made a group that was destined to be unproductive, because it was always for the benefit of the class. I deflected complaints blithely with the observation that, "we all have to work with people we don't care for sometimes."
Somewhere along the line it occurred to me that middle school kids, like most of us, need a sense of control, and I realized that choice is one way to give it to them, so I became less of a stickler about assigning seats. I adopted a flexible grouping approach. Now they have different groups for different regular activities and then some days they can sit where they like. On those days, I always direct them to "sit somewhere you'll be able to work." (And of course I have to make adjustments, but at least it's as a consequence of their actions, not preemptive, and as non-punitive as possible. It is what it is, no hard feelings.)
Today was such a day in my class. As usual, I encouraged my students to choose a place with as few distractions as possible. Sure enough, in the class right after lunch, two boys who are good friends and can be silly sat down at a table together. "Are you sure?" I said to one.
"Oh yeah," he answered, "I'm going to get a lot done here."
My expression was clearly skeptical, because he continued talking.
"Really!" he said. "I promise. No! I BET you that I will work the whole class period."
It was unorthodox, but I wanted to see where he was going with this. "Bet me?" I answered. "What do you bet me?"
So sure was he that he could spend 45 consecutive minutes in productivity, despite the proximity of his silliest friend, that he challenged me. "Twenty dollars!"
"I'm not allowed to win twenty dollars from a kid," I told him. "What else?"
He thought a minute. "How about a week of reading?" he suggested. My students are required to read a book of their choice for five nights a week for a total of at least 100 pages.
"What if I win?" I asked.
"Then I'll read an extra hundred pages," he offered.
"I'll help you! I'll work really hard, too," his friend promised, and I knew then that whatever happened it was worth the wager.
We shook on it, and I gave the class their directions to continue composing, typing, and/or revising their fiction pieces. It was quiet in the room as I made my way from student to student to confer. I was sure to glance over and check on my bet every few minutes, too, but both boys were working diligently, until...
Fifteen minutes into the workshop, I looked over and saw my betting boy staring wide-eyed with a ridiculous expression on his face. He caught my eye and cringed. "You owe me a hundred extra pages," I told him. "That is definitely not working."
He conceded without a word, which I thought was weird until his friend, who was sitting with his back to me, stood up and asked to go to the bathroom. For the second time in two days, I gasped and then giggled. His lips, teeth, and tongue were solid black. My first thought was licorice, nuclear licorice. "I bit my pen," he said, and I nodded as it sunk in. Then I gave him a paper cup.
"You're going to have a lot of rinsing to do," I told him.
As for the wager? We decided it was a draw.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
It's What You Do
My sixth grade students are working on fiction pieces, and today I had them highlight all the action verbs in their first drafts so that they could take a critical look at their choices as they revise. Plus, it's a good review for them and a quick way for me to assess their recognition of that part of speech. Most kids approached the activity cheerfully; they love highlighting, and they were eager to share some of their favorite verbs. A few students, however, complained bitterly about the drudgery of the task, one more persistently than the rest.
She happened to be sitting right next to me, by choice. "Do you even remember what it was like to be a kid?" she asked me. "If you did, then you would know why this is so boring."
I shrugged and told her I really didn't think it was so bad. "Sometimes it's interesting to take such a narrow focus," I said.
"I wish we could change places like Freaky Friday," she continued, looking around the classroom with an appraising eye. "I could do this," she assured me. "I could be just like you and suck all the fun out of everything."
I gasped and then burst out laughing. What an attitude! I had to admire her audacity; maybe she could take my place, but I could never be like her.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
She happened to be sitting right next to me, by choice. "Do you even remember what it was like to be a kid?" she asked me. "If you did, then you would know why this is so boring."
I shrugged and told her I really didn't think it was so bad. "Sometimes it's interesting to take such a narrow focus," I said.
"I wish we could change places like Freaky Friday," she continued, looking around the classroom with an appraising eye. "I could do this," she assured me. "I could be just like you and suck all the fun out of everything."
I gasped and then burst out laughing. What an attitude! I had to admire her audacity; maybe she could take my place, but I could never be like her.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
My Next Job
I heard today that there are people paid to post negative or positive comments about products, people, and ideas on all sorts of blogs. Apparently these people create hundreds of fake identities to simulate (and stimulate) public opinion. I don't know why I was surprised; I guess I haven't reached that level of cynicism yet, but I don't really doubt it's true.
Recently, I have been posting close to a hundred comments a day, too, but all under my real identity. Between my students' slice of life posts, the adults taking the online Early Adolescent Development course I'm facilitating, and the good folks who are participating in the annual challenge over at Two Writing Teachers, I'm logging a lot of screen time.
One of the challenges of composing so many comments is to remain positive and centered on the writer. Especially with less advanced writers, it's so easy to focus on what needs fixing and to overlook what is good, and I have seen the discouragement on their faces when I lead with even the most constructive of criticisms. Katherine Bomer has a wonderful book called Hidden Gems: Naming and Teaching From the Brilliance in Every Student's Writing, which I return to again and again.
Contrary to what you might expect, with adults, it can be even harder to stay positive, especially if they express an idea that I happen to disagree with. For example, yesterday, in an online discussion, one of the participants posted the following:
Some students may never graduate to abstract thinking. Often, the expected tasks and activities have more to do with the skills to succeed: proper behavior, pleasant personality, following directions, time on-task, etc. are the REAL goals and the activities are merely a vehicle to reach the "skills" necessary to succeed.
A pleasant, respectful individual merits better care/attention than one that does not show these skills.
And although I wanted to ask where "pleasant personality" could be found in our state's standards of learning, instead I replied: But is it our mandate as educators to develop pleasant and respectful individuals?
And the answer was: It is our mandate as teachers to turn out "productive" members of society.
I let it go. I suppose the validity of that response depends on how we define productive, and I lay much of the blame on the way the current conversation on education is being framed-- it's too focused on the language of commerce. Personally, I believe there is more to education than turning out cogs for our nation's economy. Abstract thinking in the form of creativity, critical or even divergent thinking, and healthy skepticism are qualities that I feel a productive citizen should have in any democracy.
And I'll post that a hundred times if I have to.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Recently, I have been posting close to a hundred comments a day, too, but all under my real identity. Between my students' slice of life posts, the adults taking the online Early Adolescent Development course I'm facilitating, and the good folks who are participating in the annual challenge over at Two Writing Teachers, I'm logging a lot of screen time.
One of the challenges of composing so many comments is to remain positive and centered on the writer. Especially with less advanced writers, it's so easy to focus on what needs fixing and to overlook what is good, and I have seen the discouragement on their faces when I lead with even the most constructive of criticisms. Katherine Bomer has a wonderful book called Hidden Gems: Naming and Teaching From the Brilliance in Every Student's Writing, which I return to again and again.
Contrary to what you might expect, with adults, it can be even harder to stay positive, especially if they express an idea that I happen to disagree with. For example, yesterday, in an online discussion, one of the participants posted the following:
Some students may never graduate to abstract thinking. Often, the expected tasks and activities have more to do with the skills to succeed: proper behavior, pleasant personality, following directions, time on-task, etc. are the REAL goals and the activities are merely a vehicle to reach the "skills" necessary to succeed.
A pleasant, respectful individual merits better care/attention than one that does not show these skills.
And although I wanted to ask where "pleasant personality" could be found in our state's standards of learning, instead I replied: But is it our mandate as educators to develop pleasant and respectful individuals?
And the answer was: It is our mandate as teachers to turn out "productive" members of society.
I let it go. I suppose the validity of that response depends on how we define productive, and I lay much of the blame on the way the current conversation on education is being framed-- it's too focused on the language of commerce. Personally, I believe there is more to education than turning out cogs for our nation's economy. Abstract thinking in the form of creativity, critical or even divergent thinking, and healthy skepticism are qualities that I feel a productive citizen should have in any democracy.
And I'll post that a hundred times if I have to.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Monday, March 7, 2011
Some Days You're the Windshield; Some Days You're the Bug
Over the years I've had a few classroom pets-- fish for a while, some rescued mice, an orphaned hamster. They were fun to have until tragedy befell them: the pygmy frogs constantly disappeared without a trace; the bleeding heart tetras harassed the angel fish; the mice developed grotesque tumors; the hamster died of loneliness, I think. Each loss broke my heart a tiny bit, and ultimately, the brevity of their lives made it difficult for me to justify keeping them; if I was honest with myself, they were really no more than captives.
I have colleagues in the building who keep animals in their rooms; I don't think they would call them pets. Some keep turtles and frogs, and one teacher keeps a big black snake. All of them have to be fed live food. The turtle and frog eat crickets and feeder goldfish, and the snake eats mice and rats. Many of the students in those classrooms consider it a treat to be present at feeding time-- they are thrilled by the speed and lethalness of the predators, conveniently ignoring the mortal terror of the prey. Or perhaps they don't overlook the victim at all, maybe its death is a big part of their morbid fascination.
The truth is, most kids identify with the predator, and few have any compassion for the prey. Is that attitude simply a naive expression of their youth, or is it human nature to assume that we are the top of the food chain? Because really? Not many of us are.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
I have colleagues in the building who keep animals in their rooms; I don't think they would call them pets. Some keep turtles and frogs, and one teacher keeps a big black snake. All of them have to be fed live food. The turtle and frog eat crickets and feeder goldfish, and the snake eats mice and rats. Many of the students in those classrooms consider it a treat to be present at feeding time-- they are thrilled by the speed and lethalness of the predators, conveniently ignoring the mortal terror of the prey. Or perhaps they don't overlook the victim at all, maybe its death is a big part of their morbid fascination.
The truth is, most kids identify with the predator, and few have any compassion for the prey. Is that attitude simply a naive expression of their youth, or is it human nature to assume that we are the top of the food chain? Because really? Not many of us are.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Men in Hats
We saw the movie The Adjustment Bureau this weekend. Based on a Phillip K. Dick story and starring Matt Damon and Emily Blunt, it's a romantic meditation on free will and fate. After reading Matt Damon's recent comments on education, ("the idea that we're testing kids and we're tying teachers salaries to how kids are performing on tests, that kind of mechanized thinking has nothing to do with higher order. We're training them, not teaching them") I was more than willing to suspend my disbelief; plus that Emily Blunt is as cute as Abby Cadabby.
My review? Thought-provoking concept, fair execution, and good chemistry between Blunt and Damon, but I left the theater wondering why there are no women in the adjustment bureau.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
My review? Thought-provoking concept, fair execution, and good chemistry between Blunt and Damon, but I left the theater wondering why there are no women in the adjustment bureau.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Angry Birds
It's surprisingly easy to see crows in the dark, especially when hundreds of them are roosting at the tops of all the trees in the neighborhood. The lightlessness of their shadows brightens the night sky. In the morning, on the off-chance that you missed their raucous departure, the evidence of their stay is also unmistakable, the sidewalks and roads are all poop spatter and feathers.
Some might find them menacing or at least a nuisance, but I love those few nights every winter when the crows choose our trees to be their beds. The spectacle is completely worth the mess, big black birds teem against purple sky, their colonies forming and re-forming, each crow looking for the perfect branch on which to rest the night. These birds are not angry in the least, probably because no one is bothering them, much less sling-shotting them at round green pigs barricaded in forts of timber, glass, and stone.
I had heard of the smart phone game app sensation Angry Birds, but I never considered trying it until one of my students posted about it on her slice of life the other day. I was intrigued and I downloaded it this morning... um, addictive. I have a lot of other things to do than fling those birds, but today not many of them seemed more important. At least there are no poop and feathers.
(Click here for a sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Some might find them menacing or at least a nuisance, but I love those few nights every winter when the crows choose our trees to be their beds. The spectacle is completely worth the mess, big black birds teem against purple sky, their colonies forming and re-forming, each crow looking for the perfect branch on which to rest the night. These birds are not angry in the least, probably because no one is bothering them, much less sling-shotting them at round green pigs barricaded in forts of timber, glass, and stone.
I had heard of the smart phone game app sensation Angry Birds, but I never considered trying it until one of my students posted about it on her slice of life the other day. I was intrigued and I downloaded it this morning... um, addictive. I have a lot of other things to do than fling those birds, but today not many of them seemed more important. At least there are no poop and feathers.
(Click here for a sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)