Diction

I was reading an article today where the documentary film maker Errol Morris describes a private eye trick he learned along the way.

“It went like this,” Morris explained. “He’d knock on a door, sometimes of someone not even connected to the case they were investigating. He’d flip open his wallet, show his badge and say, ‘I guess we don’t have to tell you why we’re here.’
 
“And more often than not the guy starts bawling like an infant, ‘How did you find out?’” And then disgorges some shameful criminal secret no one would ever have known about otherwise.

I laughed a little and wondered if we are all really so wracked with guilt. Then my thoughts turned to my sixth grade students. On the occasions that I must ask them to step away from the class to discuss their inappropriate behavior I typically begin the conversation with "Why did I ask you to come talk to me?"

And the usual parry is, "I don't know."

To which I reply, "That's too bad. Why don't you stay here and give it some thought. I'll be back when I can."

Oh we get there, we do, but sometimes it takes a while, so as I read today, I found myself speculating about ways to improve my approach. Was it the element of surprise that got those guys to confess so quickly? Was it the burden of carrying such a guilty secret for so long? If so, I was out of luck.

Still, as an English teacher, I have faith in the power of sentence structure, word choice, and phrasing, and that is why I intend to begin my next conversation with an errant student like so:

I guess I don't have to tell you why I asked to speak with you...

I'll let you know how it goes.

Roots

As St. Patrick's Day, the day when everyone is Irish, approaches, my thoughts turn to my own ethnicity. My last name is English, and there are documented reports that the first immigrant to this continent with our surname came in the mid 1600's. That was my great-who-knows-how-many-other-greats grandfather, Daniel. Several generations later, the branch of the family from which I am descended went through an interesting trend. All of the men married women of full Irish descent, so that eventually our last name was the most English thing about us.

That's not an uncommon American story, is it though? We watch Who Do You Think You Are? every Friday night, and one of the draws of the program is seeing people find a connection to some other amazing person or culture, separated from us by time and space. As proud as most of us are to be American, everyone gets choked up on that show.

Once I told a friend that on my mother's mother's side, I'm 1/16 American Indian. Rather than be impressed, she laughed dismissively and noted that many poor white trash families use the same story to elevate their heritage.

I can't say that I'd ever thought of those ancestors as white trash before, although they did work hard at farming for a living. I was silent, but my expression must have conveyed my dismay. "Think about," she said, "how did that white guy get hooked up with an Indian in Mississippi? Much less marry her?" I stayed quiet, and I confess that I wondered if my story seemed so foolish to everyone who heard it.

Recently, a friend at work mentioned that she had gotten her husband Ancestry DNA testing for his birthday. For a hundred bucks and a couple of cheek swabs you can discover your genetic heritage.

Hmmm. That just might be worth it.

Gardener's Dilemma

It is time to move some of the seedlings from under the grow light to bigger pots for some outside time to harden them off before planting them in the garden. Even though they are getting too big for their little starting cells, they are still very fragile, and some of them won't make the transition.

As a relatively new gardener, I don't take this loss very well; I feel as if I've done something wrong and let my little sprouts down. (Which may be true.) Even worse though is when you have to thin the seedlings. Ordinarily, you plant two or three seeds per cell, and then once they've had a chance to establish themselves, you're supposed to cut the weaker plants so that the strongest can grow unhindered.

Although intellectually I understand the procedure, such culling goes against my nature. I want to nurture them all, regardless of size and space and resources, so that every one of them grows to be productive.

The Fine Points

I was out of school for some appointments yesterday and so I left a rather concrete assignment, because that just makes it easier on the sub and the kids. On Monday, we were analyzing the grammatical patterns (courtesy of Image Grammar by Harry R. Noden) of their independent reading book titles, so that the students could come up with some "tantalizing titles" of their own. As we worked, it became clear to me that a little parts of speech review might be in order, and so I left a noun packet with the substitute.

Today we went over the answers and after giving everyone an opportunity to ask questions, there was a little quiz to see how they could apply the information they had just reviewed. Such a concrete, right-or-wrong, lesson is quite rare in my class where we mostly focus on the admittedly hard work of writing real pieces, so I was curious to see how they did on the assessment.

The first thing I noted was that with 2 1/2 weeks to go in the quarter, this grade had no impact on their overall grades. A couple of kids moved up or down a point, but nobody moved a letter grade. The next thing I noticed was that some kids who usually struggle when it comes to sustained effort were happy to fill in some blanks, and they enjoyed a much higher level of success than usual.

 This is the difference between grading and assessment. What you do with that information is teaching.

Yeah, There's an App for That

My brother in law was in town this weekend and we enjoyed some rare alone time with him. Usually when we're all together there are plenty of distractions-- the kids, the cats, the family, the yard, the beach, the dinner, etc. and so it was nice to have a couple of hours of adult conversation with the guy.

Even so, the most memorable part of his visit might just turn out to be the iPad app he recommended. It's a game for your cats... yes, really. And not only do our cats like it, but so does the dog. It's super entertaining just watching them swat at the screen. Thank goodness for that super strong glass-- but we may have to start limiting their screen time.

Making Peace

It's no secret to those who know me how much I despise Daylight Savings Time, but this year I've accepted that it is just one more item on a very long (and unfortunately growing) list of things I don't like but can do nothing about. With apologies to Dylan Thomas, I'm through raging against the postponement of the light. Oh, DST and I will never be friends, but I've got to let my resentment go.

Generation Gap

One of my students addressed me directly in her SOL post today. I <3 young, wild & free! You should listen to it sometime Ms. S.

The problem is that I'm familiar with the song, and although I like its catchy anthemy-ness, I can't get on board with some of the lyrics. Call me old-fashioned, but So what we get drunk? So what we smoke weed? just doesn't seem appropriate for sixth graders.

As a result, I was at a loss for how to reply to my student. I wanted to be positive, but I didn't want to imply that I approve of the song. I decided to save her post for a little later and went on to read and reply to other students' writing.

As I worked, I had my own music on. Coincidentally, I was listening to a playlist of all the songs I own from the 1970s, which was when I was in sixth grade. What did I hear you ask? Oh just a few classics like, Tequila Sunrise, Elderberry Wine, and Cocaine, not to mention Let's Get it On, Baba O'Riley (Teenage Wasteland), and The Wall.

Point taken.

(Check out some of our students' SOLSC posts here)