Take that DST...
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Twenty-Five Hours a Day
Take that DST...
Friday, October 30, 2009
Last to Know
Today, when the kids in my last period class met me in the computer lab, they were very excited. "Is it true that someone stole a car from the parking lot?" one student asked, breathlessly. I hadn't heard a word about it, and I said as much, adding that I hoped it wasn't my car.
I gave the directions for the assignment, and they had just settled in when one of the administrators made a rare mid-day announcement that all teachers should check their e-mail immediately. The kids watched with raised eyebrows as I sauntered over to my workstation like it was no big deal. They're sixth graders; they don't know that such interruptions are very uncommon. I played it off, too, and not a single student asked what the message said, which was that we were in a lockdown due to police activity on and around our campus. Hmm.
The class ended and my meeting and planning time began with no further word about either the lockdown or the situation that brought it on. When a substitute teacher stopped by our team meeting to say that he was on his way out, we had to inform him that it might not be possible to leave the building. A little while later, it was he who told us that the lockdown was over; there was no additional information or explanation via e-mail or P.A.
Later at basketball practice, the girls were eager to fill me in on what had happened. Some guy had stolen a car in the next county over and abandoned it in our parking lot. During 7th grade lunch recess, five police units squealed up to the building and officers swarmed over the grounds, their weapons drawn. Only then were the kids hustled into the building, and the lockdown put in place.
According to the students the suspect was still at large. I took their word for it-- they seemed to know what they were talking about, and they certainly had more knowledge of the incident than I did.
Why is that?
I gave the directions for the assignment, and they had just settled in when one of the administrators made a rare mid-day announcement that all teachers should check their e-mail immediately. The kids watched with raised eyebrows as I sauntered over to my workstation like it was no big deal. They're sixth graders; they don't know that such interruptions are very uncommon. I played it off, too, and not a single student asked what the message said, which was that we were in a lockdown due to police activity on and around our campus. Hmm.
The class ended and my meeting and planning time began with no further word about either the lockdown or the situation that brought it on. When a substitute teacher stopped by our team meeting to say that he was on his way out, we had to inform him that it might not be possible to leave the building. A little while later, it was he who told us that the lockdown was over; there was no additional information or explanation via e-mail or P.A.
Later at basketball practice, the girls were eager to fill me in on what had happened. Some guy had stolen a car in the next county over and abandoned it in our parking lot. During 7th grade lunch recess, five police units squealed up to the building and officers swarmed over the grounds, their weapons drawn. Only then were the kids hustled into the building, and the lockdown put in place.
According to the students the suspect was still at large. I took their word for it-- they seemed to know what they were talking about, and they certainly had more knowledge of the incident than I did.
Why is that?
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I'm a Cool Teacher
Because I can yo-yo and find my way out of a corn maze, not to mention make pumpkin pie out of a pumpkin. Sometimes it takes so little to impress sixth graders, but it's always nice to be appreciated.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Where They're From
My students are wrapping up an activity in which they use George Ella Lyon's poem, Where I'm From as a model for a free verse poem of their own. This is an activity that Nancie Atwell outlines in her book Naming the World. Her students developed a questionnaire which they used to interview their parents and grandparents to gather material for their poems, and we use a version of that, too.
Ours is a chart that has space for the answers to 12 questions in four columns. One for mother, one for father, one for grandparent, and one for other. One of our students has two dads, so before I gave the sheet out this year, I changed the first two columns to "parent." The questions are about nicknames and birthplaces, toys, games and hobbies, favorite books, candy, TV shows, and singers, hip expressions, heroes and hoped for careers.
We have several adopted and foster kids on the team this year, and many of our students and/or their parents were born in countries other than the United States. It was difficult for some kids to gather much information about the lives of the people in their family. It was also challenging for them to fit some of the non-traditional details of their lives into the template based on Lyon's poem. We talked our way through it, though, and everyone wrote a poem of which they were very proud.
We have one student, who was born in India and adopted into a family with a brother from Vietnam and a sister from Guatemala. Her mom e-mailed this morning to say how touched their family was by the poem. Her daughter wrote, in part:
I am from black shoes,
from Razzles and Legos.
I am from the crowded streets of India,
hot and noisy...
I am from watching American Idol
and arguing about the results.
I am from jocks and book worms,
from "Stop talking!" and "Do your homework!"
... from the love of my parents
when they tuck me in at night,
the funniness of my brother,
and the grumpiness of my sister.
I am from the wooden box in my parents' room
filled with pictures,
and all the things in my family
that make us who we are.
What can I say? It's a great assignment. They were all that sweet.
Ours is a chart that has space for the answers to 12 questions in four columns. One for mother, one for father, one for grandparent, and one for other. One of our students has two dads, so before I gave the sheet out this year, I changed the first two columns to "parent." The questions are about nicknames and birthplaces, toys, games and hobbies, favorite books, candy, TV shows, and singers, hip expressions, heroes and hoped for careers.
We have several adopted and foster kids on the team this year, and many of our students and/or their parents were born in countries other than the United States. It was difficult for some kids to gather much information about the lives of the people in their family. It was also challenging for them to fit some of the non-traditional details of their lives into the template based on Lyon's poem. We talked our way through it, though, and everyone wrote a poem of which they were very proud.
We have one student, who was born in India and adopted into a family with a brother from Vietnam and a sister from Guatemala. Her mom e-mailed this morning to say how touched their family was by the poem. Her daughter wrote, in part:
I am from black shoes,
from Razzles and Legos.
I am from the crowded streets of India,
hot and noisy...
I am from watching American Idol
and arguing about the results.
I am from jocks and book worms,
from "Stop talking!" and "Do your homework!"
... from the love of my parents
when they tuck me in at night,
the funniness of my brother,
and the grumpiness of my sister.
I am from the wooden box in my parents' room
filled with pictures,
and all the things in my family
that make us who we are.
What can I say? It's a great assignment. They were all that sweet.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Post-Game Analysis
No, she didn't make the team. We went with a younger, less experienced, but definitely more positive squad. We were afraid that the strength of her antagonism might poison the attitude of the team. I'm still not sure that we made the right decision, though, especially because we were responsible for some of that negativity.
Who knows? Had we been able to intervene more effectively when she was bullied in sixth grade, the outcome might have been different, but now it was a case of trying to balance the good of the group with the good of the individual. We were afraid that she would take the opportunity to treat younger players as she had been treated, and in order to break the cycle, we kept her off the team.
I wish that sometime in the last two years, one of us had been able to forge a constructive relationship with her, so that the positivity of this team, along with our support, might have turned the experience around for her, but her behavior and choices during tryouts showed that we hadn't done that. It was definitely a loss.
Who knows? Had we been able to intervene more effectively when she was bullied in sixth grade, the outcome might have been different, but now it was a case of trying to balance the good of the group with the good of the individual. We were afraid that she would take the opportunity to treat younger players as she had been treated, and in order to break the cycle, we kept her off the team.
I wish that sometime in the last two years, one of us had been able to forge a constructive relationship with her, so that the positivity of this team, along with our support, might have turned the experience around for her, but her behavior and choices during tryouts showed that we hadn't done that. It was definitely a loss.
Monday, October 26, 2009
At the Buzzer
In the words of Yogi Berra, "It was deja vu all over again," with a few key differences. Sixth grade girl was now eighth grade girl: she was taller, stronger, and fitter. She had mostly kept out of trouble for the first six weeks of school, and this time, we needed a point guard.
The taint on our team of the mean girl who had bullied her two years before had faded considerably and was almost gone. There was only one other girl left who had ever played with her. The eighth graders the year before had had a few spiteful moments, but their unkindness had been nothing compared to hers. Even so, the younger girls who were back now for a second season had come to me after tryouts to say that they really hoped that this year would be more positive. "No offense," one said, "but some of the eighth graders last year were scary." How impressed was I when they decided on their own to be supportive of the new players? What a change.
Our prospective point guard couldn't make the seventh and eighth grade trials, so we let her try out when she showed up with the sixth graders the next day. Once again, her skills were solid, and her game was good. When it came time to scrimmage with the other girls, though, it was as if no time had passed. She didn't listen to directions; she was shoving other girls on the sidelines; in the game she didn't pass; and she called her teammates out for their lack of talent.
At the end of the tryout, when everyone gathered at center court to wrap it up, she brought a ball and stood with her back to the group, dribbling it. "Hold the ball," the other coach said, and she lifted it to her shoulder as if to shoot. "Do not shoot that ball," he said, and turned to the other girls. As he did, she shrugged and stepped hard into that half-court shot. I watched as the basketball hit the rim, bounced straight up and fell back through the net. It was an amazing shot, and she could not contain her glee, but it was game over.
The taint on our team of the mean girl who had bullied her two years before had faded considerably and was almost gone. There was only one other girl left who had ever played with her. The eighth graders the year before had had a few spiteful moments, but their unkindness had been nothing compared to hers. Even so, the younger girls who were back now for a second season had come to me after tryouts to say that they really hoped that this year would be more positive. "No offense," one said, "but some of the eighth graders last year were scary." How impressed was I when they decided on their own to be supportive of the new players? What a change.
Our prospective point guard couldn't make the seventh and eighth grade trials, so we let her try out when she showed up with the sixth graders the next day. Once again, her skills were solid, and her game was good. When it came time to scrimmage with the other girls, though, it was as if no time had passed. She didn't listen to directions; she was shoving other girls on the sidelines; in the game she didn't pass; and she called her teammates out for their lack of talent.
At the end of the tryout, when everyone gathered at center court to wrap it up, she brought a ball and stood with her back to the group, dribbling it. "Hold the ball," the other coach said, and she lifted it to her shoulder as if to shoot. "Do not shoot that ball," he said, and turned to the other girls. As he did, she shrugged and stepped hard into that half-court shot. I watched as the basketball hit the rim, bounced straight up and fell back through the net. It was an amazing shot, and she could not contain her glee, but it was game over.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Play through the Pain
We wondered if our erstwhile potential point guard would come out for the team the next year, and we debated what we would do if she did. After leaving the team, she had continued to find trouble, even getting arrested for stealing a wallet off the counter at a near-by convenience store. My colleague wanted to tell her not to bother, but I didn't agree. I felt like kids should be able to make mistakes, and I hoped that a year later she might be more mature. I also believed that on some level we had mishandled the episode the year before, placing most of the blame on the player who was least valuable to the team.
She showed up for tryouts, and she was good enough to make the team. Her attitude was subdued and cooperative. On the afternoon we cut the roster, the other coach and I sat in his office a long time discussing the pros and the cons. "We're the adults," I told him. "Let's not set an example of holding a grudge. Everyone deserves a second chance." We compromised by putting her on the team provisionally. We agreed that we would talk to her first and let her know what we expected.
It didn't matter though. The asterisk next to her name was enough to make her mad, and she never showed up for practice. That was seventh grade... what about eighth?
Looks like we're headed into overtime.
She showed up for tryouts, and she was good enough to make the team. Her attitude was subdued and cooperative. On the afternoon we cut the roster, the other coach and I sat in his office a long time discussing the pros and the cons. "We're the adults," I told him. "Let's not set an example of holding a grudge. Everyone deserves a second chance." We compromised by putting her on the team provisionally. We agreed that we would talk to her first and let her know what we expected.
It didn't matter though. The asterisk next to her name was enough to make her mad, and she never showed up for practice. That was seventh grade... what about eighth?
Looks like we're headed into overtime.
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