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.

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.)

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.

Pick and Choose

We paid a visit to Mt. Vernon today-- I do love the place. This trip, we toured the mansion, which I don't often do; the lines to get in the house are usually really long, and the grounds are beautiful enough on their own, but as luck would have it, there was a hardly a wait at all this afternoon.

As we filed through George Washington's home, it was the paint that struck me. It was hard to believe that I could have forgotten that garish green in the family dining room. I asked one of the docents about it, and she assured me that some microscopic paint analysis was used to find the exact formula and recreate it. She also said that Washington himself had chosen the color. Yikes! What was the father of country thinking?!? (Evidently Martha's room design was restricted to their bedroom, which was very tasteful, by the way.)

Many of our fellow visitors to the plantation sported bright new Restore Honor t-shirts, presumably purchased at Glenn Beck's Lincoln Memorial Rally which was also held today, the 47th anniversary of Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech delivered at the same location. Given the time of day, they must have left the rally and headed directly for Mount Vernon. Making my way through the education center, I could understand the appeal that this place might have for Beck's supporters: the original tea party was featured prominently. Continuing through the exhibits, I wondered what the rallyers thought when they read the letter that Washington wrote to his fellow citizens upon leaving office. In it he strongly urged us to find our common ground and to maintain our "unity at home".

Maybe they just considered that particular idea a lapse in judgment... kind of like the paint in the dining room?

The Blahs

Today was the last official day of my summer break, and I wish I could say I took full advantage of it, but sadly, it was a day without much focus. In fact, I think I had at least four versions of the following conversation:

What do you want to do?
I don't know. What do you want to do?
I don't know either. Whatever you want to do is fine.
But what about you?
I'm fine with whatever.
Whatever what?
I don't know.

So... we didn't go out to breakfast. We didn't go to the garden. Some went shopping; some went home; some went to the library and read. We didn't go to the baseball game. We didn't go to the movies.

We did have an ugly little conversation about institutional racism over a nice dinner of corn chowder with lobster, though, and in retrospect, I wish we had avoided that, too.

Gary's last words before bed were these: "If anyone asks, tell 'em we had a wonderful time."

Maybe it's a good thing that school is starting.

Coffee Break

This morning I had coffee with a couple of colleagues. We sat at an outdoor table and chatted about teaching sixth grade English. It seemed so civilized and productive that I wondered why I don't do that more often. Oh yeah, now I remember. Once school starts, who has time for that?

Question Authority

When I was in college, I had a button tacked to the driver side sun visor of my yellow Volkswagen Rabbit that read Question Authority. Looking back on it now, I see it as almost an ironic statement-- I was a very good girl-- but I think the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980 must have inspired me to buy it, if not act upon it.

My relationship with authority has evolved quite a bit in the last thirty years.  For example, when I first started teaching I was very secure in the power structure. The superintendent was like your grandfather, the principal was like your dad, and you, the teacher were the benevolent dictator in your classroom. I ruled confidently, just as my teachers had when I was in school, and a lot like the way that I had overseen my younger brother and sister, the children I babysat, my nephews. My show could have been called Tracey Knows Best.

It's not quite that way anymore. Over the years, I've tried to restructure my class to be as student-centered as possible. One of my primary objectives is for the kids to feel like they're in charge of themselves. I've learned that Because I said so isn't a very convincing argument to an oppositional student.

And as for myself? When I look around at the president, the secretary of education, the superintendent of our schools, I see the guys I went to college with: smart, but not necessarily the people I want in charge of me. Yeah... you could say that I have some questions.