When I was in 3rd grade, I copied a lot of definitions out of the dictionary. I remember one time, while kicking it in the advanced reading group, our teacher gave us a stern talking to about our definitions. It seems almost everyone defined the word by using the word--so we still had no idea what the word meant. (It was some adverb or adjective that used the noun form in the definition.) I forget the word, but I never forgot the lesson. A definition only works if you understand all the words in it. Sometimes, that means looking up another word.
Most of my students have not learned that lesson yet. They blithely copy definitions, then make a guess what the word means when they write synonyms and antonyms. If they are dedicated enough to use a thesaurus, I can still catch them on their examples--that have nothing to fo with the word's meaning.
I know that they ate disaffected and disengaged, but it seems like such a waste of time. Why bother even doing the assignment if you don't get anything out of it? Yes, I know, I need to figure out a way get them to care; bla bla bla. I just don't get them sometimes. They're 16 years old, not 8. Aren't they curious?
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
I Would Like to Thank the Academy...
I was trying to keep my squirrels in line this afternoon. My remedial class is a bit squirrely on the best of days (they haven't passed the exit exam yet for a reason), but here at the end of the semester, they are extra squirrely. I try, for at least the sake of appearances, to make them do their sentence correction warm-up. (Don't get me wrong -- we've worked, 48% passed the exam in October, and I hope another 5%-10% passed in November.) So, as I am coercing them into fixing four whole sentences, one of my favorite squirrels (she is as squirrely as they come, but is lively and chipper and good-hearted, just oh-so-squirrely) suddenly insists she has something for me in the migrant room.
A note: most (if not all) of the students in this class are either Sped or ELs (I think one of them might escape either of those labels -- MIGHT). Most of those ELs are also migrant students. They have not passed yet because the deck is stacked against them. They speak a language other than English, their schooling has often been interrupted, and their parents are often not literate in any language. Because they are in the migrant program, however, they get additional supports and they also get a smaller learning community. They know each other and they have good relationships with the migrant staff.
Although HeadSquirrel was begging me to go to the migrant room, I insisted that she finish her warm-up first. (I often do this. I insist they finish an assignment or wait until I am ready before I let them leave the room. Their first instinct is that I won't let them go or I don't believe them, when really, I just want to minimize the distruptions to their education.) Afterwards, I let her go. She came back -- with an award for me. They all voted to give me a certificate of appreciation for "Teaching Our Children". Then, the chorus of voices asked me where I was because they made a speech (in English and Spanish) and gave me this award at their La Posada celebration the night before.
Well, now I just felt like crap. They gave me an award and I wasn't there? But I swear, none of them told me about it! I got no notice from the migrant office that a celebration was even going on and none of them said a peep about it in class on Wednesday. (Last year I learned -- secondhand, sadly -- how important the migrant award ceremonies are, and I vowed I would do my best to attend them.) They said that another student of mine (in one of my regular English classes) told me about it, but she didn't. It's true that she was in my room yesterday taking her final because she left early to Mexico, but she never said a word about the party.
So, I'm sad that I missed a moment to be with my students and their families to celebrate their educations. I'm embarassed that they gave me an award and I wasn't there. And I'm disappointed that I missed out on all the food! They had posole and tamales and enchiladas... (have I mentioned how much I LOVE tamales?).
But mostly, I am so honored that they gave me this award. I've never gotten an award from my students before. I'm not a touchy-feely person, so the students don't instantly bond with me as they do with some teachers. That "cold-heartedness" doesn't make for a lot of warm-fuzzies come awards' banquet time. So even though it wasn't an ideal hand-off, it is still very, very sweet. I have the certificate hanging on my wall already.
I want to thank the Academy, my family, and especially all of you for reading and responding and being a part of my own learning process. I dissed you on a Thanksgiving post, so I'd like to express my gratitude right now. Thank you. Thank you very much.
A note: most (if not all) of the students in this class are either Sped or ELs (I think one of them might escape either of those labels -- MIGHT). Most of those ELs are also migrant students. They have not passed yet because the deck is stacked against them. They speak a language other than English, their schooling has often been interrupted, and their parents are often not literate in any language. Because they are in the migrant program, however, they get additional supports and they also get a smaller learning community. They know each other and they have good relationships with the migrant staff.
Although HeadSquirrel was begging me to go to the migrant room, I insisted that she finish her warm-up first. (I often do this. I insist they finish an assignment or wait until I am ready before I let them leave the room. Their first instinct is that I won't let them go or I don't believe them, when really, I just want to minimize the distruptions to their education.) Afterwards, I let her go. She came back -- with an award for me. They all voted to give me a certificate of appreciation for "Teaching Our Children". Then, the chorus of voices asked me where I was because they made a speech (in English and Spanish) and gave me this award at their La Posada celebration the night before.
Well, now I just felt like crap. They gave me an award and I wasn't there? But I swear, none of them told me about it! I got no notice from the migrant office that a celebration was even going on and none of them said a peep about it in class on Wednesday. (Last year I learned -- secondhand, sadly -- how important the migrant award ceremonies are, and I vowed I would do my best to attend them.) They said that another student of mine (in one of my regular English classes) told me about it, but she didn't. It's true that she was in my room yesterday taking her final because she left early to Mexico, but she never said a word about the party.
So, I'm sad that I missed a moment to be with my students and their families to celebrate their educations. I'm embarassed that they gave me an award and I wasn't there. And I'm disappointed that I missed out on all the food! They had posole and tamales and enchiladas... (have I mentioned how much I LOVE tamales?).
But mostly, I am so honored that they gave me this award. I've never gotten an award from my students before. I'm not a touchy-feely person, so the students don't instantly bond with me as they do with some teachers. That "cold-heartedness" doesn't make for a lot of warm-fuzzies come awards' banquet time. So even though it wasn't an ideal hand-off, it is still very, very sweet. I have the certificate hanging on my wall already.
I want to thank the Academy, my family, and especially all of you for reading and responding and being a part of my own learning process. I dissed you on a Thanksgiving post, so I'd like to express my gratitude right now. Thank you. Thank you very much.
Monday, December 7, 2009
And That Is Different That Now Because...
This year has been a bad one for illnesses. I have had many more students than usual who have racked up a number of absences due to illness. These absences come in groups and are typically verified by a parent. Some of the students manage to make up the work; others, not so much.
One of my students, lets call her Little Miss Needy (I'm sure I could make an entire picture book about her), has had this particular problem this year. She has made some noises about making up her work, but has not managed to complete anything. She makes meetings -- and then skips them. She asks for help -- and then leaves. She whines a whole lot -- but never steps up with the work.
She asked for some missing work last week, so I gave it to her. She emailed me because she was going to be absent again and needed some help. So I emailed. She wondered if there was anything she could do to pass.
I explained that she had a 25% and it was highly unlikely that she could do anything to change her F. She asked again in class today. Couldn't I just give her an essay to write, or something? An essay to replace a poetry unit, a rhetoric unit, The Crucible, and The Scarlet Letter, plus some incidents and accidents, mind you. No, I said, there was nothing that could replace all of that. (We are less than two weeks from the end of the semester and the deadline for late work was last Friday.) She humphed out of the classroom, exclaiming, "Well, I'm going to stop trying in here."
Help me, out, Little Miss Needy. That would be different from what you've been doing so far because...?
One of my students, lets call her Little Miss Needy (I'm sure I could make an entire picture book about her), has had this particular problem this year. She has made some noises about making up her work, but has not managed to complete anything. She makes meetings -- and then skips them. She asks for help -- and then leaves. She whines a whole lot -- but never steps up with the work.
She asked for some missing work last week, so I gave it to her. She emailed me because she was going to be absent again and needed some help. So I emailed. She wondered if there was anything she could do to pass.
I explained that she had a 25% and it was highly unlikely that she could do anything to change her F. She asked again in class today. Couldn't I just give her an essay to write, or something? An essay to replace a poetry unit, a rhetoric unit, The Crucible, and The Scarlet Letter, plus some incidents and accidents, mind you. No, I said, there was nothing that could replace all of that. (We are less than two weeks from the end of the semester and the deadline for late work was last Friday.) She humphed out of the classroom, exclaiming, "Well, I'm going to stop trying in here."
Help me, out, Little Miss Needy. That would be different from what you've been doing so far because...?
Friday, December 4, 2009
Squirrels
I have some squirrels, most of them concentrated in one class. Some are just squirrels, some are surly squirrels, while others are just surly. It's a good time. I spend a lot of time trying to not hate them, but sometimes, they melt my cold, cold heart.
My school's Career Counselor is Awesome. Every fall, she hosts a college options fair for the juniors. They learn about all their post-college options: the UCs, the CSUs, private colleges, community college, technical college, and job training. They learn about the availability of unskilled labor jobs, financial aid, entrance requirements, and transfer options. And my squirrels? All listened politely, took notes, and even asked questions.
Today, two of my squirrels asked me additional questions. Both of them are D students--mostly because they don't turn in their work. One told me he doesn't think he'll graduate! Now, I've had some students (have some students) who WILL NOT graduate--he is not one of them. He is not a great student. His parents did not graduate either, but I know he can make it through. We talked a little bit, but I need to make sure I follow up with him. He's a sweet kid, but he needs a little more discipline and a lot more confidence. Graduating will get him a long way on both those things. The other boy wanted to know about being a Realtor. What did he have to do? How much school? Is it a good job?
In a class of squirrels, I relish the time I get to talk to my kids. I especially love that although many of them seem to think I'm just whatever, others of them find me cool enough and kind enough to trust with questions and concerns that are truly important.
My school's Career Counselor is Awesome. Every fall, she hosts a college options fair for the juniors. They learn about all their post-college options: the UCs, the CSUs, private colleges, community college, technical college, and job training. They learn about the availability of unskilled labor jobs, financial aid, entrance requirements, and transfer options. And my squirrels? All listened politely, took notes, and even asked questions.
Today, two of my squirrels asked me additional questions. Both of them are D students--mostly because they don't turn in their work. One told me he doesn't think he'll graduate! Now, I've had some students (have some students) who WILL NOT graduate--he is not one of them. He is not a great student. His parents did not graduate either, but I know he can make it through. We talked a little bit, but I need to make sure I follow up with him. He's a sweet kid, but he needs a little more discipline and a lot more confidence. Graduating will get him a long way on both those things. The other boy wanted to know about being a Realtor. What did he have to do? How much school? Is it a good job?
In a class of squirrels, I relish the time I get to talk to my kids. I especially love that although many of them seem to think I'm just whatever, others of them find me cool enough and kind enough to trust with questions and concerns that are truly important.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
I Think I'm Going to Faint!
I know, I know... I've been all blog silent. I's gots tons o' sheeeeit goin' on 'round here. Here's a little teaser for you.
The state of California has this thing called the California High School Exit Examination, or CAHSEE. The test is given in the 10th grade and is written at an 8th grade level. You can't graduate until you prove you can read and do math as well as an 8th grader. Don't get me started.
However, this test can be difficult for some students, notably students in special education and students who are language learners, also, some at-risk students fall through the CAHSEE cracks as well. One of my classes is a CAHSEE prep class. These are seniors who have not yet passed the class. Almost all of them are either special education or EL students (with two at-risk students). Yeah.
The first time they took the test was in October, and it takes seven weeks to get the scores. Seven long weeks these poor kids are waiting to see how they did. In the interim, we make them all take the test again in November. It is killer. It is a day-long test and they hate it.
Well, we got the scores this week. I heard from a couple of my kids that they had the math scores, but no one had sent me the spreadsheet. I went on a campus-wide search, and finally got the appropriate office to send me the scores. Yesterday, I could give them their scores.
I saw one of my students walking across campus in the morning and I told her that she passed. Think of one of those diamond commercials that are playing on TV right now. Can you see the woman who's just been given a ring? See how happy she is? That's what this student looked like. Fast-forward to class. Many of them had already been told by one of their other teachers if they had passed or not. But I called up one girl, a really sweet, quiet, hard-working girl who struggles with English. She came up kind of hang-dog, and then I told that she passed.
She jumped up in the air. She squeaked. She started fanning her face. She was noticiable red. She thought she was going to faint. She walked away. She walked back. Was I sure?
Yes, I was sure. She passed with a 351 (350 is a passing score), but she passed.
Moments like those are a welcome balm for a whole lot of other teacher crap.
The state of California has this thing called the California High School Exit Examination, or CAHSEE. The test is given in the 10th grade and is written at an 8th grade level. You can't graduate until you prove you can read and do math as well as an 8th grader. Don't get me started.
However, this test can be difficult for some students, notably students in special education and students who are language learners, also, some at-risk students fall through the CAHSEE cracks as well. One of my classes is a CAHSEE prep class. These are seniors who have not yet passed the class. Almost all of them are either special education or EL students (with two at-risk students). Yeah.
The first time they took the test was in October, and it takes seven weeks to get the scores. Seven long weeks these poor kids are waiting to see how they did. In the interim, we make them all take the test again in November. It is killer. It is a day-long test and they hate it.
Well, we got the scores this week. I heard from a couple of my kids that they had the math scores, but no one had sent me the spreadsheet. I went on a campus-wide search, and finally got the appropriate office to send me the scores. Yesterday, I could give them their scores.
I saw one of my students walking across campus in the morning and I told her that she passed. Think of one of those diamond commercials that are playing on TV right now. Can you see the woman who's just been given a ring? See how happy she is? That's what this student looked like. Fast-forward to class. Many of them had already been told by one of their other teachers if they had passed or not. But I called up one girl, a really sweet, quiet, hard-working girl who struggles with English. She came up kind of hang-dog, and then I told that she passed.
She jumped up in the air. She squeaked. She started fanning her face. She was noticiable red. She thought she was going to faint. She walked away. She walked back. Was I sure?
Yes, I was sure. She passed with a 351 (350 is a passing score), but she passed.
Moments like those are a welcome balm for a whole lot of other teacher crap.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Do You Understand What I'm Saying?
Community begins with shared agreements,
We create the world for our kids.
We create the space -- too many prisons; not enough colleges:
Who is in each of those two locations? Look at the statistics.
You come out and help our community.
Imagine consequences beyond punishment --
Include rehabilitation.
Include the arts.
They're hungry to make human-to-human contact.
We can't write off anybody.
That's what we do in this culture.
His English teacher once told him he'd never amount to anything.
Real confidence,
Real wisdom,
Real awareness.
"I'm either gonna be a prey or a predator."
The only choices some kids feel they have.
You have to give them a sense of their own beauty.
We have to let them make mistakes,
Teach them how to be balanced and
How to relate to human beings.
What we're doign is not working.
You understand what I'm saying.
Everybody is worth fighting for.
The arts are the single-most important thing to cutting the violence.
We have to respect each other.
It starts by respecting our kids.
Cell phones rings. Babies cry. Muttering. Talking. Whispering.
Echoing through the small middle-school gym.
Yelling. Screaming?
Outside leaks in through the open doors.
Do you understand what I'm saying?
If we don't learn how to draw out the beauty in our young people,
They will turn that beauty to violence.
Some of them will turn that beauty to violence.
We have to listen to them
Because they are telling the truth.
They deserve to live.
Do you understand what I'm saying?
Maybe I'm breaking the first rule of publishing by publishing this rough, rough draft, but I wanted to get it up so I could work on it. I saw Louis Rodriguez speak at a local middle school a week or so ago, and this is a "found poem" from the notes I took. Some of the lines are quotes (or as near as I could get with my pen and program). Some are impressions and paraphrases -- they are my notes.
It was an amazing speech from a man who survived la vida loca in East L.A. and is now a critically-acclaimed Chicano poet and author. I purchased his memoir, Always Running. It is as disheartening as it is heartening, because these kids are dealing with the same things.
If you're not part of the solution, then you're part of the problem. The problem is, I'm not exactly sure which side I fall on. Do I toe the party line too much? Are my standards good and high? Am I too concerned with the standards? Have I been sucked into the high-stakes testing model? Do I connect with them enough? Do I give them enough opportunities to share? Do I give them enough options? Do I? Am I? Can I? Do I? Over and over. Will I ever know if it's enough?
We create the world for our kids.
We create the space -- too many prisons; not enough colleges:
Who is in each of those two locations? Look at the statistics.
You come out and help our community.
Imagine consequences beyond punishment --
Include rehabilitation.
Include the arts.
They're hungry to make human-to-human contact.
We can't write off anybody.
That's what we do in this culture.
His English teacher once told him he'd never amount to anything.
Real confidence,
Real wisdom,
Real awareness.
"I'm either gonna be a prey or a predator."
The only choices some kids feel they have.
You have to give them a sense of their own beauty.
We have to let them make mistakes,
Teach them how to be balanced and
How to relate to human beings.
What we're doign is not working.
You understand what I'm saying.
Everybody is worth fighting for.
The arts are the single-most important thing to cutting the violence.
We have to respect each other.
It starts by respecting our kids.
Cell phones rings. Babies cry. Muttering. Talking. Whispering.
Echoing through the small middle-school gym.
Yelling. Screaming?
Outside leaks in through the open doors.
Do you understand what I'm saying?
If we don't learn how to draw out the beauty in our young people,
They will turn that beauty to violence.
Some of them will turn that beauty to violence.
We have to listen to them
Because they are telling the truth.
They deserve to live.
Do you understand what I'm saying?
Maybe I'm breaking the first rule of publishing by publishing this rough, rough draft, but I wanted to get it up so I could work on it. I saw Louis Rodriguez speak at a local middle school a week or so ago, and this is a "found poem" from the notes I took. Some of the lines are quotes (or as near as I could get with my pen and program). Some are impressions and paraphrases -- they are my notes.
It was an amazing speech from a man who survived la vida loca in East L.A. and is now a critically-acclaimed Chicano poet and author. I purchased his memoir, Always Running. It is as disheartening as it is heartening, because these kids are dealing with the same things.
If you're not part of the solution, then you're part of the problem. The problem is, I'm not exactly sure which side I fall on. Do I toe the party line too much? Are my standards good and high? Am I too concerned with the standards? Have I been sucked into the high-stakes testing model? Do I connect with them enough? Do I give them enough opportunities to share? Do I give them enough options? Do I? Am I? Can I? Do I? Over and over. Will I ever know if it's enough?
While We're on the Subject
I got a note from a Student today. Her Friend is afraid she might be pregnant. There was some, er, spillage so she took some birth conrol pills. But Student told her it might not work, so now Friend is worried. What do I think?
Well, I wrote back, it depends on a lot of things. Is Friend on birth control? Did she take the morning after pill, or just some random birth control pills? Yes, the morning after pill is a high dose of birth control, but I have no idea what the dosage is. The best way to be sure is to take a pregnancy test. The over-the-counter ones are pretty good, especially if you wait five days after the incident to allow the body to build up the pregnancy hormone to detectable levels. Beyond that... Well, if Friend is sexually active, she could get pregnant. Finally, please ask me if Student or Friend have any more questions or concerns and I will do my best to help. (Yes, I know everything and no, I don't plan on dispensing advice but I can provide basic facts, an ear, and referrals to other professionals.)
Student is the last person I would have expected to ask me for help. She's got some attitudinal issues -- I've caught her writing nasty messages on detention slips and the like. She's dropped hints of partying in some assignments that I have felt obligated to report to our drug/alcohol counselor. So to have her ask me something so personal is heartening, and I'm glad she asked rather than deal with uncertainty.
You know, I said something to another boy the other day who's been absent and is missing work. He said part of it was some personal issues. I made sure he was OK and knew that he could talk to me about problems -- if he wanted to. I could also help him find someone to talk to if he didn't want to talk to me. He seemed honestly grateful. He sits next to Student; maybe she heard that and took it to heart.
There are a few other things I wish I would have mentioned, so I hope she comes back with more questions. If not, I at least got a converstion started. I tried to be honest (yes, she could be pregnant) without being mean (what do you mean she just took some pills? is she dumb?) or judgemental (well, what do you expect to happen if you have sex?!?).
I guess it's the same-old same-old: you never really know how much you affect your students. Which is OK. I'm glad to be there.
Well, I wrote back, it depends on a lot of things. Is Friend on birth control? Did she take the morning after pill, or just some random birth control pills? Yes, the morning after pill is a high dose of birth control, but I have no idea what the dosage is. The best way to be sure is to take a pregnancy test. The over-the-counter ones are pretty good, especially if you wait five days after the incident to allow the body to build up the pregnancy hormone to detectable levels. Beyond that... Well, if Friend is sexually active, she could get pregnant. Finally, please ask me if Student or Friend have any more questions or concerns and I will do my best to help. (Yes, I know everything and no, I don't plan on dispensing advice but I can provide basic facts, an ear, and referrals to other professionals.)
Student is the last person I would have expected to ask me for help. She's got some attitudinal issues -- I've caught her writing nasty messages on detention slips and the like. She's dropped hints of partying in some assignments that I have felt obligated to report to our drug/alcohol counselor. So to have her ask me something so personal is heartening, and I'm glad she asked rather than deal with uncertainty.
You know, I said something to another boy the other day who's been absent and is missing work. He said part of it was some personal issues. I made sure he was OK and knew that he could talk to me about problems -- if he wanted to. I could also help him find someone to talk to if he didn't want to talk to me. He seemed honestly grateful. He sits next to Student; maybe she heard that and took it to heart.
There are a few other things I wish I would have mentioned, so I hope she comes back with more questions. If not, I at least got a converstion started. I tried to be honest (yes, she could be pregnant) without being mean (what do you mean she just took some pills? is she dumb?) or judgemental (well, what do you expect to happen if you have sex?!?).
I guess it's the same-old same-old: you never really know how much you affect your students. Which is OK. I'm glad to be there.
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Shell Game
I usually don't like it when my kids get suspended. I know they (most) often deserve it and I know that schools need some serious consequences, so I don't raise a fuss. But I still regret the poor choices that my kids make and try to help them make better choices in the future. But sometimes... sometimes.
I got a suspension notification for a child that I just don't like that much. He is quiet and often appeared well-behaved, but appearances can be deceiving. He was a liar, and a damn good one. I figured out awhile ago that he cheated on most of his tests and assignments and that I had to watch him like a hawk. Even when confronted with evidence, he would lie about it. Bold-faced lies. He had obviously learned (long, long ago) that adults will back down if he appeared confident. I had an extra year to figure out his tricks, so I started this year ahead of the curve.
And you know, I think he is very low-skilled. I think he was (is) embarassed by his lack of academic (and English) knowledge, and learned to cheat to cover it up. Eventually, he got better at cheating than at learning. So now he just cheats and is too scared to think. I tried, really I did, to change my thinking about him and treat him with all kindness and openness. I tried to encourage him to open up to learning and trying new things. We won't see if it would have worked out, though.
Suddenly, a day after the suspension, I got a drop form. It struck me as strange, and I happened to get the back story. It turns out he doesn't live in our neighborhood so he got booted to his "real" school. He's gone to my high school for three years; there is nothing "real" about this other school. Furthermore, will it do any good?
It is alleged that he was seen by the police breaking into neighborhood houses. (He, of course, denied all allegations.) We want to clean up our school, though, so we got rid of him. Did we rehabilitate him? No. Did we get him counseling? No. Have we changed in any real way the type of education he will receive? No. We just shifted him one school over.
A few years ago, my friend Cat went to a meeting in my former town, looking at the test scores in one particularly poor-performing school. Well, their scores went up! yay! But, when the entire district was analyzed, it turns out it was all a sham. Some students had left the school, but their scores didn't rise; their scores followed them to their new school. It's a shell game. We move the cups around, but the nut doesn't change.
So my kid? He's been moved. In this town, it could have some real consequences for him. With the new information we have, it's conceivable that he is dealing or holding, and the new school might have a whole slew of rivals in it. And there's no way to tell what happens to him -- unless I read something in the news.
Oh, but we've improved the climate at my school! yay!
I got a suspension notification for a child that I just don't like that much. He is quiet and often appeared well-behaved, but appearances can be deceiving. He was a liar, and a damn good one. I figured out awhile ago that he cheated on most of his tests and assignments and that I had to watch him like a hawk. Even when confronted with evidence, he would lie about it. Bold-faced lies. He had obviously learned (long, long ago) that adults will back down if he appeared confident. I had an extra year to figure out his tricks, so I started this year ahead of the curve.
And you know, I think he is very low-skilled. I think he was (is) embarassed by his lack of academic (and English) knowledge, and learned to cheat to cover it up. Eventually, he got better at cheating than at learning. So now he just cheats and is too scared to think. I tried, really I did, to change my thinking about him and treat him with all kindness and openness. I tried to encourage him to open up to learning and trying new things. We won't see if it would have worked out, though.
Suddenly, a day after the suspension, I got a drop form. It struck me as strange, and I happened to get the back story. It turns out he doesn't live in our neighborhood so he got booted to his "real" school. He's gone to my high school for three years; there is nothing "real" about this other school. Furthermore, will it do any good?
It is alleged that he was seen by the police breaking into neighborhood houses. (He, of course, denied all allegations.) We want to clean up our school, though, so we got rid of him. Did we rehabilitate him? No. Did we get him counseling? No. Have we changed in any real way the type of education he will receive? No. We just shifted him one school over.
A few years ago, my friend Cat went to a meeting in my former town, looking at the test scores in one particularly poor-performing school. Well, their scores went up! yay! But, when the entire district was analyzed, it turns out it was all a sham. Some students had left the school, but their scores didn't rise; their scores followed them to their new school. It's a shell game. We move the cups around, but the nut doesn't change.
So my kid? He's been moved. In this town, it could have some real consequences for him. With the new information we have, it's conceivable that he is dealing or holding, and the new school might have a whole slew of rivals in it. And there's no way to tell what happens to him -- unless I read something in the news.
Oh, but we've improved the climate at my school! yay!
Saturday, November 7, 2009
The Parent Trap
Have I told you about my kids with kids? I don't think so.
Teen pregnancy is a big problem in my town. I started to realize just how pervasive the problem is year when my kids told me I was the same age as their mothers. I am not old enough to have a child attending school. I would have had to have a child when I was 16--which is just what these kids are doing. And it's not just them, it's their parents, grandparents, cousins, uncles, aunts, siblings, half-siblings. Yes, lots of those in that last category because (surprise, surprise) they get divorced a lot too.
Now, I'm the last person to judge a well-deserved divorce harshy, but you think someone would see the trend. When we get married and have kids in high school, our relationships tend to not last. Maybe it would be better if we waited before starting a family. No? Even those who wait until after their high school graduation to get married still get married young and have kids almost immediately. Their children have no self control, no respect, poor language skills, an inability to act civilly and politely in public. Anyhthing to do with young, immature parents? No? Hmm.
So this year I noticed that one of my students is pregnant. Another one, a darling, vivacious girls, told me that she had a son. A third asked to see the nurse because she was having headaches since her epidural. Then just on Friday, a fourth mentioned her daughter and showed me a picture. Then sat down and had a very high school conversation about the boy she thought was her boyfriend but he kissed his ex-girlfriend and then kissed her and the ex is sick so that's really gross, and. Well, you get the point.
Obviously, there is a cultural issue here. Parents and grandparents are ready and willing to babysit the children while their kids finish school. It's just not that unusual. Some students can see how it might be a drag on resources and hurt and education, but not many of them. Certainly not enough to put an appreciable curb on the problem. I know freshman teachers who have 4-5 pregnant girls in their classes.
Which begs the question: is teen pregnancy really a problem? I recall subbing in an English class a couple of years ago and the students read Toni Morrison's interview where she advocates teen pregnancy. That is actually a simplified version of what she said, and how most people interpret her answers. What she is actually advocating is a totally new system where teens do have children, and jobs, and all those life things that they want, and the community supports them. Of course, as they age, they take the place of the people who watched their children. They can return and get an education. It's a totally different mindset and it would take a revolution to establish.
So, is it a problem? Yes, I think it is becuase this town does not have a comprehensive system for supporting teen parents. The schools and community are not churning out responsible parents. It is not creating well-behaved, loved, creative children. (Yes, many children are well taken care of, but many are not.) Look at the number of children turning to gangs if you doubt my statements. The literacy rate is staggeringly low. Do I need more examples?
And I don't believe that all the girls really want to have kids. I am sure there is plenty of date rape. Obviously, birth control isn't a big thing. Abortion is univerally despised. And so here we are, with all these kids falling into the parent trap.
Teen pregnancy is a big problem in my town. I started to realize just how pervasive the problem is year when my kids told me I was the same age as their mothers. I am not old enough to have a child attending school. I would have had to have a child when I was 16--which is just what these kids are doing. And it's not just them, it's their parents, grandparents, cousins, uncles, aunts, siblings, half-siblings. Yes, lots of those in that last category because (surprise, surprise) they get divorced a lot too.
Now, I'm the last person to judge a well-deserved divorce harshy, but you think someone would see the trend. When we get married and have kids in high school, our relationships tend to not last. Maybe it would be better if we waited before starting a family. No? Even those who wait until after their high school graduation to get married still get married young and have kids almost immediately. Their children have no self control, no respect, poor language skills, an inability to act civilly and politely in public. Anyhthing to do with young, immature parents? No? Hmm.
So this year I noticed that one of my students is pregnant. Another one, a darling, vivacious girls, told me that she had a son. A third asked to see the nurse because she was having headaches since her epidural. Then just on Friday, a fourth mentioned her daughter and showed me a picture. Then sat down and had a very high school conversation about the boy she thought was her boyfriend but he kissed his ex-girlfriend and then kissed her and the ex is sick so that's really gross, and. Well, you get the point.
Obviously, there is a cultural issue here. Parents and grandparents are ready and willing to babysit the children while their kids finish school. It's just not that unusual. Some students can see how it might be a drag on resources and hurt and education, but not many of them. Certainly not enough to put an appreciable curb on the problem. I know freshman teachers who have 4-5 pregnant girls in their classes.
Which begs the question: is teen pregnancy really a problem? I recall subbing in an English class a couple of years ago and the students read Toni Morrison's interview where she advocates teen pregnancy. That is actually a simplified version of what she said, and how most people interpret her answers. What she is actually advocating is a totally new system where teens do have children, and jobs, and all those life things that they want, and the community supports them. Of course, as they age, they take the place of the people who watched their children. They can return and get an education. It's a totally different mindset and it would take a revolution to establish.
So, is it a problem? Yes, I think it is becuase this town does not have a comprehensive system for supporting teen parents. The schools and community are not churning out responsible parents. It is not creating well-behaved, loved, creative children. (Yes, many children are well taken care of, but many are not.) Look at the number of children turning to gangs if you doubt my statements. The literacy rate is staggeringly low. Do I need more examples?
And I don't believe that all the girls really want to have kids. I am sure there is plenty of date rape. Obviously, birth control isn't a big thing. Abortion is univerally despised. And so here we are, with all these kids falling into the parent trap.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
It's Going, It's Going...
I've been working with my students on rhetoric. Our state is really big on rhetorical devices and The Three Appeals (not they will so blatantly quote from Aristotle) and analyzing political documents, bla bla bla. Of course, it really is a very useful tool for my students. Of all the craziness we stuff down their throats in language arts, persuasion is the one thing that they will not be able to avoid in their lives. As it is, they are constantly bombarded with persuasive messages: buy this, wear that, go here, don't this, do that. How much better would they be as adults if they could decipher is someone was developing an appeal based on emotion or logic or if the speaker was even credible. How better would their lives as workers be if they were good at selling their particular goods and services to -- well, each other, but still. Imagine a generation would could analyze political commercials. Ahhh, it would be heaven.
Of course, they still resist. They think it's all irrelevant, even the relevant stuff.
But, I put together this whole deal based on the Declaration of Independence. I collected seven other declarations (the Declaration of the Rights of Man the the Citizen, the Declaration of the Rights of Women and the Female Citizen, the Working Man's Declaration of Independence, the Declaration of Sentiments, the Declaration of Independence of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and the Declaration of the Rights of the Child -- I really wanted to use the Convention on the Rights of the Child, but 11 pages is just too long). For each of the seven, I wrote margin questions to guide their reading. In groups, read your declaration, compare to the Declaration of Independence, make a poster, share.
They missed a lot. Many of them just can't read closely. I didn't do a great job getting them to make connections between all seven, but it was a pretty good start. I got the groups to read and work together. A few groups were totally off, but most of them did some solid work. Basic, but good.
And then, the piece de resistance: a little thing I call the Declaration of Independence Redux. Oh yes, my students will write their own declarations. It's perfect for them. It's exactly what their age wants to do. It wants to declare independence and take on the ills of the world. It's brilliant, I tell you, brilliant!
Today, a few of them told me out-right that they thought it was a great idea. Most of them just got to work in class. They were talking to each other about ideas, writing, brainstorming. Oh, I'm no miracle worker. There was some sluffing off and some procrastination, but there was some serious excitement, too. And they weren't just writing about the dress code and the tardy bell; they were writing about the economy and the environment and abortion (they have some pretty close-minded opinions about some of this stuff, but I promise to not hold it against them). This is weighty stuff.
...It's not out of the park, but got at least one RBI out of this unit.
Of course, they still resist. They think it's all irrelevant, even the relevant stuff.
But, I put together this whole deal based on the Declaration of Independence. I collected seven other declarations (the Declaration of the Rights of Man the the Citizen, the Declaration of the Rights of Women and the Female Citizen, the Working Man's Declaration of Independence, the Declaration of Sentiments, the Declaration of Independence of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and the Declaration of the Rights of the Child -- I really wanted to use the Convention on the Rights of the Child, but 11 pages is just too long). For each of the seven, I wrote margin questions to guide their reading. In groups, read your declaration, compare to the Declaration of Independence, make a poster, share.
They missed a lot. Many of them just can't read closely. I didn't do a great job getting them to make connections between all seven, but it was a pretty good start. I got the groups to read and work together. A few groups were totally off, but most of them did some solid work. Basic, but good.
And then, the piece de resistance: a little thing I call the Declaration of Independence Redux. Oh yes, my students will write their own declarations. It's perfect for them. It's exactly what their age wants to do. It wants to declare independence and take on the ills of the world. It's brilliant, I tell you, brilliant!
Today, a few of them told me out-right that they thought it was a great idea. Most of them just got to work in class. They were talking to each other about ideas, writing, brainstorming. Oh, I'm no miracle worker. There was some sluffing off and some procrastination, but there was some serious excitement, too. And they weren't just writing about the dress code and the tardy bell; they were writing about the economy and the environment and abortion (they have some pretty close-minded opinions about some of this stuff, but I promise to not hold it against them). This is weighty stuff.
...It's not out of the park, but got at least one RBI out of this unit.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Picklicious
As I type, I have eight 1/2 pint jars boiling away in a pot on the stove. They are packed with chow-chow, a Southern pickle relish that is a mixture of coarsely chopped green tomato, red and green bell pepper, onion, cabbage, and in this batch, cauliflower (celery is another potential ingredient). I got the idea to make chow-chow about five years ago, but as with many of my projects, I never got aorund to doing it. Not completing the project and forgetting about it are two totally different things, however.
So, as I faced a pile of tomato plants slowly dying from white fly (and other?) infestations and cooling evenings, I decided to cut my losses (ha ha) and harvest my green tomatoes. What does one do with green tomatoes? Chow-chow, of course. (Especially if said green tomatoes are small, stunted tomatoes and not of an appropriate size for slicing and frying.)
So, today I dusted off my canning supplies, got a new jar of apple cider vinegar and a box of jars, and got a-chopping. Some Web sites will tell you that a food processor is your friend for chow-chow, but none of my true Southern-food cookbooks agree. They say you get the best results and best taste from hand chopping. The processor releases too much liquid.
I chopped. I piled in a pot. I added vinegar and sugar and some salt. I boiled and stirred. I poured some pickling spice (sans clove -- I dislike clove) into a cloth bag and dumped it in the pot, too. Then, I started up my spaghetti pot with a rack in the bottom of it with jars and water for sterlization. The pot is about an inch too short, but I can just get it to a boil without boiling water over the entire stove. In a smaller pot I boiled the lids and tongs and funnel and magnetic thingy.
And then I waited for it all to come to a boil. *yawn* I used to have a HUGE pot to do this in, but it took two hours to get all that water to a boil, so I jettisoned it awhile ago.
Finally, everything appeared ready. I drained, funneled, and capped. Back in the water to process. As the pickles were processing, I realized that I've never made pickles before. I've made jam, but not pickles. Hmm. Maybe I should have shown more trepidation about this whole process. Oh well. It's too late now! The pickles are now out of the water and cooling on a rack. It sounds like the tops are getting sucked down. I'll know in a bit if I can put them on the shelf or if they need to live in the refrigerator. Regardless, I also have some shell beans from the farmer's market that I think will be delightful with the chow-chow.
Mmm. Chow.
So, as I faced a pile of tomato plants slowly dying from white fly (and other?) infestations and cooling evenings, I decided to cut my losses (ha ha) and harvest my green tomatoes. What does one do with green tomatoes? Chow-chow, of course. (Especially if said green tomatoes are small, stunted tomatoes and not of an appropriate size for slicing and frying.)
So, today I dusted off my canning supplies, got a new jar of apple cider vinegar and a box of jars, and got a-chopping. Some Web sites will tell you that a food processor is your friend for chow-chow, but none of my true Southern-food cookbooks agree. They say you get the best results and best taste from hand chopping. The processor releases too much liquid.
I chopped. I piled in a pot. I added vinegar and sugar and some salt. I boiled and stirred. I poured some pickling spice (sans clove -- I dislike clove) into a cloth bag and dumped it in the pot, too. Then, I started up my spaghetti pot with a rack in the bottom of it with jars and water for sterlization. The pot is about an inch too short, but I can just get it to a boil without boiling water over the entire stove. In a smaller pot I boiled the lids and tongs and funnel and magnetic thingy.
And then I waited for it all to come to a boil. *yawn* I used to have a HUGE pot to do this in, but it took two hours to get all that water to a boil, so I jettisoned it awhile ago.
Finally, everything appeared ready. I drained, funneled, and capped. Back in the water to process. As the pickles were processing, I realized that I've never made pickles before. I've made jam, but not pickles. Hmm. Maybe I should have shown more trepidation about this whole process. Oh well. It's too late now! The pickles are now out of the water and cooling on a rack. It sounds like the tops are getting sucked down. I'll know in a bit if I can put them on the shelf or if they need to live in the refrigerator. Regardless, I also have some shell beans from the farmer's market that I think will be delightful with the chow-chow.
Mmm. Chow.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Why Don't They Look?
A kid was transferred into my class during the last week of the quarter. The grade that showed up on his little transfer sheet was a C+. The kid shows me this. Cool.
I put grades in, but he is not on my computer screen for grades. His grade will be input by his previous teacher. There is some deadline for switching and who is responsible for grades. Whatever.
A few weeks later, the student asks me about his grade, because he didn't get one, and it's important for his sports eligibility. So, I start to dig. Go see his previous teacher -- yes, he did put in a grade for this student. His actual grade? An F. 59.34% or something. So, where did this C+ come from?
Well, the grade is there and because I am not the teacher responsible for the grade, I can't change it. This kid had a piece of paper that said he had a C+, but the grade in the computer gradebook and in the computer report card is an F.
What the?
How should I handle it? Take his transfer grade or his actual grade? Why would you lie so much on a transfer grade report? I can see rounding up to a D, but a C+? This kid was told he had a C+ a few days before the quarter ends, but oops! Just kidding -- it's really an F.
Seriously people. Not cool.
I put grades in, but he is not on my computer screen for grades. His grade will be input by his previous teacher. There is some deadline for switching and who is responsible for grades. Whatever.
A few weeks later, the student asks me about his grade, because he didn't get one, and it's important for his sports eligibility. So, I start to dig. Go see his previous teacher -- yes, he did put in a grade for this student. His actual grade? An F. 59.34% or something. So, where did this C+ come from?
Well, the grade is there and because I am not the teacher responsible for the grade, I can't change it. This kid had a piece of paper that said he had a C+, but the grade in the computer gradebook and in the computer report card is an F.
What the?
How should I handle it? Take his transfer grade or his actual grade? Why would you lie so much on a transfer grade report? I can see rounding up to a D, but a C+? This kid was told he had a C+ a few days before the quarter ends, but oops! Just kidding -- it's really an F.
Seriously people. Not cool.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Bullying
I was walking across campus yesterday when I saw one of my former students.
A side note before I continue: I am horrible with names. Horrible. I can remember faces and incidents and things people have written. I can remember arcane facts, random dates, and any number of stories. I can not remember names. My dad is the same way; although we sometimes suspected he was willfully misremembering names, now I'm not so sure. It does shed some light on why I was always petrified (PETRIFIED) of playing names games in elementary school. There were, what? maybe 100 kids in the entire grade and I couldn't remember names from year to year? So, I often see former students, and know who they are, but it will take me a good 10-15 minutes, or days, or a perusal of my old grade book, to figure out their names.
So, I saw this student walking towards me. He had an evil expression on his face, but I was prepared to say hi when he made eye-contact -- even if I couldn't remember his name. Well, he never made eye-contact. Kept walking right by like no one was there. Well, no one except the kid he said "snitch" to as he walked by.
It left me with a creepy feeling. I almost wasn't sure that I had heard it. I don't know who he was talking to, but I know enough to know that these kids do not take kindly to "snitches". Somewhere along the line, they learned that adults can't, don't, or won't help them and so are not to be trusted with information. It is definitely a gang culture -- us against them. And students, even if they are deathly afraid for their own safety or someone else's, thus resist telling an adult what is going on.
I finally realized? decided? to send an email this student's administrator at lunch. (I also finally remembered the kid's name.) I have no information. Don't know who was being targeted. Don't know what the situation is. The administrators get much more of the story and know more about what's going on, so I thought maybe he would know something. I didn't expect that much would happen, but at least there is evidence of something if there was an incident. Vague, but better than nothing.
At our staff meeting today, we watched a video of some of our students being interviewed about school. It was sort, and had bad audio, but it was OK. There was one clip of a boy saying the school should have more supervisors so there would be fewer fights. The producers said that every single boy interviewed said the same thing. They were all scared (consciously or not), although they didn't use that word.
After the meeting, I made sure that I spoke with the administrator about my email. He had not seen it yet, but we had a long conversation about who the child was, what I saw, and changes I saw in the student last year. It sounds like he is mixed up in some serious bidness -- and this is known not because of any "snitch", but because, although students don't believe it, adults notice things that kids are doing and he's making himself noticed.
Rach mentioned reading the book I recommended, Fist, Stick, Knife, Gun, and that itself made me realize that I needed to tell someone what I saw. My students are growing up in a scary, violent world. They need to know that someone is watching, because someone cares. It's probably not enough, but it's at least a start, right? Rach's post also reminded me of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and Angel, too, I guess. In both those shows, the humans take on the forces of evil, not because there is any expectation of winning, but because what we do as humans is try to make things better (or at least most of us do). It's not always about winning or odds or chances, it's about effort and connections. Consider Greek mythology, if you prefer classic references. The gods have all this power, and very little concern. The lowly humans, though, have all the concern and often are able to defeat the gods through pluck and determination. So, not to let the Spaniards feel left out, I'll keep on tilting at windmills myself, because these windmills really are giants.
A side note before I continue: I am horrible with names. Horrible. I can remember faces and incidents and things people have written. I can remember arcane facts, random dates, and any number of stories. I can not remember names. My dad is the same way; although we sometimes suspected he was willfully misremembering names, now I'm not so sure. It does shed some light on why I was always petrified (PETRIFIED) of playing names games in elementary school. There were, what? maybe 100 kids in the entire grade and I couldn't remember names from year to year? So, I often see former students, and know who they are, but it will take me a good 10-15 minutes, or days, or a perusal of my old grade book, to figure out their names.
So, I saw this student walking towards me. He had an evil expression on his face, but I was prepared to say hi when he made eye-contact -- even if I couldn't remember his name. Well, he never made eye-contact. Kept walking right by like no one was there. Well, no one except the kid he said "snitch" to as he walked by.
It left me with a creepy feeling. I almost wasn't sure that I had heard it. I don't know who he was talking to, but I know enough to know that these kids do not take kindly to "snitches". Somewhere along the line, they learned that adults can't, don't, or won't help them and so are not to be trusted with information. It is definitely a gang culture -- us against them. And students, even if they are deathly afraid for their own safety or someone else's, thus resist telling an adult what is going on.
I finally realized? decided? to send an email this student's administrator at lunch. (I also finally remembered the kid's name.) I have no information. Don't know who was being targeted. Don't know what the situation is. The administrators get much more of the story and know more about what's going on, so I thought maybe he would know something. I didn't expect that much would happen, but at least there is evidence of something if there was an incident. Vague, but better than nothing.
At our staff meeting today, we watched a video of some of our students being interviewed about school. It was sort, and had bad audio, but it was OK. There was one clip of a boy saying the school should have more supervisors so there would be fewer fights. The producers said that every single boy interviewed said the same thing. They were all scared (consciously or not), although they didn't use that word.
After the meeting, I made sure that I spoke with the administrator about my email. He had not seen it yet, but we had a long conversation about who the child was, what I saw, and changes I saw in the student last year. It sounds like he is mixed up in some serious bidness -- and this is known not because of any "snitch", but because, although students don't believe it, adults notice things that kids are doing and he's making himself noticed.
Rach mentioned reading the book I recommended, Fist, Stick, Knife, Gun, and that itself made me realize that I needed to tell someone what I saw. My students are growing up in a scary, violent world. They need to know that someone is watching, because someone cares. It's probably not enough, but it's at least a start, right? Rach's post also reminded me of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and Angel, too, I guess. In both those shows, the humans take on the forces of evil, not because there is any expectation of winning, but because what we do as humans is try to make things better (or at least most of us do). It's not always about winning or odds or chances, it's about effort and connections. Consider Greek mythology, if you prefer classic references. The gods have all this power, and very little concern. The lowly humans, though, have all the concern and often are able to defeat the gods through pluck and determination. So, not to let the Spaniards feel left out, I'll keep on tilting at windmills myself, because these windmills really are giants.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Oh, Sarah
I have some author-crushes. I don't mean "crush" in the sense "I want to have your baby"; these are more brain-based crushes. I do, however, create elaborate fantasies that generally involve unexpected meetings in dive bars and hours of hilarious conversation punctuated with stretches of deeply intelligent philophizing. During these (entirely fictional) encounters, beers are drunk and fries are shared. It's at once down-to-earth and extremely heady. At the end of said encounters, I leave the dark, dank, dive bar with an email address and new pen pal. OK, let's be honest. This beer-drinking crush fantasy also extends to certain musicians and even a movie star or two. What can say? I think I am a fantastic conversationalist, and I tend to admire famous people who I imagine would appreciate my type of conversation.
I shared one particular bar-meeting-fantasy with B this summer. She happens to live in the same town as this particular crushes family, and I imagine escaping from B's loving, but sometimes overwhelming, family to some local drinking establishment during the holiday season. And there, escaping from her own family, is said author-crush, Sarah Vowell. (No offense to B at all. Little kids just take a lot of energy and I need a break from time to time to recharge.) Well, days after I shared this tid-bit with B, she ran into her in town at a child's theater camp production. I am not kidding. It was my fantasy, except that I wasn't there and although B spent time chatting with Sarah's twin sister Amy about their same-named sons, she never once introduced herself to Sarah. She certainly didn't mention that her little sister admires a woman who can so convincingly (and for money) make history-nerdism (and theme road trips) cool.
Well, I went right online and found Sarah's book tour schedule. She had three reading scheduled in my greater California area. The closest reading was on a school night (and by "close", I mean the far side of an hour away), so not a great option. Then the next reading was in SF, and while SF is "fun", it is also "expensive". Parking there is a pain. Traffic is a bitch. Bla bla bla. The third reading was the near side of two hours away, and on a Saturday. Perfect! (I toyed with attending all three, but I thought that might be a bit stalkerish. A bit. I want to have a beer with Sarah, not scare the bajeezus out of her.)
I thought it was at a library, so I thought little of it until a week ago when I went to check out the deets. It seems it was at the city's performing arts center, and tickets were required! Gasp! They were free, but it was ticketed seating. I managed to score FRONT ROW seats! I think someone cancelled right before I logged on. I was off to the side, but still. I half-heartedly asked around for a "date", but everyone was busy or out-of-town. I really didn't want to bring along someone who would mess up the magical moment that was bound to ensue between Sarah and myself, anyway.
Away I drove, all four of my books (and some knitting) in hand. I arrived a little early, sat down, and immediately started eavesdropping on the people sitting near me. One woman had a list of things she wanted to do (maybe 26 things to do during her 26th year?) including sleeping in a tent that she pitched herself. Huh. I can't imagine being 26 and not having pitched a tent -- not if that was the sort of thing to go on my "To-Do-Before-I-Am-[insert age here] List". I kept it to myself, though. (And all of you.) I try to keep the snark inside my head and not directed at those who are the actual recipients of the snark. It did make me deathly curious to see what these people looked like, though. I finally got a chance to turn around when one of the guys started chatting with the lady next to him about what else Sarah had written. These people were decidedly uninformed about my idol, Sarah. I got to tell them (fairly cute, bearded 20-something man and neatly coiffed 60-something woman) about the four books I've read. I got to tell them what I liked about each one:
Then I got to share with them the afore-mentioned sister story. They were all suitable aghast at B's neglect of my fantasy. Who cares that B might have been incredibly embarassed to intrude upone someone else's family event for a thrill that wasn't even hers. I think she should have invited the entire Vowell clan to Christmas Eve dinner, but that's just me.
Anyway. The book reading was cool. I expected it to be about The Wordy Shipmates, but it seems that the local library chose Assassination Vacation as their Two Cities, One Book choice. (It's like The Big Read or Everybody Reads... A library or bookstore sponsors a book for the whole community to read and talk about. Cool idea.) Sarah was a bit surprised by the choice, she has always contended that it's not the sort of book that would appeal to all audiences; the topic is a bit macabre. But read she did, and annonate her already annontated text she did. She has great delivery. She was not a contributing author to This American Life for seven years for no good reason.
Then I got in line to get my books signed. We all stood in a (rather short) line with our books. Perhaps she really wasn't everyone's cup of tea after all. I got to the front (we all gave the person at the table this rather polite buffer of space for an intimate interview with the Great Sarah Vowell) and told her I had a story to tell. She listened politely while signed all four of my books. She glossed over my beer-drinking fantasy and didn't even blink at my sister's (polite?) refusal to bother her at the show, and went straight to a discussion of the theater camp's production. Was my nephew at the camp last year? No. Well, they sang this rather cute gummy bear song. I thougth it sounded a bit silly in an ironic sort of hipster way. (Surely Sarah, Queen of the History Hipsters would agree?) Nope. I guess it really was totally adorable. This year's was very Monty Python (which I think sounds awesome!). If I do go next year, I should prepare myself. "Come with a snack" are Sarah's wise words of wisdom. (And a camera and the 5th book that I am now determined to track down while in Portland this Christmas, I added to myself.)
I guess I was hoping for a best-friends-at-first-sight sort of moment. That didn't happen. But Sarah was very patient and polite with my star-gazing fandom. She didn't roll her eyes or immediately look for exits or the police. I still think we could have a great time talking over a beer. But perhaps my Sarah-Vowell stories wouldn't go over so well with the actual Sarah Vowell. Or maybe she would love to hear about Forts Across America.
I left the line and found myself in front of two librarians, and I took a moment and chatted with them. They were suitably impressed with my near-meeting of Sarah (through B). They were incredibly impressed with my almost two-hour drive to the reading. I got a high-five from one for my dedication to the written word. They liked my Forts Across America story and my ability to now design an 18th century fort complete with pentagonal design and reinfornced earthworks. (I'm not kidding about visiting all those forts. I also decided Washington really wasn't that great of a military commander after seeing Fort Necessity; more of a bumbling richie at the right place at the right time, but I digress.)
And now you, dear readers, get a blow-by-blow of the event. Lucky, lucky you.
I shared one particular bar-meeting-fantasy with B this summer. She happens to live in the same town as this particular crushes family, and I imagine escaping from B's loving, but sometimes overwhelming, family to some local drinking establishment during the holiday season. And there, escaping from her own family, is said author-crush, Sarah Vowell. (No offense to B at all. Little kids just take a lot of energy and I need a break from time to time to recharge.) Well, days after I shared this tid-bit with B, she ran into her in town at a child's theater camp production. I am not kidding. It was my fantasy, except that I wasn't there and although B spent time chatting with Sarah's twin sister Amy about their same-named sons, she never once introduced herself to Sarah. She certainly didn't mention that her little sister admires a woman who can so convincingly (and for money) make history-nerdism (and theme road trips) cool.
Well, I went right online and found Sarah's book tour schedule. She had three reading scheduled in my greater California area. The closest reading was on a school night (and by "close", I mean the far side of an hour away), so not a great option. Then the next reading was in SF, and while SF is "fun", it is also "expensive". Parking there is a pain. Traffic is a bitch. Bla bla bla. The third reading was the near side of two hours away, and on a Saturday. Perfect! (I toyed with attending all three, but I thought that might be a bit stalkerish. A bit. I want to have a beer with Sarah, not scare the bajeezus out of her.)
I thought it was at a library, so I thought little of it until a week ago when I went to check out the deets. It seems it was at the city's performing arts center, and tickets were required! Gasp! They were free, but it was ticketed seating. I managed to score FRONT ROW seats! I think someone cancelled right before I logged on. I was off to the side, but still. I half-heartedly asked around for a "date", but everyone was busy or out-of-town. I really didn't want to bring along someone who would mess up the magical moment that was bound to ensue between Sarah and myself, anyway.
Away I drove, all four of my books (and some knitting) in hand. I arrived a little early, sat down, and immediately started eavesdropping on the people sitting near me. One woman had a list of things she wanted to do (maybe 26 things to do during her 26th year?) including sleeping in a tent that she pitched herself. Huh. I can't imagine being 26 and not having pitched a tent -- not if that was the sort of thing to go on my "To-Do-Before-I-Am-[insert age here] List". I kept it to myself, though. (And all of you.) I try to keep the snark inside my head and not directed at those who are the actual recipients of the snark. It did make me deathly curious to see what these people looked like, though. I finally got a chance to turn around when one of the guys started chatting with the lady next to him about what else Sarah had written. These people were decidedly uninformed about my idol, Sarah. I got to tell them (fairly cute, bearded 20-something man and neatly coiffed 60-something woman) about the four books I've read. I got to tell them what I liked about each one:
- The Wordy Shipmates is about the Puritans, and all things New England are near and dear to my New England heart. It doesn't hurt that my kids are currently reading The Cruicible, duly mentioned by Sarah in the first two pages.
- Assassination Vacation which is a travelogue of a theme vacation centered around Presidential assassinations. As someone who lovingly refers to a collection of road/bike trips as "Forts Across America" and a cross-country drive as "Barbeque Across America", I get it.
- The Partly-Cloudy Patriot which is so unabashedly pro-American-ideals while acknowledging, and even explaining, all the things about our peculiar system of government that drive us do-goody, idealistic, reforming liberals crazy that it made me cry.
- Take the Canolli which is perhaps my least favorite of all four due to its lack of coherence (it is a collection of essays, what do I expect?), but does include my favorire of Sarah's radio commentaries. The one where her family will all die because they are spending Thanksgiving with Sarah in New York who makes yellow cornbread for the stuffing. (Remind anyone of a Thanksgiving I "ruined"?) In this she says the best thing ever about parent-child relations. She enumerates the things she and her parents can not discuss: "National politics. State and local politics... My personal life and their so-called God." Me, too!
- Radio On is her first book and the only one I don't own. At the time, I didn't feel like reading a diary of a radio listener, but that was before I got on my memoir kick. It is totally on the list.
Then I got to share with them the afore-mentioned sister story. They were all suitable aghast at B's neglect of my fantasy. Who cares that B might have been incredibly embarassed to intrude upone someone else's family event for a thrill that wasn't even hers. I think she should have invited the entire Vowell clan to Christmas Eve dinner, but that's just me.
Anyway. The book reading was cool. I expected it to be about The Wordy Shipmates, but it seems that the local library chose Assassination Vacation as their Two Cities, One Book choice. (It's like The Big Read or Everybody Reads... A library or bookstore sponsors a book for the whole community to read and talk about. Cool idea.) Sarah was a bit surprised by the choice, she has always contended that it's not the sort of book that would appeal to all audiences; the topic is a bit macabre. But read she did, and annonate her already annontated text she did. She has great delivery. She was not a contributing author to This American Life for seven years for no good reason.
Then I got in line to get my books signed. We all stood in a (rather short) line with our books. Perhaps she really wasn't everyone's cup of tea after all. I got to the front (we all gave the person at the table this rather polite buffer of space for an intimate interview with the Great Sarah Vowell) and told her I had a story to tell. She listened politely while signed all four of my books. She glossed over my beer-drinking fantasy and didn't even blink at my sister's (polite?) refusal to bother her at the show, and went straight to a discussion of the theater camp's production. Was my nephew at the camp last year? No. Well, they sang this rather cute gummy bear song. I thougth it sounded a bit silly in an ironic sort of hipster way. (Surely Sarah, Queen of the History Hipsters would agree?) Nope. I guess it really was totally adorable. This year's was very Monty Python (which I think sounds awesome!). If I do go next year, I should prepare myself. "Come with a snack" are Sarah's wise words of wisdom. (And a camera and the 5th book that I am now determined to track down while in Portland this Christmas, I added to myself.)
I guess I was hoping for a best-friends-at-first-sight sort of moment. That didn't happen. But Sarah was very patient and polite with my star-gazing fandom. She didn't roll her eyes or immediately look for exits or the police. I still think we could have a great time talking over a beer. But perhaps my Sarah-Vowell stories wouldn't go over so well with the actual Sarah Vowell. Or maybe she would love to hear about Forts Across America.
I left the line and found myself in front of two librarians, and I took a moment and chatted with them. They were suitably impressed with my near-meeting of Sarah (through B). They were incredibly impressed with my almost two-hour drive to the reading. I got a high-five from one for my dedication to the written word. They liked my Forts Across America story and my ability to now design an 18th century fort complete with pentagonal design and reinfornced earthworks. (I'm not kidding about visiting all those forts. I also decided Washington really wasn't that great of a military commander after seeing Fort Necessity; more of a bumbling richie at the right place at the right time, but I digress.)
And now you, dear readers, get a blow-by-blow of the event. Lucky, lucky you.
Friday, October 16, 2009
*sniffle*
Yes, the first cold of the school year is upon me. I felt the sore throat beginning on Monday night(?) Tuesday (?). Anyway, I went to the Safeway the next morning and got some Zicam. I figured it was time I tried the homeopathic remedy for real. I also tried to be more routine with my Emergen C.
It was working there for awhile, but by last night I could see the curtain falling. Or more like -- feel it. The snot was building up in my sinus cavities. And now, it is upon me. I think the Zicam helps a little, but not a whole lot. I did go to school today -- it was my prep day and they've had a lot of subs lately. I was definitely cranky by 6th block, but we made it through OK. They might have even learned something about clauses and sentence fragments. (On that side night, I am continually amazed by what they don't know. I know it's a language barrier, and not a brain thing, but they really struggle with figuring out what clause completes a thought and what doesn't. I guess they need serious reading comprehension interventions? Gah.)
This blog is poorly written. I'm stopping now before I subject you to any more of the horror. Just letting you know I'm alive, just very stuffed.
It was working there for awhile, but by last night I could see the curtain falling. Or more like -- feel it. The snot was building up in my sinus cavities. And now, it is upon me. I think the Zicam helps a little, but not a whole lot. I did go to school today -- it was my prep day and they've had a lot of subs lately. I was definitely cranky by 6th block, but we made it through OK. They might have even learned something about clauses and sentence fragments. (On that side night, I am continually amazed by what they don't know. I know it's a language barrier, and not a brain thing, but they really struggle with figuring out what clause completes a thought and what doesn't. I guess they need serious reading comprehension interventions? Gah.)
This blog is poorly written. I'm stopping now before I subject you to any more of the horror. Just letting you know I'm alive, just very stuffed.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
It's Not Fair
I have a class with 24 boys and 9 girls.
That is not equitable.
I have spoken to counseling, and they will "try" to rectify the matter. They don't take gender into consideration, though, even in such horribly unbalanced situation. I hope they do. Not only is the class off-the-hook spazzy, but in a culture that regularly degrades and devalues women, no female student should be forced to learn in that situation, especially since we as adults can make a change.
That is not equitable.
I have spoken to counseling, and they will "try" to rectify the matter. They don't take gender into consideration, though, even in such horribly unbalanced situation. I hope they do. Not only is the class off-the-hook spazzy, but in a culture that regularly degrades and devalues women, no female student should be forced to learn in that situation, especially since we as adults can make a change.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Say It Ain'T So
We've been overloaded in our classes. It's a long story. It has to do with shifts in enrollement (can you say foreclosures boys and girls) and a new computer system. The district thought we had too many students, but we really didn't. Or at least not as few as they said we did.
So I started the year (much to my amazement) with 32-33 students in a class. And then we lost 16 sections, and I went up to 36-38. I recognize that I am at a totally different place than I was last year. Suddenly, 32 seems like cake. (I had 30 freshman two years ago, and I insisted it was Hell. I can tell you, though, that had I had 5 fewer of them, the remaining 25 would have gotten a much better deal. My current students miss out on a lot.)
They've been promising a new section of English for two weeks now. For the last two days, I've been seeing the fall-out on my schedule. Of course, they have dropped students from every class except the ONE that is most overloaded. Not only is the class overloaded, but they are the most lively and each one really needs my personal attention at every minute of the day.
And today, I saw that they dropped one of my kids. This kid DROVE ME NUTS last year. I believe I've mentioned him here before (perhaps he need his own secret identity); we did NOT get along last year. This year, however, has been awesome. I'm glad to have him in the room. I look forward to his input. (I always knew he had talent, but last year he didn't want to share his skillz.) And....
They moved him.
Of all the 170 students I have on my courseload, they take the ONE student that I was really psyched to have. Not only because he was participating, but because he was living proof that problems can improve, students can change, and I can have an influence (I don't think I "changed" him, but that he's willing to play along this year makes me thing that he learned something last year.)
I told him during homeroom that I saw his schedule changed. He started smiling, and I called him on it. He said that he thought class was going well, and no, he didn't want to switch. I do believe it was a nervous smile -- which I totally get. If they are switching him from me, that means they are switching his entire course load.
I also hate that they are switching a student who is suddenly showing academic progress (he did very little work last year). How will this shift change him? I could give them a better list of students who would be impacted less by a change -- because their education impacts them less. (of course, if they asked us, we'd end up with a class students who don't care. Repeat after me kids, "Tracking!"
It's just disappointing. He was a good reminder that things can get better and they kids do change. I told him to tell his couselor to switch him back. It won't happen, but I hope he at least realizes that even after last year, I don't hate him and that he can make positive changes. He is also friendly with a touch of snark; I appreciated his devil's advocate side. He was fun to have in class. I will miss him (and I never, ever thoug I'd say that.)
So I started the year (much to my amazement) with 32-33 students in a class. And then we lost 16 sections, and I went up to 36-38. I recognize that I am at a totally different place than I was last year. Suddenly, 32 seems like cake. (I had 30 freshman two years ago, and I insisted it was Hell. I can tell you, though, that had I had 5 fewer of them, the remaining 25 would have gotten a much better deal. My current students miss out on a lot.)
They've been promising a new section of English for two weeks now. For the last two days, I've been seeing the fall-out on my schedule. Of course, they have dropped students from every class except the ONE that is most overloaded. Not only is the class overloaded, but they are the most lively and each one really needs my personal attention at every minute of the day.
And today, I saw that they dropped one of my kids. This kid DROVE ME NUTS last year. I believe I've mentioned him here before (perhaps he need his own secret identity); we did NOT get along last year. This year, however, has been awesome. I'm glad to have him in the room. I look forward to his input. (I always knew he had talent, but last year he didn't want to share his skillz.) And....
They moved him.
Of all the 170 students I have on my courseload, they take the ONE student that I was really psyched to have. Not only because he was participating, but because he was living proof that problems can improve, students can change, and I can have an influence (I don't think I "changed" him, but that he's willing to play along this year makes me thing that he learned something last year.)
I told him during homeroom that I saw his schedule changed. He started smiling, and I called him on it. He said that he thought class was going well, and no, he didn't want to switch. I do believe it was a nervous smile -- which I totally get. If they are switching him from me, that means they are switching his entire course load.
I also hate that they are switching a student who is suddenly showing academic progress (he did very little work last year). How will this shift change him? I could give them a better list of students who would be impacted less by a change -- because their education impacts them less. (of course, if they asked us, we'd end up with a class students who don't care. Repeat after me kids, "Tracking!"
It's just disappointing. He was a good reminder that things can get better and they kids do change. I told him to tell his couselor to switch him back. It won't happen, but I hope he at least realizes that even after last year, I don't hate him and that he can make positive changes. He is also friendly with a touch of snark; I appreciated his devil's advocate side. He was fun to have in class. I will miss him (and I never, ever thoug I'd say that.)
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Over-react Much?
One of my students told me that he was considering dropping out of school. He has filled out all the paperwork; he's just waiting for a bit. I was very surprised, because he does not strike me as one of the students who is merely marking time. He is attentive, cooperative, and participates, but he can't pass his math class. Without math, he can't graduate, and if he can't graduate, he doesn't want to waste his time.
Another teacher mentioned to him that he should be tested for a learning disability. It makes sense; if he is showing a discrepancy between his ability (as evidence by his progress in other subjects) and his performance, he could be LD. He was asking me about the possibility, and what it meant, and my thoughts. I told him that it was possible to have a disability in only one area (i.e. math) and not in others (i.e. reading and writing). It is something that needs to be investigated, and I would look into it to see if it was a possibility.
That's what we do, right? We assess our students' needs and abilities and make judgement calls on the next steps. No one is saying he IS LD, but that he COULD be. He could also just need serious remediation because he missed key concepts early in his math education. He is a language learner, so that is also a viable scenario. Regardless, without intervention, he will not graduate: he's telling us that.
I sent an email off to his counselor. I'm not sure how to call an intervention meeting or to assess if one is necessary, but the counselors should know how to do that. I get back a rather snippy email saying that he will talk to the student, but he hopes that whoever made the "allegation" was qualified to do so (no, I am not "the teacher").
Allegation? No one alleged anything. A professional told a worried student that there were other options to consider before dropping out. Furthermore, it is my understanding that as classroom teachers we are OBLIGATED to notify others if we suspect a disability is present. Yes, the testing and diagnosis is made by those trained to do so, but if those professionals had to do all the initial identification on their own, no student would ever get identified! This student shows a discrepancy, and we still work on a discrepancy model.
This whole conversation could help keep a student in school through graduation. It could get a student the help he needs to succeed in school (and maybe even in life -- gasp), whether it involves SPED or remediation. I just don't get the attitude. We're all doing our jobs.
Another teacher mentioned to him that he should be tested for a learning disability. It makes sense; if he is showing a discrepancy between his ability (as evidence by his progress in other subjects) and his performance, he could be LD. He was asking me about the possibility, and what it meant, and my thoughts. I told him that it was possible to have a disability in only one area (i.e. math) and not in others (i.e. reading and writing). It is something that needs to be investigated, and I would look into it to see if it was a possibility.
That's what we do, right? We assess our students' needs and abilities and make judgement calls on the next steps. No one is saying he IS LD, but that he COULD be. He could also just need serious remediation because he missed key concepts early in his math education. He is a language learner, so that is also a viable scenario. Regardless, without intervention, he will not graduate: he's telling us that.
I sent an email off to his counselor. I'm not sure how to call an intervention meeting or to assess if one is necessary, but the counselors should know how to do that. I get back a rather snippy email saying that he will talk to the student, but he hopes that whoever made the "allegation" was qualified to do so (no, I am not "the teacher").
Allegation? No one alleged anything. A professional told a worried student that there were other options to consider before dropping out. Furthermore, it is my understanding that as classroom teachers we are OBLIGATED to notify others if we suspect a disability is present. Yes, the testing and diagnosis is made by those trained to do so, but if those professionals had to do all the initial identification on their own, no student would ever get identified! This student shows a discrepancy, and we still work on a discrepancy model.
This whole conversation could help keep a student in school through graduation. It could get a student the help he needs to succeed in school (and maybe even in life -- gasp), whether it involves SPED or remediation. I just don't get the attitude. We're all doing our jobs.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
I'm Coming Up, so You'd Better Get This Party Started
I have arrived.
Today, while flipping burgers and slicing tri-tip at the football game, one of the juniors asked me to help out with a super-secret Homecoming event. It goes without saying that only the cool, fun teachers get asked to do Homecoming stuff. I guess this means I am now officially cool and fun. It doesn't hurt that I've been far more visible this year: I've already chaperoned one dance and cooked food at both home football games. And of course, I know more students this year than I did last. That just comes with time.
And it is official, I'll be the advisor for Mock Trial.
It's not like any of this stuff guarantees that I'll make tenure, but it can't hurt. I am a team player and I am giving back to the school in many ways. I am visible and friendly. And, it also helps classroom management (my Achilles' heel) because students see you outside of the classroom as well as in; you become a whole person, not just a teaching machine.
Today, while flipping burgers and slicing tri-tip at the football game, one of the juniors asked me to help out with a super-secret Homecoming event. It goes without saying that only the cool, fun teachers get asked to do Homecoming stuff. I guess this means I am now officially cool and fun. It doesn't hurt that I've been far more visible this year: I've already chaperoned one dance and cooked food at both home football games. And of course, I know more students this year than I did last. That just comes with time.
And it is official, I'll be the advisor for Mock Trial.
It's not like any of this stuff guarantees that I'll make tenure, but it can't hurt. I am a team player and I am giving back to the school in many ways. I am visible and friendly. And, it also helps classroom management (my Achilles' heel) because students see you outside of the classroom as well as in; you become a whole person, not just a teaching machine.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
I Object!
I might be a total idiot, swamped as I am with everything else, but I just volunteered to be the supervisor for my school's Mock Trial team. I admit that I waited a few hours before responding, just in case anyone else was really interested. The thing is, I'm really interested in doing it. I was in Mock Trial in high school for two years. It was awesome. Of course, I was with my good friends and that didn't hurt, but I had a great time playing lawyer. I almost responsed to the email immediately, but the stack of crap I haven't taken care of is haunting me.
I'll let you know if I'm polishing off my blue blazer for court.
I'll let you know if I'm polishing off my blue blazer for court.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Riddle Me This
How do I tell my student that his "California" t-shirt is against the dress code because it's been taken over by gangs and isn't safe when he's already sitting in a wheelchair because he was shot while walking home from his friend's house a couple of summers ago? He wasn't in a gang. He wasn't wear gang colors; he was just walking home. Somehow, my whole "keeping you safe" argument just felt hollow.
Of course, the other reason why you can't wear gang clothes on campus is so students don't bully others. Gang affilitation is a silent, but strong, signal that kids send to those around them: Mess with me and you'll have the whole weight of my peeps on you.
So, I guess I just answered my question. I just need to rethink my explanation of why gang-wear is not allowed. Not only does it keep some kids safe, it keeps others from bullying the rest.
Of course, the other reason why you can't wear gang clothes on campus is so students don't bully others. Gang affilitation is a silent, but strong, signal that kids send to those around them: Mess with me and you'll have the whole weight of my peeps on you.
So, I guess I just answered my question. I just need to rethink my explanation of why gang-wear is not allowed. Not only does it keep some kids safe, it keeps others from bullying the rest.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
A Life Preserver, Please
I am drowning, mostly in paperwork. In many ways, this year is better than last year. I have a much better relationship with many more of my students than I did last year. Some of my Hellstudents from last year are really coming around, which is refreshing. Some of them are still struggling with completing work, but I don't feel like killing them and they are far more willing to talk to me.
But, I have an ever-increasing stack of papers to grade. I have administrative referral crap to deal with--tardies and such. Phone calls to make. An evaluation guide to write. IEP forms to Wade through. Lessons to plan--really trying to focus on our focus standards. I'm swamped. I have a wedding to plan, a wife to murder, and Guilder to blame for it.
Hence, my recent Internet silence.
A few nice things I've been meaning to mention. I've discovered that there are some seats that get more attention than others because gheh are easier to get to. It's also why I change my students seats. Anyway, one of my boys in a Hot Seat confided in me, out of the blue, that he was having problems in another class. I was able to help him trouble shoot and come up with a solution. Another student shared her life troubles (after shutting down for most if the class). I got to practice my active listening. Another one (who's told me that he really hates school) is asking me questions and laughing with me about things on life. Another one told me about his girlfriend troubles. Others are just willing to talk to me like a person, and not just a teacher.
This is why I teach. Now, if I could only get out of the sea of paper. At least I'll finally have clean clothes for tomorrow.
But, I have an ever-increasing stack of papers to grade. I have administrative referral crap to deal with--tardies and such. Phone calls to make. An evaluation guide to write. IEP forms to Wade through. Lessons to plan--really trying to focus on our focus standards. I'm swamped. I have a wedding to plan, a wife to murder, and Guilder to blame for it.
Hence, my recent Internet silence.
A few nice things I've been meaning to mention. I've discovered that there are some seats that get more attention than others because gheh are easier to get to. It's also why I change my students seats. Anyway, one of my boys in a Hot Seat confided in me, out of the blue, that he was having problems in another class. I was able to help him trouble shoot and come up with a solution. Another student shared her life troubles (after shutting down for most if the class). I got to practice my active listening. Another one (who's told me that he really hates school) is asking me questions and laughing with me about things on life. Another one told me about his girlfriend troubles. Others are just willing to talk to me like a person, and not just a teacher.
This is why I teach. Now, if I could only get out of the sea of paper. At least I'll finally have clean clothes for tomorrow.
Monday, September 21, 2009
By the Power of Greyskull
I meant to tell you about this when it happened.
I went to a Southern Culture on the Skids show two weekends ago. Shells flew out just to go to the show (and surf and visit). She found them because she fell in love with the opener, Los Straightjackets. They were pretty fun: they're a surf band in Mexican wrestler masks. Yeah.
Anyway, the largely aging-hippie crowd was channeling its inner redneck for the SCOTS show. We saw one fight almost break out 10 feet ahead in the crowd, but they got calmed down. Everyone settled down to some more ironic Southern music.
And then another fight started to break out -- 2 feet in front of me. I don't know what Guy 1 did to Guy 2, but Guy 2 was not about to take it. There was some chest-baring and some posturing, but Girlfriend 1 (there was no Girlfriend 2) calmed down Guy 1, and they turned back around to watch the show. So Guy 2 shoved Guy 1; he was itching for a fight. Guy 1 turned back around, more posturing, more talking-down-from-the-ledge by Girlfriend, and Couple 1 exits stage right. Crisis averted.
And then I notice something squirrelly from Guy 2. I see that he has a beer bottle in his right hand, and he shifts his grip on it ever so slightly. (He's holding it at his side -- not like he's going to drink from it.) He then shifts his weight forward and is looking intently at Guy 1. He is about ready to bash Guy 1 over the head with the beer bottle.
I don't think about it. It just happened to me. I said in my very best teacher voice, "Hey! Hey!" Guy 2 looked at me. I looked back at him with my very best teacher look that says, "No, you are not being an jackass in my classroom". And you know what? It worked.
I stopped staring at him once he backed down. He looked at me a couple more times. I didn't get in a staring contest -- I didn't want him to come at me with a beer bottle, but my body language remained tall and stable. I didn't back away or turn away; I stood my ground. After a couple of minutes, he wandered off to the bar. No fight. I stopped a bar brawl with my voice and my glare.
By the power of Greyskull... I HAVE THE POWER!
I went to a Southern Culture on the Skids show two weekends ago. Shells flew out just to go to the show (and surf and visit). She found them because she fell in love with the opener, Los Straightjackets. They were pretty fun: they're a surf band in Mexican wrestler masks. Yeah.
Anyway, the largely aging-hippie crowd was channeling its inner redneck for the SCOTS show. We saw one fight almost break out 10 feet ahead in the crowd, but they got calmed down. Everyone settled down to some more ironic Southern music.
And then another fight started to break out -- 2 feet in front of me. I don't know what Guy 1 did to Guy 2, but Guy 2 was not about to take it. There was some chest-baring and some posturing, but Girlfriend 1 (there was no Girlfriend 2) calmed down Guy 1, and they turned back around to watch the show. So Guy 2 shoved Guy 1; he was itching for a fight. Guy 1 turned back around, more posturing, more talking-down-from-the-ledge by Girlfriend, and Couple 1 exits stage right. Crisis averted.
And then I notice something squirrelly from Guy 2. I see that he has a beer bottle in his right hand, and he shifts his grip on it ever so slightly. (He's holding it at his side -- not like he's going to drink from it.) He then shifts his weight forward and is looking intently at Guy 1. He is about ready to bash Guy 1 over the head with the beer bottle.
I don't think about it. It just happened to me. I said in my very best teacher voice, "Hey! Hey!" Guy 2 looked at me. I looked back at him with my very best teacher look that says, "No, you are not being an jackass in my classroom". And you know what? It worked.
I stopped staring at him once he backed down. He looked at me a couple more times. I didn't get in a staring contest -- I didn't want him to come at me with a beer bottle, but my body language remained tall and stable. I didn't back away or turn away; I stood my ground. After a couple of minutes, he wandered off to the bar. No fight. I stopped a bar brawl with my voice and my glare.
By the power of Greyskull... I HAVE THE POWER!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Quakers' Meeting Has Begun
My students were moved by literature (specifically imagery), today. As in, when they were moved to share, they shared; otherwise, they were quiet. It was pretty special, even if they didn't see the religious implications of the activity.
We had a Silent Converation. I tried it first last year with a squirrely bunch, and I was happily surprised with its success, so I'm moving it up in the year this year. Instead of me calling on students and writing their comments on the board, I set up some sort of organizer on the board, and then invite them to walk to the front and write their thoughts silently. This isn't my special lesson, people have been doing this for years.
I think I was first exposed to it during a Critical Friends Group-esque session with my cohort back in my grad school days. (Or at least, it was the first time I paid any attention to it.) Critical Friends is a collection of protocols that are designed to get adults collaborating. I tried to find out more information on it back then with an interest in getting training, but it's a bit proprietary and info was (is) scarce. I do think that it is based on a lot of Quaker teachings. Perhaps it came out of one of the Portland Universities, or maybe I'm making that up. I make up a lot of stuff on this blog; read at your own risk. I did see some Web pages that hinted that a number of Portland-area public schools had established Critical Friends Groups as a way to implement change and boost teacher morale.
So, it isn't all that surprising that while using this protocol, I felt like I was in a Quaker meeting. I introduced the activity, and then I stepped aside. (I generally kick it at the back of the room.) One or two students get up and write, then sit. They look at each other, they look at their papers (I've prefaced this with a freewrite and a pair/share -- I'm not throwing them to the wolves here). They giggle or smirk. They look aside. And then someone gets up to write. Then someone else. A pause. Someone writes. Pause. Pause. Write. The light didn't shine in the window, illuminating their coming-to-the-god-of-imagery moment, but some of them were moved to share their thoughts without my explicit prodding. It's rewarding to stand in the back and quietly watch students get up the nerve to walk to the front and share.
Now, I haven't ever been to a Quaker meeting, but I have seen them on TV (thank you Six Feet Under. I also played the Quaker Meeting game as a child ("No more laughing, no more fun / Quakers' meeting has begun / If you show your teeth or tongue / You will have to pay the forfeit), although I never understood what the "game" was or why it was "funny" or even "fun". I suspect my older siblings might have wanted to keep me quiet during evenings babysitting me, but that's just a suspicion. However, if this is as close as I get to a Quaker meeting, I'll consider myself fulfilled.
I'm not sure how an administrator would see it, because it can seem like a lot of dead space, but I think it's meaningful and powerful. It's kinesthetic. It's quiet. It priviledges the written over the spoken word. It builds community (they take some chances standing up in front of each other ans sharing like that). It's different. And yes, it is religious and I think they need more reverence in their lives: reverence for life, for others, for education, for writing. I'll keep on using the Silent Conversation, and I hope more and more students will will be inspired to share.
We had a Silent Converation. I tried it first last year with a squirrely bunch, and I was happily surprised with its success, so I'm moving it up in the year this year. Instead of me calling on students and writing their comments on the board, I set up some sort of organizer on the board, and then invite them to walk to the front and write their thoughts silently. This isn't my special lesson, people have been doing this for years.
I think I was first exposed to it during a Critical Friends Group-esque session with my cohort back in my grad school days. (Or at least, it was the first time I paid any attention to it.) Critical Friends is a collection of protocols that are designed to get adults collaborating. I tried to find out more information on it back then with an interest in getting training, but it's a bit proprietary and info was (is) scarce. I do think that it is based on a lot of Quaker teachings. Perhaps it came out of one of the Portland Universities, or maybe I'm making that up. I make up a lot of stuff on this blog; read at your own risk. I did see some Web pages that hinted that a number of Portland-area public schools had established Critical Friends Groups as a way to implement change and boost teacher morale.
So, it isn't all that surprising that while using this protocol, I felt like I was in a Quaker meeting. I introduced the activity, and then I stepped aside. (I generally kick it at the back of the room.) One or two students get up and write, then sit. They look at each other, they look at their papers (I've prefaced this with a freewrite and a pair/share -- I'm not throwing them to the wolves here). They giggle or smirk. They look aside. And then someone gets up to write. Then someone else. A pause. Someone writes. Pause. Pause. Write. The light didn't shine in the window, illuminating their coming-to-the-god-of-imagery moment, but some of them were moved to share their thoughts without my explicit prodding. It's rewarding to stand in the back and quietly watch students get up the nerve to walk to the front and share.
Now, I haven't ever been to a Quaker meeting, but I have seen them on TV (thank you Six Feet Under. I also played the Quaker Meeting game as a child ("No more laughing, no more fun / Quakers' meeting has begun / If you show your teeth or tongue / You will have to pay the forfeit), although I never understood what the "game" was or why it was "funny" or even "fun". I suspect my older siblings might have wanted to keep me quiet during evenings babysitting me, but that's just a suspicion. However, if this is as close as I get to a Quaker meeting, I'll consider myself fulfilled.
I'm not sure how an administrator would see it, because it can seem like a lot of dead space, but I think it's meaningful and powerful. It's kinesthetic. It's quiet. It priviledges the written over the spoken word. It builds community (they take some chances standing up in front of each other ans sharing like that). It's different. And yes, it is religious and I think they need more reverence in their lives: reverence for life, for others, for education, for writing. I'll keep on using the Silent Conversation, and I hope more and more students will will be inspired to share.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Prejudice?
I have this lesson that ties the classic and enduring language arts standards of mood and tone with popular music. The trick is finding two songs that are "cool" enough, similar in subject yet different in tone, and school appropriate.
In the past (and the present), I've used Sade's "Slave Song" and Public Enemy's "Prophets of Rage". This go around I also noticed that Bob Marley's "Get Up, Stand Up" would work in this group, as well. I also found Macy Gray's "Do Something" and Jurassic 5's "Contribution" as a suitable pair.
Notice anything about these artists?
Yup, all black. (Can't say African-American, 'cause Sade was born in Africa to an African father and British mother and was raised in England.) And while I do listen to some hip-hop, it is far from the entirety of my catalogue. I listen to lots of whitegirl music, especially after five years in P-town.
Maybe it's my East Coast/Drrty South roots that make these particular songs the ones I am familiar enough with to easily teach. Maybe it's just that these artists choose school-appropriate subjects. Is it the minority "phenomenon" -- that as a member of a minority, they feel more responsibility to the community to produce "meaningful" work? Is it that the whitepeeps focus on vacuous topics like "love"?
Discuss.
In the past (and the present), I've used Sade's "Slave Song" and Public Enemy's "Prophets of Rage". This go around I also noticed that Bob Marley's "Get Up, Stand Up" would work in this group, as well. I also found Macy Gray's "Do Something" and Jurassic 5's "Contribution" as a suitable pair.
Notice anything about these artists?
Yup, all black. (Can't say African-American, 'cause Sade was born in Africa to an African father and British mother and was raised in England.) And while I do listen to some hip-hop, it is far from the entirety of my catalogue. I listen to lots of whitegirl music, especially after five years in P-town.
Maybe it's my East Coast/Drrty South roots that make these particular songs the ones I am familiar enough with to easily teach. Maybe it's just that these artists choose school-appropriate subjects. Is it the minority "phenomenon" -- that as a member of a minority, they feel more responsibility to the community to produce "meaningful" work? Is it that the whitepeeps focus on vacuous topics like "love"?
Discuss.
The Current Craziness
I was sitting in our first collaboration this morning, chatting with the intern (read: poor schmuck who thought that teaching while going to school to get a credential was a good idea) who had the other exit exam prep class. We've been working together to develop this class that has little curriculum; she's been (understandably) a bit nervous about the whole thing. Well, we were scheduled to collaborate together. Yeah, were.
Turns out that our enrollment ("our" as in "school") is waaay down, and we're losing about 2.5 FTE, including all of her. She's not out of a job, but she is changing sites. Wow. Our 'hood was hit hard by foreclosures and the economy in general, so students just don't live here so much anymore.
This, of course, throws everything into a big ol' mess. Sections are closed and all those students need new schedules. So, I have a list of about 25 schedule changes on my computer system. Some students are just shifting from one class to another, but a good 15 of them are brand-spanking-new to me. I go from 30-32 in a class to 36-37. I have only 36 desks in my room. At least I have a table and a couple of chairs that can function as overflow.
Now, I have to figure out how to keep the kids who are staying on task while quickly incorporating all the newbies into the room. Ugh. It's a logistical nightmare. And, I'm picking up a student I was really, really, really glad I didn't have. Well, HellStudent is back. Joy. So add that to the nightmare of tomorrow.
On a side note. I figured out who is going to replace the poor intern as my collab partner. When I told him we were gonna be collab-buddies, he smiled, gave me a side hug, and said, "I can work with that." (Or some such thing.) Awww. Sometimes I think being (relatively) young and (relatively) cute and (relatively) nice work in my favor. --Not that there was anything creepy or icky going on, but if you can hang out with the young, cute, and friendly, that's inherently better than the old, ugly, and grumpy. Hell, you can even get rid of the young and cute -- that's just icing anyway -- because nice is always better than grumpy. (I don't have enough senority to be grumpy.)
Turns out that our enrollment ("our" as in "school") is waaay down, and we're losing about 2.5 FTE, including all of her. She's not out of a job, but she is changing sites. Wow. Our 'hood was hit hard by foreclosures and the economy in general, so students just don't live here so much anymore.
This, of course, throws everything into a big ol' mess. Sections are closed and all those students need new schedules. So, I have a list of about 25 schedule changes on my computer system. Some students are just shifting from one class to another, but a good 15 of them are brand-spanking-new to me. I go from 30-32 in a class to 36-37. I have only 36 desks in my room. At least I have a table and a couple of chairs that can function as overflow.
Now, I have to figure out how to keep the kids who are staying on task while quickly incorporating all the newbies into the room. Ugh. It's a logistical nightmare. And, I'm picking up a student I was really, really, really glad I didn't have. Well, HellStudent is back. Joy. So add that to the nightmare of tomorrow.
On a side note. I figured out who is going to replace the poor intern as my collab partner. When I told him we were gonna be collab-buddies, he smiled, gave me a side hug, and said, "I can work with that." (Or some such thing.) Awww. Sometimes I think being (relatively) young and (relatively) cute and (relatively) nice work in my favor. --Not that there was anything creepy or icky going on, but if you can hang out with the young, cute, and friendly, that's inherently better than the old, ugly, and grumpy. Hell, you can even get rid of the young and cute -- that's just icing anyway -- because nice is always better than grumpy. (I don't have enough senority to be grumpy.)
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Dear Mrs. Houghton
Dear Mrs. Houghton,
I was in the staff lounge (did you know that I now teach high school English?), thumbing through a stack of posters that someone had left lying around. I'm sure they do the same thing back at BHS: put whatever they don't want in the staff lounge because someone else is bound to want it. I'm sure in five years I'll have enough crap that I'll be doing the same thing; for now, however, I take rather than give.
So there I was, looking through the pile and not expecting to find much, when I saw THE poster. I know you remember it. It's the alphabet in butterfly wings. I instantly remembered sitting in pre-calc when your poster arrived in the mail. We were all a little whatever about it until you explained that it wasn't a poster of drawings, but photographs of actual butterfly wings. And those wings, amazingly, spelled out the letters of the alphabet.
It leaves me hopeful that some of the things I do will stay with my students, even 16 years later, even if it's nothing but a cool poster.
Sincerely,
Caroline
P.S. I also remember that the sine of 30 is 1/2.
I was in the staff lounge (did you know that I now teach high school English?), thumbing through a stack of posters that someone had left lying around. I'm sure they do the same thing back at BHS: put whatever they don't want in the staff lounge because someone else is bound to want it. I'm sure in five years I'll have enough crap that I'll be doing the same thing; for now, however, I take rather than give.
So there I was, looking through the pile and not expecting to find much, when I saw THE poster. I know you remember it. It's the alphabet in butterfly wings. I instantly remembered sitting in pre-calc when your poster arrived in the mail. We were all a little whatever about it until you explained that it wasn't a poster of drawings, but photographs of actual butterfly wings. And those wings, amazingly, spelled out the letters of the alphabet.
It leaves me hopeful that some of the things I do will stay with my students, even 16 years later, even if it's nothing but a cool poster.
Sincerely,
Caroline
P.S. I also remember that the sine of 30 is 1/2.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The World Is an Imperfect Place
I opened up my classroom door this morning, and a screw fell out. No, really. I couldn't make this up if I tried. I have no idea what part of the door it came from. The door does stay open -- without a magazine rack; I have a tie on the railing that I loop around the door handle.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
And Another Thing
One of my students from last year transferred into my class yesterday. Today was the first day she was with me. When she came in I greated her, told her that I saw her name pop up on my roster yesterday. She told me she requested my class. Don't get me wrong, she can get surly; she's a good kid, but not a total cakewalk.
Still, it was nice.
Another student asked if I remembered his cousin (of course I did). I told him that I had noticed his last name and wondered if they were related. She told him to make sure he mentioned her to me.
Again, it was nice.
Still, it was nice.
Another student asked if I remembered his cousin (of course I did). I told him that I had noticed his last name and wondered if they were related. She told him to make sure he mentioned her to me.
Again, it was nice.
Atta Boy!
On the positive side...
On Tuesday I noticed that our fly new student data system (note: that is not sarcastic or ironic, it is totally a fly system) was not printing out the first day of school for half of my classes. Call it my obsessiveness, call it my attention to detailed honed at a Pacemaker newspaper in college, call it what you will, but I realized that meant that the new system didn't think I would see half of my classes.
You see, we are on a block schedule, so on most Wednesdays, I only see half my classes. On the first day of school, though, we pretend it's a Monday and I see all of my classes. I emailed my counseling AP, but then said something to him when I saw him on campus. You know, was it going to be an attendance nightmare when the fly new student data system (we'll just call it the FNSDS from now on) wouldn't let the teachers enter data for half of the day?
I saw him again hours later in the parking lot. He was beyond grateful that I had discovered the error. It took him a bit of time on the phone with the downtown office, but it was far less time than entering 6600 (or so) attendendance notes without the fix.
The following day (yesterday), I was walking to the office on my prep and the admin team (plus maybe a district dude or two) were in the principal's office (which I walk by on the way to the office). The counseling VP saw me and waved me in. Of course, there was a moment of fear -- me? the principals' office? what??!?! But in I went, and he then introduced me as the person who single-handedly saved the school from a huge attendance nightmare. I got a couple handshakes out of the deal, too.
I ended it my usual way: "Thank you, I'll be here all week! Don't forget to tip your waiter or waitress."
On Tuesday I noticed that our fly new student data system (note: that is not sarcastic or ironic, it is totally a fly system) was not printing out the first day of school for half of my classes. Call it my obsessiveness, call it my attention to detailed honed at a Pacemaker newspaper in college, call it what you will, but I realized that meant that the new system didn't think I would see half of my classes.
You see, we are on a block schedule, so on most Wednesdays, I only see half my classes. On the first day of school, though, we pretend it's a Monday and I see all of my classes. I emailed my counseling AP, but then said something to him when I saw him on campus. You know, was it going to be an attendance nightmare when the fly new student data system (we'll just call it the FNSDS from now on) wouldn't let the teachers enter data for half of the day?
I saw him again hours later in the parking lot. He was beyond grateful that I had discovered the error. It took him a bit of time on the phone with the downtown office, but it was far less time than entering 6600 (or so) attendendance notes without the fix.
The following day (yesterday), I was walking to the office on my prep and the admin team (plus maybe a district dude or two) were in the principal's office (which I walk by on the way to the office). The counseling VP saw me and waved me in. Of course, there was a moment of fear -- me? the principals' office? what??!?! But in I went, and he then introduced me as the person who single-handedly saved the school from a huge attendance nightmare. I got a couple handshakes out of the deal, too.
I ended it my usual way: "Thank you, I'll be here all week! Don't forget to tip your waiter or waitress."
Monday, August 17, 2009
A Set Up
I have been in room assignment Hell. I know it's really not personal, but it's starting to feel personal.
I show up on Friday to pick up my key. There is no key to be found. I find the head custodian to let me in my room; he says it's not my room. After a whole bunch of back-and-forth, he decides (based on the master schedule) that it IS my room. Theoretically, they will move all of my stuff from my old room to my new room (all of which I tagged before I left from summer school). I even review with him that there's a bit of furniture, some boxes in the cabinets, and I'll need the filing cabinet since everyone else took theirs.
Of course, I can't get in on Saturday, because I don't have a key. It's still with the previous teacher.
Today, I corral the previous teacher, and he says that he does have the key: no one had time to take it back from him on Thursday when he tried to turn it in.
So I get my key (finally), around 11:30am. I stick my head in my room, and I see my bookshelf and my stool, but none of my stuff. No books, no paper, no files, no filing cabinet. Nada.
After more staff development, I get the head custodian to meet me at my old room so I can get the rest of my stuff. He shows up with the key and a dolly (as requested), and leaves me. Actually, he does stick around long enough for me to give him some brownies (which I origially baked to thank them all for moving my stuff --- WHICH THEY DIDN'T DO). I thought it might get me some help. Nope. He just left. So all the other teachers who changed classrooms got the custodial staff to move their stuff, but not me. I got to take 6 trips with the dolly between my old room and my new room.
I have nothing on the walls. I have no syllabus. I have no lesson plans. I have nothing. But I did have the chance to waste two hours moving boxes. With two guys and a Gator, it probably would have taken 30 mintues to move the boxes/furniture. I am still new enough at this whole teaching thing that I need every moment I can get. But help? That I can not get.
I did get my friend to help me move my stack of posters (which can not be loaded onto a dolly). She realized I was at my last straw when I almost started crying. I did not cry last year. I didn't cry during student teaching. But this? It has been one frustration after another and I am fed up. I do not feel welcome or valued. I feel like I'm being set up for failure, actually.
I show up on Friday to pick up my key. There is no key to be found. I find the head custodian to let me in my room; he says it's not my room. After a whole bunch of back-and-forth, he decides (based on the master schedule) that it IS my room. Theoretically, they will move all of my stuff from my old room to my new room (all of which I tagged before I left from summer school). I even review with him that there's a bit of furniture, some boxes in the cabinets, and I'll need the filing cabinet since everyone else took theirs.
Of course, I can't get in on Saturday, because I don't have a key. It's still with the previous teacher.
Today, I corral the previous teacher, and he says that he does have the key: no one had time to take it back from him on Thursday when he tried to turn it in.
So I get my key (finally), around 11:30am. I stick my head in my room, and I see my bookshelf and my stool, but none of my stuff. No books, no paper, no files, no filing cabinet. Nada.
After more staff development, I get the head custodian to meet me at my old room so I can get the rest of my stuff. He shows up with the key and a dolly (as requested), and leaves me. Actually, he does stick around long enough for me to give him some brownies (which I origially baked to thank them all for moving my stuff --- WHICH THEY DIDN'T DO). I thought it might get me some help. Nope. He just left. So all the other teachers who changed classrooms got the custodial staff to move their stuff, but not me. I got to take 6 trips with the dolly between my old room and my new room.
I have nothing on the walls. I have no syllabus. I have no lesson plans. I have nothing. But I did have the chance to waste two hours moving boxes. With two guys and a Gator, it probably would have taken 30 mintues to move the boxes/furniture. I am still new enough at this whole teaching thing that I need every moment I can get. But help? That I can not get.
I did get my friend to help me move my stack of posters (which can not be loaded onto a dolly). She realized I was at my last straw when I almost started crying. I did not cry last year. I didn't cry during student teaching. But this? It has been one frustration after another and I am fed up. I do not feel welcome or valued. I feel like I'm being set up for failure, actually.
Friday, August 14, 2009
California's Burning
When I got up yesterday morning, I noticed that there were little floaty things in the air. I wondered about the shimmering morning air, and then went about watering the yard. (The tomatoes did well, the herbs are growing, the mesclun is off the hook, the artichoke is sprouting up like a weed, but the fuschia is almost dead and there might not be much hope for the leeks.) Later, at the farmer's market, I overheard people talking about the ash fall-out from the fires.
Of course!
Earlier this summer, I had made a mental note that the area was not as fiery as it had been last year around the same time. Driving back on Wednesday, however, I noticed some telltale brown haze along the horizon. Sure enough, when I woke up this morning, my local NPR station was warning of health risks due to the high smoke count in the atmosphere from the fire in the Santa Cruz mountains. When I went outside, I could smell the smoke.
Fun, huh?
Of course!
Earlier this summer, I had made a mental note that the area was not as fiery as it had been last year around the same time. Driving back on Wednesday, however, I noticed some telltale brown haze along the horizon. Sure enough, when I woke up this morning, my local NPR station was warning of health risks due to the high smoke count in the atmosphere from the fire in the Santa Cruz mountains. When I went outside, I could smell the smoke.
Fun, huh?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
My Trip to Portland...
...According to Facebook
Caroline Blank is barrelling up I-5; it's not that she minds that you're going 75, just that you're doing it in the left lane.July 26 at 11:45am
Caroline Blank is having lunch in Weed because she can.July 26 at 1:37pm
Caroline Blank was busy feeding a cheetah. Meow.July 26 at 7:49pm
Caroline Blank can't believe she left 85 and an ocean breeze for this.July 27 at 10:04am
Caroline Blank 's first stop: haircut.July 27 at 11:16am
Caroline Blank : $200 at Nordstrom later, and I look like I've dropped 10 pounds.July 27 at 2:41pm
Caroline Blank : now, benedict and Stumptown.July 28 at 9:57am
Caroline Blank is a hophead.July 28 at 2:33pm
Caroline Blank : Dear Doug Fir, White wine in a tumbler guarantees my hand will warm up my wine, especially in this heat. Try glasses with stems.July 28 at 5:04pm
Caroline Blank loves pork belly.July 29 at 5:24pm
Caroline Blank drove 12 hours for all this shopping.July 30 at 3:47pm
Caroline Blank just won the bar-off.July 31 at 12:32am
Caroline Blank : Oh, Kettleman, I do so love you.July 31 at 9:48am
Caroline Blank loves Powells even more.July 31 at 12:16pm
Caroline Blank always forgets to take the parking sticker off her window before rolling it down.July 31 at 4:24pm
Caroline Blank is holding off on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies for just a bit longer; anticipation is key.July 31 at 7:53pm
Caroline Blank just put the sheep in the barn.July 31 at 8:45pm
Caroline Blank is concurrently in incredible pain, seriously disappointed, and fairly proud of her accomplishments.August 1 at 8:58pm
Caroline Blank is still feeling like Owie McOwerson.August 2 at 2:18pm
Caroline Blank has unravelled the mystery of the pink stains.August 3 at 11:56am
Caroline Blank is getting ready for Fabric Depot!!!August 4 at 11:17am
Caroline Blank is happy.August 4 at 10:35pm
Caroline Blank just got schooled in shuffleboard; for this she drove 12 hours.August 6 at 1:44am
Caroline Blank : 'You wanna know the thought that keeps me up in the middle of the night? When we get old, these kids are gonna be taking care of us.' 'I wouldn't count on it.'August 6 at 5:41pm
Caroline Blank hopes her quads can withstand tonight's game.August 6 at 6:52pm
Caroline Blank 's quads are decidedly not happy with her.August 6 at 11:49pm
Caroline Blank : babies are good for naps.August 7 at 9:31am
Caroline Blank stomped around good ol PSU; it's not as moving an experience as Chapel Hill.August 7 at 5:55pm
Caroline Blank is a little overwhelmed by the Fred Meyer on Hawthorne.August 8 at 1:35pm
Caroline Blank is peeling.Sun at 9:32pm
Caroline Blank enjoyed her bacon-infused vodka.Mon at 11:27am
Caroline Blank scored a maroon, 70s-era leather jacket at the Bins.Mon at 2:00pm
Caroline Blank loves her some sacsayhuaman.Mon at 4:27pm
Caroline Blank : Oh Beulahland, you are so good to me.Mon at 8:59pm
Caroline Blank had brunch with B.J.; life doesn't get much hotter.Yesterday at 12:33pm
Caroline Blank : yucca at Pambiche is so delish.Yesterday at 4:44pm
Caroline Blank : Damn you, Yoko's!Yesterday at 6:40pm
Caroline Blank : Bara came through in a pinch, but it wasn't the orgy of tuna I was expecting.Yesterday at 8:02pm
Caroline Blank wrapped up her trip with a quiet evening with Suzie; these are always among her favorite evenings.Yesterday at 10:43pm
Caroline Blank is not fond of driving in the rain; on a positive note, her car no longer desperately needs to be washed -- now it just needs to be washed.15 hours ago
Caroline Blank will eat lunch in Ashland; finally someone came to get her order.10 hours ago
Caroline Blank thinks that staying hydrated and driving long distances are two activities that should not be combined.8 hours ago
Caroline Blank is seeing stimulus dollars at work all up and down I-5; damn construction.6 hours ago
Caroline Blank : nine cd's in and I'm still not home. IPhone says approximately 2 more hours.3 hours ago
Caroline Blank is back to cooling ocean breezes and HBO.59 minutes ago
Caroline Blank is barrelling up I-5; it's not that she minds that you're going 75, just that you're doing it in the left lane.July 26 at 11:45am
Caroline Blank is having lunch in Weed because she can.July 26 at 1:37pm
Caroline Blank was busy feeding a cheetah. Meow.July 26 at 7:49pm
Caroline Blank can't believe she left 85 and an ocean breeze for this.July 27 at 10:04am
Caroline Blank 's first stop: haircut.July 27 at 11:16am
Caroline Blank : $200 at Nordstrom later, and I look like I've dropped 10 pounds.July 27 at 2:41pm
Caroline Blank : now, benedict and Stumptown.July 28 at 9:57am
Caroline Blank is a hophead.July 28 at 2:33pm
Caroline Blank : Dear Doug Fir, White wine in a tumbler guarantees my hand will warm up my wine, especially in this heat. Try glasses with stems.July 28 at 5:04pm
Caroline Blank loves pork belly.July 29 at 5:24pm
Caroline Blank drove 12 hours for all this shopping.July 30 at 3:47pm
Caroline Blank just won the bar-off.July 31 at 12:32am
Caroline Blank : Oh, Kettleman, I do so love you.July 31 at 9:48am
Caroline Blank loves Powells even more.July 31 at 12:16pm
Caroline Blank always forgets to take the parking sticker off her window before rolling it down.July 31 at 4:24pm
Caroline Blank is holding off on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies for just a bit longer; anticipation is key.July 31 at 7:53pm
Caroline Blank just put the sheep in the barn.July 31 at 8:45pm
Caroline Blank is concurrently in incredible pain, seriously disappointed, and fairly proud of her accomplishments.August 1 at 8:58pm
Caroline Blank is still feeling like Owie McOwerson.August 2 at 2:18pm
Caroline Blank has unravelled the mystery of the pink stains.August 3 at 11:56am
Caroline Blank is getting ready for Fabric Depot!!!August 4 at 11:17am
Caroline Blank is happy.August 4 at 10:35pm
Caroline Blank just got schooled in shuffleboard; for this she drove 12 hours.August 6 at 1:44am
Caroline Blank : 'You wanna know the thought that keeps me up in the middle of the night? When we get old, these kids are gonna be taking care of us.' 'I wouldn't count on it.'August 6 at 5:41pm
Caroline Blank hopes her quads can withstand tonight's game.August 6 at 6:52pm
Caroline Blank 's quads are decidedly not happy with her.August 6 at 11:49pm
Caroline Blank : babies are good for naps.August 7 at 9:31am
Caroline Blank stomped around good ol PSU; it's not as moving an experience as Chapel Hill.August 7 at 5:55pm
Caroline Blank is a little overwhelmed by the Fred Meyer on Hawthorne.August 8 at 1:35pm
Caroline Blank is peeling.Sun at 9:32pm
Caroline Blank enjoyed her bacon-infused vodka.Mon at 11:27am
Caroline Blank scored a maroon, 70s-era leather jacket at the Bins.Mon at 2:00pm
Caroline Blank loves her some sacsayhuaman.Mon at 4:27pm
Caroline Blank : Oh Beulahland, you are so good to me.Mon at 8:59pm
Caroline Blank had brunch with B.J.; life doesn't get much hotter.Yesterday at 12:33pm
Caroline Blank : yucca at Pambiche is so delish.Yesterday at 4:44pm
Caroline Blank : Damn you, Yoko's!Yesterday at 6:40pm
Caroline Blank : Bara came through in a pinch, but it wasn't the orgy of tuna I was expecting.Yesterday at 8:02pm
Caroline Blank wrapped up her trip with a quiet evening with Suzie; these are always among her favorite evenings.Yesterday at 10:43pm
Caroline Blank is not fond of driving in the rain; on a positive note, her car no longer desperately needs to be washed -- now it just needs to be washed.15 hours ago
Caroline Blank will eat lunch in Ashland; finally someone came to get her order.10 hours ago
Caroline Blank thinks that staying hydrated and driving long distances are two activities that should not be combined.8 hours ago
Caroline Blank is seeing stimulus dollars at work all up and down I-5; damn construction.6 hours ago
Caroline Blank : nine cd's in and I'm still not home. IPhone says approximately 2 more hours.3 hours ago
Caroline Blank is back to cooling ocean breezes and HBO.59 minutes ago
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Like a Girl
For my persuasive essay lesson, I used, "Michael Jackson is the best pop star, ever" as an example. I created an entire case proving that he was. I then gave them a couple more relevant topics. Finally, I gave them the choice of what they wanted to write a persuasive essay about. Some of them wrote about MJ.
Two different students said he was not the best pop star ever, using this as their lead example: he sings like a girl.
I'm sorry, what's wrong with singing like a girl?
Do they realize that about half the world is girls and they all, well, sing like girls? Do they further realize that the person evaluating their skill at creating an argument is, um, a girl? It reminds me of Madonna's "What it Feels Like for a Girl".
The mysogynism in this town is so deep-seated I don't think they even have a clue that there was anything offensive about their argument.
Two different students said he was not the best pop star ever, using this as their lead example: he sings like a girl.
I'm sorry, what's wrong with singing like a girl?
Do they realize that about half the world is girls and they all, well, sing like girls? Do they further realize that the person evaluating their skill at creating an argument is, um, a girl? It reminds me of Madonna's "What it Feels Like for a Girl".
The mysogynism in this town is so deep-seated I don't think they even have a clue that there was anything offensive about their argument.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Another Visitor
They keep on crawing out of the woodwork.
Another (former) Hellstudent stopped by today. Her brother is in my class, and she's looking out for him. She talked to me about his progress, took a progress report, and promised to make him do his work tonight. She doesn't want him to blow off his freshman year like she did. Her mom relies on her for a lot (too much -- but such is the life of so many children, past, present, and future -- families do what they have to in order to survive), and she is rising to the challenge. Her mother told her that if she went to college, her brothers and sister would, too. She is frustrated by her responsibilities, but I'm also seeing her really take them on and take them seriously. She plans on college; last year she tried to convince me that it was easy to get a good job without a college degree.
It was an uplifting moment. We got off to a really rough start last year, but it warms my heart to see her mature. I take no credit; I'm just glad I get to witness some good stories to balance out some of the bad.
Another (former) Hellstudent stopped by today. Her brother is in my class, and she's looking out for him. She talked to me about his progress, took a progress report, and promised to make him do his work tonight. She doesn't want him to blow off his freshman year like she did. Her mom relies on her for a lot (too much -- but such is the life of so many children, past, present, and future -- families do what they have to in order to survive), and she is rising to the challenge. Her mother told her that if she went to college, her brothers and sister would, too. She is frustrated by her responsibilities, but I'm also seeing her really take them on and take them seriously. She plans on college; last year she tried to convince me that it was easy to get a good job without a college degree.
It was an uplifting moment. We got off to a really rough start last year, but it warms my heart to see her mature. I take no credit; I'm just glad I get to witness some good stories to balance out some of the bad.
Monday, July 13, 2009
A Visitor
A few days ago I saw a former student across the campus. He had been in my class and been a major pain in my side until he transferred schools. He's also a good kid, essentially, and dealing with a lot of shit (not surprising in this town). He's got a grafitti problem (so many of them do), which means he has a PO -- but it also means he's creative. I don't think his problems with the law are any more major than that. His grades sucked, his attitude was for shit, but he has a sense of humor and isn't a dummy. And for some reason, he didn't totally hate me. He even thought I was cool -- no trippin'.
He transferred schools third quarter. I ran into him at the bowling alley a couple of times, and he always said hi and gave me a hug (a side hug, yes). He came to visit school after he transferred and he came by my room to visit. I refused to let him in -- he was interrupting my class! No way! Of course, it disrupted class anyway.
Well, it seems he's a TA this summer. I don't know if he's enrolled back at my school or if he's just hanging with some friends for the summer session, but he came by class today to pick up my attendance sheet and he interrupted class. Not only did he say hi to a student (a less-than-perfectly-behaved one), but he gave me a side hug. And told them I was his girlfriend last year.
See what I mean? He's a sweetheart, but a total disruptive ass at the same time. He'd agree -- with a shit-eating grin on his face.
He transferred schools third quarter. I ran into him at the bowling alley a couple of times, and he always said hi and gave me a hug (a side hug, yes). He came to visit school after he transferred and he came by my room to visit. I refused to let him in -- he was interrupting my class! No way! Of course, it disrupted class anyway.
Well, it seems he's a TA this summer. I don't know if he's enrolled back at my school or if he's just hanging with some friends for the summer session, but he came by class today to pick up my attendance sheet and he interrupted class. Not only did he say hi to a student (a less-than-perfectly-behaved one), but he gave me a side hug. And told them I was his girlfriend last year.
See what I mean? He's a sweetheart, but a total disruptive ass at the same time. He'd agree -- with a shit-eating grin on his face.
This is Me
I decided I had to up my planned vichyssoise to potato-leek-asparagus soup since I had, well, purchased aspargus as well as potatoes and leeks (and tomatoes, and cilantro, and peaches, and lettuce, and favas). I was looking through my books, and I remembered that one of the contributors to Along in the Kitchen with an Egglplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone wrote about eating nothing but Asparagus. While purusing her essay, I came across this quote: "At the farmer's market, I shop for a whole family. I live and cook alone."
The soup was excellent, as was the tomato soup from earlier in the week, and the corn fritters I made yesterday, and today's BLT. I have pictures of a lot of that, but my printer is making me mad and not reading my new flash card. Updates when I can actually upload my photos.
The soup was excellent, as was the tomato soup from earlier in the week, and the corn fritters I made yesterday, and today's BLT. I have pictures of a lot of that, but my printer is making me mad and not reading my new flash card. Updates when I can actually upload my photos.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Persuasion
I finally, finally, FINALLY, scaffolded a lesson properly. Took me long enough.
We write a lot of persuasive essays in my district: a lot. And students have a really tough time figuring out how to persuade anyone. They don't quite understand evidence and they certainly don't get the whole "counterargument" thing. So I finally designed a lesson that was a scaffold, that used writing to build speaking AND speaking to build writing (a biggie in the ELL circles), accessed kinesthetic learning, and had a modicum of fun to it!
I designed sentence frames for them (another ELL plus). I agree/disagree because... My evidence is... My opponents might argue that... but they are wrong because... Then I wrote some provocative topics. OK, so the first one was practice: Michael Jackson is the greatest pop star ever. But also: our school should provide free daycare for students who have children and our school should require that all students wear uniforms.
It worked best in my 3rd block. Partly, they are a good group, partly I learned from the first two how to not do it. Do not have them write, debate, and then write on the next topic. Instead, have them write about all the topics, then run all the debates at once. Then, they stop at the end and fill in more evidence on their graphic organizers. This way, students who don't have evidence can take evidence from classmates. Those who don't have a counterargument can use the arguments that their opponents DID use.
They will (on Monday), choose one of the topics (or one of their own -- it's summer, I can give them choice) and write the essay. By now, they have already done the prewriting and have the arguments. Talk about scaffolding. It's brilliant!
It wasn't perfect because I don't have these kids long enough to really develop the routines so that they listen and all that, but it still felt really good. I know this is nothing new and teachers have been doing it for ages, but it just takes time to step outside of the "read this and write" framework. I plan on really developing this next year.
On their way out the door, 3rd block thought it was the best class of the summer and really wanted to do more debtates. They told me it was great and fun. That felt good, too.
We write a lot of persuasive essays in my district: a lot. And students have a really tough time figuring out how to persuade anyone. They don't quite understand evidence and they certainly don't get the whole "counterargument" thing. So I finally designed a lesson that was a scaffold, that used writing to build speaking AND speaking to build writing (a biggie in the ELL circles), accessed kinesthetic learning, and had a modicum of fun to it!
I designed sentence frames for them (another ELL plus). I agree/disagree because... My evidence is... My opponents might argue that... but they are wrong because... Then I wrote some provocative topics. OK, so the first one was practice: Michael Jackson is the greatest pop star ever. But also: our school should provide free daycare for students who have children and our school should require that all students wear uniforms.
It worked best in my 3rd block. Partly, they are a good group, partly I learned from the first two how to not do it. Do not have them write, debate, and then write on the next topic. Instead, have them write about all the topics, then run all the debates at once. Then, they stop at the end and fill in more evidence on their graphic organizers. This way, students who don't have evidence can take evidence from classmates. Those who don't have a counterargument can use the arguments that their opponents DID use.
They will (on Monday), choose one of the topics (or one of their own -- it's summer, I can give them choice) and write the essay. By now, they have already done the prewriting and have the arguments. Talk about scaffolding. It's brilliant!
It wasn't perfect because I don't have these kids long enough to really develop the routines so that they listen and all that, but it still felt really good. I know this is nothing new and teachers have been doing it for ages, but it just takes time to step outside of the "read this and write" framework. I plan on really developing this next year.
On their way out the door, 3rd block thought it was the best class of the summer and really wanted to do more debtates. They told me it was great and fun. That felt good, too.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
It's Not ALL Heartache
Last week, I saw one of my students from last year (as in, three weeks ago) walking by my room. The next day, he concocted an excuse to stop by and visit: he wanted to make sure I still had his essay. Of course I do; he didn't need it; he really just wanted to say hi. We chatted for a few minutes about how his essay was safe and about my students during summer school -- I'm still taller than they are.
Today, a couple of my girls stopped by after class. One was dropping off some late work (yes, I take it). The other one? Out of the blue she told me that she liked my voice. I thanked her. The cool thing about that is that one of my mean students from last year made sure to leave an anonymous note on my desk telling me that he hated my voice. (It took awhile, but I think I finally pinpointed the kid -- the notes mysteriously stopped when he transferred out.)
Today, a couple of my girls stopped by after class. One was dropping off some late work (yes, I take it). The other one? Out of the blue she told me that she liked my voice. I thanked her. The cool thing about that is that one of my mean students from last year made sure to leave an anonymous note on my desk telling me that he hated my voice. (It took awhile, but I think I finally pinpointed the kid -- the notes mysteriously stopped when he transferred out.)
Sunday, July 5, 2009
I Heard the News Today, Oh Boy
I just found out (through everyone's favorite social networking site, facebook) that a friend of mine from Durham committed suicide last week. We worked together at Elmo's, and although we weren't best buds, I still consider him a friend. He's good people.
A few years ago I watched a documentary about suicide and the Golden Gate Bridge. It seems it's the most popular destination for suicide -- no kidding. People travel to the Golden Gate specifically to jump off of it. I was afraid when I agreed to watch it that I would spend the entire movie in tears, but I was surprisingly dry-eyed. The filmmakers set up a couple of crews, both on the shore and on the bridge who just sat and waited. They have footage of people jumping; they also have footage of people stopping people from jumping. Whenever possible, the crews themselves step in to stop a suicide. The filmmakers were not trying to glorify suicide, but attempt an understanding of such a violent and extreme action. They talked to witneses, survivors, and family and friends of the dead; in all cases, someone -- often many someones -- were devestated by the event.
Of all the images and lessons, what I remember most is one woman who had just stepped over the railing and was getting ready to jump. A tourit: a big, tall dude, was walking by and suddenly realized what was going on. In an instant, he reached over the edge with one arm and pulled her back to safety. It was that easy.
Everytime I hear of a suicide I wish I could be that man. I just want to reach over the edge and pull whoever it is back to safety. I know that it's rarely ever that easy or uncomplicated, but I will keep watching for my chance.
Darius, you will be missed.
A few years ago I watched a documentary about suicide and the Golden Gate Bridge. It seems it's the most popular destination for suicide -- no kidding. People travel to the Golden Gate specifically to jump off of it. I was afraid when I agreed to watch it that I would spend the entire movie in tears, but I was surprisingly dry-eyed. The filmmakers set up a couple of crews, both on the shore and on the bridge who just sat and waited. They have footage of people jumping; they also have footage of people stopping people from jumping. Whenever possible, the crews themselves step in to stop a suicide. The filmmakers were not trying to glorify suicide, but attempt an understanding of such a violent and extreme action. They talked to witneses, survivors, and family and friends of the dead; in all cases, someone -- often many someones -- were devestated by the event.
Of all the images and lessons, what I remember most is one woman who had just stepped over the railing and was getting ready to jump. A tourit: a big, tall dude, was walking by and suddenly realized what was going on. In an instant, he reached over the edge with one arm and pulled her back to safety. It was that easy.
Everytime I hear of a suicide I wish I could be that man. I just want to reach over the edge and pull whoever it is back to safety. I know that it's rarely ever that easy or uncomplicated, but I will keep watching for my chance.
Darius, you will be missed.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Summer School
I know it's been awhile. I've been a bit overwhelmed with the end of the school year and all my craziness. I ran a half marathon and chaperoned prom...then I finished the school year and... got a nasty cold. Seriously, I was sick for more than a week. I'm not sure if I should be angry that I got sick on my one week off or if I should be glad that I didn't get sick the last week of school (that would have sucked).
Anyway, you might have noticed that I'm teaching summer school. The fact is: I need the money. I was unassigned from summer school from last year, and it's really hard to find a last minute job for 5 weeks. REALLLY hard. I hate lying. HATE. I'm too damn scrupulous.
So, I had my first big moment in class today. Oh, sure, I have some shitheads. And there's this one kid who's been showing up late and not doing his work. When I went to collect his signed Course Poicies (you know, you and your parens sign that you know and agree to the rules), he said his parents didn't sign them because they weren't talking to him.
Hold up.
Did I understand this right?
They are so mad that they won't talk to their son, not even to sign paperwork for school. Like most of my students, he is an English learner, and he mumbles and slurs his English. This is a trait of second language learners: they are scared of gettin the target language wrong, so they try to hide everything by talking quietly and not enunciating.
But let's get back to point at hand: they are so mad that they will not talk to their son. I got enough out of him that it was a very serious infraction that he didn't feel comfortable telling me (that's fine), but he knew what he did, he did have someone to talk to, and he didn't know when they would start talking to him again.
Wow.
I can't help but remember a conversation I had with a friend's father who is a family court judge. He told me that he tells parents that no matter how angry they are, they should never lock their child out. He knows it's tough; he knows how infuriating misbehaving teenagers can be, but the fact is that when they are running away and messing up and making bad choices is the EXACT moment that they NEED their PARENTS. As angry as you are, he told me, you need to take them back in and keep them safe. He said this not only as a family court judge, but as a father who had a son who struggled with drugs and had run away from home as a teenager.
I know that I don't "connect" with my students in many ways. I am not a touchy-feely person. It's not that I don't hug or shy away from human contact, but it takes me time to develop really deep relationships with people. A single school year doesn't really lend itself to my kind if friendship. Those of you who are my good friends know that I do care deeply about my friends: I'm not sure my students see that at the start of the year. (I did have one of the biggest pains in my ass stop and chat with me today -- a school year later, we might not be bff's, but we're good.)
So they don't always know, but I do feel deeply. I feel for my student whose parents won't talk to him. But not just that, but he is making choices that force them to that point. They must be beyond their limit (his limited conversation hints that whatever he did or didn't do was big). So here I am, trying to teach him English.
Big sigh.
Anyway, you might have noticed that I'm teaching summer school. The fact is: I need the money. I was unassigned from summer school from last year, and it's really hard to find a last minute job for 5 weeks. REALLLY hard. I hate lying. HATE. I'm too damn scrupulous.
So, I had my first big moment in class today. Oh, sure, I have some shitheads. And there's this one kid who's been showing up late and not doing his work. When I went to collect his signed Course Poicies (you know, you and your parens sign that you know and agree to the rules), he said his parents didn't sign them because they weren't talking to him.
Hold up.
Did I understand this right?
They are so mad that they won't talk to their son, not even to sign paperwork for school. Like most of my students, he is an English learner, and he mumbles and slurs his English. This is a trait of second language learners: they are scared of gettin the target language wrong, so they try to hide everything by talking quietly and not enunciating.
But let's get back to point at hand: they are so mad that they will not talk to their son. I got enough out of him that it was a very serious infraction that he didn't feel comfortable telling me (that's fine), but he knew what he did, he did have someone to talk to, and he didn't know when they would start talking to him again.
Wow.
I can't help but remember a conversation I had with a friend's father who is a family court judge. He told me that he tells parents that no matter how angry they are, they should never lock their child out. He knows it's tough; he knows how infuriating misbehaving teenagers can be, but the fact is that when they are running away and messing up and making bad choices is the EXACT moment that they NEED their PARENTS. As angry as you are, he told me, you need to take them back in and keep them safe. He said this not only as a family court judge, but as a father who had a son who struggled with drugs and had run away from home as a teenager.
I know that I don't "connect" with my students in many ways. I am not a touchy-feely person. It's not that I don't hug or shy away from human contact, but it takes me time to develop really deep relationships with people. A single school year doesn't really lend itself to my kind if friendship. Those of you who are my good friends know that I do care deeply about my friends: I'm not sure my students see that at the start of the year. (I did have one of the biggest pains in my ass stop and chat with me today -- a school year later, we might not be bff's, but we're good.)
So they don't always know, but I do feel deeply. I feel for my student whose parents won't talk to him. But not just that, but he is making choices that force them to that point. They must be beyond their limit (his limited conversation hints that whatever he did or didn't do was big). So here I am, trying to teach him English.
Big sigh.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Spunkalicious
I ran into one of the veteran English teachers while at the copy machine yesterday afternoon. He asked me how things were going. My reply was that there was a week left and I was still standing. What was I supposed to say: the truth? Sometimes I am treated like such crap that I want to crawl into a little ball and, well, bawl? He told me that I had spunk. We'll see if "spunk" gets me through next year.
Hell, we'll see if it gets me through the summer. I found out I get to teach rising Freshman who need extra skills. It's a chance to be "creative"; read: create a new curriculum, again. I'm still waiting to do something again so I don't have to keep starting from scratch. I guess the students will rotate through 3-4 classes per day. So, I'll only have to create one one-hour lesson per day, but it means I'll have God-knows how many students. I was looking forward to having 40 instead of 180.
On Monday, I'll try to figure out if this class has existed before so I hit the previous victi-- volunteer -- up for some help.
Hell, we'll see if it gets me through the summer. I found out I get to teach rising Freshman who need extra skills. It's a chance to be "creative"; read: create a new curriculum, again. I'm still waiting to do something again so I don't have to keep starting from scratch. I guess the students will rotate through 3-4 classes per day. So, I'll only have to create one one-hour lesson per day, but it means I'll have God-knows how many students. I was looking forward to having 40 instead of 180.
On Monday, I'll try to figure out if this class has existed before so I hit the previous victi-- volunteer -- up for some help.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
And Plus
I owe y'all some posts (prom was last weekend), but here's a quickie so you don't get bored.
I did not always have the perfect, English-teacher grammar and vocabulary that I do now. I used to say all sorts of horrible things: "and plus" was perhaps my biggest faux pas. It's redundant; you need either "and" or "plus", not both. I would also wait for any number of activities hopefully -- instead of hoping they would happen; the actions were not taking place in a hopeful manner. I would also pahk my cah (although I had absolutely no idea why everyone else was laughing at me -- I seriously could not hear the difference between car and cah). I eventuall figured it out when I ran home in 2nd grade and told my mom that we had learned about "stanzers" (sorta like a dawnzer, I guess) -- from Rach's boyfriend's older sister, no less. Turns out I got so used to adding Rs on words that I heard ending in As, I thought "stanza" was "stanzer".
Throughout all these (and more -- I used to say "disgusting" wrong (?) -- Rach, you gotta help me out on that one), my mother taught me what was right. Even today, hearing someone say "And, plus" is like nails on a chalkboard. It takes every ounce of my strength to not be a douchebag and correct them in a loud and deprecating manner.
So, as I was reading through a letter to send out with my students to the publice, I come across this, "I understand that this will take time; hopefully, the time you spend with your senior will lead to a rewarding experience for both of you."
Do you see it?
I know, I know. Grammar is actually descriptive and not prescriptive. Language and usage change and become "correct" as more and more people use them in a certain manner. Dictionaries track how people use words more than they tell us how to use them. But it still grates on my nerves. The time the expert sources will spend with the seniors will not be done in a hopeful manner (well, if they are helping tomorrow's leaders, maybe it will done in a hopeful manner), but the author means that he hopes the time will be rewarding.
sigh
And it's not even worth getting into a discussion about it. I'll just change it in my version. Still, mad props to my mom for teaching me about this little slip of adverbial usage.
I did not always have the perfect, English-teacher grammar and vocabulary that I do now. I used to say all sorts of horrible things: "and plus" was perhaps my biggest faux pas. It's redundant; you need either "and" or "plus", not both. I would also wait for any number of activities hopefully -- instead of hoping they would happen; the actions were not taking place in a hopeful manner. I would also pahk my cah (although I had absolutely no idea why everyone else was laughing at me -- I seriously could not hear the difference between car and cah). I eventuall figured it out when I ran home in 2nd grade and told my mom that we had learned about "stanzers" (sorta like a dawnzer, I guess) -- from Rach's boyfriend's older sister, no less. Turns out I got so used to adding Rs on words that I heard ending in As, I thought "stanza" was "stanzer".
Throughout all these (and more -- I used to say "disgusting" wrong (?) -- Rach, you gotta help me out on that one), my mother taught me what was right. Even today, hearing someone say "And, plus" is like nails on a chalkboard. It takes every ounce of my strength to not be a douchebag and correct them in a loud and deprecating manner.
So, as I was reading through a letter to send out with my students to the publice, I come across this, "I understand that this will take time; hopefully, the time you spend with your senior will lead to a rewarding experience for both of you."
Do you see it?
I know, I know. Grammar is actually descriptive and not prescriptive. Language and usage change and become "correct" as more and more people use them in a certain manner. Dictionaries track how people use words more than they tell us how to use them. But it still grates on my nerves. The time the expert sources will spend with the seniors will not be done in a hopeful manner (well, if they are helping tomorrow's leaders, maybe it will done in a hopeful manner), but the author means that he hopes the time will be rewarding.
sigh
And it's not even worth getting into a discussion about it. I'll just change it in my version. Still, mad props to my mom for teaching me about this little slip of adverbial usage.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Viva la Tortoise
Ididitididitididitididit!!!!!!!!!
I DID IT!
And by that I mean I ran the 13.1 without walking!!!!!!
Time: 2:53:43
The music was great. Dead or Alive came on at mile 7. You're right, Mike. I was dancing on the trail like a record, baby. Mile 10 was I Am Superman (and I can do anything). Jamie Lidell told me it was just a little bit more at 12.5.
Never again.
I DID IT!
And by that I mean I ran the 13.1 without walking!!!!!!
Time: 2:53:43
The music was great. Dead or Alive came on at mile 7. You're right, Mike. I was dancing on the trail like a record, baby. Mile 10 was I Am Superman (and I can do anything). Jamie Lidell told me it was just a little bit more at 12.5.
Never again.
Almost Famous
Shells arrived this afternoon. We hit the road around 9 (after a couple of games of bowling) and just settled into the hotel. We got crappy directions from the Marriott Web site. There were a couple of places where there was a choice to go either east or west--but with no indication which direction was the correct direction. I guessed wrong the first time. The second time, we went with what the directions seemed to be saying, although I knew we wanted Berkley and not San Francisco. So after a nice scenic detour on the Oakland Bay Bridge, we turned around again. I hate bridges. But we're here now. Tomorrow: 13.1 with an awesome race mix. I had a great time putting it together. I'll have to do some more races now so I can perfect it further.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Music
It's time to put together my final mix of running songs. Any suggestions? I predict this race will take me 3.5+ hours. That's a lot of music, so bring it on.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Science of Aging
I was watching some of HBO's Alzheimer's Project documentaries today. Having had a granfather who suffered from the disease, I was rather interested in learning more about the whole subject.
Here are a few things you should know.
Exercise is good for your brain. Alzheimer's is caused by a build-up of Amyloid Beta protein in the brain. One way to help your brain clear out this protein is through exercise. It seems that it's just good for your brain in general: it stimulates some chemical that clears away the Amyloid Beta. Of course, thirty minutes of exercise a day also helps guard against diabetes. A healthy diet (low sugar, low bad-fat, low salt) also helps. All those things that are bad for your arteries make it tougher for your brain to clear away the Amyloid Beta. You see, all these health risks tie in together. So, exercise and eat right.
Also, people with more friends have brains that are better able to remember things the older they get. The less stress you experience (or maybe, the less you stress out) also helps your brain as you get older.
All of this was rather heartening. I do not have to experience my grandfather's fate. There are things I can do about it. There are things my parents can do about it. I recommend watching the shows if you have the opportunity.
Here are a few things you should know.
Exercise is good for your brain. Alzheimer's is caused by a build-up of Amyloid Beta protein in the brain. One way to help your brain clear out this protein is through exercise. It seems that it's just good for your brain in general: it stimulates some chemical that clears away the Amyloid Beta. Of course, thirty minutes of exercise a day also helps guard against diabetes. A healthy diet (low sugar, low bad-fat, low salt) also helps. All those things that are bad for your arteries make it tougher for your brain to clear away the Amyloid Beta. You see, all these health risks tie in together. So, exercise and eat right.
Also, people with more friends have brains that are better able to remember things the older they get. The less stress you experience (or maybe, the less you stress out) also helps your brain as you get older.
All of this was rather heartening. I do not have to experience my grandfather's fate. There are things I can do about it. There are things my parents can do about it. I recommend watching the shows if you have the opportunity.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
T Minus 7
The plan was to run about 11.2 miles today. I looked it up online, and thought I knew where the turn-around was -- the park with the volleyball court, duh! I wanted to run the way out, and then try to run the whole way back.
I did run the whole way out. Yay! And on the way back, I started walking. As I got closer to the end, I walked more and more. The last mile/mile and a half was almost all walking. My knees hurt. I didn't take preemptive ibuprofen. Big mistake.
Earlier, somewhere around mile 7 (?), I realized a) I had been running much longer than I thought (almost two hours) and b) I might need some calories and water. There, ahead of me, was a gas station. So, a bottle of water and a Crunch bar later, I was feeling a bit better. Even 11 miles is long without any additional calories, and although I have been convinced that it's better to under hydrate than over, water is still a good thing.
Anyway, I finished the run (with actual running, no less) and headed straight to REI for some Gu. Turns out Gu is the only no-chew energy substance with vitamin B. And yet B is what helps you process energy. B doesn't stay in your body long, but while you have it, your body uses its energy more efficiently (or something). So, I bought a bunch of Gu for next weekend -- and had one immediately.
Then, I found a restaurant and had a pretty decent bacon cheeseburger. I would tell you more about it, but I totally forgot to take any photos in my haste to stuff my face. (It was 3pm by this point.) While waiting for said burger, I played with the iPhone, and realized I might have run further than I thought. I drove home the way I ran in, and yes, I ran at least .3 miles (each way) further. Turns out the street I googlemapped last night is not visible from the bike trail.
That makes this weeks run closer to 12 miles... maybe even a bit more than 12 considering I have to do some ups and downs to go around various highway on-ramps. So, I am now less surprised that it took me about 3 1/2 hours and my knees really hurt.
On a side note, my knees have been hurting a bit lately. Then I realized I'd stopped doing the wet sock trick at night. So, it's back to the wet socks at night for me.
I did run the whole way out. Yay! And on the way back, I started walking. As I got closer to the end, I walked more and more. The last mile/mile and a half was almost all walking. My knees hurt. I didn't take preemptive ibuprofen. Big mistake.
Earlier, somewhere around mile 7 (?), I realized a) I had been running much longer than I thought (almost two hours) and b) I might need some calories and water. There, ahead of me, was a gas station. So, a bottle of water and a Crunch bar later, I was feeling a bit better. Even 11 miles is long without any additional calories, and although I have been convinced that it's better to under hydrate than over, water is still a good thing.
Anyway, I finished the run (with actual running, no less) and headed straight to REI for some Gu. Turns out Gu is the only no-chew energy substance with vitamin B. And yet B is what helps you process energy. B doesn't stay in your body long, but while you have it, your body uses its energy more efficiently (or something). So, I bought a bunch of Gu for next weekend -- and had one immediately.
Then, I found a restaurant and had a pretty decent bacon cheeseburger. I would tell you more about it, but I totally forgot to take any photos in my haste to stuff my face. (It was 3pm by this point.) While waiting for said burger, I played with the iPhone, and realized I might have run further than I thought. I drove home the way I ran in, and yes, I ran at least .3 miles (each way) further. Turns out the street I googlemapped last night is not visible from the bike trail.
That makes this weeks run closer to 12 miles... maybe even a bit more than 12 considering I have to do some ups and downs to go around various highway on-ramps. So, I am now less surprised that it took me about 3 1/2 hours and my knees really hurt.
On a side note, my knees have been hurting a bit lately. Then I realized I'd stopped doing the wet sock trick at night. So, it's back to the wet socks at night for me.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
New Duds
I was at school for 12 hours today. I had this very annoying, very long waste-of-time, er, I mean meeting, oops, no it was a "celebration" of all the very "important" work I did in my mentoring program. Of course, it meant very little time for food. So I ran out and got a burrito with another teacher, so that was meat and carbs for dinner (in this town, burritos do not come with veggies or cheese). There was dessert at the meeting, and my Support Provider (SP) wanted a cupcake, but they were huge so I was a team player and had half. I mean that seriously, I did not want the cupcake. It was nasty, plasticky, store-bought cupcake with shortning frosting the flavor of nothing. I do not like store-bought desserts. Now, if they were chips, I would have eaten the whole bag, but they weren't chips, they were cupcakes.
On the way home, I thought to myself, "Self, why don't we go for a short run when we get home?" So, I did. To make it even better, my new running clothes had arrived. I ordered a pair of spandex shorts (since I still can't seem to find anything but capris or shorts with chamois) and a new, stretchy Terry skort (since mine gives me skort burn along my waist when worn for long periods of time). So, I just ran 3 miles. Like that.
Of course, I think I the skort is too big. It's larger than the other one (since my other one is a bit too small), but I think it's too big. So I've got to see what it takes to trade it in for one smaller.
On a similar note, while trying on clothes for today's meeting (where administrators and district muckety-mucks were in attendance by the dozen), I had to wear a skirt I haven't fit in for a couple of years. The one I was going to wear was too big and looked just awful. Of course, the one that now fits is a size 12 while the one that is too big is a size 10. Women's sizes. What a pain.
On the way home, I thought to myself, "Self, why don't we go for a short run when we get home?" So, I did. To make it even better, my new running clothes had arrived. I ordered a pair of spandex shorts (since I still can't seem to find anything but capris or shorts with chamois) and a new, stretchy Terry skort (since mine gives me skort burn along my waist when worn for long periods of time). So, I just ran 3 miles. Like that.
Of course, I think I the skort is too big. It's larger than the other one (since my other one is a bit too small), but I think it's too big. So I've got to see what it takes to trade it in for one smaller.
On a similar note, while trying on clothes for today's meeting (where administrators and district muckety-mucks were in attendance by the dozen), I had to wear a skirt I haven't fit in for a couple of years. The one I was going to wear was too big and looked just awful. Of course, the one that now fits is a size 12 while the one that is too big is a size 10. Women's sizes. What a pain.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Mad Props
There is a teacher at work that I often run into at the copy machine in the morning. She "lives" on the other side of campus, so I don't even know what she teaches. At a PTC, she once described me as "the teacher running a half marathon". So I saw her this morning, and told her about the 10k. She was duly impressed. Couldn't shut up about it. It was the best response I've gotten so far. Everyone else is all "oh, that's cool". But I'm not in this for my health, I'm in it for the fame. Bring it, Baby, bring it!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Weekend Warrior
This is not the way to do it. You only get injured when you exercise excessively on the weekends and not at all during the week. I know this, and yet here I am. I have certainly hit a "running wall" during the week. I guess I can maintain focus for 10 weeks, but not 15. And, the end-of-year crap is getting the way: grades, BTSA (don't ask), packing up the room. I still have finals to write.
So, this past week I ran a couple of miles until I got the call to go see Star Trek. Well, we were going to see Star Trek, but then the Europeans didn't want to... but me and my trusty iPhone pointed out (with the aid of Rotten Tomatoes) that all the other films showing were so not-Scottish (therefore, crap), so we did see Star Trek. And it was awesome. I loved it. They... not so much. I think it might be an American thing. All those years watching the original show helped out, too. After that Monday, I never made it back out. I hope that the end of TV season will help me out these next two weeks, two. 'Cause the countdown is ON.
Today, however, I did a 10k. It was part of some local "get healthy" campaign that the crazy gym teacher at school got us all hyped up about. I was the only teacher to show, though. But my prinicpal was there; I love looking like the team player I am in front of admin. The start was about 1.5 miles from home, so I jogged over, signed up, and waited. I got in the big ol' mess o' people and started running. It was just like being back in high school (except it was on the road, and not a golf course).
I was in the middle of a sea of bobbing bodies... and they were all passing me. Just when I thought maybe things had started to even out... more people passed me. The more things change, the more they stay the same. On I ran, however. I played leap frog with a few people who were walking. I stuck to my same-old 12-min. mile pace, however. They all stopped at the 5k. I think they all passed me at the finish, seeing as they were ending and I. I take comfort in the idea that I passed them the second they stopped at the first lap. (The 10k was just two loops of the 5k course.)
Speaking of laps, I only got lapped by the first and second place winners! I was afraid that people would be streaming by me to the finish line while I still had another loop to go, but that wasn't the case. I'm OK with getting passed by the serious runners, and am glad to have held off the less serious ones.
I toyed with walking during the second lap, but I kept on putting it off. (The old "one more mile" trick.) It worked, too. I also found a pretty good stride around mile 4 (it should not have taken that long, I know.) I finally started lengthening my stride, remembering whats-his-name's advice all those years ago. Rach--it was one of your running friends. The tall one. With a longer strike, you cover more ground with the same amount of energy. I can feel it in my hips (and these hips don't lie). Instead of being all knees, the length (and power) comes from my entire leg. I need to remember that, and bring it out.
It was around this time I saw the walker in front of me. She was doing some serious walking, and I slowly, slowly, slowly overtook her. After awhile, she started running again, and she passed me by. Then she started walking again. I passed her for the last time. I came around a corner (and thought I still had one more corner to turn), but there was the finish line. So, I really turned it on. I took real strides and ran like a real person. Somehow, I never find that strength until the end. If I could run like *that* more often, I could make it out of my 12-min. mile slump. (Is it a slump if that's been your pace for 15 years?).
I finished in 1:18:17 (or so). I didn't stick around for all the results, though. It was taking forever, and I still had to make it home. I originially planned on running home, but that didn't happen. My knees felt like jelly and all my joints feltl like they had come unglued (I still feel a little slippery in my skin). So I walked it back, but that's still some more distance-ish.
The big day is two weeks away.
So, this past week I ran a couple of miles until I got the call to go see Star Trek. Well, we were going to see Star Trek, but then the Europeans didn't want to... but me and my trusty iPhone pointed out (with the aid of Rotten Tomatoes) that all the other films showing were so not-Scottish (therefore, crap), so we did see Star Trek. And it was awesome. I loved it. They... not so much. I think it might be an American thing. All those years watching the original show helped out, too. After that Monday, I never made it back out. I hope that the end of TV season will help me out these next two weeks, two. 'Cause the countdown is ON.
Today, however, I did a 10k. It was part of some local "get healthy" campaign that the crazy gym teacher at school got us all hyped up about. I was the only teacher to show, though. But my prinicpal was there; I love looking like the team player I am in front of admin. The start was about 1.5 miles from home, so I jogged over, signed up, and waited. I got in the big ol' mess o' people and started running. It was just like being back in high school (except it was on the road, and not a golf course).
I was in the middle of a sea of bobbing bodies... and they were all passing me. Just when I thought maybe things had started to even out... more people passed me. The more things change, the more they stay the same. On I ran, however. I played leap frog with a few people who were walking. I stuck to my same-old 12-min. mile pace, however. They all stopped at the 5k. I think they all passed me at the finish, seeing as they were ending and I. I take comfort in the idea that I passed them the second they stopped at the first lap. (The 10k was just two loops of the 5k course.)
Speaking of laps, I only got lapped by the first and second place winners! I was afraid that people would be streaming by me to the finish line while I still had another loop to go, but that wasn't the case. I'm OK with getting passed by the serious runners, and am glad to have held off the less serious ones.
I toyed with walking during the second lap, but I kept on putting it off. (The old "one more mile" trick.) It worked, too. I also found a pretty good stride around mile 4 (it should not have taken that long, I know.) I finally started lengthening my stride, remembering whats-his-name's advice all those years ago. Rach--it was one of your running friends. The tall one. With a longer strike, you cover more ground with the same amount of energy. I can feel it in my hips (and these hips don't lie). Instead of being all knees, the length (and power) comes from my entire leg. I need to remember that, and bring it out.
It was around this time I saw the walker in front of me. She was doing some serious walking, and I slowly, slowly, slowly overtook her. After awhile, she started running again, and she passed me by. Then she started walking again. I passed her for the last time. I came around a corner (and thought I still had one more corner to turn), but there was the finish line. So, I really turned it on. I took real strides and ran like a real person. Somehow, I never find that strength until the end. If I could run like *that* more often, I could make it out of my 12-min. mile slump. (Is it a slump if that's been your pace for 15 years?).
I finished in 1:18:17 (or so). I didn't stick around for all the results, though. It was taking forever, and I still had to make it home. I originially planned on running home, but that didn't happen. My knees felt like jelly and all my joints feltl like they had come unglued (I still feel a little slippery in my skin). So I walked it back, but that's still some more distance-ish.
The big day is two weeks away.
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