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.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
