We are already one week into the 4th quarter.
That leaves us...
Spring Break!!!!! woot!
Two weeks before California's standardized testing.
A week of testing.
One more week in April.
The week the "big paper" is due.
Two weeks before finals.
Finals week.
A stupid 2-day week (that's what happens when you furlough and you end school the week of Memorial Day).
My birthday!
I think I'll be able to handle until the end of the year.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
This One Scares Me
I saw that one of my students had been dropped from my rolls this morning. It's a usual occurance.
Then her best friend came in and asked if it was true that her friend had been dropped. I told her it was and asked her if she knew what the deal was. Well, she did.
Her friend ran away from home.
Runaway won't tell anyone where she is. Friend talked to Runaway yesterday, but Runaway blocked her number when she called from the land line, so Friend can't get a location. All Friend knows is that Runaway is "staying" with some Gangster guy. Runway is underage; Gangster is 18. Gangster wouldn't take Runaway to his house, just to where his "Homies" stay. Friend says Runaway has greasy hair and her neck is covered with hickies. I don't want to imagine what Runaway is dealing with, but I can and it's not good.
Friend keeps telling Runaway to COME HOME, but Runaway won't listen. Friend had her own runaway moment last year, and says it was the hardest week of her life and she will never do it again. Runaway still won't listen and says Friend doesn't understand.
Runaway lives with her Sister, who is pregnant. It seems that Runaway ran away because she ditched school and didn't want to get in trouble. Sister doesn't care; she doesn't care about anything except Runaway being home and safe.
The (thin) silver lining is that Friend is talking to Runaway and is also willing to tell adults what she knows. Friend knows what information would be useful, and is trying to get it out of Runaway. Friend also reached out to our school's social worker. Social Worker knows both girls, and is perhaps the adult at school most able to help. I talked to CPS, but there is nothing for me to "report".
The whole thing sucks. I'm really worried about Runaway. Running away is never a laughing matter, but especially not in this town with its population and crime scene. I know that teens make mistakes and can learn from them; I hope that she makes it through intact (mentally, emotionally, and/or physically) so that she has the opportunity to learn.
Then her best friend came in and asked if it was true that her friend had been dropped. I told her it was and asked her if she knew what the deal was. Well, she did.
Her friend ran away from home.
Runaway won't tell anyone where she is. Friend talked to Runaway yesterday, but Runaway blocked her number when she called from the land line, so Friend can't get a location. All Friend knows is that Runaway is "staying" with some Gangster guy. Runway is underage; Gangster is 18. Gangster wouldn't take Runaway to his house, just to where his "Homies" stay. Friend says Runaway has greasy hair and her neck is covered with hickies. I don't want to imagine what Runaway is dealing with, but I can and it's not good.
Friend keeps telling Runaway to COME HOME, but Runaway won't listen. Friend had her own runaway moment last year, and says it was the hardest week of her life and she will never do it again. Runaway still won't listen and says Friend doesn't understand.
Runaway lives with her Sister, who is pregnant. It seems that Runaway ran away because she ditched school and didn't want to get in trouble. Sister doesn't care; she doesn't care about anything except Runaway being home and safe.
The (thin) silver lining is that Friend is talking to Runaway and is also willing to tell adults what she knows. Friend knows what information would be useful, and is trying to get it out of Runaway. Friend also reached out to our school's social worker. Social Worker knows both girls, and is perhaps the adult at school most able to help. I talked to CPS, but there is nothing for me to "report".
The whole thing sucks. I'm really worried about Runaway. Running away is never a laughing matter, but especially not in this town with its population and crime scene. I know that teens make mistakes and can learn from them; I hope that she makes it through intact (mentally, emotionally, and/or physically) so that she has the opportunity to learn.
Friday, March 19, 2010
They Grow Up So Quickly
I had my students write narrative essays about something they lost. (Have I told you this before?) Many of them are very, very sad. One of my students turned in a draft, and asked if he could write a final essay. (It all has to do with my "deadlines" to turn in work. I know I should be more strict, but I just can't bear to let to let them fail. I won't kill myself to get them a C or a B or an A -- but I will do my utmost to get them to a passing grade.)
He asked me if he could do a final draft. I told him to come by during homeroom, and I would have his draft graded. Well, knowing my squirrels the way I do, I graded his draft as a final, so he'd at least have a grade. He then forgot about his promise to get it for two weeks. (I wish I could track them all down -- but I get so wrapped up in dealing with 34 (times 4) of them for the day's lesson that I just don't always remember to call one of them on a late assignment.)
I read his essay. It was a heartbreaker. His cousin was beat to death in a mugging. The thieves got $10 and a cell phone.
His rough draft was just that -- rough. But I did my usual thing and made comments. I wrote him a note on the back, too. He made a comment at the end of his essay about not knowing how people live like that. I agreed with him. I don't know how people live like that. I had this student last year, and he admitted to having gotten in fights. I wrote him that I don't think I could punch someone in the face, let alone beat someone to death.
I went further. I gave him some tips on building suspense and giving his reader a powerful ending. He told the reader up front that the muggers got $10 -- I advised that it would be far more powerful to leave that to the ending. If he kept some of the details until the end, it would make the story that much more meaningful. And then I told him that I knew nothing could make this situation better, but by writing a better story, he might find more meaning in the story or help someone else find meaning.
Yesterday, he remembered to ask if I had graded his essay, and I gave it to him. I noticed that he skipped some of yesterday's assignment because he was reading what I wrote to him. (He actually read it!!) And today, he dropped off a new draft. It was much better. Much.
I can still see that more drafts would make it perfect, but he went from a C- paper to a B+/A- paper. And I got to talk with him today aboout how he was doing. I mentioned he'd been quieter this year. He admitted that he's thought about his previous behavior, and he can't believe how immature he had been. It's amazing how much they grow up from 15/16 to 16/17.
He still has problems. I let him slip through the cracks last semester. He had been doing well, and then something went wrong and he was absent for a week. When the attendance reports came through three weeks later, he had been marked as truant. His grade never recovered. He just didn't have it in him to make up what he'd missed. I've sworn to call him on it if he is absent more than one day. So far, he hasn't been.
He's a good kid. He has problems. He isn't a great student. The town he lives in is crap. I just want to encourage his resiliancy. I want to help him survive. In this town, for a young, Latino male, surviving is sometimes the best you can aim for.
When surviving is the goal, it's obvious that thriving is something the community has lost.
He asked me if he could do a final draft. I told him to come by during homeroom, and I would have his draft graded. Well, knowing my squirrels the way I do, I graded his draft as a final, so he'd at least have a grade. He then forgot about his promise to get it for two weeks. (I wish I could track them all down -- but I get so wrapped up in dealing with 34 (times 4) of them for the day's lesson that I just don't always remember to call one of them on a late assignment.)
I read his essay. It was a heartbreaker. His cousin was beat to death in a mugging. The thieves got $10 and a cell phone.
His rough draft was just that -- rough. But I did my usual thing and made comments. I wrote him a note on the back, too. He made a comment at the end of his essay about not knowing how people live like that. I agreed with him. I don't know how people live like that. I had this student last year, and he admitted to having gotten in fights. I wrote him that I don't think I could punch someone in the face, let alone beat someone to death.
I went further. I gave him some tips on building suspense and giving his reader a powerful ending. He told the reader up front that the muggers got $10 -- I advised that it would be far more powerful to leave that to the ending. If he kept some of the details until the end, it would make the story that much more meaningful. And then I told him that I knew nothing could make this situation better, but by writing a better story, he might find more meaning in the story or help someone else find meaning.
Yesterday, he remembered to ask if I had graded his essay, and I gave it to him. I noticed that he skipped some of yesterday's assignment because he was reading what I wrote to him. (He actually read it!!) And today, he dropped off a new draft. It was much better. Much.
I can still see that more drafts would make it perfect, but he went from a C- paper to a B+/A- paper. And I got to talk with him today aboout how he was doing. I mentioned he'd been quieter this year. He admitted that he's thought about his previous behavior, and he can't believe how immature he had been. It's amazing how much they grow up from 15/16 to 16/17.
He still has problems. I let him slip through the cracks last semester. He had been doing well, and then something went wrong and he was absent for a week. When the attendance reports came through three weeks later, he had been marked as truant. His grade never recovered. He just didn't have it in him to make up what he'd missed. I've sworn to call him on it if he is absent more than one day. So far, he hasn't been.
He's a good kid. He has problems. He isn't a great student. The town he lives in is crap. I just want to encourage his resiliancy. I want to help him survive. In this town, for a young, Latino male, surviving is sometimes the best you can aim for.
When surviving is the goal, it's obvious that thriving is something the community has lost.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Poetry in the Classroom
Last week, one of my students passed me a note, asking for some suggestions on books of poetry, philosophy, or romance that he could read. He might have had one more genre -- whatever it was, it was a wide variety of subjects. He mananged to ask for recommendations in genres that I don't really read all that often.
A couple of nights later, my eye caught my copy of "Howl" on my bookshelf. "Ha-ha!" I thought to myself, "Now here is a poem that he should read." It was certainly racy for the 50s, but this kid regularly listens to explicit rap, so I thought it might fit. In fact, I thought he might be able to make a connection between what was and what is. Then I remembered that I was given some Chicano poetry by a departing English teacher last year, so I could give him those to read, as well -- for some diversity.
I handed over three books: "Howl", a book of poems by Luis J. Rodriguez, and book by someone else -- it was another Chicano poet that I haven't read but was on the bookshelf. I set them on his desk. I warned him that Ginsberg might get inappropriate, but it was probably no worse than his rap. He thanked me profusely, and went to his next class.
I saw him around campus a couple of days later, and he asked me what was up with "That guy".
"Which one?" I asked, "Ginsberg?"
"Yeah," he replied. "He seems like he's gay or something."
"Well, he is," was my matter-of-fact reply. I laughed. I was impressed that he was reading closely enough to come up with an impression of the author and happy to break him out of his comfort zone. Seeing different viewpoints, especially in my close-minded town, is a good thing. I also can't help thinking of a Mapplethorpe essay I read in college where Mapplethorpe explains how he wants his art to have a visceral effect on his audience. Art should make you feel -- even if that feeling is an uncomfortable one. Hence all the crazy sex stuff in Mapplethorpe's otherwise beautifully photographed pictures.
Fast-forward to today. At the end of class, he pulled out the Rodriguez book, and I asked him which he liked better. "The other guy, Howl," he said. "I dunno, he's tighter. This guy is just writing about himself."
Wow.
Let me say that again.
Wow.
He not only read the poetry, he thought about it. Not only did he think about, he considered the viewpoint of someone totally different from himsef (Ginsberg, as a gay white man, is not like him. Rodriguez, as a Chicano heterosexual growing up in the gang life, is very much like him.) Then, he went even further and made an evaluation of the work based on the structure of the writing. Gingsberg is tighter -- which probably means both cooler and better developed. Although Rodriguez has feeling, his writing isn't as well done.
Sometimes they amaze me, and I feel lucky that I get to help push them in whatever direction they want to go.
A couple of nights later, my eye caught my copy of "Howl" on my bookshelf. "Ha-ha!" I thought to myself, "Now here is a poem that he should read." It was certainly racy for the 50s, but this kid regularly listens to explicit rap, so I thought it might fit. In fact, I thought he might be able to make a connection between what was and what is. Then I remembered that I was given some Chicano poetry by a departing English teacher last year, so I could give him those to read, as well -- for some diversity.
I handed over three books: "Howl", a book of poems by Luis J. Rodriguez, and book by someone else -- it was another Chicano poet that I haven't read but was on the bookshelf. I set them on his desk. I warned him that Ginsberg might get inappropriate, but it was probably no worse than his rap. He thanked me profusely, and went to his next class.
I saw him around campus a couple of days later, and he asked me what was up with "That guy".
"Which one?" I asked, "Ginsberg?"
"Yeah," he replied. "He seems like he's gay or something."
"Well, he is," was my matter-of-fact reply. I laughed. I was impressed that he was reading closely enough to come up with an impression of the author and happy to break him out of his comfort zone. Seeing different viewpoints, especially in my close-minded town, is a good thing. I also can't help thinking of a Mapplethorpe essay I read in college where Mapplethorpe explains how he wants his art to have a visceral effect on his audience. Art should make you feel -- even if that feeling is an uncomfortable one. Hence all the crazy sex stuff in Mapplethorpe's otherwise beautifully photographed pictures.
Fast-forward to today. At the end of class, he pulled out the Rodriguez book, and I asked him which he liked better. "The other guy, Howl," he said. "I dunno, he's tighter. This guy is just writing about himself."
Wow.
Let me say that again.
Wow.
He not only read the poetry, he thought about it. Not only did he think about, he considered the viewpoint of someone totally different from himsef (Ginsberg, as a gay white man, is not like him. Rodriguez, as a Chicano heterosexual growing up in the gang life, is very much like him.) Then, he went even further and made an evaluation of the work based on the structure of the writing. Gingsberg is tighter -- which probably means both cooler and better developed. Although Rodriguez has feeling, his writing isn't as well done.
Sometimes they amaze me, and I feel lucky that I get to help push them in whatever direction they want to go.
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Zicam (R) Diaries
I threaten my students with minus 200 points if they get me sick. It never works. I always get a cold. It happened again on Thursday. I woke up around 4 or 5 am with a tell-tale scratch in my throat. I tried to pretend it was nothing (didn't even look at the clock), but when the alarm went off at 5:30, I knew what it was.
Five-thirty am isn't a great time to get a sub, so I sucked it up and got ready for school. On the way out the door at 7am, I took a Zicam tablet left over from the previous cold. I survived the day with Zicam and Ricola (I had a stash in my desk at work, too).
That evening, I hunkered down with some left-over ice cream and called it good.
Friday was another dilemma. I could certifiably take a sick day -- but then I'd miss Multicultural Day. I had (vocally) been looking forward to Multicultural Day for two weeks. It's an extended lunch (80 minutes) and the school groups come out and sell food. I was all ready for an enchilada plate, and tacos, and tamales, and lumpia. So, I kept up the Zicam routine, suffered through my prep, faked it through 4th, ate my way through lunch, and told the kids to not make me mad during 6th or I'd really let them have it when I got better. Fortunately, it's a small class, and they're essentially good kids, so we made it through the day.
By Saturday, the sore throat had turned to full-on cold, or had it? The sore throat was gone. My head was starting to feel fuzzy. I was definitely feeling some ick. So, I sat on the couch with tea and Zicam (every three hours), and a book, and my true love, HBO. At night, just to be on the safe side, I had a little of grandma's cold remedy -- for the late-night cough.
On Sunday, I started off with the Zicam. The cold seemed to be moving to my sinuses -- finally. Maybe? Three weeks worth of laundry later, and I didn't need any of the Puffs Plus I'd purchased just for this cold.
Today, I was even smiling at school. You're supposed to take Zicam for 48 hours longer than you have symptoms. I'm not sure if that means today is my 48 hours, or tomorrow. I'm going to go with tomorrow just to be safe. But seriously, people -- a four day cold? That does not happen, and it certainly doesn't happen to me. When I get a cold, I get a cold. I get a 4-week death rattle. I get sinus infections. I get months of snot running out of nose.
And I'm going to buy a case of this stuff. I've tried most (if not all) of the magical cold remedies. This one actually works. (But you do have to take it immediately and consistently, or nothing doing.)
Five-thirty am isn't a great time to get a sub, so I sucked it up and got ready for school. On the way out the door at 7am, I took a Zicam tablet left over from the previous cold. I survived the day with Zicam and Ricola (I had a stash in my desk at work, too).
That evening, I hunkered down with some left-over ice cream and called it good.
Friday was another dilemma. I could certifiably take a sick day -- but then I'd miss Multicultural Day. I had (vocally) been looking forward to Multicultural Day for two weeks. It's an extended lunch (80 minutes) and the school groups come out and sell food. I was all ready for an enchilada plate, and tacos, and tamales, and lumpia. So, I kept up the Zicam routine, suffered through my prep, faked it through 4th, ate my way through lunch, and told the kids to not make me mad during 6th or I'd really let them have it when I got better. Fortunately, it's a small class, and they're essentially good kids, so we made it through the day.
By Saturday, the sore throat had turned to full-on cold, or had it? The sore throat was gone. My head was starting to feel fuzzy. I was definitely feeling some ick. So, I sat on the couch with tea and Zicam (every three hours), and a book, and my true love, HBO. At night, just to be on the safe side, I had a little of grandma's cold remedy -- for the late-night cough.
On Sunday, I started off with the Zicam. The cold seemed to be moving to my sinuses -- finally. Maybe? Three weeks worth of laundry later, and I didn't need any of the Puffs Plus I'd purchased just for this cold.
Today, I was even smiling at school. You're supposed to take Zicam for 48 hours longer than you have symptoms. I'm not sure if that means today is my 48 hours, or tomorrow. I'm going to go with tomorrow just to be safe. But seriously, people -- a four day cold? That does not happen, and it certainly doesn't happen to me. When I get a cold, I get a cold. I get a 4-week death rattle. I get sinus infections. I get months of snot running out of nose.
And I'm going to buy a case of this stuff. I've tried most (if not all) of the magical cold remedies. This one actually works. (But you do have to take it immediately and consistently, or nothing doing.)
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Two out of Three Ain't Bad?
Have I mentioned before how much I am annoyed by "mentors" who don't listen to what I say?
It happened again today: I was sitting at a meeting and I'm supposed to be sharing my thoughts and ideas with my mentor in a collegial setting to help improve my practice. I can't get three words out of my mouth about the project I had them design that I need to hang... Oh, NO! Make THEM do it. And then he goes on about whatever else. I wasn't listening because I was so hurt that what I said just got stomped on. I'm sorry, but the point is not that I need to hang it up, or they need to use the push-pin, or my TA needs to use the push-pin, but that I had them work in groups to develop a cover for the chapters which they then presented to the class who voted on the best posters. Not that he ever stopped to listen to the actual pedagogy, but just jumped all over who was doing the hanging. (The real problem is they didn't put their names on them, so I can't assign grades -- not that he ever heard that.)
He did the same thing when I said I don't usually hang their writing on the walls because they often write private things. OH NO! Writing is meant to be read! Yes, and I read it, but I ask them to write about what they know. And these kids know pain. Later on, when I explained to the whole group (while they listened) about my favorite genre, the narrative, and how I get a lot of disclosure from them about their problems, he started to listen. I think. I was so angry and frustrated by then, I really didn't care.
I know I'm not a veteran teacher, but I do have 2+ years experience and an M.Ed. I think I have something valuable to add to a conversation and maybe even something to teach my mentor.
Last week, my first mentor emailed me that I had ruined him for interns. Skip over the flutter of pride and excitement I felt at his compliment, and consider this: one of the first things he said to me (It was on our first or second day together) was that he loved having interns because they always taught him something and improved his practice. My other two mentors have never said any such thing to me; they try to teach me without stopping to learn.
I have certainly been ruined for mentors, because two out of three are bad.
It happened again today: I was sitting at a meeting and I'm supposed to be sharing my thoughts and ideas with my mentor in a collegial setting to help improve my practice. I can't get three words out of my mouth about the project I had them design that I need to hang... Oh, NO! Make THEM do it. And then he goes on about whatever else. I wasn't listening because I was so hurt that what I said just got stomped on. I'm sorry, but the point is not that I need to hang it up, or they need to use the push-pin, or my TA needs to use the push-pin, but that I had them work in groups to develop a cover for the chapters which they then presented to the class who voted on the best posters. Not that he ever stopped to listen to the actual pedagogy, but just jumped all over who was doing the hanging. (The real problem is they didn't put their names on them, so I can't assign grades -- not that he ever heard that.)
He did the same thing when I said I don't usually hang their writing on the walls because they often write private things. OH NO! Writing is meant to be read! Yes, and I read it, but I ask them to write about what they know. And these kids know pain. Later on, when I explained to the whole group (while they listened) about my favorite genre, the narrative, and how I get a lot of disclosure from them about their problems, he started to listen. I think. I was so angry and frustrated by then, I really didn't care.
I know I'm not a veteran teacher, but I do have 2+ years experience and an M.Ed. I think I have something valuable to add to a conversation and maybe even something to teach my mentor.
Last week, my first mentor emailed me that I had ruined him for interns. Skip over the flutter of pride and excitement I felt at his compliment, and consider this: one of the first things he said to me (It was on our first or second day together) was that he loved having interns because they always taught him something and improved his practice. My other two mentors have never said any such thing to me; they try to teach me without stopping to learn.
I have certainly been ruined for mentors, because two out of three are bad.
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