I had to put Carolinimas on hold in order to effect my move. I had plenty of time to think, though, so here are some of the things I considered while driving a 16' truck.
If you are going to drive a truck as an amateur in California, do so on the weekends. California loves it some weigh stations, and it loves for everyone to go through them. No one has ever, ever stopped me in a weigh station, but they want me to drive through anyway. On the weekends, however, most of them are closed. At least they are on Sunday. I drove by four closed stations and only had to drive through one.
If you want to drive a truck fast, do so in Nevada. After California, with its 55mph speed limit for trucks and anything with a trailer, Nevada is a godsend. The speed limit is 75mph. That's it. 75. No exceptions. And let me tell you, the truckers hammer down in Nevada. I was doing 65mph (my personal limit), and I was passed by everyone but 3 people.
Nevada knew I was coming, and put up special "Slow Trucks" signs with blinking lights, just for me. (I swear, I was the only slow truck in Nevada, even when going up hill.)
Nevada is also a miracle of road-building. Not only is the speed limit practically non-existent, the roads are beautifully maintained. Beyond that, there is no construction! I don't know how they do it, but they do.
Utah's salt flats are evil. Do not lose your sunglasses before driving through Utah.
Western states have an absurd fondness for mileage signs, Idaho in particular. They will post a sign every 8-15 miles. And the distances are long. I do not need to count down the ridiculous distances I need to drive every 10 miles. Every 30 or 40 would be sufficient.
Using gears in an automatic truck is good, especially when descending 12 miles worth of 6% grades. If you can get yourself down to speed (35mph) and then shift into 3rd (or even 2nd), the truck does all the rest. It ceases to be scary, because the truck will not accelerate over 35mph. You just slowly cruise downhill, with all the four-wheelers screaming by you on your left. Whatever. You're cool, man. Suave.
Montana has pretty good roads, and the construction zones to prove it. However, the last 10 miles of Montana are bone-jarringly rough. I'm surprised I didn't bite my tongue or break a tooth.
The weight distribution of an empty truck and a fully-loaded car being towed behind said truck is not good. Acceleration, in particular, causes shaking. I do not advise the last 10 miles of Montana to anyone driving this particular set-up.
Penske rocks. Sadly, they do not have a dealer in Montana. I would like to suggest one in Butte, where I-15 and I-90 meet. You know, just in case anyone out there with any power at Penske is reading this.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
On the Seventh Day of Carolinimas...
...My boyfriend sent to me a vase of flowers.
I could have chosen any number of things to write about. It was the last day of school (thanks District!); I don't have breast cancer (yes, I had a scare); I went out to dinner with friends (yay for friends and dinner). However, the highlight was coming home from all of the madness of the day (and two hours hanging out with a bunch of women who have been told to not wear deoderant or perfume is trying), and finding flowers on my porch. It was a very sweet ending to my day.
I could have chosen any number of things to write about. It was the last day of school (thanks District!); I don't have breast cancer (yes, I had a scare); I went out to dinner with friends (yay for friends and dinner). However, the highlight was coming home from all of the madness of the day (and two hours hanging out with a bunch of women who have been told to not wear deoderant or perfume is trying), and finding flowers on my porch. It was a very sweet ending to my day.
On the Sixty Day of Carolinmas...
...My mechanic gave me a car that was fixed.
Yeah, it was making some evil noises and shuddering at high speeds. (This all came to a head when I was driving to Berkeley.) I finally remembered my Car Talk and realized it was pretty dangerous. If a part of your drivetrain or axle fails while driving, it's very not good. Anyway, I (slowly) drove to the shop and it was done by noon.
Yeah, it was making some evil noises and shuddering at high speeds. (This all came to a head when I was driving to Berkeley.) I finally remembered my Car Talk and realized it was pretty dangerous. If a part of your drivetrain or axle fails while driving, it's very not good. Anyway, I (slowly) drove to the shop and it was done by noon.
Monday, May 31, 2010
On the Fifth Day of Carolinimas...
...I grilled out in the backyard.
I'm also making some Vichysoisse with the leeks I grew in my backyard. It's still on the stove, so I can't tell you exactly how good it is, yet, but I bet it'll be awesome. Potato leek soup is good anyday, but with homegrown leeks? Yummy.
Also on the menu, grilled sausages on grilled Italian bread and grilled asparagus. Maybe some arugula salad with strawberries and locally-produced swiss cheese. I'm getting hungry and tired, though, so am losing my momentum for salad-making.
I'm also making some Vichysoisse with the leeks I grew in my backyard. It's still on the stove, so I can't tell you exactly how good it is, yet, but I bet it'll be awesome. Potato leek soup is good anyday, but with homegrown leeks? Yummy.
Also on the menu, grilled sausages on grilled Italian bread and grilled asparagus. Maybe some arugula salad with strawberries and locally-produced swiss cheese. I'm getting hungry and tired, though, so am losing my momentum for salad-making.
On the Fourth Day of Carolinimas...
I went wine-tasting and to dinner with a friend.
I went to "my" winery and bought a few more bottles before I have to give them up. We then went around the corner and spent too much money on dinner in Carmel Valley Village. The food was good, but I don't know that it was that good. The bread was awesome, my Ceasar salad was tasty, but I was a bit disappointed with the Margehrita pizza. The tomatoes weren't fresh... so it was a bit acidic. Still, it was nice, just not great.
I went to "my" winery and bought a few more bottles before I have to give them up. We then went around the corner and spent too much money on dinner in Carmel Valley Village. The food was good, but I don't know that it was that good. The bread was awesome, my Ceasar salad was tasty, but I was a bit disappointed with the Margehrita pizza. The tomatoes weren't fresh... so it was a bit acidic. Still, it was nice, just not great.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
On the Third Day of Carolinimas...
...I went to prom.
I had a delightful dinner with some friends at a Santa Cruz eatery. The highlight was getting the "treasure chest" at the end of our meal. The chest is filled with cheap plastic toys. I took a shark. My friend's friend took a lobster. My friend took nothing -- for fear she was taking something from a kid. Um, the thing is FILLED with toys, I think there will be some left for the next kid when they finish their meal. And we paid $40 each, I think we deserve a plastic toy.
Prom itself was sorta lame. The music was all techno, but I was not dressed in techno attire, nor was I prepared to dance to techno at my age or in front of students. It just takes too much energy.
However, afterwards we walked down to the ocean and trashed the dress. I know, you're supposed to do that to wedding dresses, but it works with prom, too. We didn't get totally soaked (it was chilly), but it was fun. When I get my hands on some photos, I'll let you see them.
(I'll probably get the dress washed, but I also spilled sauce on it at dinner, so it might be trashed already anyway.)
I had a delightful dinner with some friends at a Santa Cruz eatery. The highlight was getting the "treasure chest" at the end of our meal. The chest is filled with cheap plastic toys. I took a shark. My friend's friend took a lobster. My friend took nothing -- for fear she was taking something from a kid. Um, the thing is FILLED with toys, I think there will be some left for the next kid when they finish their meal. And we paid $40 each, I think we deserve a plastic toy.
Prom itself was sorta lame. The music was all techno, but I was not dressed in techno attire, nor was I prepared to dance to techno at my age or in front of students. It just takes too much energy.
However, afterwards we walked down to the ocean and trashed the dress. I know, you're supposed to do that to wedding dresses, but it works with prom, too. We didn't get totally soaked (it was chilly), but it was fun. When I get my hands on some photos, I'll let you see them.
(I'll probably get the dress washed, but I also spilled sauce on it at dinner, so it might be trashed already anyway.)
Saturday, May 29, 2010
On the Second Day of Carolinimas...
...I gave to myself, a trip to Berkeley to see The Flight of the Conchords.
It was awesome. I got the tickets through the pre-sale (off Facebook), so I had good seats. I didn't have a date (Salinas being lame and my boyfriend living 7 1/2 hours away), so I sold the extra on Craigslist. It took about an hour to sell, the dude was pretty cool. He was ortinally going to just use me to get inside and then go sit with his friends. Our seats were so good, though, so he stayed with me. It was cool.
The show was awesome. The guys are hilarious and the music is better live (as I thought it would be) than it is on the show. They opened with Robots. Some highlights included Boom, Inner City Pressure, Too Many Dicks on the Dancefloor, and Bowie with glittery shirts and tear-away pants. They also told some hilariously boring stories that all came back around during one of the last songs. A joke that comes back around? Priceless.
It was awesome. I got the tickets through the pre-sale (off Facebook), so I had good seats. I didn't have a date (Salinas being lame and my boyfriend living 7 1/2 hours away), so I sold the extra on Craigslist. It took about an hour to sell, the dude was pretty cool. He was ortinally going to just use me to get inside and then go sit with his friends. Our seats were so good, though, so he stayed with me. It was cool.
The show was awesome. The guys are hilarious and the music is better live (as I thought it would be) than it is on the show. They opened with Robots. Some highlights included Boom, Inner City Pressure, Too Many Dicks on the Dancefloor, and Bowie with glittery shirts and tear-away pants. They also told some hilariously boring stories that all came back around during one of the last songs. A joke that comes back around? Priceless.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
On the First Day of Carolinimas...
...My students gave to me a beautiful made-from-scratch cake.
I usually don't start Carolinimas so early, but one can't argue with a surprise birthday not-party thrown by 6th block. (We do not have parties in high school, you see.)
Since my students are self-described Mexicans, we did the cake Mexican style. That means I had to take the first bite out of the cake itself. Just lean over and bite while my students stood around laughing with cameras. And one leaned over and pushed my head into the cake. Oh yes, I got frosting up my nose and everything. I made them promise to email me the pictures.
Maybe it wasn't a laguage arts standard, but it was human connection. That is worthy of high school if anything is.
I usually don't start Carolinimas so early, but one can't argue with a surprise birthday not-party thrown by 6th block. (We do not have parties in high school, you see.)
Since my students are self-described Mexicans, we did the cake Mexican style. That means I had to take the first bite out of the cake itself. Just lean over and bite while my students stood around laughing with cameras. And one leaned over and pushed my head into the cake. Oh yes, I got frosting up my nose and everything. I made them promise to email me the pictures.
Maybe it wasn't a laguage arts standard, but it was human connection. That is worthy of high school if anything is.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Passing the Test
I have a student for the second year in a row. Last year, she was violent and sullen, with an attitude a mile wide. The first semeseter was sheer Hell. Girl invited drama. By second semester, she had settled herself down some, and was determined to get a passing grade or two. Still, I found it easier to walk on some eggshells around her, for fear of setting off an anger fit of first semester proportions.
Did I mention she is also in special ed? Girlfriend has some educational issues.
She wasn't enrolled in the fall, but by second semeseter, she was back. This year, though she is still master of the sullen stare, she was doing well. She showed up to class on time and completed her work. She still gets extra sullen when asked to work in groups, because she's a Drama Queen but knows it. She knows when she works with people she has pissed off before, bad things will follow. They'll get mad; she'll get mad; someone will get in trouble and maybe hurt. At least she's figuring it out?
I handed her a paper back on Thursday and asked her to make some edits to it. It's a good start, but it's still a rough draft. I want her to improve her draft and (gasp) learn something. She was immediately sullen, though. She told me she was just going to get more angry.
I asked her what was wrong.
She said she hated teachers who didn't take her seriously. I probed a bit, and she explained that two teachers both wanted her to make up all her work during 5th block, and she knew she couldn't get it done. They didn't believe her desire to learn, or her other responsibilities, or perhaps the extra help she actually (and legally) needs. (She is not the most communicative student, so sometimes I have to fill in the gaps.) The thing is, two teachers had set a deadline, and she knew she couldn't meet it.
The upshot: She is going to drop out of school.
I agreed that it must be very frustrating. I reiterated that she was doing well in class and I could tell that she had been working. I told her I hoped she found a way to stay in school. I told her even if she decided that our comprehensive high school wasn't the right spot for her, she would try to find an alternative program that could give her what she needed. There are alternatives and I could see that she was working much harder this year, and I wanted her to continue to be successful.
She agreed that she would at least talk to someone. Or consider an alternative. Or at least say so so that I'd leave her alone.
The next day, I ran into one of the teachers she was mad at and asked about her. He said that she was going better this year, but yeah, she had to get the test done or else. He didn't blink when I said she was talking about dropping out. She's doing a lot better, he said, but she just can't pass his tests.
I almost asked about the accomodations and modifications he was making for her, but I didn't. We were in the staff room at lunch, and I'm not it's my place to lecture him about IEPs. And, I'll admit that I don't have her IEP memorized, so I'm not what extra help she should get.
It left me cold, though. "She just can't pass my tests." Maybe she can't, but has she learned? Do the tests really show you what she learned. I discovered last year that she does poorly on multiple choice tests.
I guess this is why the special education teachers have been thanking me for the work I do with their students. I actually work with their students. The thing is, I'm just doing my job.
Did I mention she is also in special ed? Girlfriend has some educational issues.
She wasn't enrolled in the fall, but by second semeseter, she was back. This year, though she is still master of the sullen stare, she was doing well. She showed up to class on time and completed her work. She still gets extra sullen when asked to work in groups, because she's a Drama Queen but knows it. She knows when she works with people she has pissed off before, bad things will follow. They'll get mad; she'll get mad; someone will get in trouble and maybe hurt. At least she's figuring it out?
I handed her a paper back on Thursday and asked her to make some edits to it. It's a good start, but it's still a rough draft. I want her to improve her draft and (gasp) learn something. She was immediately sullen, though. She told me she was just going to get more angry.
I asked her what was wrong.
She said she hated teachers who didn't take her seriously. I probed a bit, and she explained that two teachers both wanted her to make up all her work during 5th block, and she knew she couldn't get it done. They didn't believe her desire to learn, or her other responsibilities, or perhaps the extra help she actually (and legally) needs. (She is not the most communicative student, so sometimes I have to fill in the gaps.) The thing is, two teachers had set a deadline, and she knew she couldn't meet it.
The upshot: She is going to drop out of school.
I agreed that it must be very frustrating. I reiterated that she was doing well in class and I could tell that she had been working. I told her I hoped she found a way to stay in school. I told her even if she decided that our comprehensive high school wasn't the right spot for her, she would try to find an alternative program that could give her what she needed. There are alternatives and I could see that she was working much harder this year, and I wanted her to continue to be successful.
She agreed that she would at least talk to someone. Or consider an alternative. Or at least say so so that I'd leave her alone.
The next day, I ran into one of the teachers she was mad at and asked about her. He said that she was going better this year, but yeah, she had to get the test done or else. He didn't blink when I said she was talking about dropping out. She's doing a lot better, he said, but she just can't pass his tests.
I almost asked about the accomodations and modifications he was making for her, but I didn't. We were in the staff room at lunch, and I'm not it's my place to lecture him about IEPs. And, I'll admit that I don't have her IEP memorized, so I'm not what extra help she should get.
It left me cold, though. "She just can't pass my tests." Maybe she can't, but has she learned? Do the tests really show you what she learned. I discovered last year that she does poorly on multiple choice tests.
I guess this is why the special education teachers have been thanking me for the work I do with their students. I actually work with their students. The thing is, I'm just doing my job.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Moving On
For anyone who's been living under a rock or not checking Facebook for the last few weeks, I'm moving to China. No, that is not a metaphor, reference to pop culture, or an in-joke. (Although I do love all three of those things.) I have accepted a position teaching English to Chinese high school students who are preparing to go to college in the U.S. or the U.K. I'll be living in Beijing for the next two years; beyond that is anyone's guess. (I'm guessing either another city in China or another Asian nation -- but time will tell.)
Now, for anyone reading between the lines, you've known that these last two years have been rather trying. Particularly, my administration has been less than supportive at many times in my burgeoning career. While I see myself as a vibrant teacher who is deeply reflective, highly concerned with students, and dedicated to personal growth and improvement, those qualities have not always been recognized by the Powers-that-Be. I do not claim to be a master teacher. I have been doing this for 2 1/2 years. Anecdotal evidence (if not actual studies) shows that it takes at least three years to feel comfortable and five before you really have your head on straight. Oh, sure. There are some teaching prodigies. But if you believe that all teachers are born, then you necessarily believe that education is a waste of time. If I can't learn and grow as a professional, then while bother trying to get my students who struggle to learn and grow. Either we're born good at something, or we're not. And if there IS one thing I'm good at, it's being a student. I do not always get things right the first time (as much as I so desperately want to and often do), but I do work hard to get those things right eventually.
So, I resigned from my post before I had a steady gig lined up. Take that for what it's worth. However, I was already well into the process of applying for a new position overseas. I have been dreaming of this day for 10 years.
"What?!" I hear you scream. "Really? Ten years? I don't believe you."
Well, believe it. It was about 10 years ago, maybe even 11, that a then-boyfriend took me to an Asian food store for the first time in my life. (We live a sheltered life in Maine.) While there, I bought a tin of tea: black lychee tea, to be exact. It comes in a red and brown tin with gold lettering. The first one I got was printed in English on one side and French on the other and Chinese everywhere in between. To this day, I think of the tea as noir lychee... What can I say? Foreign is foreign, so French works as well as the Chinese I can't read (or speak).
This one tin of tea, which has become my absolute favorite tea blend, started my secret infatuation with all things Chinese. I've always had a travelin' jones, and the seed to visit China was planted. As time went on and I became more and more of a social studies teacher, my desire to see the whole Eastern half of the world grew. I know the West. I've been raised in the West. I am immersed in Western culture. I have taken Western Civ. I know the narrative of the West. What I want to know is the East.
I want to understand, on a visceral level, what Eastern culture is. I want to steep myself in the one culture that has had the largest influence on the other half of the world. I want to become my own cup of Chinese tea. (I had to get at least one metaphor in here). China has influenced the other half of the world. China has 1.5 billion residents. I feel shamefully, woefully inadequate as a human in the global community to have such a poor understanding of China as I do. (Please note, I do not think everyone has to feel as inadequate as I do. Remember, I have defined myself as a social studies teacher for so many years that it has become an essential part of my being. It is who I am; it does not have to be who you are.)
By becoming a teacher, I suddenly opened up the possibility of teaching and living abroad, but I'm too chicken to go as an ESL teacher in some random locale. I want to teach in my content area, in English (to give myself a sense of stability and security), while living and growing as a person in the larger culture. Once I got my credential, I looked up international schools -- only to learn that having two years' teaching experience is an almost essential requirement.
So teach I have. And this year, knowing I was coming up on the two-year mark, I applied with one of the search firms for international schools, Search Associates. ISS is the other big firm. Both are well-known and reputable (I did some research beforehand). The benefit of SA is that they have a job fair in San Francisco, which made for easy travel. What I didn't know (for anyone who wants to follow in my footsteps), is that the Boston fairs (for both firms) are the big ones and give you a greater choice of locations and jobs.
Anyway, I resigned from my job knowing that I was attending a job fair a week later. When I showed up, I heard that only 40%-50% of attendees would receive an offer. I was worried, but determined. Long story slightly shorter: I had a job offer on Saturday morning at 8am after my first interview. The offer was for China -- the one place I most wanted to go.
To say I was happy is a giant, Chinese-population-sized understatement.
My struggle was keeping it silent. I didn't want my kids to know because they would then give up on school. I had to fight admin (again) on some of this. Well, it was a silent battle. Somehow, people at my school would come up to me and ask about my plans because they had heard I was leaving and I know I didn't tell them. Some I evaded; others I trusted. To anyone who didn't know, I generally lied. Obsfucated. Dissembled. I had a secret to keep, and all is fair in love and resignations.
Which brings us to today. My students know. I am telling teachers as I see them. A couple of really good things have happened.
My new teacher support person at the district level, who I have been convinced thinks I was horrible, told me flat out that she disagreed with admin. She told me she's read all of our reflections and I am doing a wonderful job and am a reflective, thoughftul teacher who will continue to grow and develop. She told me that I'm better off in a place where I can really shine. She also told me that she photocopied a number of my reflections to use as exemplars.
One of the admin staff told me that she disagreed with the decision. She thought I was a wonderful teacher and was so happy for me that I have this new position. She thinks it's wonderful and wishes me luck.
Today, I earned the right to apply for my clear credential. We had to give a presentation on what we studied over the year. I noticed that the county supervisor was in my room, and at first I thought she was taking some pictures during my presentation. Then I realized she was recording my entire presentation. Once I was done, I noticed she wasn't recording anyone else. My district advisor told her to watch my presentation, and she told me she wasn't disappointed. I might find myself on the county Web site. She was very sad when I told her her I was moving to China.
Finally, one of my students came by my room this afternoon to pick up a paper. As she was leaving she said, "The school is losing a great teacher."
Top that.
Now, for anyone reading between the lines, you've known that these last two years have been rather trying. Particularly, my administration has been less than supportive at many times in my burgeoning career. While I see myself as a vibrant teacher who is deeply reflective, highly concerned with students, and dedicated to personal growth and improvement, those qualities have not always been recognized by the Powers-that-Be. I do not claim to be a master teacher. I have been doing this for 2 1/2 years. Anecdotal evidence (if not actual studies) shows that it takes at least three years to feel comfortable and five before you really have your head on straight. Oh, sure. There are some teaching prodigies. But if you believe that all teachers are born, then you necessarily believe that education is a waste of time. If I can't learn and grow as a professional, then while bother trying to get my students who struggle to learn and grow. Either we're born good at something, or we're not. And if there IS one thing I'm good at, it's being a student. I do not always get things right the first time (as much as I so desperately want to and often do), but I do work hard to get those things right eventually.
So, I resigned from my post before I had a steady gig lined up. Take that for what it's worth. However, I was already well into the process of applying for a new position overseas. I have been dreaming of this day for 10 years.
"What?!" I hear you scream. "Really? Ten years? I don't believe you."
Well, believe it. It was about 10 years ago, maybe even 11, that a then-boyfriend took me to an Asian food store for the first time in my life. (We live a sheltered life in Maine.) While there, I bought a tin of tea: black lychee tea, to be exact. It comes in a red and brown tin with gold lettering. The first one I got was printed in English on one side and French on the other and Chinese everywhere in between. To this day, I think of the tea as noir lychee... What can I say? Foreign is foreign, so French works as well as the Chinese I can't read (or speak).
This one tin of tea, which has become my absolute favorite tea blend, started my secret infatuation with all things Chinese. I've always had a travelin' jones, and the seed to visit China was planted. As time went on and I became more and more of a social studies teacher, my desire to see the whole Eastern half of the world grew. I know the West. I've been raised in the West. I am immersed in Western culture. I have taken Western Civ. I know the narrative of the West. What I want to know is the East.
I want to understand, on a visceral level, what Eastern culture is. I want to steep myself in the one culture that has had the largest influence on the other half of the world. I want to become my own cup of Chinese tea. (I had to get at least one metaphor in here). China has influenced the other half of the world. China has 1.5 billion residents. I feel shamefully, woefully inadequate as a human in the global community to have such a poor understanding of China as I do. (Please note, I do not think everyone has to feel as inadequate as I do. Remember, I have defined myself as a social studies teacher for so many years that it has become an essential part of my being. It is who I am; it does not have to be who you are.)
By becoming a teacher, I suddenly opened up the possibility of teaching and living abroad, but I'm too chicken to go as an ESL teacher in some random locale. I want to teach in my content area, in English (to give myself a sense of stability and security), while living and growing as a person in the larger culture. Once I got my credential, I looked up international schools -- only to learn that having two years' teaching experience is an almost essential requirement.
So teach I have. And this year, knowing I was coming up on the two-year mark, I applied with one of the search firms for international schools, Search Associates. ISS is the other big firm. Both are well-known and reputable (I did some research beforehand). The benefit of SA is that they have a job fair in San Francisco, which made for easy travel. What I didn't know (for anyone who wants to follow in my footsteps), is that the Boston fairs (for both firms) are the big ones and give you a greater choice of locations and jobs.
Anyway, I resigned from my job knowing that I was attending a job fair a week later. When I showed up, I heard that only 40%-50% of attendees would receive an offer. I was worried, but determined. Long story slightly shorter: I had a job offer on Saturday morning at 8am after my first interview. The offer was for China -- the one place I most wanted to go.
To say I was happy is a giant, Chinese-population-sized understatement.
My struggle was keeping it silent. I didn't want my kids to know because they would then give up on school. I had to fight admin (again) on some of this. Well, it was a silent battle. Somehow, people at my school would come up to me and ask about my plans because they had heard I was leaving and I know I didn't tell them. Some I evaded; others I trusted. To anyone who didn't know, I generally lied. Obsfucated. Dissembled. I had a secret to keep, and all is fair in love and resignations.
Which brings us to today. My students know. I am telling teachers as I see them. A couple of really good things have happened.
My new teacher support person at the district level, who I have been convinced thinks I was horrible, told me flat out that she disagreed with admin. She told me she's read all of our reflections and I am doing a wonderful job and am a reflective, thoughftul teacher who will continue to grow and develop. She told me that I'm better off in a place where I can really shine. She also told me that she photocopied a number of my reflections to use as exemplars.
One of the admin staff told me that she disagreed with the decision. She thought I was a wonderful teacher and was so happy for me that I have this new position. She thinks it's wonderful and wishes me luck.
Today, I earned the right to apply for my clear credential. We had to give a presentation on what we studied over the year. I noticed that the county supervisor was in my room, and at first I thought she was taking some pictures during my presentation. Then I realized she was recording my entire presentation. Once I was done, I noticed she wasn't recording anyone else. My district advisor told her to watch my presentation, and she told me she wasn't disappointed. I might find myself on the county Web site. She was very sad when I told her her I was moving to China.
Finally, one of my students came by my room this afternoon to pick up a paper. As she was leaving she said, "The school is losing a great teacher."
Top that.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Talk It Out
I've been rather annoyed with my remedial students lately. These are, of course, the students who are stuck with me at the end of the year -- meaning they haven't passed the test yet. They are the least motivated of the least motivated students in school. (Which really isn't fair to my very motivated students who just really struggle with language and motivated themselves to pass the test.)
What I notice is that they don't think. They don't turn on their brain. They don't even try. They look for the simplest, most obvious answer; anything beyond mind-numbingly obvious turns into "I don't know".
I have been dragging them through an investigation of their relationship with literacy. Do they even want to learn how to read? Do they think it will ever be useful for them? Should they try to learn something at point in their horribly tiny lives? (Can you see my frustration shining through.)
I took a page out of my own book, and asked them to draw some pictures about what they imagined in some quotes that are about literacy. Two of them were from Jimmy Santiago Baca, a poet who dropped out of high school and was incarcerated at some point in his life. His life, of course, sparked some interest with them.
Today, after spending 2 1/2 class periods dragging three drawings from my students, we had a Socratic seminar about the first quote. They were not amused. There were mumblings of "I don't want to do this" and "This is stupid" -- mumblings which I called them on and asked if we could at least try the activity before they trashed it. They didn't want to sit in a circle. They didn't want to talk. But I dragged them along, kicking and screaming.
On my end, my questions weren't great. I had to do a lot of leading the witnesses, your Honor. But I slowly got them to drag out some of the images in the first quote. Santiago Baca talk about dropping out of school and feeling like he was being hunted because he couldn't understand and was too scared to ask for help. The quote continues with more violent images -- hanging, trapdoors, masks, muteness.
After some more kicking and screaming, I managed to get them all to share something. I manged to tell them I was asking about opinions, and not about facts. And one of them (a royal pain) pointed out that it seemed like he was running away from something bad that he did. They knew what it was like to avoid public places and spaces because you feel threatened. And I led them to what it is that he did wrong -- he couldn't express himself. Well, maybe they got there more or less. I'm pretty sure they got a lot closer to understanding than they ever did with me at the front of the room. And I got to tell them that THEY figured it out together.
They probably won't be happy about it, but we're going to do at least two more of these. Maybe one or two of them will find the process rewarding. Maybe one or two will learn something about the value of trying and the value of learning. Maybe.
What I notice is that they don't think. They don't turn on their brain. They don't even try. They look for the simplest, most obvious answer; anything beyond mind-numbingly obvious turns into "I don't know".
I have been dragging them through an investigation of their relationship with literacy. Do they even want to learn how to read? Do they think it will ever be useful for them? Should they try to learn something at point in their horribly tiny lives? (Can you see my frustration shining through.)
I took a page out of my own book, and asked them to draw some pictures about what they imagined in some quotes that are about literacy. Two of them were from Jimmy Santiago Baca, a poet who dropped out of high school and was incarcerated at some point in his life. His life, of course, sparked some interest with them.
Today, after spending 2 1/2 class periods dragging three drawings from my students, we had a Socratic seminar about the first quote. They were not amused. There were mumblings of "I don't want to do this" and "This is stupid" -- mumblings which I called them on and asked if we could at least try the activity before they trashed it. They didn't want to sit in a circle. They didn't want to talk. But I dragged them along, kicking and screaming.
On my end, my questions weren't great. I had to do a lot of leading the witnesses, your Honor. But I slowly got them to drag out some of the images in the first quote. Santiago Baca talk about dropping out of school and feeling like he was being hunted because he couldn't understand and was too scared to ask for help. The quote continues with more violent images -- hanging, trapdoors, masks, muteness.
After some more kicking and screaming, I managed to get them all to share something. I manged to tell them I was asking about opinions, and not about facts. And one of them (a royal pain) pointed out that it seemed like he was running away from something bad that he did. They knew what it was like to avoid public places and spaces because you feel threatened. And I led them to what it is that he did wrong -- he couldn't express himself. Well, maybe they got there more or less. I'm pretty sure they got a lot closer to understanding than they ever did with me at the front of the room. And I got to tell them that THEY figured it out together.
They probably won't be happy about it, but we're going to do at least two more of these. Maybe one or two of them will find the process rewarding. Maybe one or two will learn something about the value of trying and the value of learning. Maybe.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Walking on Sunshine
So, I know I've gone all radio silent on you, but I've had good reason. And while I feel the pain of my dear Little Big Sis, I'm just not in that miserable place anymore. No, gentle readers, my life is not a living hell hole. Oh, sure, there are still plenty o' crappy-ass things about this town, but my life is going well.
"So, what's going on?" I hear you cry.
I'm not prepared to share everything just yet. There are some timing issues that need to be worked out. Those of you who already know, know. (And that's probably most of you, although with you lurkers out there, I'm not sure exactly.) But, I can tell you this: I have a boyfriend.
Yes, indeedy my friends. After years and years of singlehood, I have managed to snag a man that I like and who likes me in return. It's pretty frickin' sweet. He's kind, and funny, and smart, and slack and simple and very casual. He is not in the rat race, but he is a good, good person. And the best thing about him is that he comes with a narrative. I love narratives. So sit down and get ready for a story.
I met him 10 years ago (yes, 10) at the Pirate Hostel in St. Augustine, FL. I had taken a little solo jaunt down the southeastern coast, from Wilmington, NC to St. Augustine by way of Myrtle Beach, Charleston, Savannah, and Jeckyl Island. (Yeah, it was a good trip.) I stuck to two-lane roads and stayed in campgrounds and hostels wherever possible -- including the sweetest hostel ever in St. Augustine. (Seriously, if you're ever there, stay at the Pirate Hostel. It's more like a hotel and there's a free pancake breakfast every morning.)
So, while I'm there, I chat with all the other visitors. We all have breakfast; we head out to the roof. And one boy there is really cute. I've got plans to go to the beach with some German girls, so I need to slather on the sunblock. I almost just left and never looked back, but then I asked him to do up my back. Yeaaaaah, baby. Anyway, I get his number and address in Orlando. And then I went about the rest of my trip.
The next day, I make my way across the state to Gainesville to visit my college friend J. (Although off the all-coastal route I was on, visiting her was always a part of the plan.) J & I talk and I decide to call this boy, and then visit him in Orlando. So, I take a whirlwind trip back across and down to Orlando before driving back to Durham.
He and I email for many, many months. It's 10 years ago, though, and we were both far less mature than we are now. He had an ego and a self-importance that got in my way, and I was just about as high-strung and high-maintence (who thinks she's low-maintenance) as they come. So, the emails got fewer and father between, and we eventually lost contact.
Fast-forward to last Ocotber when I get a friend request on Facebook from him. (Here's where our accounts differ: he claims I sent him a request, but it would have been three years ago when I first got on Facebook. And even then, if I'd friended him, it wouldn't have given me the option to accept. He probably would have just shown up in my list of 250+ friends and I never would have noticed.) But I'm all, "Hey! What's up?"
Turns out, he was in Eugene while I was in Portland, and neither one of us had a clue. He had since moved to Colorado, and we start phoning, sharing our life's ups and downs. He was staying with some cousins and getting tired of the family drama. You can all look back to October and see where I was at, but it certainly wasn't such a great mental/emotional place either.
He is a truck driver by trade, and has been about everywhere except the Northern California coast. You can't take trucks on most of Highway 1, but he really wanted to see it. So, I agreed that he could come visit and we'd do some tourist stuff; there's a lot of it that I haven't gotten to yet. After some set-backs on his end, he showed up over spring break, stopping by on his way back to Oregon to live.
Now, I knew there was a chance that we would reaquaint ourselves, but I wasn't promising anyone anything (including myself). It'd been 10 years and some phone calls do not a relationship make. But wouldn't you know it: he's still cute and he can crack me up like nobody's business. We stayed up until 3am one morning because we couldn't stop laughing. Even then, though, I wasn't expecting anything much long-term.
He left. He called me that afternoon. And then twice the next day. And just about every night since then. Note: he calls me. I do not have to call him. (Dad would be so happy.) He was in Newark, CA on Saturday, so I drove up and picked him up and we headed over to San Francisco for the day. We spend the night in the hostel, too. We stayed there just because we're the sort of people who do that, but it was still romantic seeing as we met in a hostel.
Yes, to those of you who know the other reason why I'm happy, things might get complicated in a few months, but it's not worth walking away from a good thing. I've got a second chance now; I'm going to take it. And no one is doing drive-bys of the china patters at the Belk's.
This is the (very) long way of telling you not to worry. I'm not writing because I'm too busy being happy.
"So, what's going on?" I hear you cry.
I'm not prepared to share everything just yet. There are some timing issues that need to be worked out. Those of you who already know, know. (And that's probably most of you, although with you lurkers out there, I'm not sure exactly.) But, I can tell you this: I have a boyfriend.
Yes, indeedy my friends. After years and years of singlehood, I have managed to snag a man that I like and who likes me in return. It's pretty frickin' sweet. He's kind, and funny, and smart, and slack and simple and very casual. He is not in the rat race, but he is a good, good person. And the best thing about him is that he comes with a narrative. I love narratives. So sit down and get ready for a story.
I met him 10 years ago (yes, 10) at the Pirate Hostel in St. Augustine, FL. I had taken a little solo jaunt down the southeastern coast, from Wilmington, NC to St. Augustine by way of Myrtle Beach, Charleston, Savannah, and Jeckyl Island. (Yeah, it was a good trip.) I stuck to two-lane roads and stayed in campgrounds and hostels wherever possible -- including the sweetest hostel ever in St. Augustine. (Seriously, if you're ever there, stay at the Pirate Hostel. It's more like a hotel and there's a free pancake breakfast every morning.)
So, while I'm there, I chat with all the other visitors. We all have breakfast; we head out to the roof. And one boy there is really cute. I've got plans to go to the beach with some German girls, so I need to slather on the sunblock. I almost just left and never looked back, but then I asked him to do up my back. Yeaaaaah, baby. Anyway, I get his number and address in Orlando. And then I went about the rest of my trip.
The next day, I make my way across the state to Gainesville to visit my college friend J. (Although off the all-coastal route I was on, visiting her was always a part of the plan.) J & I talk and I decide to call this boy, and then visit him in Orlando. So, I take a whirlwind trip back across and down to Orlando before driving back to Durham.
He and I email for many, many months. It's 10 years ago, though, and we were both far less mature than we are now. He had an ego and a self-importance that got in my way, and I was just about as high-strung and high-maintence (who thinks she's low-maintenance) as they come. So, the emails got fewer and father between, and we eventually lost contact.
Fast-forward to last Ocotber when I get a friend request on Facebook from him. (Here's where our accounts differ: he claims I sent him a request, but it would have been three years ago when I first got on Facebook. And even then, if I'd friended him, it wouldn't have given me the option to accept. He probably would have just shown up in my list of 250+ friends and I never would have noticed.) But I'm all, "Hey! What's up?"
Turns out, he was in Eugene while I was in Portland, and neither one of us had a clue. He had since moved to Colorado, and we start phoning, sharing our life's ups and downs. He was staying with some cousins and getting tired of the family drama. You can all look back to October and see where I was at, but it certainly wasn't such a great mental/emotional place either.
He is a truck driver by trade, and has been about everywhere except the Northern California coast. You can't take trucks on most of Highway 1, but he really wanted to see it. So, I agreed that he could come visit and we'd do some tourist stuff; there's a lot of it that I haven't gotten to yet. After some set-backs on his end, he showed up over spring break, stopping by on his way back to Oregon to live.
Now, I knew there was a chance that we would reaquaint ourselves, but I wasn't promising anyone anything (including myself). It'd been 10 years and some phone calls do not a relationship make. But wouldn't you know it: he's still cute and he can crack me up like nobody's business. We stayed up until 3am one morning because we couldn't stop laughing. Even then, though, I wasn't expecting anything much long-term.
He left. He called me that afternoon. And then twice the next day. And just about every night since then. Note: he calls me. I do not have to call him. (Dad would be so happy.) He was in Newark, CA on Saturday, so I drove up and picked him up and we headed over to San Francisco for the day. We spend the night in the hostel, too. We stayed there just because we're the sort of people who do that, but it was still romantic seeing as we met in a hostel.
Yes, to those of you who know the other reason why I'm happy, things might get complicated in a few months, but it's not worth walking away from a good thing. I've got a second chance now; I'm going to take it. And no one is doing drive-bys of the china patters at the Belk's.
This is the (very) long way of telling you not to worry. I'm not writing because I'm too busy being happy.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Good Calls
I got a phone call from a student this afternoon -- well, she's not quite a student. She was in my room during the California High School Exit Exam (CAHSEE) test back in February. She has otherwise completed her graduation requirements (I'm not sure if this is her 5th year or if she finished everything else up early), and just needed to pass the ELA CAHSEE. She showed up late (since she isn't enrolled in school), but I talked to her a little bit, gave her some encouragement, and then sat in the room until she finished her test.
Afterwards, she came up to me and asked if she could come talk to me about what she should study in order to pass. I had her come by my room the next day after school, and I went over her previous test's results and told her what she should work on. Then, I got her phone number so I could call and remind her about the next test administration.
I called her a week before the next test date, but I didn't hear back from her and I didn't see her in my testing room. (I have so few students left to take the test, I usually get all the overflow students like her.)
Well, she called me today about the message I left her more than a month ago. She had been in Mexico, and so she wasn't around to take the test. I asked her if she had gotten her score report, and she told me she hadn't. I told her I was pretty sure that she had passed. She was incredulous.
"No, really," I told her. "I'm pretty sure I saw you passed, but let me double-check."
"Ms. Scott, don't say that if you don't mean it. You mean I'll be able to graduate?"
"Yes. I'm looking at the score report right now. You scored a 357. You passed."
I love that moment. I love especially when I get to be the one to tell them. Their joy and sense of accomplishment is palpable. She kept on thanking me for helping her. I reminded her that she did the work and earned it herself. But she passed, and I can't wait to see her at graduation.
Afterwards, she came up to me and asked if she could come talk to me about what she should study in order to pass. I had her come by my room the next day after school, and I went over her previous test's results and told her what she should work on. Then, I got her phone number so I could call and remind her about the next test administration.
I called her a week before the next test date, but I didn't hear back from her and I didn't see her in my testing room. (I have so few students left to take the test, I usually get all the overflow students like her.)
Well, she called me today about the message I left her more than a month ago. She had been in Mexico, and so she wasn't around to take the test. I asked her if she had gotten her score report, and she told me she hadn't. I told her I was pretty sure that she had passed. She was incredulous.
"No, really," I told her. "I'm pretty sure I saw you passed, but let me double-check."
"Ms. Scott, don't say that if you don't mean it. You mean I'll be able to graduate?"
"Yes. I'm looking at the score report right now. You scored a 357. You passed."
I love that moment. I love especially when I get to be the one to tell them. Their joy and sense of accomplishment is palpable. She kept on thanking me for helping her. I reminded her that she did the work and earned it herself. But she passed, and I can't wait to see her at graduation.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Let It Happen, Boys
I was spending some quality time with one of my worst blocks in the computer lab, working on our research papers. "Why worst?" you ask? Well, because as a whole they have the lowest rates of attendance, achievement, and desire. Add on top of that a really high rate of Sped students (which does nothing to bring up the non-sped, but chronically lazy or thoughtfully-challenged students -- by "thoughtfully-challenged" I mean a chronic resistance to independent thinking, not an inability) and you get a challenging blocks.
Well, a (sped) student from another class came in to tell me he was going to the library to work on his paper. And then he came back, because all the library computers were in use. This particular student is capable, but definitely has behavior issues -- and he knows it. He's spazzy, sure, but he also has some anger management issues. This morning he said he just felt like punching someone. Just because.
But, since I'm a sweetie, when he asked if he could use a computer with my class, I agreed. Of course, he spent a lot of time chatting with his friends. He was getting some work done, although not as much as I might have wished. And then.
And then.
He looked at what his friend was doing. "What?" he exclaimed! "Where are your papers? Where are your notes? What are you working on?" I just sat back and listened and smiled. He then started to walk his friend through the process of writing a research paper. (If this student has issues, he also has supports from the awesome sped department. The Friend has issues, but doesn't qualify for any support; Friend has poor attendance and low interest and probably a lot more going on.) I couldn't do or say anything better than what my interloper is doing. He's taking over my role. I love it!
Interloper came over and asked me for the handouts that Friend didn't have. Then came back over and asked me to please explain them in more detail because he forgot.
I can't buy that kind of advertising. And I just loved listening to it. For all the goofing off that Interloper did, I think he contributed a lot to class today.
Well, a (sped) student from another class came in to tell me he was going to the library to work on his paper. And then he came back, because all the library computers were in use. This particular student is capable, but definitely has behavior issues -- and he knows it. He's spazzy, sure, but he also has some anger management issues. This morning he said he just felt like punching someone. Just because.
But, since I'm a sweetie, when he asked if he could use a computer with my class, I agreed. Of course, he spent a lot of time chatting with his friends. He was getting some work done, although not as much as I might have wished. And then.
And then.
He looked at what his friend was doing. "What?" he exclaimed! "Where are your papers? Where are your notes? What are you working on?" I just sat back and listened and smiled. He then started to walk his friend through the process of writing a research paper. (If this student has issues, he also has supports from the awesome sped department. The Friend has issues, but doesn't qualify for any support; Friend has poor attendance and low interest and probably a lot more going on.) I couldn't do or say anything better than what my interloper is doing. He's taking over my role. I love it!
Interloper came over and asked me for the handouts that Friend didn't have. Then came back over and asked me to please explain them in more detail because he forgot.
I can't buy that kind of advertising. And I just loved listening to it. For all the goofing off that Interloper did, I think he contributed a lot to class today.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Blankie
My students have to write a research paper. A six-page research paper. Needless to say, they are petrified and dragging their feet and making their lives even more miserable. In an attempt to help them out, I hold an after-school "tutorial" in the computer lab on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
The thing is, they don't really need me. Most of them come in and ask me one question, and then work on their own. They don't even need me there to use the lab -- they can use it without a teacher sitting there. But, it seems, they like knowing that I'm there, just in case. Just in case the computer explodes or the Internet crashes or they can't remember their names. It's cute.
They would never admit it, but I am their research-paper security blanket.
The thing is, they don't really need me. Most of them come in and ask me one question, and then work on their own. They don't even need me there to use the lab -- they can use it without a teacher sitting there. But, it seems, they like knowing that I'm there, just in case. Just in case the computer explodes or the Internet crashes or they can't remember their names. It's cute.
They would never admit it, but I am their research-paper security blanket.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
It's the Small Things
The rumors are flying that my school will be changing up its Sped policy next year. Instead of resource classes and pull-out/push-in services, they're talking about going full-on co-teaching. Of course, there is no plan in place, no one has talked about training, and no one has talked about funding. It all might be a wash when the district hears about it or it could be a big disaster because (like so many well-intentioned educational initiatives *coughNCLBcough*) is will not be properly planned or supported.
And of course, there has been no official word. I only know about it because I make a habit of talking to my Special Ed teachers -- Lord knows they help me out.
Today, I got a phone call from one of my Spedlies. She asked if I had heard anything in a department meeting about it all. She was trying to figure out who she would like to teach teach with if English is going to be one of the classes on the list.
In case the implication isn't obvious, she thought I would be a great person to team teach with.
I've said it before, but I'll say it again: I appreciate the support and props I get from my colleagues far more than anything an administrator writes down on a piece of paper. It's the opinion of the people on the front lines there with me that I truly value.
And of course, there has been no official word. I only know about it because I make a habit of talking to my Special Ed teachers -- Lord knows they help me out.
Today, I got a phone call from one of my Spedlies. She asked if I had heard anything in a department meeting about it all. She was trying to figure out who she would like to teach teach with if English is going to be one of the classes on the list.
In case the implication isn't obvious, she thought I would be a great person to team teach with.
I've said it before, but I'll say it again: I appreciate the support and props I get from my colleagues far more than anything an administrator writes down on a piece of paper. It's the opinion of the people on the front lines there with me that I truly value.
Friday, March 26, 2010
By My Count
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Totally Random Book I Want to Read
I changed my NPR station this evening because I'm mad at my usual one for its schedule changes. They stop All Things Considered at 5:30 now, then hit up Marketplace, and the do up something annoying like The World. Hello! I drive home at 6:30 at night and I want to hear the stinkin' news!
So, I changed to the other one, which has the same annoying schedule, but at least it airs Fresh Air from 6-7. It's not perfect, but I can live with Fresh Air.
Today, Terry Gross is interviewing a woman who wrote a book about the woman whose cancerous cells were the first cultured human cells. She was a poor, black woman who had her cells harvested without her knowledge and consent. Since then, her cells have been used in thousands of scientific experients: really important scientific experiments like the polio vaccine. Companies have made millions off of her cells, and her family has seen nothing. In fact, the family didn't even know her cells were in use for 25 years (or so).
It sounds absolutely amazing. I'm mostly writing this so I have a place I can back and look and remember the title.
So, pick up the The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lax by Rebecca Sclute. (Not sure about the spelling of the last name. I'll try to look it up soon, but it's dinnertime right now. (Notice, I was driving home from work at 6:30.)
(As a side note, the music review is about big star, who I love. A friend of mine introduced me to this 70s rock band that experienced no fame during their lifetime, but now have a cult following. Awesome.)
So, I changed to the other one, which has the same annoying schedule, but at least it airs Fresh Air from 6-7. It's not perfect, but I can live with Fresh Air.
Today, Terry Gross is interviewing a woman who wrote a book about the woman whose cancerous cells were the first cultured human cells. She was a poor, black woman who had her cells harvested without her knowledge and consent. Since then, her cells have been used in thousands of scientific experients: really important scientific experiments like the polio vaccine. Companies have made millions off of her cells, and her family has seen nothing. In fact, the family didn't even know her cells were in use for 25 years (or so).
It sounds absolutely amazing. I'm mostly writing this so I have a place I can back and look and remember the title.
So, pick up the The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lax by Rebecca Sclute. (Not sure about the spelling of the last name. I'll try to look it up soon, but it's dinnertime right now. (Notice, I was driving home from work at 6:30.)
(As a side note, the music review is about big star, who I love. A friend of mine introduced me to this 70s rock band that experienced no fame during their lifetime, but now have a cult following. Awesome.)
Saturday, January 23, 2010
It's You or the Kids
I should be grading right now, instead, I am blogging on my phone at the Starbucks. Yes, I know, Starbucks. This town has three more independent coffee shops than bookstores, which means it has three independent coffee shops. But I got a gift certificate to Starbucks fromschjoll, so I'm drinking a free 16 oz. decaf, 2-pump, vanilla latte with whole milk. I feel bad for the guy when he has to repeat that back to me.
Anyhoo, I've been trying to drill parallelism into my kids' heads recently, with limited success. We covered it during rhetorical devices (notice I said "covered" and not "learned" because it's clear they didn't learn it ). But it's a big part if the state tests, not to mention good grammar. So we're doing it again-- the standarized test question way.
Everytime I go over a sentence that has items in a series that are not parallel, I start singing the Sesame Street song "three of these things are not like the other, three of these things are kind of the same..." to myself. I'm imagining a lesson with sentences cut into strips and they have to make them parallel whole I play the song in the background. Or something.
I find myself scouring our books for parallel constructions. Of course, I feel so harried by everything else, that nothing gas cone of this plan--yet. Yet. I guess my ultimate point is that I'm starting to feel like a real English teacher. I guess if you play one on TV long enough, it's bound to happenn.
Anyhoo, I've been trying to drill parallelism into my kids' heads recently, with limited success. We covered it during rhetorical devices (notice I said "covered" and not "learned" because it's clear they didn't learn it ). But it's a big part if the state tests, not to mention good grammar. So we're doing it again-- the standarized test question way.
Everytime I go over a sentence that has items in a series that are not parallel, I start singing the Sesame Street song "three of these things are not like the other, three of these things are kind of the same..." to myself. I'm imagining a lesson with sentences cut into strips and they have to make them parallel whole I play the song in the background. Or something.
I find myself scouring our books for parallel constructions. Of course, I feel so harried by everything else, that nothing gas cone of this plan--yet. Yet. I guess my ultimate point is that I'm starting to feel like a real English teacher. I guess if you play one on TV long enough, it's bound to happenn.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
More of The Wire
I've had lots of stuff floating around my head, but not enough time, determination, or focus to share. Oh well. One of these days. So here's just a brief moment of hilarity from today.
This makes more sense if you watch The Wire and/or are familiar with common drug-dealing slang. What you need to understand is "re-up".
I had my students build daybooks today. Oh yes, they now have all the assignments (minus only one essay) that we'll be working on for the next 5 weeks. :-D For the daybook, you pick up the papers and some construction paper (for covers) and staple it all together into a book. I have two staplers, but first block stood there like, well, morons waiting for one stapler when the other ran out of staples. After a few minutes of students standing around like bumps on logs, I asked what was up. I was a bit exasperated that I had to tell them to bring me the stapler for more staples. I told my other classes not to stand around if they ran out of staples.
One of my students in 3rd block is disengaged from school in a MAJOR way (he is about 2 1/2 years behind in credits -- yup, that means he's failed almost every class in high school); this is a hint that he has larger issues outside of school, like possible gang affiliation. He comes to school because he has to in order to keep his PO off his back, not because he has any desire to actually graduate. Sure enough, 3rd ran out of staples and he walked up to me with the stapler and says, "Hey, Ms. X*, I need a re-up."
It was so awesome. I laughed. I've got him asking for a re-up of staples. I live in The Wire. Sometimes, it's even funny.
*Names have been changed to protect, well, me.
This makes more sense if you watch The Wire and/or are familiar with common drug-dealing slang. What you need to understand is "re-up".
I had my students build daybooks today. Oh yes, they now have all the assignments (minus only one essay) that we'll be working on for the next 5 weeks. :-D For the daybook, you pick up the papers and some construction paper (for covers) and staple it all together into a book. I have two staplers, but first block stood there like, well, morons waiting for one stapler when the other ran out of staples. After a few minutes of students standing around like bumps on logs, I asked what was up. I was a bit exasperated that I had to tell them to bring me the stapler for more staples. I told my other classes not to stand around if they ran out of staples.
One of my students in 3rd block is disengaged from school in a MAJOR way (he is about 2 1/2 years behind in credits -- yup, that means he's failed almost every class in high school); this is a hint that he has larger issues outside of school, like possible gang affiliation. He comes to school because he has to in order to keep his PO off his back, not because he has any desire to actually graduate. Sure enough, 3rd ran out of staples and he walked up to me with the stapler and says, "Hey, Ms. X*, I need a re-up."
It was so awesome. I laughed. I've got him asking for a re-up of staples. I live in The Wire. Sometimes, it's even funny.
*Names have been changed to protect, well, me.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
I Scream
I stopped one of my students at the end of class today, because she never took the final before going to Mexico in December. As a result, she failed first semester. She looked at me with amazement that she had forgotten to take the final (no, she's not the most attentive student). However, her grade isn't so bad, so if she can pull off a 50% on the final, she will pass the class. I told her all of this.
While I was telling her this, she pulled a bottle of something out of her bag and gave it to me a little sheepishly. She said she brought it back for me from Mexico. She's not sure what it is in English, but it's really good. A couple of other students standing around the doorway agreed with her emphatically. One told me it was really good on toast. I looked at the jar of cafe con leche colored, creamy substance and realized she had handed me a jar of real caramel. Not fake, chemical caramel, but real, milk-cooked-down-until-it's-thick-sweet-and-delicious caramel.
I think I need some ice cream!
While I was telling her this, she pulled a bottle of something out of her bag and gave it to me a little sheepishly. She said she brought it back for me from Mexico. She's not sure what it is in English, but it's really good. A couple of other students standing around the doorway agreed with her emphatically. One told me it was really good on toast. I looked at the jar of cafe con leche colored, creamy substance and realized she had handed me a jar of real caramel. Not fake, chemical caramel, but real, milk-cooked-down-until-it's-thick-sweet-and-delicious caramel.
I think I need some ice cream!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I Need to Practice
There's this old joke about Microsoft.
Q: How do you fix a bug in Windows?
A: Document it and call it a feature!
The same thing is true of teaching. How do you get the kids to do work the day after a break? Document the talking and call it a lesson plan!
I discovered this little trick thanks to the genius of my mentor teacher. I give them a scavenger hunt about who did what over winter break. The questions start pretty easy (who went out of town, who saw a movie) and get more difficult (who read a book, who wrote a story). After they find people and talk out their break, you hold a class discussion and move from what they did to curriculum. (The final questions should tie in directly with whatever you have been or will cover in class.)
So, I get to the "who wrote a story, poem, letter, or email over break" question. One student raises her hand and says that Michael wrote a story (we'll say his name is Michael, it's a popular boy's name). There are two Michaels in the class, so one says, "Which one?" in a rather accusatory voice. I said, "Well, did you?" "No," comes back the emphatic reply.
I look to the other Michael and he says, a bit sheepishly, "Yeah, it was me."
The classroom waited in silent anticipation for his explanation.
"Well," the second Michael begins rather quietly, "I read that you can make a lot of money by writing a book." He continued with a hint of defiance, "So, I figured I should get some practice writing a story."
Now that was a good day in English class.
Q: How do you fix a bug in Windows?
A: Document it and call it a feature!
The same thing is true of teaching. How do you get the kids to do work the day after a break? Document the talking and call it a lesson plan!
I discovered this little trick thanks to the genius of my mentor teacher. I give them a scavenger hunt about who did what over winter break. The questions start pretty easy (who went out of town, who saw a movie) and get more difficult (who read a book, who wrote a story). After they find people and talk out their break, you hold a class discussion and move from what they did to curriculum. (The final questions should tie in directly with whatever you have been or will cover in class.)
So, I get to the "who wrote a story, poem, letter, or email over break" question. One student raises her hand and says that Michael wrote a story (we'll say his name is Michael, it's a popular boy's name). There are two Michaels in the class, so one says, "Which one?" in a rather accusatory voice. I said, "Well, did you?" "No," comes back the emphatic reply.
I look to the other Michael and he says, a bit sheepishly, "Yeah, it was me."
The classroom waited in silent anticipation for his explanation.
"Well," the second Michael begins rather quietly, "I read that you can make a lot of money by writing a book." He continued with a hint of defiance, "So, I figured I should get some practice writing a story."
Now that was a good day in English class.
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