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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.