Yesterday evening, one of my students with a notable disability of some kind (either physical or mental or emotional, I can't be certain myself) interrupted the mundane conversation the school's math teacher and I were having about the usual teacher nonsense (when the meeting or grades or something was going on... maybe we were talking about exams? I don't remember) to tell the math teacher all about how King Xerxes invaded Greece with an army of 2 million men thus sparking the Second Persian War.
I about collapsed.
The math teacher sat there beaming, listening to this student recount the story of three centuries of Greek and Persian history with one of the most excited tones. He repeated me verbatim, acting out the wild battle I had vividly described to his class earlier in the day.
But he didn't stop there. He just had to tell his math teacher (and because I was standing there, I suppose me, too) all about everything he had learned in history for about the last two weeks of school. I knew the kid was smart, but he's always had trouble communicating with me and with others in anything resembling an organized fashion. A month ago, I told him that I was advancing him to the "next level in the video game that is history class". I told him that before he speaks, he should write down what he intends to say and then read that. He was skeptical, yes, but everytime the lad speaks in class now, he gets applause from his classmates. I tried to discourage this, but it was genuine and spontaneous and I stopped when I saw how positive an experience it was for him. Once organized, he is perhaps one of my smartest and most articulate students. And he works hard.
And he wowed me again and made me feel that I had accomplished something. Here is a student that others have written off as "slow" and "awkward" and a pain. He reminds me in MANY ways of Steve Urkel, but in the loveable way (I think I've heard him say "Did I do that?" once or twice). He is in some ways all of these things, and yet he learned the Persian Wars. And he learned the important history leading up to it, including Athenian help for the Ionian Revolt. He personally reenacted the Battle of Thermopylae, which he told the math teacher is Greek for Hot Gates. I had tears in my eyes listening to it all.
When the boy scampered off down the hall to get home, the math teacher and I stood alone in the hallway staring after him in silence for what felt like 30 seconds or a minute. We turned to each other and he patted my shoulder with his gloved hand and said, "Well, you got through to someone." I nodded my stern nod that I've developed, smiled, said good night and walked back into my classroom. The Math teacher turned to leave and said the same.
Christmas break is here and for all of us - students, teachers, staff - it could not have come at a better time. We're drained. I feel like I've emptied myself of every last ounce of strength I have for these kids. I've exhausted myself in planning and in grading and in praying and in disciplining and in just being a teacher for practically every single waking moment of every single day. I have to stop myself from telling strangers on the subway in New York to spit their gum out on weekends when I'm in the city.
I teach history. And I'm beginning to wonder if I've not been making it all along for and with my students. A girl in my homeroom told me today that the greatest history of all is the kind "you" make. I presumed she meant "you" in the sense that the grammatically-correct mean "one", but she corrected me and said, "No, Mr. Cochran, the history you [pointing to me] make." And then she hugged me and left. I was stunned. And many of the other kids said less poignant though equally telling things (not to mention all the Christmas gifts they gave me over my loud objections).
I teach history. My students teach me that being human means more than just being good. It means growing, even when it seems impossible to grow. The moments like the ones described don't happen to me everyday. I suppose I'd write every day if they did. But they happen often enough to remind me that I'm on the frontline of history everyday.
How fortunate am I to be present at such awe inspiring moments as these. How fortunate am I to teach & make history.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Stille Nacht
There was an incident on Thursday last that unfortunately I cannot publish here, but suffice it to say, I made a mistake. The fallout from that day lingered for roughly 24 hours - though I expected it to have lasting implications. I learned from it, my students learned from it, and we've all been able to move on.
But something I've noticed about mistakes before now is that making them some how brings people closer together. It's almost as if they affirm our humanity, they teach us both about the specific instance at issue, but they also teach us more broadly about what it means to be human. Teaching is, in many ways, the science of being human. Teaching itself is an art, but the matters confronted by teachers are for civilized society radically a part of the very fabric of life. To read, to write, to think, to debate, to decide, to conform, to stand out, to cipher, to approach problems logically, to be something distinct while being a part of something larger... education accomplishes these things for young and old alike. When students are told a teacher is a human being and can make mistakes, it is as some fact in some dusty book, detached from reality, other & separate from the here and now.
But when students witness a teacher make a mistake, well... the fact becomes more real. Just as it is far easier to teach students about the Peloponnesian War by having the two (or more) sides of the classroom take sides in the conflict even as it is lectured to them, it is also far easier for students to grasp the humanity of a teacher should they witness that humanity played out in that most "unlikely" of ways, namely, the mistake.
Friday came following Thursday as a million other Fridays have followed a million other Thursdays since time immemorial (though we skipped a week and some in 1582 when Thursday October 4 was followed by Friday October 15). Despite my past observations, this Friday flowed smoother. Students that had never bothered to pay attention suddenly felt compelled to, students that had treated me with indifference showed a new found respect... rule by fear is hardly what I desire or require, but I won't say with certainty that it was fear that drove the new order that has persisted through the momentum destroying weekend into today.
Students have begun to try for me, to push themselves. Certainly I still have the few that are not college prep material, but there again, I have others that I had discounted until only recently. The preparation for Christmas continues in all of my classes as I struggle to bring students forward in time into the Hellenistic Age and the rise of Rome. But with only minor problems, blips as they were, I am making genuine progress that would be written off by any other institution but which I must grab onto for the sake of my own sanity, progress that even I should have called impossible only two months ago. Indeed, my own writing on this blog back in its infancy might well have expressed skepticism at the life I've seen in a few of my more precarious wards.
With Christmas only a week away and as time continues to slide forward, I pause and reflect at the night that reigns. But even as I do, I cannot help but picture the three burning candles of the Advent wreath that my religion class and I gathered around this morning. We sang "Adeste Fideles" in the original Latin (the little troopers gave their best shots) and "O Come O Come Emmanuel" and then we sang one of their favorites, "Silent Night," but I printed up lyrics for several of the stanzas and I added in a Spanish stanza for my Hispanic students and for the others to practice. And then I finished with the original verse that had been written in German.
They stood and listened with wide-eyed awe at the sound of the other language as it came from my mouth. I'm not the best singer in the world, but years of choir (including one Christmas when I sang "Stille Nacht") put me in a position to bring the carol to them in a meaningful way.
I was able to get students in a Newark High School to listen to me sing "Silent Night" in German, to appreciate it, to admire it, to ask me to sing it again... I don't know how many times I will experience moments like this in my life.
However many times it is, for now, I'm just going to sit back, grade papers, and enjoy the quiet of the Stille Nacht.
But something I've noticed about mistakes before now is that making them some how brings people closer together. It's almost as if they affirm our humanity, they teach us both about the specific instance at issue, but they also teach us more broadly about what it means to be human. Teaching is, in many ways, the science of being human. Teaching itself is an art, but the matters confronted by teachers are for civilized society radically a part of the very fabric of life. To read, to write, to think, to debate, to decide, to conform, to stand out, to cipher, to approach problems logically, to be something distinct while being a part of something larger... education accomplishes these things for young and old alike. When students are told a teacher is a human being and can make mistakes, it is as some fact in some dusty book, detached from reality, other & separate from the here and now.
But when students witness a teacher make a mistake, well... the fact becomes more real. Just as it is far easier to teach students about the Peloponnesian War by having the two (or more) sides of the classroom take sides in the conflict even as it is lectured to them, it is also far easier for students to grasp the humanity of a teacher should they witness that humanity played out in that most "unlikely" of ways, namely, the mistake.
Friday came following Thursday as a million other Fridays have followed a million other Thursdays since time immemorial (though we skipped a week and some in 1582 when Thursday October 4 was followed by Friday October 15). Despite my past observations, this Friday flowed smoother. Students that had never bothered to pay attention suddenly felt compelled to, students that had treated me with indifference showed a new found respect... rule by fear is hardly what I desire or require, but I won't say with certainty that it was fear that drove the new order that has persisted through the momentum destroying weekend into today.
Students have begun to try for me, to push themselves. Certainly I still have the few that are not college prep material, but there again, I have others that I had discounted until only recently. The preparation for Christmas continues in all of my classes as I struggle to bring students forward in time into the Hellenistic Age and the rise of Rome. But with only minor problems, blips as they were, I am making genuine progress that would be written off by any other institution but which I must grab onto for the sake of my own sanity, progress that even I should have called impossible only two months ago. Indeed, my own writing on this blog back in its infancy might well have expressed skepticism at the life I've seen in a few of my more precarious wards.
With Christmas only a week away and as time continues to slide forward, I pause and reflect at the night that reigns. But even as I do, I cannot help but picture the three burning candles of the Advent wreath that my religion class and I gathered around this morning. We sang "Adeste Fideles" in the original Latin (the little troopers gave their best shots) and "O Come O Come Emmanuel" and then we sang one of their favorites, "Silent Night," but I printed up lyrics for several of the stanzas and I added in a Spanish stanza for my Hispanic students and for the others to practice. And then I finished with the original verse that had been written in German.
They stood and listened with wide-eyed awe at the sound of the other language as it came from my mouth. I'm not the best singer in the world, but years of choir (including one Christmas when I sang "Stille Nacht") put me in a position to bring the carol to them in a meaningful way.
I was able to get students in a Newark High School to listen to me sing "Silent Night" in German, to appreciate it, to admire it, to ask me to sing it again... I don't know how many times I will experience moments like this in my life.
However many times it is, for now, I'm just going to sit back, grade papers, and enjoy the quiet of the Stille Nacht.
Monday, December 10, 2007
What I've learned in the interim
Sorry to all my loyal readers who've felt left out of my teaching experiences without my frequent reflections. I should be able to get back on some semblance of a normal routine now that progress reports are done and my planning and grading are caught up.
Since last writing, I've learned a few practical things: first, don't collect 120 journals all at once and then expect to read them all thoroughly in a brief amount of time; second, it is vain of a teacher to believe they've taught their students something after only once teaching it, especially when that something falls under the category of "modern political discussion material." Even if the issue under discussion is misunderstood in wider society and that is why it is discussed anyway, do not presume to think you can clear away the fog and lead people to understanding just like that. If people are already believing the world was created in 7 days, then simply telling them that Genesis is not a scientific description of the creation of the universe is not going to end the problem.
I've learned it's very easy to feel like a failure even when you're not. It's also easy to come out of that feeling so long as you have people around you who see the same thing you see and tell you that you're not a failure. Teaching is very much an art. Not that I think I'm a master, but even the great masters of painting and sculpture reviled some of their own greatest masterpieces even as the rest of humanity basked in their beauty. I've reflected before on the need to focus more on the big picture, but it is so hard to live beyond the immediate moment when the student will not behave, will not follow directions, will not be serious about a given situation, just wills not to comply. It is so hard.
I've also had the experience of dealing with the old cliche, "You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink." Last week, as I sat to prepare progress reports, I found myself facing the fact that one of the students in my home room had not handed in either a history journal (participation grade) or his religion journal (project grade). I sat him down after school and just put all the cards on the table and told him, "Look. You're failing almost beyond recovery for not handing in your work. The time to hand these things in has more than elapsed, but I'm going to break my own rule and let you take until this coming Monday [today, 12/10; the conversation happened on 12/5] to get these things done." He cried and thanked me for giving him the extra time. I saw a genuine desire to do better.
He didn't have his journals today. He "had a game to go to this weekend."
I put the zeros in my grade book right in front of him and let him watch his average change. He cried again, but this time I had no pity. I asked him, point blank, if he cared. His response was, "Of course I care!" and my response, flatly, was, "It certainly doesn't look like it, does it?" pointing to his averages.
When I was in high school, I was public enemy number one when it came to not handing in math homework. I would start out the semester doing it, but way would lead onto way and I'd get caught up in my other classes and I'd try to do my math homework but it would take me too long and I would rarely understand all of it until we had moved on to the next section - by which time it would be too late to do the old homework anyway since I now had new homework to do. So I just didn't do it.
I tried to put this student into that same mold, but in this student's case my class isn't math, it's history and religion. And the assignment isn't problems 1-49 every-other-odd, it's write a page worth of reflection on a given prompt that he is given time in class to write on (not to mention a great deal of time at home). The excuses I gave in my discussion of math homework were not sufficient then and are not now, but they explain why I didn't do it. For this student, I'm left with the conclusion that either he cannot do the work - and his general writing ability that I've seen does not reflect this - or he will not do the work. He "has a game to go to."
I told the student that, one way or another, he would learn from me before he left my class: either he would master my class's curriculum, or he would learn a very important life lesson. I didn't tell him that I had to learn a comparable life lesson in high school myself. I'm really hoping I don't have to teach him a lesson about failure, but then again, I suppose it's better he fail me now on a report card than he fail a job later and lose his house.
And that's what I've learned in the interim.
Since last writing, I've learned a few practical things: first, don't collect 120 journals all at once and then expect to read them all thoroughly in a brief amount of time; second, it is vain of a teacher to believe they've taught their students something after only once teaching it, especially when that something falls under the category of "modern political discussion material." Even if the issue under discussion is misunderstood in wider society and that is why it is discussed anyway, do not presume to think you can clear away the fog and lead people to understanding just like that. If people are already believing the world was created in 7 days, then simply telling them that Genesis is not a scientific description of the creation of the universe is not going to end the problem.
I've learned it's very easy to feel like a failure even when you're not. It's also easy to come out of that feeling so long as you have people around you who see the same thing you see and tell you that you're not a failure. Teaching is very much an art. Not that I think I'm a master, but even the great masters of painting and sculpture reviled some of their own greatest masterpieces even as the rest of humanity basked in their beauty. I've reflected before on the need to focus more on the big picture, but it is so hard to live beyond the immediate moment when the student will not behave, will not follow directions, will not be serious about a given situation, just wills not to comply. It is so hard.
I've also had the experience of dealing with the old cliche, "You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink." Last week, as I sat to prepare progress reports, I found myself facing the fact that one of the students in my home room had not handed in either a history journal (participation grade) or his religion journal (project grade). I sat him down after school and just put all the cards on the table and told him, "Look. You're failing almost beyond recovery for not handing in your work. The time to hand these things in has more than elapsed, but I'm going to break my own rule and let you take until this coming Monday [today, 12/10; the conversation happened on 12/5] to get these things done." He cried and thanked me for giving him the extra time. I saw a genuine desire to do better.
He didn't have his journals today. He "had a game to go to this weekend."
I put the zeros in my grade book right in front of him and let him watch his average change. He cried again, but this time I had no pity. I asked him, point blank, if he cared. His response was, "Of course I care!" and my response, flatly, was, "It certainly doesn't look like it, does it?" pointing to his averages.
When I was in high school, I was public enemy number one when it came to not handing in math homework. I would start out the semester doing it, but way would lead onto way and I'd get caught up in my other classes and I'd try to do my math homework but it would take me too long and I would rarely understand all of it until we had moved on to the next section - by which time it would be too late to do the old homework anyway since I now had new homework to do. So I just didn't do it.
I tried to put this student into that same mold, but in this student's case my class isn't math, it's history and religion. And the assignment isn't problems 1-49 every-other-odd, it's write a page worth of reflection on a given prompt that he is given time in class to write on (not to mention a great deal of time at home). The excuses I gave in my discussion of math homework were not sufficient then and are not now, but they explain why I didn't do it. For this student, I'm left with the conclusion that either he cannot do the work - and his general writing ability that I've seen does not reflect this - or he will not do the work. He "has a game to go to."
I told the student that, one way or another, he would learn from me before he left my class: either he would master my class's curriculum, or he would learn a very important life lesson. I didn't tell him that I had to learn a comparable life lesson in high school myself. I'm really hoping I don't have to teach him a lesson about failure, but then again, I suppose it's better he fail me now on a report card than he fail a job later and lose his house.
Since last post, I've aged a year further and I've come to realize that adults aren't really that much smarter than kids. I know adults that are much less intelligent than some of my students. The difference is in the experiences, the mistakes, the lessons learned. The great tragedy is that with all the brainpower that humans have, we're rarely smart enough to learn from the mistakes of others, especially from others who have authority over us. For someone like me, teaching is as much a Purgatory as it is a Paradise; every time I get on a student for not handing in work, I feel my inner voice getting on me for the same reason. I have no idea what to do about that, assuming it's even something that needs attention.
And that's what I've learned in the interim.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
How many Lights do you see?
Every morning, I arrive within five minutes of a quarter to 7 (6:45-6:50) unless the day is a non-routine day. There have not been many of those.
I appear at the back door to my school and peer into the inky blackness of the main hallway artery of the building, my own classroom door immediately inside to the right. There is a light switch on the inside immediately beside my room entrance. I turn the key and walk into the dark and reach for the first switch by the light of the streetlamps shining through the barred windows.
At the beginning of the year when I first did this, I didn't know what light swith controlled which set of lights. I have them all memorized now, yes, but the point is, I was always caught off guard, (mesmerized may be too strong a word) startled by which set of lights came on first. The thing is, with one switch, only two of the nine flourescent lights hum to life after I flip the switch (light #2 and light #7). The other seven activate with the other switch. There were times that I flipped the switch controlling the set of seven and thought I did not need to flip the switch controlling the other two because it's not necessarily easy to notice they're not on. Then again, what a surprise to flip the other switch first and have only random parts of the hallway light up.
I'm certain there is an engineering/electrical reason for this discrepancy in the hallway lights. It happens on the administrative hall as well. But whatever the reason, it made for interesting mornings way back when and it makes for good analogy now.
With one lesson - the correct one, mind you - I can turn on the minds of 78% of my students, give or take. But there remains that 22% that just don't come on with the first switch. Or, then again, sometimes I have that lesson where only roughly 22% get it. The other 78% of my students remain in the dark. A minimum two-pronged approach has been necessary for sometime and I suppose is always necessary seeing as how no student learns the same as another.
I wish teaching were as simple as the two-switch conundrum I face every morning to illumine my school's hallways. I like to read the little green sign that says simply "Christ the King Prep" on the glass door before I go into the morning darkness. I've taken to saying a little prayer, "Bring light to those in darkness, O Lord," as I flip the first switch. It's one of those fun moments where I get an immediate response to my prayer because light always floods the hall immediately afterward - though sometimes more light than other times. I used to never know whether I would get two lights or seven. Now I do, but I still have trouble guessing whether my 22% of my students will get it or 78% (or however many) when I teach a lesson. I come pretty close, but I'm always, somehow, surprised by somebody.
Teachers, by profession, bring light to darkness. This is why the abstract concept "scholarship" is normally represented by the "torch of knowledge" which itself is an abstract come to life. We cast away the darkness of ignorance, the darkness of evil, the darkness that creeps in and chokes good ideas and frightens those who have no defense against the bitter cold of inepitude. Teachers must do this daily, make the abstract concrete, make the untenable reachable... they must flip the switch and bring light to those in darkness.
I flipped my switch this morning and seven lights came on. I flipped it off because at that moment this post occured to me. I flipped on the second and stared at the two lights burning in the near darkness. I turned them off and then back on a couple times before finally turning them all on and then basking in the glow of the old, dirty flourescence.
I watch the lights come on... and I'm watching some lights go out. And unlike with real lights connected to real switches, I don't know what to do with some of my little lights that are flickering out on me. My poor little lights... my poor lights. How many... how many lights have to go out? How many Lights do I see?
I appear at the back door to my school and peer into the inky blackness of the main hallway artery of the building, my own classroom door immediately inside to the right. There is a light switch on the inside immediately beside my room entrance. I turn the key and walk into the dark and reach for the first switch by the light of the streetlamps shining through the barred windows.
At the beginning of the year when I first did this, I didn't know what light swith controlled which set of lights. I have them all memorized now, yes, but the point is, I was always caught off guard, (mesmerized may be too strong a word) startled by which set of lights came on first. The thing is, with one switch, only two of the nine flourescent lights hum to life after I flip the switch (light #2 and light #7). The other seven activate with the other switch. There were times that I flipped the switch controlling the set of seven and thought I did not need to flip the switch controlling the other two because it's not necessarily easy to notice they're not on. Then again, what a surprise to flip the other switch first and have only random parts of the hallway light up.
I'm certain there is an engineering/electrical reason for this discrepancy in the hallway lights. It happens on the administrative hall as well. But whatever the reason, it made for interesting mornings way back when and it makes for good analogy now.
With one lesson - the correct one, mind you - I can turn on the minds of 78% of my students, give or take. But there remains that 22% that just don't come on with the first switch. Or, then again, sometimes I have that lesson where only roughly 22% get it. The other 78% of my students remain in the dark. A minimum two-pronged approach has been necessary for sometime and I suppose is always necessary seeing as how no student learns the same as another.
I wish teaching were as simple as the two-switch conundrum I face every morning to illumine my school's hallways. I like to read the little green sign that says simply "Christ the King Prep" on the glass door before I go into the morning darkness. I've taken to saying a little prayer, "Bring light to those in darkness, O Lord," as I flip the first switch. It's one of those fun moments where I get an immediate response to my prayer because light always floods the hall immediately afterward - though sometimes more light than other times. I used to never know whether I would get two lights or seven. Now I do, but I still have trouble guessing whether my 22% of my students will get it or 78% (or however many) when I teach a lesson. I come pretty close, but I'm always, somehow, surprised by somebody.
Teachers, by profession, bring light to darkness. This is why the abstract concept "scholarship" is normally represented by the "torch of knowledge" which itself is an abstract come to life. We cast away the darkness of ignorance, the darkness of evil, the darkness that creeps in and chokes good ideas and frightens those who have no defense against the bitter cold of inepitude. Teachers must do this daily, make the abstract concrete, make the untenable reachable... they must flip the switch and bring light to those in darkness.
I flipped my switch this morning and seven lights came on. I flipped it off because at that moment this post occured to me. I flipped on the second and stared at the two lights burning in the near darkness. I turned them off and then back on a couple times before finally turning them all on and then basking in the glow of the old, dirty flourescence.
I watch the lights come on... and I'm watching some lights go out. And unlike with real lights connected to real switches, I don't know what to do with some of my little lights that are flickering out on me. My poor little lights... my poor lights. How many... how many lights have to go out? How many Lights do I see?
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Thanksgiving
"Know that the Lord is God. It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture. Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name. For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations." Psalm 100:3-5.
Today marks the nice little half day before Thanksgiving, and might I say, Thank God. I have so much to do this weekend -- relax is only a small fraction of it all, unfortunately. The school is almost empty; only the Admissions Director and I remain as one of my students has finally departed after a nice pre-next-Tuesday-test review session. Two classes took quizzes today. And the school's prayer service, while perhaps not as "revival" in spirit as what I had originally envisioned when I pictured what would take place, was a pleasant affair. The students were well-behaved, paid attention, and participated in the worship experience.
As a point of interest before I end my half-day post, many of you may remember my post regarding the Student Senate's first meeting with a quorum. Well, like the Italian government, the President has lost her command of a majority confidence in her legislature and the CTK Prep government has fallen after a majority of the student Senators failed at least one of their classes the first marking period. There was enough time for them to organize a food drive and carry it out. And then they fell. New elections of eligible students (meaning none who failed any of their classes) resulted in two of six seats being filled in two classes, five of six in another, and all six with a few to spare in another class. The Senate now has 15 seats filled out of a possible 24. Presidential elections will be next week and then we'll see how long this government lasts. Quorum obviously will be tougher to get, so the school may be facing an uphill battle. But those ejected for academic reasons now understand how serious the school is about academics. And those who remain, well, let's just say that I'm pleased with their hard work and attitude.
Now then, time for my four day weekend. Thank goodness.
Today marks the nice little half day before Thanksgiving, and might I say, Thank God. I have so much to do this weekend -- relax is only a small fraction of it all, unfortunately. The school is almost empty; only the Admissions Director and I remain as one of my students has finally departed after a nice pre-next-Tuesday-test review session. Two classes took quizzes today. And the school's prayer service, while perhaps not as "revival" in spirit as what I had originally envisioned when I pictured what would take place, was a pleasant affair. The students were well-behaved, paid attention, and participated in the worship experience.
As a point of interest before I end my half-day post, many of you may remember my post regarding the Student Senate's first meeting with a quorum. Well, like the Italian government, the President has lost her command of a majority confidence in her legislature and the CTK Prep government has fallen after a majority of the student Senators failed at least one of their classes the first marking period. There was enough time for them to organize a food drive and carry it out. And then they fell. New elections of eligible students (meaning none who failed any of their classes) resulted in two of six seats being filled in two classes, five of six in another, and all six with a few to spare in another class. The Senate now has 15 seats filled out of a possible 24. Presidential elections will be next week and then we'll see how long this government lasts. Quorum obviously will be tougher to get, so the school may be facing an uphill battle. But those ejected for academic reasons now understand how serious the school is about academics. And those who remain, well, let's just say that I'm pleased with their hard work and attitude.
Now then, time for my four day weekend. Thank goodness.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Who Watches the Watcher?
Today I was observed in class for perhaps the 6th time this year, the third time by my Masters Program observer. Looking back to the first time I was observed, I must say, I was going into it with no small degree of trepidation. I had lain in bed the night before wondering what the next day would bring. I frequently reflect on what I do -- and what I fail to do -- so that I can spot my mistakes. And goodness knows I'm making them. I spot them constantly. And lest, gentle reader, you think me overly scrupulous, I am, after all, a novice. However much "presence" or "poise" or natural instinct I may have, I have made mistakes on a nearly daily basis since the beginning of the year. They are certainly little ones, but I had always assumed that if a neutral & objective outsider were to enter my class, I would get called on the carpet for them.
"Like what?" you may ask? Well, I sometimes speak with my back to the class at the chalkboard. Never for longer than a few words, but anybody with any knowledge of education (or theater, and trust me, there's little difference) knows you don't turn your back. I have tried to compensate by keeping the students on their toes, the seating positions in the room, and so forth, but I'm supposed to always be watching. And I am sometimes not.
Then there are the times when I overreact. A student gets out of their seat for the 800th time without permission. And it was just to go to the trash can. And I kick them out. What did they do? Was that the best way to handle it? And me losing my temper, well, I don't blow my top over just any little thing. But I have. And I do. The virtue "temperance", meaning to moderate our activities and emotions, gives us the phrase, "to lose one's temper." For if you lose it, you lose your rational control over your emotions. Indeed, one could become inconsolably sad and be said to have lost one's "temper," though it is hardly if ever used in that context in English. I have seen it in myself and I have tried to work on it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't happen.
Lest I make this my public confessional - my Confessor gets that enough already - I digress. My observations have instead tended to focus on the "big things" about me, rather than the "little things" already mentioned. They remark on my professional style of dress, of speech, etc. They mention my organization and preparation skills. They comment on how much the students respond to me, how they obey me, how they laugh with me, how they respond eagerly to my questions. They comment on how clean my room is. They point out how wise I am to begin my class with a quote and how much that must assuredly encourage the critical thinking I so hope to engender in my students. They tell me I'm aware of everything that is going on in my classroom. They give me applause and comments such as, "You would never know it's his first year."
They give me the big picture.
And, without realizing it, they give me an important criticism that I had not before today really noticed. I focus so much on details. It's my nature. In a very real sense, it's my job. It's what I received my first M.A. in (International Relations) since the social sciences are so dependent on details to make valid points. I have an undergrad minor in Economics. I am OBSESSED with the pieces that make up the puzzle almost to the point that I forget the big picture that I'm supposed to have when it's all said and done. (And before you think I'm better at Micro, I prefer MacroEconomics... but my micro-management style bleeds into my studies there, too)
I get upset that I lose my temper with a student (as well I should), but the other students who witness it are now more likely to tote the line. I obsess over the fact that my back is to my class, but my students are learning the material. My kids have terrible reading comprehension, but it's tenfold better in some cases than it was when they first met me. They're learning to think, to write, to speak, and I'm upset that they haven't mastered the English language? My mother used to tell me on a daily basis, "Don't sweat the small stuff." I do anyway. But I'm quickly figuring out that sweating small stuff only uses up the energy that could be spent on big stuff.
I am, by profession, a Watcher. I watch the time. I watch students. I watch TV. I watch (read) books. I plan so that I can watch some more. I watch others for signs of growth, for signs of deviousness, for signs of gum chewing, for signs of sincerity... I watch for triumph so I can praise it. And I watch for failure so that I can correct it. And I watch myself with the same "watchful" eye.
It's good to know that when I'm being watched, the person(s) doing the watching likes what they're watching. And not only that, they're watching what really matters about me. My students should be so lucky to have me watching them with the same macro-vision eye. If others can see that big picture in me, well, that might be a lesson to me that even the "Watcher" still has some things, some good things, to watch for -- not just in himself, but in his students as well.
"Like what?" you may ask? Well, I sometimes speak with my back to the class at the chalkboard. Never for longer than a few words, but anybody with any knowledge of education (or theater, and trust me, there's little difference) knows you don't turn your back. I have tried to compensate by keeping the students on their toes, the seating positions in the room, and so forth, but I'm supposed to always be watching. And I am sometimes not.
Then there are the times when I overreact. A student gets out of their seat for the 800th time without permission. And it was just to go to the trash can. And I kick them out. What did they do? Was that the best way to handle it? And me losing my temper, well, I don't blow my top over just any little thing. But I have. And I do. The virtue "temperance", meaning to moderate our activities and emotions, gives us the phrase, "to lose one's temper." For if you lose it, you lose your rational control over your emotions. Indeed, one could become inconsolably sad and be said to have lost one's "temper," though it is hardly if ever used in that context in English. I have seen it in myself and I have tried to work on it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't happen.
Lest I make this my public confessional - my Confessor gets that enough already - I digress. My observations have instead tended to focus on the "big things" about me, rather than the "little things" already mentioned. They remark on my professional style of dress, of speech, etc. They mention my organization and preparation skills. They comment on how much the students respond to me, how they obey me, how they laugh with me, how they respond eagerly to my questions. They comment on how clean my room is. They point out how wise I am to begin my class with a quote and how much that must assuredly encourage the critical thinking I so hope to engender in my students. They tell me I'm aware of everything that is going on in my classroom. They give me applause and comments such as, "You would never know it's his first year."
They give me the big picture.
And, without realizing it, they give me an important criticism that I had not before today really noticed. I focus so much on details. It's my nature. In a very real sense, it's my job. It's what I received my first M.A. in (International Relations) since the social sciences are so dependent on details to make valid points. I have an undergrad minor in Economics. I am OBSESSED with the pieces that make up the puzzle almost to the point that I forget the big picture that I'm supposed to have when it's all said and done. (And before you think I'm better at Micro, I prefer MacroEconomics... but my micro-management style bleeds into my studies there, too)
I get upset that I lose my temper with a student (as well I should), but the other students who witness it are now more likely to tote the line. I obsess over the fact that my back is to my class, but my students are learning the material. My kids have terrible reading comprehension, but it's tenfold better in some cases than it was when they first met me. They're learning to think, to write, to speak, and I'm upset that they haven't mastered the English language? My mother used to tell me on a daily basis, "Don't sweat the small stuff." I do anyway. But I'm quickly figuring out that sweating small stuff only uses up the energy that could be spent on big stuff.
I am, by profession, a Watcher. I watch the time. I watch students. I watch TV. I watch (read) books. I plan so that I can watch some more. I watch others for signs of growth, for signs of deviousness, for signs of gum chewing, for signs of sincerity... I watch for triumph so I can praise it. And I watch for failure so that I can correct it. And I watch myself with the same "watchful" eye.
It's good to know that when I'm being watched, the person(s) doing the watching likes what they're watching. And not only that, they're watching what really matters about me. My students should be so lucky to have me watching them with the same macro-vision eye. If others can see that big picture in me, well, that might be a lesson to me that even the "Watcher" still has some things, some good things, to watch for -- not just in himself, but in his students as well.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Parent-Teacher Night (Post #2) and Secrets of the Universe
What a post I have for my readers today. First, I'll complete my discussion of Parent-Teacher Night. Then I have a story from class today.
First, Parent-Teacher Night was both not as bad as I predicted AND a confirmation of some of my worst fears. The first parent I met with was the mother of the boy I had written about earlier with the three hours of basketball practice. See the post on Time Management to get caught up on that hullabaloo. She was the only parent that actually opted for the "this is your fault" approach to her son's F in my class. She showed me his report card and he had an A, a B or two, a C in Religion (from me) and an F (also from me). His test grades were so-so/poor and he hadn't turned in the lion's share of the work. I shared with his mother my opinion that he goofs off too much in class (he does), that I suspect he doesn't spend enough of his time at home doing school work, and that he is highly capable - as his other grades should reflect - but that he just does not seem to be taking things seriously.
She asked him what the problem was and he began, rather timidly, to tell me that I talk too fast in class, that I don't explain things enough, etc, etc. And turning back to me, his mother said, "He's told me this before. You talk too fast." Now, nevermind that this student has never once asked me to slow down. Nevermind that this student has never once come to me for extra help, never once expressed this opinion to me before, never bothered to do anything about this situation. When questioned in class, he either responds well or not at all - and the not at all normally happens because he did not prepare for class.
But his mother insists that this is my fault. So, the last couple of days (yesterday and today) I've been giving him the extra attention he asked for at the conference with his mother. He seems to be responding well so far, but we'll see. I am willing to concede, especially as a novice, that I have things to work on. I want to work on them and I want people to point them out to me so that I can improve. It would be nice if people only had compliments for me, but that would mean I don't have any room for growth.
But when he is the only student in his class to fail, when I have a record number of Bs and As in his class... well, is it really that I'm going too fast and doing a poor job of teaching? Or is it that he was just fishing for an excuse to appease his mother and she was looking for anything she could grab onto so as not to blame her son like a drowning woman reaching for a lifesaver? Sadly, I cannot really be certain... I would argue that he had a disability and that I need to be sensitive to his needs if he hadn't done so well in other classes. History is really just applied reading, writing, and thinking and he did just fine in English and Science and so forth. So, what's the deal? There are many possibilities and I promise to revisit this matter after some further reflection.
For now, however, on to the secrets I alluded to in the post title.
The Friday home room had Study Hall 8th Period today and their home room teacher had to leave early for a family emergency. My home room being in a mandatory class related to their job, I decided to take the tykes into my room and do some remediation with them. The Friday home room had 14 students fail my class so they could use the extra help and attention.
I began by asking them to take out a notebook, preferably the one for my class, and I informed them that I was going to teach them about outlining. A few groans came from the room, but nothing serious. One student said, "I know about outlining already." I replied that he did not know it the way I was going to teach it. He scoffed. I went to the board and wrote, "Outlining" in big letters and someone said, "Is he serious? Are you serious?"
I stopped.
And then I dropped the chalk. I don't know why this got to me because worse has been said to me before. I think it was probably because it was 8th period, I was tired, and I was honestly trying to help these kids. But whatever it was, I just stopped. And I walked away from the board saying,
"You know what? I'm not serious. I'm a joker. I'm a teacher, I mean, why would I be trying to teach you something useful?" And I sat down at my desk.
The students sat stunned. A few thought they had hurt my feelings. One girl, who I don't think said the "Are you serious?" comment, confessed to it anyway and apologized. I shrugged and said, "It's OK. If you're not interested, why should I waste my time?" And started working on my computer. I stewed for about 45 seconds in my pyrrhic victory listening to the students begin to move on with their lives and then I got up and announced that I would be back momentarily. I crossed the hall to the math teacher, whose home room was at gym, and asked if he wouldn't mind watching 15 students or so. He asked if they had anything to do and I said they did not. He promised to keep them from killing each other. And then I returned with a plan I had made up in roughly the last 15 seconds.
Reappearing, I announced: "Alright, everyone, here's the deal. I am going to teach a very valuable skill that I would bet money not one of you in the room knows how to properly perform. If you are interested, you may stay and learn. If you are not, you may go across the hall to the math room and do as you please. It is study hall, so I suggest you study. But by all means, sit and talk if you like. I assure you there will not be any consequences, I will not get mad, you will not have detention. But if you choose to stay, I assure you, you will learn something very fascinating." All but 8 or 10 (I didn't count perfectly) left.
What of those who stayed? Well, one of them was a boy I once gave detention to for the remainder of 9th grade. Another was a girl whose command of English is anything but resplendent. Still another was a girl who has only recently begun to take an interest in class. Another was a boy that's been written off by two other teachers. Another was a boy who has been suspended, bombed one of my tests by earning a "0" and who once cursed out a teacher. The list goes on. It was a who's who of the misfits of that class. And then of course there's the girl who aced everything and has nothing but respect for all of her teachers. And another who I rarely hear speak. I smiled. I was reminded of Jesus calling the disciples given the cross-section nature of them all, although I called none of these students: they simply decided to stay. I instantly felt for the ones I had lost, but what would I have taught them? They had already decided I was a joke, so why fight for the ones that have branded themselves lost? Certainly I would not give up in class, but why try to help those who do not want it?
And so, I walked them through how to read not just my textbook, but anything and everything they get their little hands on. Read it through once and find the words you do not understand. Look them up, discuss them with someone else, and as a last resort, ask me/a teacher. Then the next step was to read it again and seek to grasp the context. If you're reading Moby Dick, you need to find out something, or, already know something about life in the 19th century, the international whaling industry, uses for sperm whale oil, and so forth. And then, I said, you're ready to start studying. Meanwhile, I'm writing all this information and all these little tips on the board in outline format.
Studying, I taught them, involves seeking out main ideas. I taught them first what that is, and then I taught them how to do it. Then I taught them how to seek out the deeper connection within themselves so that they could internalize the information the way people internalize their names and addresses, to "make it as much a part of themselves as the air they breathe, the blood in their vains, the toenails on their feet." They were captivated, enthralled, and they ate it up. I took them deeper into relating to history and the material than anyone ever had. I explained why I love history and I held up my metal thermos that I bring my Earl Gray tea in everyday and said, "I look at this and wonder how it's cylindrical and how humans could ever bend metal this way. Don't you? I look at the American flag and wonder why it's red, white and blue and not pink, green, and yellow. Don't you? I look at my own last name and your last name and your last name and wonder why we even have last names. Don't you? History is the only means of answering these questions."
And suddenly, they came alive. Students that had previously sat staring into space, wondering why the Iron Age should matter, suddenly cared. I made them care. I led them to caring. I brought it to them and they embraced it willingly. It was 3PM and school was over by 5 minutes. And they didn't want to leave. I finished the lesson and dismissed them. But a couple wanted to stay even longer with the rest begging me to forgive them for having to leave to catch buses and the like.
I reached them. Yes, I had to lose slightly more than half the class to do it. But I reached them. And they reached out to me. And they left me feeling as if I had fulfilled my purpose, as if I had triumphed as a teacher, as if I had done what God had placed me on his Earth to do. I'm wounded and hurt and disappointed and ridiculously saddened by the fact that so many decided to leave. One left - and mind you, he had failed my class prior to my applying the drop grades, so he wasn't as swift as he thought he was - saying, "I don't need this. I can do fine on my own." Another girl left without so much as a by your leave before I had even finished giving them their options. And so, my triumph came at a terrible cost. But in the end, I reached some of them. And what a POWERFUL, unexplainable feeling it was.
As they left, I said, "Don't tell your classmates what they missed. They opted to leave." And one of the students looked at me, the one who I once had been forced to give eternal detention to, and said, "Mr. Cochran, you just taught me one of the secrets of the universe. I wouldn't want to share that with anyone that doesn't want to know it." And he walked out of my classroom.
I am a teacher. I do not always know if I am successful. I'm not completely sure that I was today. But I do know that I possess secrets of the universe. One of my students told me as much.
And I want to share them with as many people as want to know them.
First, Parent-Teacher Night was both not as bad as I predicted AND a confirmation of some of my worst fears. The first parent I met with was the mother of the boy I had written about earlier with the three hours of basketball practice. See the post on Time Management to get caught up on that hullabaloo. She was the only parent that actually opted for the "this is your fault" approach to her son's F in my class. She showed me his report card and he had an A, a B or two, a C in Religion (from me) and an F (also from me). His test grades were so-so/poor and he hadn't turned in the lion's share of the work. I shared with his mother my opinion that he goofs off too much in class (he does), that I suspect he doesn't spend enough of his time at home doing school work, and that he is highly capable - as his other grades should reflect - but that he just does not seem to be taking things seriously.
She asked him what the problem was and he began, rather timidly, to tell me that I talk too fast in class, that I don't explain things enough, etc, etc. And turning back to me, his mother said, "He's told me this before. You talk too fast." Now, nevermind that this student has never once asked me to slow down. Nevermind that this student has never once come to me for extra help, never once expressed this opinion to me before, never bothered to do anything about this situation. When questioned in class, he either responds well or not at all - and the not at all normally happens because he did not prepare for class.
But his mother insists that this is my fault. So, the last couple of days (yesterday and today) I've been giving him the extra attention he asked for at the conference with his mother. He seems to be responding well so far, but we'll see. I am willing to concede, especially as a novice, that I have things to work on. I want to work on them and I want people to point them out to me so that I can improve. It would be nice if people only had compliments for me, but that would mean I don't have any room for growth.
But when he is the only student in his class to fail, when I have a record number of Bs and As in his class... well, is it really that I'm going too fast and doing a poor job of teaching? Or is it that he was just fishing for an excuse to appease his mother and she was looking for anything she could grab onto so as not to blame her son like a drowning woman reaching for a lifesaver? Sadly, I cannot really be certain... I would argue that he had a disability and that I need to be sensitive to his needs if he hadn't done so well in other classes. History is really just applied reading, writing, and thinking and he did just fine in English and Science and so forth. So, what's the deal? There are many possibilities and I promise to revisit this matter after some further reflection.
For now, however, on to the secrets I alluded to in the post title.
The Friday home room had Study Hall 8th Period today and their home room teacher had to leave early for a family emergency. My home room being in a mandatory class related to their job, I decided to take the tykes into my room and do some remediation with them. The Friday home room had 14 students fail my class so they could use the extra help and attention.
I began by asking them to take out a notebook, preferably the one for my class, and I informed them that I was going to teach them about outlining. A few groans came from the room, but nothing serious. One student said, "I know about outlining already." I replied that he did not know it the way I was going to teach it. He scoffed. I went to the board and wrote, "Outlining" in big letters and someone said, "Is he serious? Are you serious?"
I stopped.
And then I dropped the chalk. I don't know why this got to me because worse has been said to me before. I think it was probably because it was 8th period, I was tired, and I was honestly trying to help these kids. But whatever it was, I just stopped. And I walked away from the board saying,
"You know what? I'm not serious. I'm a joker. I'm a teacher, I mean, why would I be trying to teach you something useful?" And I sat down at my desk.
The students sat stunned. A few thought they had hurt my feelings. One girl, who I don't think said the "Are you serious?" comment, confessed to it anyway and apologized. I shrugged and said, "It's OK. If you're not interested, why should I waste my time?" And started working on my computer. I stewed for about 45 seconds in my pyrrhic victory listening to the students begin to move on with their lives and then I got up and announced that I would be back momentarily. I crossed the hall to the math teacher, whose home room was at gym, and asked if he wouldn't mind watching 15 students or so. He asked if they had anything to do and I said they did not. He promised to keep them from killing each other. And then I returned with a plan I had made up in roughly the last 15 seconds.
Reappearing, I announced: "Alright, everyone, here's the deal. I am going to teach a very valuable skill that I would bet money not one of you in the room knows how to properly perform. If you are interested, you may stay and learn. If you are not, you may go across the hall to the math room and do as you please. It is study hall, so I suggest you study. But by all means, sit and talk if you like. I assure you there will not be any consequences, I will not get mad, you will not have detention. But if you choose to stay, I assure you, you will learn something very fascinating." All but 8 or 10 (I didn't count perfectly) left.
What of those who stayed? Well, one of them was a boy I once gave detention to for the remainder of 9th grade. Another was a girl whose command of English is anything but resplendent. Still another was a girl who has only recently begun to take an interest in class. Another was a boy that's been written off by two other teachers. Another was a boy who has been suspended, bombed one of my tests by earning a "0" and who once cursed out a teacher. The list goes on. It was a who's who of the misfits of that class. And then of course there's the girl who aced everything and has nothing but respect for all of her teachers. And another who I rarely hear speak. I smiled. I was reminded of Jesus calling the disciples given the cross-section nature of them all, although I called none of these students: they simply decided to stay. I instantly felt for the ones I had lost, but what would I have taught them? They had already decided I was a joke, so why fight for the ones that have branded themselves lost? Certainly I would not give up in class, but why try to help those who do not want it?
And so, I walked them through how to read not just my textbook, but anything and everything they get their little hands on. Read it through once and find the words you do not understand. Look them up, discuss them with someone else, and as a last resort, ask me/a teacher. Then the next step was to read it again and seek to grasp the context. If you're reading Moby Dick, you need to find out something, or, already know something about life in the 19th century, the international whaling industry, uses for sperm whale oil, and so forth. And then, I said, you're ready to start studying. Meanwhile, I'm writing all this information and all these little tips on the board in outline format.
Studying, I taught them, involves seeking out main ideas. I taught them first what that is, and then I taught them how to do it. Then I taught them how to seek out the deeper connection within themselves so that they could internalize the information the way people internalize their names and addresses, to "make it as much a part of themselves as the air they breathe, the blood in their vains, the toenails on their feet." They were captivated, enthralled, and they ate it up. I took them deeper into relating to history and the material than anyone ever had. I explained why I love history and I held up my metal thermos that I bring my Earl Gray tea in everyday and said, "I look at this and wonder how it's cylindrical and how humans could ever bend metal this way. Don't you? I look at the American flag and wonder why it's red, white and blue and not pink, green, and yellow. Don't you? I look at my own last name and your last name and your last name and wonder why we even have last names. Don't you? History is the only means of answering these questions."
And suddenly, they came alive. Students that had previously sat staring into space, wondering why the Iron Age should matter, suddenly cared. I made them care. I led them to caring. I brought it to them and they embraced it willingly. It was 3PM and school was over by 5 minutes. And they didn't want to leave. I finished the lesson and dismissed them. But a couple wanted to stay even longer with the rest begging me to forgive them for having to leave to catch buses and the like.
I reached them. Yes, I had to lose slightly more than half the class to do it. But I reached them. And they reached out to me. And they left me feeling as if I had fulfilled my purpose, as if I had triumphed as a teacher, as if I had done what God had placed me on his Earth to do. I'm wounded and hurt and disappointed and ridiculously saddened by the fact that so many decided to leave. One left - and mind you, he had failed my class prior to my applying the drop grades, so he wasn't as swift as he thought he was - saying, "I don't need this. I can do fine on my own." Another girl left without so much as a by your leave before I had even finished giving them their options. And so, my triumph came at a terrible cost. But in the end, I reached some of them. And what a POWERFUL, unexplainable feeling it was.
As they left, I said, "Don't tell your classmates what they missed. They opted to leave." And one of the students looked at me, the one who I once had been forced to give eternal detention to, and said, "Mr. Cochran, you just taught me one of the secrets of the universe. I wouldn't want to share that with anyone that doesn't want to know it." And he walked out of my classroom.
I am a teacher. I do not always know if I am successful. I'm not completely sure that I was today. But I do know that I possess secrets of the universe. One of my students told me as much.
And I want to share them with as many people as want to know them.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Parent-Teacher Day (Post #1)
Before I begin, as promised, I have uploaded my syllabus to a delightful innovation by Google called "Google Documents," which hosts word documents and things like that for easy linking to things like Blogger. As I work to integrate technology more and more into my curriculum, I intend to use it more. For now, however, if you would like to take the time to view what I gave all of my Western Civilization classes, here is the link.
Today, I continued my "surge" to borrow a phrase from the President against the insurgency of disrespect, poor attitude, and self-loathing in the student body. I walked the halls this morning forcing the square pegs of my students into the round hole that is our school's dress code. Many were quite displeased with me and the epidemic of under-the-breath foot-in-mouth disease continues. I gave one girl detention for saying, once she thought I was out of earshot, "He ain't the principal or Dean. Who's he think he is tellin' me to get in code." I reemerged from my classroom and said, calmly (I'm proud of myself, for good or ill, for not losing my temper): "No, I'm not, but I am your teacher. You'll serve detention this afternoon for talking back." She replied, "No I ain't". My bristling reply? "I'll see you there or you're suspended." She retorted "fine" but I pretended, for her sake, not to hear her. So, on top of language and gum, I now add, "Dress code." This is yet another war where a surge seems to help.
I do label this post #1 with reference to the subject of Parent-Teacher Day because tonight (or tomorrow) I will post a further reflection, but I wanted to get down my pre-event feelings for my own "posterity" sake so that I can come back and read and reflect on what I was thinking. And, to be honest, I have to say: I'm petrified. I've been looking forward to this for weeks. I finally get to whip some of my students into shape. Yes, I've spoken with parents. Yes, some kids turned themselves around during the marking period. But tonight, the parents get their kids' report cards, and the kids, well, get their's...
Here's what I'm "afraid" of, however, as of this morning... Why I dread the approach of this evening. I'm worried that those parents of students who failed (and there were a great deal of them) are going to come to me and blame me. I'm worried I'm going to get fingers shoved in my face. Do I have the numbers to back up my grades? Of course I do. Do I have copies of things? Certainly. But am I still worried that the parents of my students, like my students themselves, are going to blame me for the student's poor performance? Yes. I most certainly do worry. Perhaps illogically I worry, but I worry all the same.
Few people would believe this of me, but I've never been one to like confrontation. Granted, I don't know that there are many people who do, but there most certainly are people in the world that thrive on it. I am by nature a deferential person. I don't like to get into heated arguments with people and I never "get angry" with other adults the way some people do. Certainly I get angry, but I don't yell and carry on. And people that do, well, they make me uncomfortable. I'm never certain how to deal with "unprofessional" or "inappropriate" adults. Students, children, yes. That's easy. But their parents? I presume, out of hope and my natural deference to my students' parents, that they will all be cooperative and concerned and respectful, especially given that this school is seen by so many as such a gift.
But some of my students have views and values and mannerisms that make me wonder, however erroneously, about the views and values and mannerisms of their parents. I mean, the kids have to be learning this stuff somewhere and they can't have picked it ALL up on the street. I just have to say I'm not excited. I thought I would be looking forward to this. I'm really not. I hope that "post #2" is full of, "I don't know what I was so worried about." But then again... well, we'll see. It's in God's hands.
Stay tuned...
Today, I continued my "surge" to borrow a phrase from the President against the insurgency of disrespect, poor attitude, and self-loathing in the student body. I walked the halls this morning forcing the square pegs of my students into the round hole that is our school's dress code. Many were quite displeased with me and the epidemic of under-the-breath foot-in-mouth disease continues. I gave one girl detention for saying, once she thought I was out of earshot, "He ain't the principal or Dean. Who's he think he is tellin' me to get in code." I reemerged from my classroom and said, calmly (I'm proud of myself, for good or ill, for not losing my temper): "No, I'm not, but I am your teacher. You'll serve detention this afternoon for talking back." She replied, "No I ain't". My bristling reply? "I'll see you there or you're suspended." She retorted "fine" but I pretended, for her sake, not to hear her. So, on top of language and gum, I now add, "Dress code." This is yet another war where a surge seems to help.
I do label this post #1 with reference to the subject of Parent-Teacher Day because tonight (or tomorrow) I will post a further reflection, but I wanted to get down my pre-event feelings for my own "posterity" sake so that I can come back and read and reflect on what I was thinking. And, to be honest, I have to say: I'm petrified. I've been looking forward to this for weeks. I finally get to whip some of my students into shape. Yes, I've spoken with parents. Yes, some kids turned themselves around during the marking period. But tonight, the parents get their kids' report cards, and the kids, well, get their's...
Here's what I'm "afraid" of, however, as of this morning... Why I dread the approach of this evening. I'm worried that those parents of students who failed (and there were a great deal of them) are going to come to me and blame me. I'm worried I'm going to get fingers shoved in my face. Do I have the numbers to back up my grades? Of course I do. Do I have copies of things? Certainly. But am I still worried that the parents of my students, like my students themselves, are going to blame me for the student's poor performance? Yes. I most certainly do worry. Perhaps illogically I worry, but I worry all the same.
Few people would believe this of me, but I've never been one to like confrontation. Granted, I don't know that there are many people who do, but there most certainly are people in the world that thrive on it. I am by nature a deferential person. I don't like to get into heated arguments with people and I never "get angry" with other adults the way some people do. Certainly I get angry, but I don't yell and carry on. And people that do, well, they make me uncomfortable. I'm never certain how to deal with "unprofessional" or "inappropriate" adults. Students, children, yes. That's easy. But their parents? I presume, out of hope and my natural deference to my students' parents, that they will all be cooperative and concerned and respectful, especially given that this school is seen by so many as such a gift.
But some of my students have views and values and mannerisms that make me wonder, however erroneously, about the views and values and mannerisms of their parents. I mean, the kids have to be learning this stuff somewhere and they can't have picked it ALL up on the street. I just have to say I'm not excited. I thought I would be looking forward to this. I'm really not. I hope that "post #2" is full of, "I don't know what I was so worried about." But then again... well, we'll see. It's in God's hands.
Stay tuned...
Monday, November 12, 2007
A Republic, Madam, if you can keep it
Two things of note to report from today and then a further reflection on an ongoing subject:
First, I revamped my syllabus as I said I would do. I'll upload a copy shortly so that those interested may read it at their leisure, but I have drastically increased the penalties for some things, altered how I do some other things, but all-in-all, I expect my students will do well. Many responded with a great deal of appreciation to the fact that I'm going to be grading them on their quote discussions, but those who did so are some of my most verbal students. Their grades suffered last marking period and I'm trying to adjust to accomodate those various learning styles. It is difficult for me both as first time teacher and as someone with one perception as to how a class should be run, but I want my kids to learn. With that as my base line assumption, I have to be willing to bend and adapt as I learn things about my students.
I have begun to be bothered by this in one sense. Certainly, the only proper way for me to master teaching is to teach. But sometimes I worry that my students are too much "guinea pig" for my learning and too little actual student. I wish I knew day one some of the things I've learned along the way. Next year's 9th Graders will have me right out of the gate applying many of the lessons it has taken two months to learn. And I still have so much to learn. Someone told me recently that my students are fortunate to have me. I hope so. But sometimes, I make blunders that only I know but that do, indeed, hurt my students. What if I'd been REALLY targeting reading comprehension on day one? or two? Instead of the end of the first marking period and now the second marking period, what if I'd been aware from the beginning? And I suppose there was nothing there that would have clued me in and other, more experienced teachers would have known just as much at the beginning. But what if I had fully comprehended how poorly my kids comprehend? If ifs and buts were sugar and nuts and all that, yes, I know, but still... next year, I'll start off understanding these sorts of things and great. But what about these kids? Yes, I know the school year ends in June, but two months gone already...
Second thing of note: My school now has a functioning student government. The President ran a Senate meeting with a quorum today, the first time that has happened. And they decided to hold a food drive. My students learn. The hungry get fed. And I? Well, I get to have at least one of those rare moments as a teacher that makes me want to pat myself on the back. It's certainly not over yet, but they have a republic now. Can they keep it? Well, stay tuned...
And finally, during the syllabus discussion today in one of my classes, I informed them of the crueler, revamped cheating policy. One of the penalties involves the cheater being called out publicly and the class losing all of their drop grade points. My point is to both emphasize the community aspect of the class ("you should be encouraging honesty among yourselves") and to discourage would be cheaters from cheating. One of my students pipes up, "Don't you think that person would get jumped after school?" My response? "I would certainly hope not." Student: "Yeah, well, they would, and you'd be responsible for that." The exchange ultimately led to this student daring to tell me that I'm an adult and that I should think through the consequences of my actions.
Before kicking this student out of my class for GROSS disrespect (you had to be there to get the whole gist of the situation, but it was pretty disgusting what he DARED to say to me), I told him, "If you think it's so harsh, then don't cheat." I'm reminded of an episode of Law & Order where a convicted child molestor sued to avoid prison because of how child molestors, historically, have been treated by other inmates. I don't remember the outcome of the episode, but I do remember my personal thoughts: "If the prospect of what prison inmates do to child molestors frightens you, here's a thought: don't molest children." Well, to this young man, my feelings are similar: If you fear the consequences for cheating, then don't cheat.
The syllabus, the Senate, the silly student, the first day of the week. And, arguably, it was good.
First, I revamped my syllabus as I said I would do. I'll upload a copy shortly so that those interested may read it at their leisure, but I have drastically increased the penalties for some things, altered how I do some other things, but all-in-all, I expect my students will do well. Many responded with a great deal of appreciation to the fact that I'm going to be grading them on their quote discussions, but those who did so are some of my most verbal students. Their grades suffered last marking period and I'm trying to adjust to accomodate those various learning styles. It is difficult for me both as first time teacher and as someone with one perception as to how a class should be run, but I want my kids to learn. With that as my base line assumption, I have to be willing to bend and adapt as I learn things about my students.
I have begun to be bothered by this in one sense. Certainly, the only proper way for me to master teaching is to teach. But sometimes I worry that my students are too much "guinea pig" for my learning and too little actual student. I wish I knew day one some of the things I've learned along the way. Next year's 9th Graders will have me right out of the gate applying many of the lessons it has taken two months to learn. And I still have so much to learn. Someone told me recently that my students are fortunate to have me. I hope so. But sometimes, I make blunders that only I know but that do, indeed, hurt my students. What if I'd been REALLY targeting reading comprehension on day one? or two? Instead of the end of the first marking period and now the second marking period, what if I'd been aware from the beginning? And I suppose there was nothing there that would have clued me in and other, more experienced teachers would have known just as much at the beginning. But what if I had fully comprehended how poorly my kids comprehend? If ifs and buts were sugar and nuts and all that, yes, I know, but still... next year, I'll start off understanding these sorts of things and great. But what about these kids? Yes, I know the school year ends in June, but two months gone already...
Second thing of note: My school now has a functioning student government. The President ran a Senate meeting with a quorum today, the first time that has happened. And they decided to hold a food drive. My students learn. The hungry get fed. And I? Well, I get to have at least one of those rare moments as a teacher that makes me want to pat myself on the back. It's certainly not over yet, but they have a republic now. Can they keep it? Well, stay tuned...
And finally, during the syllabus discussion today in one of my classes, I informed them of the crueler, revamped cheating policy. One of the penalties involves the cheater being called out publicly and the class losing all of their drop grade points. My point is to both emphasize the community aspect of the class ("you should be encouraging honesty among yourselves") and to discourage would be cheaters from cheating. One of my students pipes up, "Don't you think that person would get jumped after school?" My response? "I would certainly hope not." Student: "Yeah, well, they would, and you'd be responsible for that." The exchange ultimately led to this student daring to tell me that I'm an adult and that I should think through the consequences of my actions.
Before kicking this student out of my class for GROSS disrespect (you had to be there to get the whole gist of the situation, but it was pretty disgusting what he DARED to say to me), I told him, "If you think it's so harsh, then don't cheat." I'm reminded of an episode of Law & Order where a convicted child molestor sued to avoid prison because of how child molestors, historically, have been treated by other inmates. I don't remember the outcome of the episode, but I do remember my personal thoughts: "If the prospect of what prison inmates do to child molestors frightens you, here's a thought: don't molest children." Well, to this young man, my feelings are similar: If you fear the consequences for cheating, then don't cheat.
The syllabus, the Senate, the silly student, the first day of the week. And, arguably, it was good.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Another Day in Ordinary Time
This past week, short though it was, seemed to careen onward like a student carrying a mound of books, laden down with three backpacks, a thermos of hot coffee, and car keys in his mouth that has been tripped at one end of a hallway and now struggles for the entire remaining length of the hall to regain balance and composure before crashing into the waiting glass door at the end. Naturally, the glass door is the weekend.
I stay home on Monday, I play catch up on Tuesday, my wife leaves for Washington with the car on Wednesday, I have a reception with the Archbishop of Newark in honor of my school on Thursday, and Friday... well, we've all seen me write about Friday before. To quote myself, "Friday is a very dangerous day." I spend the entire week seeking out rides to and from work from friends and colleagues, desperately trying to finish grades before the deadline (I finished in plenty of time), and trying to keep myself and my apartment afloat without my wife. I feel like an airline pilot who has to put his plane down somewhere -- and wouldn't you know it, the weekend conveniently arrives tomorrow.
My students were tested on the novel Silence today. They were impressed with the ending I seemed to feel, the simple expression of faith that many of them gave both in defense of Fr. Rodrigues and in condemnation of the apostate priest was, to say the least, very touching to me as their instructor. I have finally milked everything that I can out of Chapter 2 of the Religion book (well, everything that I can without turning the class into a course on the quintessence of faith) and Monday the Religion class will move on to Chapter 3, "Judaism: Discovering Our Religious Roots."
The Tuesday work group moved on with the lesson on Ancient Greece today. It was not the most exciting of lessons considering the best thing I could come up with for today was to go through several of the 10 key words on the back of the outline. I'm intending to spend much of the weekend planning what must be planned in order to move my students forward with Ancient Greece and into the Roman era, hopefully before we break for Christmas. I no longer have any hope of moving into the Dark Ages before Christmas, which is sad to say the least. I still have some hope of reaching the World Wars before we break for the summer, but I can't imagine reaching Charlamagne before the 1207th anniversary of his coronation as Holy Roman Emperor.
This coming Monday (and Tuesday for the Wednesday Group) I will be distributing new copies of my syllabus. I intend to restructure a few things in my class, including the concept of class participation and homework in an effort to play more toward my students' observed strengths while also holding them more accountable on homework. I intend to become stricter on late work (I'm canning my tiered late work policy) and I'm revamping my cheating policy (already draconian, I'm adding a few extra ideas that I received from the Christo Rey network). I'm shortening up the syllabus and I'm going to add a few visual things to make it slightly more accessible for my students. Will they read it? Well, I intend to pull off one of my old tricks and start the marking period off with yet another pop quiz on my syllabus. We'll see if they learned their lesson from last time.
And so ends another day in ordinary time.
I stay home on Monday, I play catch up on Tuesday, my wife leaves for Washington with the car on Wednesday, I have a reception with the Archbishop of Newark in honor of my school on Thursday, and Friday... well, we've all seen me write about Friday before. To quote myself, "Friday is a very dangerous day." I spend the entire week seeking out rides to and from work from friends and colleagues, desperately trying to finish grades before the deadline (I finished in plenty of time), and trying to keep myself and my apartment afloat without my wife. I feel like an airline pilot who has to put his plane down somewhere -- and wouldn't you know it, the weekend conveniently arrives tomorrow.
My students were tested on the novel Silence today. They were impressed with the ending I seemed to feel, the simple expression of faith that many of them gave both in defense of Fr. Rodrigues and in condemnation of the apostate priest was, to say the least, very touching to me as their instructor. I have finally milked everything that I can out of Chapter 2 of the Religion book (well, everything that I can without turning the class into a course on the quintessence of faith) and Monday the Religion class will move on to Chapter 3, "Judaism: Discovering Our Religious Roots."
The Tuesday work group moved on with the lesson on Ancient Greece today. It was not the most exciting of lessons considering the best thing I could come up with for today was to go through several of the 10 key words on the back of the outline. I'm intending to spend much of the weekend planning what must be planned in order to move my students forward with Ancient Greece and into the Roman era, hopefully before we break for Christmas. I no longer have any hope of moving into the Dark Ages before Christmas, which is sad to say the least. I still have some hope of reaching the World Wars before we break for the summer, but I can't imagine reaching Charlamagne before the 1207th anniversary of his coronation as Holy Roman Emperor.
This coming Monday (and Tuesday for the Wednesday Group) I will be distributing new copies of my syllabus. I intend to restructure a few things in my class, including the concept of class participation and homework in an effort to play more toward my students' observed strengths while also holding them more accountable on homework. I intend to become stricter on late work (I'm canning my tiered late work policy) and I'm revamping my cheating policy (already draconian, I'm adding a few extra ideas that I received from the Christo Rey network). I'm shortening up the syllabus and I'm going to add a few visual things to make it slightly more accessible for my students. Will they read it? Well, I intend to pull off one of my old tricks and start the marking period off with yet another pop quiz on my syllabus. We'll see if they learned their lesson from last time.
And so ends another day in ordinary time.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
When the Cat is Away...
I took yesterday off. I was fighting a cold all weekend that has now subsided, I had EPICs class at Seton Hall all weekend, and I had a 1/2 foot high pile of papers to grade. I fought off the cold and all but finished the grading - a successful day to say the least.
I came to school on Sunday afternoon to lay out my lesson plans for the three classes that would miss me. I had a nice little handout on the supposed/postulated Phoenician discovery of America some 1,300 years before the Vikings were in Newfoundland. Quite the interesting piece to say the least. The students had to complete a handout with questions that slowly increased in difficulty as they approached the end of the worksheet with the primary things I'm looking for being Reading Comprehension and then eventually higher order thinking skills (i.e. get information from the handout, get information from the text, combine the two ideas and come up with an analysis). It might have been asking a lot of a few of them, but if I'm to teach these kids how to do it, I need to make them do it. Sink or swim and all that as my mother used to say.
One of my classes were far too rowdy and out of control according to the substitute's notes. So, today's critical thinking quote was, "When the cat is away, the mice will play." Everyone got the meaning immediately. And the class that misbehaved even confessed. I did not have to punish them TOO severely (meaning I didn't take away a drop grade, I just denied them yesterday's tally point). But I did give them a lesson in moral development and what it means to behave just because an authority is not around.
I suspect some of them got it, but then again, I can't be certain that I've taught my students anything from day to day. If they leave me at the end of the year more conscientious of themselves, better able to think, more capable human beings... if they leave me better for having known me, then I will know that I have succeeded. But unlike other jobs, I'm quickly coming to realize that the "mission accomplished" moments for teachers are few and far between -- and I'm beginning to wonder if they ever come. I can only hope that the students I see day in and day out benefit from having known me, from having been in my classroom.
Because if watching them STILL chew gum (I had five more scraping gum today) and watching them STILL talk in the stairwell and listening to them talk about me when they think I can't hear them and watching them just not do their homework is the only consolation I ever have, I don't know that I'll be able to do this the rest of my life. Leonardo and Monet at least could step back and admire their masterpieces once they had finished them. I may never know that I've created masterpieces assuming that I even do.
Goodness, I hope I do. I desperately hope I do.
I came to school on Sunday afternoon to lay out my lesson plans for the three classes that would miss me. I had a nice little handout on the supposed/postulated Phoenician discovery of America some 1,300 years before the Vikings were in Newfoundland. Quite the interesting piece to say the least. The students had to complete a handout with questions that slowly increased in difficulty as they approached the end of the worksheet with the primary things I'm looking for being Reading Comprehension and then eventually higher order thinking skills (i.e. get information from the handout, get information from the text, combine the two ideas and come up with an analysis). It might have been asking a lot of a few of them, but if I'm to teach these kids how to do it, I need to make them do it. Sink or swim and all that as my mother used to say.
One of my classes were far too rowdy and out of control according to the substitute's notes. So, today's critical thinking quote was, "When the cat is away, the mice will play." Everyone got the meaning immediately. And the class that misbehaved even confessed. I did not have to punish them TOO severely (meaning I didn't take away a drop grade, I just denied them yesterday's tally point). But I did give them a lesson in moral development and what it means to behave just because an authority is not around.
I suspect some of them got it, but then again, I can't be certain that I've taught my students anything from day to day. If they leave me at the end of the year more conscientious of themselves, better able to think, more capable human beings... if they leave me better for having known me, then I will know that I have succeeded. But unlike other jobs, I'm quickly coming to realize that the "mission accomplished" moments for teachers are few and far between -- and I'm beginning to wonder if they ever come. I can only hope that the students I see day in and day out benefit from having known me, from having been in my classroom.
Because if watching them STILL chew gum (I had five more scraping gum today) and watching them STILL talk in the stairwell and listening to them talk about me when they think I can't hear them and watching them just not do their homework is the only consolation I ever have, I don't know that I'll be able to do this the rest of my life. Leonardo and Monet at least could step back and admire their masterpieces once they had finished them. I may never know that I've created masterpieces assuming that I even do.
Goodness, I hope I do. I desperately hope I do.
Friday, November 2, 2007
The Cask of Amontillado
I remember being young and being in school and loving Fridays -- and yes, I realize that statement is most likely not the deepest bit of trivia I have ever shared. My perspective on Friday as a teacher is now altered from the high opinion that I once possessed of Fridays of yester-year. For Friday to an educator is the day of the week that students think belongs to them, the day that precedes Saturday as trumpets precede the arrival of a crowned head. And as such, Friday is not a real school day... No! Friday is a day for merriment, tomfoolerly, nonsense, and all sorts of other hullaballoo (do I sound like an old man, yet?).
Friday, to quote Rocko's Modern Life, is a very dangerous day. I am always especially on my guard on Fridays. They say a good deterrent is the best defense, and so it was. Today passed - for me at least - without any major incidents.
Save for the three gum chewers I caught 3rd Period. I swear, lately, I'm catching gum chewers like the Portuguese & Basques used to catch cod in the Grand Banks. I merely set out my dragnet and in they come as if eager to be caught. But I digress.
No, today was most likely the best Friday in memory. I had to send no one out, I had to "scream" at no class, I did not have to raise my voice... certainly I had the usual unpreparedness that sometimes prevails, the usual suspects and such. They were given detention, but it hardly served to phase me or to disrupt my day or that of my students. They have learned, as they well should, that I have rules and enforce them accordingly. They did not at one time enjoy it, nor do they now I should suppose, but many of them welcome it now as a penitent welcomes the absolution of a priest after confession. They learn and grow and improve as a result of it. And they seem to love me, to fear me? to respect me all the more in the wake of my punishments.
The school's English teacher was out today and I happened to be walking by the 7th period English class (I'm off everyday 7th period; it's my planning period, which is nice) at the beginning of 7th period. The students, alone, were going crazy as unmonitored students are wont to do. I entered the room and silence fell across the children as darkness might fall on a valley as the sun disappears behind a mountain in the desert. I had to say nothing, merely enter. In a calm voice, I ordered them to their seats and they complied at once. They seemed convinced that I should permit them to goof off. Hah!
Instead, I asked them to open their English books.
Seeing no lesson plan, I eyeballed the table of contents until I spotted a story that I know well: E. A. Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado," a delicious piece for the "Halloween" season that still feels as present as the gaudy Halloween decorations that persist throughout my neighborhood. North Jersey goes all out on the Halloween decorations, that's for sure. I had the students turn their pages to the story and we began.
I had to silence the first several groans as I began to talk about the cultivation of wine and what, precisely, Amontillado is. Once they had been sufficiently enlightened, the students were no more impressed (I suppose they're champagne drinkers, hm?). And then I launched into the introduction with full force as I explained the depth of hatred, of need for vengeance, that Poe's Montresor character desired against the fool Fortunato. Some students grew bored with the length of Poe's prose, but most of this class of 26 were riveted to their seats as I walked them through the imagery, taking them into the catacombs, showing them the depth of the narrator's evil and hatred for this oaf of a man who remained incapable of seeing his fate coming.
And then the climax. The students sat in stunned silence as I pantomimed the final sealing of the final brick as Fortunado was buried alive, immeured forever in dark and rank catacomb. They cringed in fear at the thought that the perfect crime, the perfect criminal, should have as his Latin motto, "Nemo me impune lacessit," or "No one strikes me with impunity." Some shivered at the thought that revenge could go so far.
When the famous ending lines of the story were read, "in pace requiescat," or "Rest in Peace," the students burst into thunderous applause. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I should not like to be an English teacher, but to be able to share something like a great work of the Western canon as "The Cask of Amontillado" with them and have them appreciate it, to be able to lead them to appreciation of it... ay me, it's days like this that make me feel like Fortunato had he been released from the catacombs.
Now... anyone for a glass of amontillado?
Friday, to quote Rocko's Modern Life, is a very dangerous day. I am always especially on my guard on Fridays. They say a good deterrent is the best defense, and so it was. Today passed - for me at least - without any major incidents.
Save for the three gum chewers I caught 3rd Period. I swear, lately, I'm catching gum chewers like the Portuguese & Basques used to catch cod in the Grand Banks. I merely set out my dragnet and in they come as if eager to be caught. But I digress.
No, today was most likely the best Friday in memory. I had to send no one out, I had to "scream" at no class, I did not have to raise my voice... certainly I had the usual unpreparedness that sometimes prevails, the usual suspects and such. They were given detention, but it hardly served to phase me or to disrupt my day or that of my students. They have learned, as they well should, that I have rules and enforce them accordingly. They did not at one time enjoy it, nor do they now I should suppose, but many of them welcome it now as a penitent welcomes the absolution of a priest after confession. They learn and grow and improve as a result of it. And they seem to love me, to fear me? to respect me all the more in the wake of my punishments.
The school's English teacher was out today and I happened to be walking by the 7th period English class (I'm off everyday 7th period; it's my planning period, which is nice) at the beginning of 7th period. The students, alone, were going crazy as unmonitored students are wont to do. I entered the room and silence fell across the children as darkness might fall on a valley as the sun disappears behind a mountain in the desert. I had to say nothing, merely enter. In a calm voice, I ordered them to their seats and they complied at once. They seemed convinced that I should permit them to goof off. Hah!
Instead, I asked them to open their English books.
Seeing no lesson plan, I eyeballed the table of contents until I spotted a story that I know well: E. A. Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado," a delicious piece for the "Halloween" season that still feels as present as the gaudy Halloween decorations that persist throughout my neighborhood. North Jersey goes all out on the Halloween decorations, that's for sure. I had the students turn their pages to the story and we began.
I had to silence the first several groans as I began to talk about the cultivation of wine and what, precisely, Amontillado is. Once they had been sufficiently enlightened, the students were no more impressed (I suppose they're champagne drinkers, hm?). And then I launched into the introduction with full force as I explained the depth of hatred, of need for vengeance, that Poe's Montresor character desired against the fool Fortunato. Some students grew bored with the length of Poe's prose, but most of this class of 26 were riveted to their seats as I walked them through the imagery, taking them into the catacombs, showing them the depth of the narrator's evil and hatred for this oaf of a man who remained incapable of seeing his fate coming.
And then the climax. The students sat in stunned silence as I pantomimed the final sealing of the final brick as Fortunado was buried alive, immeured forever in dark and rank catacomb. They cringed in fear at the thought that the perfect crime, the perfect criminal, should have as his Latin motto, "Nemo me impune lacessit," or "No one strikes me with impunity." Some shivered at the thought that revenge could go so far.
When the famous ending lines of the story were read, "in pace requiescat," or "Rest in Peace," the students burst into thunderous applause. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I should not like to be an English teacher, but to be able to share something like a great work of the Western canon as "The Cask of Amontillado" with them and have them appreciate it, to be able to lead them to appreciation of it... ay me, it's days like this that make me feel like Fortunato had he been released from the catacombs.
Now... anyone for a glass of amontillado?
Thursday, November 1, 2007
The Day of All Saints
To those who know and keep the Roman calendar, happy feast day. And what a day it has been. Though not yet over, sufficient numbers of highlights and lowlights have danced and pranced across the stage of life that I can make an entry for today. The past several days have been "ordinary" days with little worth noting having occured, but I would have written something if I did not also have a stack of papers nearly a foot high that need grading.
Today demands my electronic pen be put to paper, and so I write to those who follow my sojourn as an educator.
This morning opened with a particularly "checked out" young lady loudly calling one of her fellow classmates the N-word. She naturally was using it in the unfortunate modern usage that prevails among young people of her socio-economic background and sub-culture. Were I on the street, my spine would have bristled, but I would have continued on my way. In the halls of my school where I am expected to teach my students to reach beyond their socio-economic backgrounds and to transcend their sub-cultures, I naturally was forced to react. I gave her detention on the spot and had a conversation with her about language and its very powerful effects.
But she and I were not done for the day. Fifteen minutes later, I caught her chewing gum. For those unapprised of the dire consequences for those observed chewing gum by me, I have the students complete an "odious task," which five students discovered roughly a month ago means, "scraping gum off the bottom of Mr. Cochran's desks." My room remains gum free even now as I type this (to my knowledge; I last checked two days ago. I'll check again before the end of the day). So, the math teacher will have a gum free classroom this afternoon as well.
The day goes forward. The entire school attended mass for the Feast of All Saints and then we returned for second period, missing first period religion class. The periods slipped onward until the aforementioned young lady arrives for my fourth period class. Rather than paying attention, now she feels the need to write notes and so forth. I seize what she writes very naturally. Thirty seconds later she resumes her writing. This time, I kick her out of my room. As she is leaving, I inform her of the fact that I will be expecting her this afternoon to help clear the math teacher's room of gum. She retorts that I will most certainly not see her (though not quite in so many words; she was more vulgar). I told her it would mean suspension if I did not see her and then sent her on her way.
It is in the background of today's Feast of the Saints, those who chose in this life to live for God and to serve their neighbors and so now enjoy the beatific vision of our Lord, that I relate this story of sin, uncouthness, and woe. And I do mean woe, for I am saddened that so many of my students have been forced into positions by their own choices and the great many circumstances of their lives outside of their control that they face the high probabiliy of material & spiritual failure. It would be a sin against hope for me to presume that this girl will never face herself and correct the errors of her own making, especially at an age when I myself was guilty of making my own poor choices. But when a student never turns in a single piece of work, ignores questions posed in class, and does little beyond occupy the time-space continuum inside a school building for 8 hours a day everyday, what am I supposed to believe? What image am I to conjure when reason dictates to my perceptions that this girl faces more than just academic failure but worse should her life not change course...?
The quote for purposes of critical thinking in my class today was, "All that is necessary to be a saint is to want to be one" by Robert Lax. The quote had appeal even to those of my students who profess no faith that I am aware of for it spoke to the power behind desire, intention, and ambition in the face of doing good. My young gum chewer sat in a daze as the words were read and discussed, the words that could save her from herself falling on her deaf ears. She occupies a seat in the class that sent me the most over the edge in my previous post concerning reading comprehension. She and a few others continue to worry me in that room, but my new reading comprehension-centered approach seems to be working. The students responded to my walking them through an assignment due today on Tuesday. And I gave them a handout for tomorrow's class on which I intend to test them.
... but my greatest moment, my reminder that the saints do indeed pray for us, came when one of those same students all but fell out of his chair to tell me that he had procured a dictionary for himself as I had instructed them to do the day of my podium-post. He beamed as he searched ardently for the meaning of words he did not know and he then used them - properly. And he answered my questions with new confidence and vigor that I had not yet seen.
We celebrate the saints today. All of the saints. And we celebrate them because they wanted to be saints. When someone wants to be good, there is cause for all of us to celebrate.
Today demands my electronic pen be put to paper, and so I write to those who follow my sojourn as an educator.
This morning opened with a particularly "checked out" young lady loudly calling one of her fellow classmates the N-word. She naturally was using it in the unfortunate modern usage that prevails among young people of her socio-economic background and sub-culture. Were I on the street, my spine would have bristled, but I would have continued on my way. In the halls of my school where I am expected to teach my students to reach beyond their socio-economic backgrounds and to transcend their sub-cultures, I naturally was forced to react. I gave her detention on the spot and had a conversation with her about language and its very powerful effects.
But she and I were not done for the day. Fifteen minutes later, I caught her chewing gum. For those unapprised of the dire consequences for those observed chewing gum by me, I have the students complete an "odious task," which five students discovered roughly a month ago means, "scraping gum off the bottom of Mr. Cochran's desks." My room remains gum free even now as I type this (to my knowledge; I last checked two days ago. I'll check again before the end of the day). So, the math teacher will have a gum free classroom this afternoon as well.
The day goes forward. The entire school attended mass for the Feast of All Saints and then we returned for second period, missing first period religion class. The periods slipped onward until the aforementioned young lady arrives for my fourth period class. Rather than paying attention, now she feels the need to write notes and so forth. I seize what she writes very naturally. Thirty seconds later she resumes her writing. This time, I kick her out of my room. As she is leaving, I inform her of the fact that I will be expecting her this afternoon to help clear the math teacher's room of gum. She retorts that I will most certainly not see her (though not quite in so many words; she was more vulgar). I told her it would mean suspension if I did not see her and then sent her on her way.
It is in the background of today's Feast of the Saints, those who chose in this life to live for God and to serve their neighbors and so now enjoy the beatific vision of our Lord, that I relate this story of sin, uncouthness, and woe. And I do mean woe, for I am saddened that so many of my students have been forced into positions by their own choices and the great many circumstances of their lives outside of their control that they face the high probabiliy of material & spiritual failure. It would be a sin against hope for me to presume that this girl will never face herself and correct the errors of her own making, especially at an age when I myself was guilty of making my own poor choices. But when a student never turns in a single piece of work, ignores questions posed in class, and does little beyond occupy the time-space continuum inside a school building for 8 hours a day everyday, what am I supposed to believe? What image am I to conjure when reason dictates to my perceptions that this girl faces more than just academic failure but worse should her life not change course...?
The quote for purposes of critical thinking in my class today was, "All that is necessary to be a saint is to want to be one" by Robert Lax. The quote had appeal even to those of my students who profess no faith that I am aware of for it spoke to the power behind desire, intention, and ambition in the face of doing good. My young gum chewer sat in a daze as the words were read and discussed, the words that could save her from herself falling on her deaf ears. She occupies a seat in the class that sent me the most over the edge in my previous post concerning reading comprehension. She and a few others continue to worry me in that room, but my new reading comprehension-centered approach seems to be working. The students responded to my walking them through an assignment due today on Tuesday. And I gave them a handout for tomorrow's class on which I intend to test them.
... but my greatest moment, my reminder that the saints do indeed pray for us, came when one of those same students all but fell out of his chair to tell me that he had procured a dictionary for himself as I had instructed them to do the day of my podium-post. He beamed as he searched ardently for the meaning of words he did not know and he then used them - properly. And he answered my questions with new confidence and vigor that I had not yet seen.
We celebrate the saints today. All of the saints. And we celebrate them because they wanted to be saints. When someone wants to be good, there is cause for all of us to celebrate.
Monday, October 29, 2007
The Day I made a Podium from a Box
I have days where I feel as if I've reached my students. Where the fog and mist of ignorance are cleared away and my students leave my room more educated, more alive -- better human beings for having known me.
And then I have days where I stare in the mirror at myself and wonder what the heck I'm doing. Problems that have no immediate solutions present themselves. And these aren't problems like, "Should we have pork or salmon for dinner tonight?" They're problems that are reminiscent of, "We're in a car hurtling downhill toward the edge of a cliff, the brakes are shot, and the doors are stuck. What do we do?" They're moral dilemmas.
Today was a day that feels an awful lot like the latter, even if somewhere in the distance I look back on it and it turns out to have been the former. I desperately wanted to move forward with my Thursday and Wednesday work groups. Desperately. They need to complete (start in the case of Wednesday, re-start in the case of Thursday) their outline presentations on Chapter Four. I gave Thursday more time today to organize their presentations in groups (though admittedly this varies greatly from what I did with the still-surging-ahead Tuesday group).
Within ten minutes, the class was in their groups and each group was miles from doing what I had asked. I imposed silence so that people could concentrate. Many a teacher can sympathize with the ironically named Simon & Garfunkle tune, "The Sound of Silence," for they know that silence can speak volumes. In this silence I saw students giving up after roughly 30 seconds and staring into some unseen distance. I had students "secretly" whispering to each other about something other than Celtic migration patterns. And I had some students who must have eye problems because if they can't see without putting their faces on the page while snoring, well... you get the picture.
I scratched my head for a moment and one of my students came to my aid. "Mr. Cochran, I don't understand this." Me: "Understand what?" Student: "This." And she indicated to the page and a half she was responsible for reading in her group. I pointed out, to help break her disillusionment with herself, that the passage was in English. She giggled as I knew she would, and I brought her back by asking, "What, specifically, don't you understand? Are you reading it paragraph by paragraph as I suggested?" I spent some time leading her through it, but suffice it to say, the girl had no reading comprehension whatsoever. It wasn't that the text bored her or that she felt it dry (though what she did understand, she did pronounce "boring"), it was that she honestly did not understand most of the words on the page and she could not form coherent ideas from the text.
I quickly discovered that she was not an exception (as I had secretly suspected for sometime). I've been kidding myself for sometime now about my students' reading abilities. I had everyone put their desks back where they belong and I had them turn to the first page of the chapter and we read the first paragraph quietly. After they were done, I had the students ask what various words meant -- bearing in mind that I told them before they started reading to pay attention to the words around words they did not understand so that the context might clue them in.
Commerce. Substantial. Evoke. Narrow. Phenomenon. Decisive. Mediterranean. "Carthago, as the city was known to the Romans." These, among many smaller and less awe-inspiring words & phrases, landed on the radars of every one of my students. Whenever a word was brought forward, I always asked the class what the word meant. With few exceptions (narrow was one of them) no one knew what the words meant. Couldn't even make a guess as to what the word meant. Context meant nothing.
I was reminded by one of my students of my own 9th grade days by the word, "Analogous," because I remember the day in 9th Grade Biology that I learned that word. But substantial? Commerce? I may be kidding myself, or perhaps expecting too much, but are these words really that... well, I suppose I just don't know.
I grew tired of holding my textbook near the end of the Thursday work group's period and I grabbed some boxes from my back closet and built a make shift podium that came to just above my waist. It was shaky, but it held the textbook for me. I kept it in place for the fourth period (Wednesday Work Group) so that I could do the same activity with them. And the results were comparable with Thursday, though with less enthusiasm.
I feel a great deal at the moment like my students are that podium made out of boxes. They're shaky at best, I have to watch them to make sure they don't fall, and the odds of them being able to support the weight & breadth of the high school history textbook are fairly slim. I mean, sure, they might pull it off, but it's a triumph if they do, not the natural result that should be expected. The odds of them being able to support the standard college text & work load are not quite as good as all that. If "The Earth and Its Peoples" is too much, what will "The Critique of Pure Reason" and "Physics: An Introduction" and "Global Finance" do to them? For that matter, what will the tenth grade do to them?
How do I turn the shaky boxes into solid oak finish? And can I? Will I? And, God help me, what happens if I don't?
And then I have days where I stare in the mirror at myself and wonder what the heck I'm doing. Problems that have no immediate solutions present themselves. And these aren't problems like, "Should we have pork or salmon for dinner tonight?" They're problems that are reminiscent of, "We're in a car hurtling downhill toward the edge of a cliff, the brakes are shot, and the doors are stuck. What do we do?" They're moral dilemmas.
Today was a day that feels an awful lot like the latter, even if somewhere in the distance I look back on it and it turns out to have been the former. I desperately wanted to move forward with my Thursday and Wednesday work groups. Desperately. They need to complete (start in the case of Wednesday, re-start in the case of Thursday) their outline presentations on Chapter Four. I gave Thursday more time today to organize their presentations in groups (though admittedly this varies greatly from what I did with the still-surging-ahead Tuesday group).
Within ten minutes, the class was in their groups and each group was miles from doing what I had asked. I imposed silence so that people could concentrate. Many a teacher can sympathize with the ironically named Simon & Garfunkle tune, "The Sound of Silence," for they know that silence can speak volumes. In this silence I saw students giving up after roughly 30 seconds and staring into some unseen distance. I had students "secretly" whispering to each other about something other than Celtic migration patterns. And I had some students who must have eye problems because if they can't see without putting their faces on the page while snoring, well... you get the picture.
I scratched my head for a moment and one of my students came to my aid. "Mr. Cochran, I don't understand this." Me: "Understand what?" Student: "This." And she indicated to the page and a half she was responsible for reading in her group. I pointed out, to help break her disillusionment with herself, that the passage was in English. She giggled as I knew she would, and I brought her back by asking, "What, specifically, don't you understand? Are you reading it paragraph by paragraph as I suggested?" I spent some time leading her through it, but suffice it to say, the girl had no reading comprehension whatsoever. It wasn't that the text bored her or that she felt it dry (though what she did understand, she did pronounce "boring"), it was that she honestly did not understand most of the words on the page and she could not form coherent ideas from the text.
I quickly discovered that she was not an exception (as I had secretly suspected for sometime). I've been kidding myself for sometime now about my students' reading abilities. I had everyone put their desks back where they belong and I had them turn to the first page of the chapter and we read the first paragraph quietly. After they were done, I had the students ask what various words meant -- bearing in mind that I told them before they started reading to pay attention to the words around words they did not understand so that the context might clue them in.
Commerce. Substantial. Evoke. Narrow. Phenomenon. Decisive. Mediterranean. "Carthago, as the city was known to the Romans." These, among many smaller and less awe-inspiring words & phrases, landed on the radars of every one of my students. Whenever a word was brought forward, I always asked the class what the word meant. With few exceptions (narrow was one of them) no one knew what the words meant. Couldn't even make a guess as to what the word meant. Context meant nothing.
I was reminded by one of my students of my own 9th grade days by the word, "Analogous," because I remember the day in 9th Grade Biology that I learned that word. But substantial? Commerce? I may be kidding myself, or perhaps expecting too much, but are these words really that... well, I suppose I just don't know.
I grew tired of holding my textbook near the end of the Thursday work group's period and I grabbed some boxes from my back closet and built a make shift podium that came to just above my waist. It was shaky, but it held the textbook for me. I kept it in place for the fourth period (Wednesday Work Group) so that I could do the same activity with them. And the results were comparable with Thursday, though with less enthusiasm.
I feel a great deal at the moment like my students are that podium made out of boxes. They're shaky at best, I have to watch them to make sure they don't fall, and the odds of them being able to support the weight & breadth of the high school history textbook are fairly slim. I mean, sure, they might pull it off, but it's a triumph if they do, not the natural result that should be expected. The odds of them being able to support the standard college text & work load are not quite as good as all that. If "The Earth and Its Peoples" is too much, what will "The Critique of Pure Reason" and "Physics: An Introduction" and "Global Finance" do to them? For that matter, what will the tenth grade do to them?
How do I turn the shaky boxes into solid oak finish? And can I? Will I? And, God help me, what happens if I don't?
Friday, October 26, 2007
Silence & Suffering, Faith & Works
My homeroom is also my Religion Class. As a convert to Catholicism and a veteran of four years of RCIA classes at Seton Hall, I can honestly say that next to my other passion, history, teaching a religion class is one of my all time favorite past times. After spending four years (longer if you count the few years prior I spent studying the faith on my own) being catechized, I'm now in a position to lead others in a search for their own spirituality. I am certainly in no position to teach Catholic Catechism or to teach an RCIA class, but only four of my homeroom students are Catholic so most of the questions I get, any reasonably-well-versed Catholic could answer them.
Now that the background is out of the way, today we discussed Chapter Four in Shusaku Endo's famed work, "Silence". Without getting into too much detail, the book chronicles the adventures and misadventures of two Portuguese priests in 17th century Japan - a period of great persecution for the Church. One of the first startling outbursts of Father Rodrigues occurs in this chapter, namely, when three of the Japanese Christians are about to face torture unless they renounce their faith, the good Father advises them to apostatize rather than suffer. A very disturbing scene, indeed.
The ensuing discussion in my class went right to the heart of what it means to be human, to love, to believe. The class was, interestingly enough, evenly divided between those who saw no problem with a false public denunciation of the Christian (or any other) faith provided that that denunciation was, indeed, false and that it was done to avoid suffering -- and those who insisted that a public defense of faith was always necessary.
During the discussion, the identities of the students that advocated the position that it was alright to publicly deny belief in Christ (or whomever) while privately still believing did not always surprise me. Reflecting as I frequently have on the backgrounds and socio-economic origins of my students, suffering and "martyrdom" are not virtues to these students, but rather, their lives. Many of them are physical witnesses to the horrors of what it means to be a "martyr" and what it means to suffer for what you believe. Far from seeing this as a thing of value, the students doubtlessly view those "courageous" enough to welcome suffering in the name of faith (when they could easily avoid it by simply denying their faith) as foolish.
Many of my students, however, have a deep and personal faith that reaches beyond the suffering and turmoil they have witnessed in the urban world around them. Several of the students insisted that God expects us, quoting the Gospels, "to confess Him before men so that [He] might confess [them] to His Father in Heaven." The religious issue of bearing witness to one's faith aside, many of the students clearly showed their personal stripes on what it means to believe something and how that belief can carry itself forward into one's actions and life. My students are not bad people and as such may not believe that cheating is correct, for instance, or even that retaliatory violence is acceptable. But the crux rests on their view of suffering: their belief about cheating or retaliatory violence may have to be set aside, in their view, in the name of avoiding suffering (a bad grade in the case of the former and loss of reputation in the case of the latter).
Suffering, then, shapes the lives of my students: their views, their beliefs, their pasts... How they each individually choose to address the suffering in their lives - and the risk of suffering - will necessarily dictate their futures.
I left my class with the following from the Letter of St. James, the Apostle of Our Lord: "What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,' but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it? So also of faith itself, if it does not have works, is dead." (James 3:14-17) St. James goes on to call those who do not believe such things "ignoramus", but I mercifully left that part out.
Those versed in the politics of the Reformation know well the controversy this passage has caused among Protestant communities who emphasize "faith alone" for the sake of salvation, excluding works not from faith, but from the equation of salvation. Reformation theology aside, my students sat back for a moment, taken aback. The one who had led the charge in the name of private belief over public confession seemed genuinely perplexed, but also to be thinking hard.
I would never disagree with St. James, my own namesake, especially as a Catholic. Yet the traditional interpretation of Faith and Works may need some reworking in light of what the modern urban experience has taught and teaches ordinary human beings about suffering. Indeed, if I had to wager a guess, I should say that my students are confusing two different virtues: faith and hope. What they possess may not be faith at all, but rather "hope" in a faith that may come or that remains out of reach. They threaten each other or lie or cheat or fail to try not because they do not consider these things to be bad, but because the world they inhabit is one that would punish actions in compliance with beliefs such as these. Ergo, their actions are not out of step with their beliefs, but rather in step with the fact that they as yet can only hope for a world where such belief may give rise to virtuous actions that are not in turn subsequently punished.
If nothing else, the silence after the reading of St. James spoke more than their discussion ever could have. And the work of my school, my classroom, my life, continues.
Now that the background is out of the way, today we discussed Chapter Four in Shusaku Endo's famed work, "Silence". Without getting into too much detail, the book chronicles the adventures and misadventures of two Portuguese priests in 17th century Japan - a period of great persecution for the Church. One of the first startling outbursts of Father Rodrigues occurs in this chapter, namely, when three of the Japanese Christians are about to face torture unless they renounce their faith, the good Father advises them to apostatize rather than suffer. A very disturbing scene, indeed.
The ensuing discussion in my class went right to the heart of what it means to be human, to love, to believe. The class was, interestingly enough, evenly divided between those who saw no problem with a false public denunciation of the Christian (or any other) faith provided that that denunciation was, indeed, false and that it was done to avoid suffering -- and those who insisted that a public defense of faith was always necessary.
During the discussion, the identities of the students that advocated the position that it was alright to publicly deny belief in Christ (or whomever) while privately still believing did not always surprise me. Reflecting as I frequently have on the backgrounds and socio-economic origins of my students, suffering and "martyrdom" are not virtues to these students, but rather, their lives. Many of them are physical witnesses to the horrors of what it means to be a "martyr" and what it means to suffer for what you believe. Far from seeing this as a thing of value, the students doubtlessly view those "courageous" enough to welcome suffering in the name of faith (when they could easily avoid it by simply denying their faith) as foolish.
Many of my students, however, have a deep and personal faith that reaches beyond the suffering and turmoil they have witnessed in the urban world around them. Several of the students insisted that God expects us, quoting the Gospels, "to confess Him before men so that [He] might confess [them] to His Father in Heaven." The religious issue of bearing witness to one's faith aside, many of the students clearly showed their personal stripes on what it means to believe something and how that belief can carry itself forward into one's actions and life. My students are not bad people and as such may not believe that cheating is correct, for instance, or even that retaliatory violence is acceptable. But the crux rests on their view of suffering: their belief about cheating or retaliatory violence may have to be set aside, in their view, in the name of avoiding suffering (a bad grade in the case of the former and loss of reputation in the case of the latter).
Suffering, then, shapes the lives of my students: their views, their beliefs, their pasts... How they each individually choose to address the suffering in their lives - and the risk of suffering - will necessarily dictate their futures.
I left my class with the following from the Letter of St. James, the Apostle of Our Lord: "What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,' but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it? So also of faith itself, if it does not have works, is dead." (James 3:14-17) St. James goes on to call those who do not believe such things "ignoramus", but I mercifully left that part out.
Those versed in the politics of the Reformation know well the controversy this passage has caused among Protestant communities who emphasize "faith alone" for the sake of salvation, excluding works not from faith, but from the equation of salvation. Reformation theology aside, my students sat back for a moment, taken aback. The one who had led the charge in the name of private belief over public confession seemed genuinely perplexed, but also to be thinking hard.
I would never disagree with St. James, my own namesake, especially as a Catholic. Yet the traditional interpretation of Faith and Works may need some reworking in light of what the modern urban experience has taught and teaches ordinary human beings about suffering. Indeed, if I had to wager a guess, I should say that my students are confusing two different virtues: faith and hope. What they possess may not be faith at all, but rather "hope" in a faith that may come or that remains out of reach. They threaten each other or lie or cheat or fail to try not because they do not consider these things to be bad, but because the world they inhabit is one that would punish actions in compliance with beliefs such as these. Ergo, their actions are not out of step with their beliefs, but rather in step with the fact that they as yet can only hope for a world where such belief may give rise to virtuous actions that are not in turn subsequently punished.
If nothing else, the silence after the reading of St. James spoke more than their discussion ever could have. And the work of my school, my classroom, my life, continues.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Time Management
I was in my classroom at 7PM last night, the latest I've remained (save Parent Night) so far this year. My wife had a very long day at the office and as we carpool, it meant a long day for me, too. Needless to say, I got a great deal done - planning, papers graded, and so forth.
While I was grading papers, I noticed all of a sudden that I was reading the same thing over and over and over again. I went through nine student papers before the words started to change on me. And then it hit me: the previous nine had all copied from one another.
As unsettling as this sounds (or perhaps doesn't sound to experienced educators), consider that I have very strict consequences for cheaters and this class has seen me deal with cheaters before. Instead of a single grade (for instance, 75 or 90 or 0), I give cheaters two 0s for cheating (sort of as if they failed to turn in two assignments), detention, and I call their parents. And, of course, I have to deal with this tomorrow because the cheaters are all at work today. Fine.
I take a step back and ask myself, "Why would they do this?" Is my work too hard? I don't think it is, and the students do well enough in discussion... Certainly they could stand to spend more time on it - Hammurabi's Code is not the easiest thing in the world to understand. It isn't rocket science, certainly, but it isn't "Hop on Pop" or "Green Eggs & Ham," either.
I decided, for sake of argument, that the zeros I have in my gradebook and the homework that's getting done at school and the copying is all the result of poor time management. No one has ever taken it upon themselves to explain to these kids that their purpose is school. Period.
So I did that with all of the other classes today and I will do it with the Thursday work group tomorrow. It began like this:
"What time do you get up in the morning?" I received differing answers depending on distance from school, but the mode of answers was 6AM. So I told them, "subtract 8 hours from whatever time you get up and that is your new bedtime. You have to get 8 hours of sleep everynight." For some of my students, it was as if I had told them they had to go home tonight and drown some kittens. "Impossible!" They screamed. "But I go to bed at midnight!" yelled another.
"Not anymore you don't," was my reply. I told them I want them, for a grade, to write out their "from now on" afternoon schedules and have them go from 3PM to their "new" bedtime. And I told them that from now on, their names are now, "First Name Last Name, College Prep Student", not "FN LN, Basketball Player" or "... TV Watcher" or what have you. There was much disquiet in all of them, but one group had the nerve to insist they already know how to time manage. My response was simple: "Not one person in this room has an A in this class. To a person, it is because you are missing homework. You do not know how to time manage." They closed their mouths (those who jaws weren't on the floor) and got to work on their schedules.
I felt vindicated in the first class I did this in when one of my students informed me that he plays for a basketball team and that he has practice every night from 6PM to 9PM. When I told him that I was beginning to understand why he was missing so much work and why his quiz grades were not up to what I consider him capable of, he looked puzzled. I told him to ask his coach to let him miss some practice time. When he said that he'd be off the team for that, I told him that he needed to make an informed choice for himself: scale back (or quit) basketball and devote more time to his studies, or face the prospect of failing Religion and Western Civilization. It hit him hard, but no one had ever said this to him before. I hope he doesn't have to quit basketball, but all of my kids obviously need to get a handle on their time.
So with that, I fall one day further behind in my quest to reach the end of the Second World War before the middle of June. But I'm hoping that it wasn't "time wasted."
While I was grading papers, I noticed all of a sudden that I was reading the same thing over and over and over again. I went through nine student papers before the words started to change on me. And then it hit me: the previous nine had all copied from one another.
As unsettling as this sounds (or perhaps doesn't sound to experienced educators), consider that I have very strict consequences for cheaters and this class has seen me deal with cheaters before. Instead of a single grade (for instance, 75 or 90 or 0), I give cheaters two 0s for cheating (sort of as if they failed to turn in two assignments), detention, and I call their parents. And, of course, I have to deal with this tomorrow because the cheaters are all at work today. Fine.
I take a step back and ask myself, "Why would they do this?" Is my work too hard? I don't think it is, and the students do well enough in discussion... Certainly they could stand to spend more time on it - Hammurabi's Code is not the easiest thing in the world to understand. It isn't rocket science, certainly, but it isn't "Hop on Pop" or "Green Eggs & Ham," either.
I decided, for sake of argument, that the zeros I have in my gradebook and the homework that's getting done at school and the copying is all the result of poor time management. No one has ever taken it upon themselves to explain to these kids that their purpose is school. Period.
So I did that with all of the other classes today and I will do it with the Thursday work group tomorrow. It began like this:
"What time do you get up in the morning?" I received differing answers depending on distance from school, but the mode of answers was 6AM. So I told them, "subtract 8 hours from whatever time you get up and that is your new bedtime. You have to get 8 hours of sleep everynight." For some of my students, it was as if I had told them they had to go home tonight and drown some kittens. "Impossible!" They screamed. "But I go to bed at midnight!" yelled another.
"Not anymore you don't," was my reply. I told them I want them, for a grade, to write out their "from now on" afternoon schedules and have them go from 3PM to their "new" bedtime. And I told them that from now on, their names are now, "First Name Last Name, College Prep Student", not "FN LN, Basketball Player" or "... TV Watcher" or what have you. There was much disquiet in all of them, but one group had the nerve to insist they already know how to time manage. My response was simple: "Not one person in this room has an A in this class. To a person, it is because you are missing homework. You do not know how to time manage." They closed their mouths (those who jaws weren't on the floor) and got to work on their schedules.
I felt vindicated in the first class I did this in when one of my students informed me that he plays for a basketball team and that he has practice every night from 6PM to 9PM. When I told him that I was beginning to understand why he was missing so much work and why his quiz grades were not up to what I consider him capable of, he looked puzzled. I told him to ask his coach to let him miss some practice time. When he said that he'd be off the team for that, I told him that he needed to make an informed choice for himself: scale back (or quit) basketball and devote more time to his studies, or face the prospect of failing Religion and Western Civilization. It hit him hard, but no one had ever said this to him before. I hope he doesn't have to quit basketball, but all of my kids obviously need to get a handle on their time.
So with that, I fall one day further behind in my quest to reach the end of the Second World War before the middle of June. But I'm hoping that it wasn't "time wasted."
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Nearly Two Months On
I have been thinking for sometime about keeping a journal for myself about my class. This blog never came to be used for its primary purpose as most of my students lack home computers and internet access. To that end, I will continue this Blog with much of the primary purpose still in mind, but with more of an emphasis on allowing me to reflect on what has occured in class. And goodness what has occured:
Yesterday, I discovered that my Thursday work group class (3rd Period) LOVE debate. Every class begins the same way: I put a quote on the board and the students tell me what it means. The point is to develop critical thinking skills, but the students showed me that and more. Certainly they've been developing over the last month and a half good habits of critical thinking, but would never have predicted the reaction. Practically every student in the class participated in the discussion that ensued. I moderated as usual, throwing questions to keep the dialogue flowing, but the students took the class in the direction they wanted to go. And what a paradise they sailed to!
The Thursday work group is the "problem" work group at school. The other teachers have reported the most problems with these students and I have experienced the general apathy as well, but what a transformation with the debate! Their work could stand a similar transformation, but I will, as their teacher, continue to have to seek out what that transformation might look like and how it might occur. Sadly, time will probably be the only cure for apathy about homework - time and report cards, which come out in two weeks.
The Tuesday Work Group continues to surge ahead. Today, they completed 1/4 of the chart concerning the Iron Age civilizations (Celts, Assyrians, Israelites/Hebrews, Phoenicians) and loved the discussion about the Celts - but they usually take to the history minutiae better than the other three classes. I'm having my doubts about the presentations I made them give on their outlines. They didn't seem to understand outlining at all and the lack of a textbook that they can work on outside of class only adds to the difficulty. I hope the textbooks I ordered arrive soon.
Yesterday, I discovered that my Thursday work group class (3rd Period) LOVE debate. Every class begins the same way: I put a quote on the board and the students tell me what it means. The point is to develop critical thinking skills, but the students showed me that and more. Certainly they've been developing over the last month and a half good habits of critical thinking, but would never have predicted the reaction. Practically every student in the class participated in the discussion that ensued. I moderated as usual, throwing questions to keep the dialogue flowing, but the students took the class in the direction they wanted to go. And what a paradise they sailed to!
The Thursday work group is the "problem" work group at school. The other teachers have reported the most problems with these students and I have experienced the general apathy as well, but what a transformation with the debate! Their work could stand a similar transformation, but I will, as their teacher, continue to have to seek out what that transformation might look like and how it might occur. Sadly, time will probably be the only cure for apathy about homework - time and report cards, which come out in two weeks.
The Tuesday Work Group continues to surge ahead. Today, they completed 1/4 of the chart concerning the Iron Age civilizations (Celts, Assyrians, Israelites/Hebrews, Phoenicians) and loved the discussion about the Celts - but they usually take to the history minutiae better than the other three classes. I'm having my doubts about the presentations I made them give on their outlines. They didn't seem to understand outlining at all and the lack of a textbook that they can work on outside of class only adds to the difficulty. I hope the textbooks I ordered arrive soon.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Beginning at the beginning
Throughout history, great (though not necessarily good) leaders often described their domain by claiming "the sun never sets" on their empire. In a literal sense, no empire achieved this claim in truth until the British finished consolidating their empire in the late 19th century.
This "blog", or web-log, that I have created for our class is called "The Sun Never Sets..." because, for our class, this is our perpetual space for discussion and learning. In a very real sense, the modern world is composed of countless empires of the mind, an eventuality first foreseen by Sir Winston Churchill. This space is our empire of the mind. The more frequently you read it, use it for discussion and growth, then the stronger our empire will be. Here, class is always in session, even on the days when you have your internship. Here, the Sun Never Sets on our class's Empire.
Welcome to high school and the beginning of your adult intellectual life.
This "blog", or web-log, that I have created for our class is called "The Sun Never Sets..." because, for our class, this is our perpetual space for discussion and learning. In a very real sense, the modern world is composed of countless empires of the mind, an eventuality first foreseen by Sir Winston Churchill. This space is our empire of the mind. The more frequently you read it, use it for discussion and growth, then the stronger our empire will be. Here, class is always in session, even on the days when you have your internship. Here, the Sun Never Sets on our class's Empire.
Welcome to high school and the beginning of your adult intellectual life.
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