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.
Monday, December 17, 2007
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...
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