Matching Tracksuits

Fun in Fours

Results For "Month: August 2009"

Rules of the Game

Monday 31 August 2009

He walked onto the court, fully suited up, and all eyes were on him. In helmet and full pads, Ron stood in stark contrast to the other players, who wore tank tops and baggy pants. Their shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor while Ron’s cleats clipped, clopped, and slid about. He was ready for the game, though, and eagerly awaited the start.

Jump ball and the opposing team had the ball. Though his start was awkward as his metal cleats slid across the highly polished floor, Ron quickly got up to full speed and tackled the opponent who was, oddly enough, tempting fate by bouncing the ball on the ground. Full contact–the player went down, the ball shot off toward the center of the court, and Ron was just about to dive on it when he heard the whistle.

“Foul!” cried the ref, and Ron was confused. It had been a clean hit. There was no unnecessary roughness. Still, he shook it off and prepared for the next play.

The opposing team opted for a pass from the far sideline. Ron timed his hit perfectly: just as his victim’s fingers came in contact with the ball, Ron rammed him, driving his foe to the floor.

Another whistle; another foul.

Two clean hits in a row and mysterious fouls called on both. Ron was perplexed the first time; the second time, he was getting heated.

When his third tackle brought another foul and an ejection from the game, Ron was livid. He began yelling and screaming at the ref, protesting violently all three fouls and suggesting that the official was visually impaired.

Yet the spectators and players were utterly confused at Ron’s reaction. It was if he didn’t have any idea that the rules he’d brought onto the court weren’t the same rules everyone had agreed upon for the game. They weren’t even close. And yet, instead of trying to figure out why everything seemed to be going against him, instead of asking for help, Ron ranted violently. The referee tried to explain that Ron was applying the wrong set of rules to the game, but all Ron heard was gibberish. The ref might as well have been speaking Greek, and this infuriated Ron even more.

Finally, he declared that he couldn’t wait until this game was over and plopped himself down in the middle of the court, ignoring all pleas to move so the game could continue.

Harvest

Sunday 30 August 2009

Summer mellows and our garden follows suit.

DSC_7645

DSC_7647

DSC_7648

Nap

Saturday 29 August 2009

Occasionally, K and I are envious. Most often, we have too much to do at this time of day.

DSC_7633

Fork

Friday 28 August 2009

Image by

Image by i_yudai (Flickr)

It’s a famous riddle: You stand at a fork in the road. One road leads to happiness; the other leads to sorrow. You don’t know which is which. At the fork stand two men. One always tells the truth; the other always lies. You don’t know which is which. You’re allowed one question to determine which road to choose. What do you ask?

The intricacies of the riddle concern me less than the general theme: a life-changing moment, with two, diametrically opposite outcomes.

As a middle school teacher, I often encounter kids standing at just such an intersection. Generally, they don’t realize this, and the ones who do will probably ask the right questions in life.

Of the ones who haven’t yet realized that every moment offers decisions that can change the outcome of the rest of their lives, there are three varieties.

The first give every indication that all will be well with them. This is not to say they’re all studious and hard working. Indeed, many are not–as many of us were at thirteen. Still, there’s something about how they carry themselves that speaks to their future success.

The second group is a mystery. Truth be told, they usually turn out alright too, but they’re just not giving the clear signs yet. They’re not giving any signs yet, and that’s fine. They’re thirteen.

The third group is the group that haunts me. I see them and it’s difficult for me to imagine them making many good choices in life because it’s hard to see them making choices, period.

And not to choose in this case is a choice.

It’s not that they lack intelligence or even vigor. They simply don’t see the choice. They don’t see choice at all in their lives.

They are victims, eternally, and of everything. Adults don’t seem like them and they don’t know why–and they think there’s nothing they can do about it. They speak with loud voices that echo through the hallways and it’s just the way they are: “I’m a loud talker–it’s just the way I am.” They get referrals because teachers are picking on them and out to get them. Only with great difficulty can the make eye contact with anyone at all. They are subject to the whims and silliness of others: people are constantly “making” them do something. They react violently when they feel they’ve been disrespected, and often no disrespect was meant. They consistently show self-destructive views that make it all but certain that the cycles of dysfunction that they have obviously experienced in their lives will continue to haunt them, and their children, and their grandchildren.

Working with them is like working with a blind girl who’s always been blind and who doesn’t even realize she’s blind. Talking to them, trying to present any view that differs from the calcified reality of their first thirteen years is like speaking Finish to an Egyptian.

There are those that wake up and make the changes they have to, that realize they’re actually in control of a great deal of their lives. I know several such people. But the odds are against them, and the fact that I can do very little to change those odds is sometimes the most depressing aspect of teaching.

Birthdays

Wednesday 26 August 2009

Nana’s birthday was Sunday. K prepared the requisite ritual (the cake); L helped decorate it.

DSC_7637

We took a novel approach to the birthday wishes. Or perhaps that should have been “took we an approach novel.” It’s a cake designed to be read while approaching it at very high speed in an appropriately-scaled vehicle.

DSC_7640

DSC_7652

Nana made a wish,

DSC_7656

and Papa got his own wish fulfilled.

DSC_7659

Reading The Sleepy Puppy to his granddaughter thirty-five years after he first read it to me, he didn’t laugh as hard but I’m certain the joy was as intense.

Learning

Tuesday 25 August 2009

He came up to me in the hallway between classes, somewhat visibly upset. We’d just had a meeting with the principal in which he explained his very high expectations for everyone, especially including dress code. This young man was soon thereafter working on tucking his shirt in when the charge of “sagging pants” was made.

“I got a referral for that,” he said. “Can you believe that?”

It was one of those moments that I hide my true opinion.

“Bad luck, I guess.” Probably not terribly fair, I thought. He seemed to handle it like an adult, though. He was irritated, but not furious, and his demeanor told me that he’d managed to keep his cool during the encounter.

“So what did you learn from that?” I asked.

“Nothin’. There’s nothing I can learn.”

It’s the challenge I face with so many of my students. See the world around you as the Ubiquitous Classroom. Understand that the mindful person can learn something — about herself, about the world, about her influence on others — from just about every action and interaction.

I really shouldn’t be surprised if they haven’t learned this: they’re thirteen and I, almost three times their age, still forget to be on the lookout for the hidden lesson.

Finding Our Space

Monday 24 August 2009

“I don’t know what to write about” is a common complaint among eighth graders, often regardless of whether or not a topic has been provided. To alleviate that, we began an extended lesson: “How do I find topics for my writing?”

It seems abundantly clear to me: just look around and there are things to write about everywhere: the jostling silliness and/or frustration of a class change; the way five minutes can just drag by even in the best classes; the dress code to which students are required to adhere; the difficulty of coming up with a topic for writing–topics are simply everywhere.

To give students a starting place, we worked on creating Expert Inventories today. “Imagine a teacher told you to write a paper on the topic of ‘blank.’ What topic would make you make you think, “Oh, that’s easy. I can do that I no time!” All the kids dutifully began creating the same lists. The boys wrote “basketball, football, Madden 09.” Many of the girls included shopping, texting, boys.

There were some surprises. One girl enjoys making bricks with her dad. “We like to experiment with how things used to be done,” she explains. Another is good at making mortar. “Mortar?” I asked, wondering if I heard her correctly.

Next step: branching out some of the general terms to more specific ideas. “What do you mean when you say you’re an expert at basketball?” I asked. “Playing it? Watching it? Commentating on it?”

“Shopping–shopping for what? Shoes? Music? Clothes?”

The kids expanded their list, some of them writing endlessly. “Can we use the back of the page?” one girl asked. A good sign.

What I’m trying to do is fairly simple, not to mention fairly obvious: before kids can get serious about improving their writing, they have to enjoy it, or at least tolerate it. Having them to “analyze the author’s craft” (as one of the required “artifacts” is to do) in a short story will not bring “Ooohs!” and “Ahhs!” of excitement. For it to be enjoyable, it has to be meaningful; for it to be meaningful for many eighth graders, it needs to have a personal connection. And so I’m taking the whole idea of required this and required that and tossing it in the recycling bin for a moment. We’ll return to these ideas soon enough.

Jarring Reminder

Saturday 22 August 2009

Checking a post’s formatting, I noticed a picture in the Flickr bar at right.

DSC_9550

“Has she changed so much?” I gasped as I clicked on through. No teeth; short hair; such a very young face — she looks like a different child.

I click through the set — “LMS (First Year)” — and I see a terrifying picture.

DSC_0002

I would never put L in a setting like that now: she’s entirely too mobile and to hard-headed. She’d be tumbling down the rocks within moments.

Or would she? She’s a big girl; she has a fairly developed sense of balance. She might not. The old protectiveness clashes with the new, maturing reality.

Focus

Friday 21 August 2009

Some teachers, it seems, want peace, quiet, and calm in the classroom for their own sakes. I’ve tried something new, something that seems to legitimize my authority as well as the unfortunate, occasional necessity of “cracking down.” During the first class period, I simply told them — and tried to show them — that I’m there to help them, to educate them, to increase their chances for success later in life. “And if one of you tries to take that opportunity from another member of this class by being disruptive in any way and refuses to work with me as I try to bring things back in line, I will make sure that disruption stops. It’s not for me: I will simply not allow you,” and here I point randomly at a student, “interfere with your,” and here I point randomly at another student, “education.” Pause for dramatic effect, then I add, “And vice versa.”

This year, I am trying desperately to show that everything that happens in that classroom has only one intention: helping.

So far, they seem to be buying it.

Magnetism

Thursday 20 August 2009

To love one’s job truly and deeply, so much so that one can hardly wait to return as one is walking out the door at the end of the day, is a great and wondrous gift.

I sat in my room, doing paperwork during a planning period, and I was excited by the fact that class began in ten minutes; I walked out of school this afternoon eager to return the next day.

Only two days have passed and I know I have the kids. I see in their eyes, “This year is going to be different.” One hundred minutes with students (two fifty-minute classes) and I already have a better relationship with them than I’ve probably ever had with students, definitely the best relationship with students in America. I have their complete attention, and they enjoy being there. There’s eye contact; there’s smiling; there’s thoughtfulness — and we’ve just been talking as a class about how this year will be.

In short, I finally have the classroom I always knew I could: mutual respect with a common sense of purpose and an excitement about the year.

What’s different this year? It seems so obvious now, but I’ve simply rejected the common “wisdom” about creating a first impression in the classroom. That so-called wisdom is based on a Hobbesian view that humans are inherently bad and respond only to coercion. “Scare them.” “Make them know who’s boss.” “Don’t smile before Christmas.” That’s fine if you want a seemingly well-behaved class that jumps when you require it. It doesn’t do much for relationships, though. Students tend to think the teacher is simply flexing his district-given power. No one responds well when being “put in their place.” No one works well in an environment based ultimately on fear.

Instead, I’ve taken Rousseauian approach. I don’t believe everyone is inherently good — I believe we’re inherently rather neutral — but I do believe that people treat us the way we treat them: if we treat people well, they will respond well. If we establish from the beginning, unquestionably, that we respect people, they will return that respect.

This is critical when working with middle schools, and even more important with working with middle schools who might have grown up in an environment almost completely lacking in adults who behave in a way that inspires respect.

The upshot of all of this is that I simply can’t wait to get into the classroom tomorrow, which makes it infinitely easier to plan lessons tonight.