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fun in threes, sometimes fours

Day 1: Achievement Gap

There was one overriding concern at today’s faculty meeting: we have to do everything we can to make sure that this national emergency does not expand the achievement gap any more than is inevitable. We spent the morning talking about how to prepare materials for students to work at home with one underlying assumption: vast numbers of kids won’t do anything during this time. The “high flyers” will do everything we give them; the middle-of-the-roaders will do some of it; the ones who need the most help will do the least.

“They don’t even do much work when we’re hovering over them” was the common refrain.

So as we embarked on our planning this afternoon, working to create ten days of material for students to work on while we’re closed, we kept that in mind — a frustrating project, planning materials that we know will most likely not be used by kids who really do need to use it.

And the common refrain during that planning process: “We need to go ahead and plan for the next ten days because there’s no way we’re coming back at the beginning of April.”

We’ll cross that Rubicon when we arrive at its banks…

The Beginning of Something Big

Perhaps it was because almost no one went to church this morning: Papa is still not feeling confident enough in his strength to risk it, L was sick, and K was worried that E would be too tough to control and keep in the same line she was planning for herself at church: touch nothing, nothing at all.

Perhaps it was the simple anticipation of an announcement we all knew was coming. “My guess is they’ll try to get through the next couple of weeks, then send everyone home for an early spring break,” K said last week. “Or at least through next week — it is a short week with Friday being a scheduled teacher work day.” Still, with all the alarm over the potential of this pandemic, we knew an announcement would likely come this afternoon or evening.

At any rate, when the announcement came at 2:30 that the governor would have a press conference at 4:00, we knew what was up.

Once that happened, I jumped on the computer and loaded up my book request queue to get some books from the local library system before everything shut down for good. Everyone else is hoarding toilet paper. I want to make sure I have something to read.

After that (and only after — priorities), I began checking my work email regularly. Finally, this: “The Governor has just announced all schools in South Carolina will close immediately in response to COVID-19. As you know, we have been preparing for this eventuality.”

What will we be doing? Is this vacation? Of course not, nor should it be:

At this point in the closure, teachers must be available during normal working hours throughout the closure to respond to student questions beginning Wednesday. Teachers are paid for this time and are required to be responsive and accessible via electronic means. […] During the closure teachers should catch up on paperwork, data entry, grading, or electronically delivered professional development. This will also be a great opportunity to plan for accelerating lessons upon students’ return.

Yet how much actual learning will be possible during this time? I have students who are motivated to work only when I’m standing over them, and one or two who don’t even work then. What will they do during this extended period of distance learning?

We’ll find out tomorrow.

Funerals

We went to Rock Hill for Papa's sister's funeral this afternoon, the "we" being E and I. L was sick; Papa was too weak; and K had to stay back to keep an eye on everyone. It's been a tough eighteen months for Papa: two sisters and his wife passed, and the final heartbreak was his decision not to go today.

As E and I entered the funeral home, I reminded him of our plan: "Remember, no hugs or handshakes. We don't want to take anything back to Papa." Was this coronavirus-related? Not so much, but still -- with an incubation period of several symptom-free days, it is best to extend precautions a bit further than one naturally would.

After the graveside service, my cousin D said he was going to head over to grandma's and grandpa's grave.

"We'll tag along," I suggested. The last time the Girl had a tournament in Rock Hill, I'd spent a good bit of time wandering through that cemetery, which was across the street from the sports venue, looking for this grave.

And this one, just beside it.

The uncle for whom I was named whom I never met.

"He was a lot of fun," my cousin D, nearly twenty years my senior, shared. "Larry would always make you laugh, always make you feel better."

Exploring

Virus

And like that, everyone is living with the effects of a pandemic. The Girl's tournament this week will almost certainly be canceled, and we aren't going even if it isn't: our club owner made an executive decision that no Excell teams will be playing there. USA volleyball recommended the cancellation of all tournaments, but the tournament organizers didn't cancel. "I put the girls' safety above everything else," he said in a team meeting this evening after practice. "The NBA has stopped playing; universities have virtually closed down; schools are closing. It's just not responsible to go." And we all shook our heads in agreement.

It also puts into question our summer trip to Poland. It's still three months away, but who knows how this will play out.

It's gotten me to thinking macabre thoughts, though, about a potential pandemic a few years in the future that seems inevitable. A pandemic that, if it comes to pass, will have been completely preventable. The permafrost is melting due to rising temperatures, which in turn are due to our shortsightedness, past and present. Trapped within that permafrost are microbes that have been locked away from immunological history for millennia. When they get out, what will happen? In my mind, the worst-case scenario would make the present fears about coronavirus seem like the naive good old days.

Always the pessimist...

Shooting Still

Still Shooting

The kids have grown positively obsessed with shooting in the backyard — the Boy, his bb gun; the Girl, her bow and arrow. They really have no interest in trading.

Today’s adventure: find the arrow that ricocheted off the fence post and soared into the wild. (Slight exaggeration: it didn’t go more than thirty feet away, and was never in danger of landing in a dangerous way.)

The Girl fired it; the Girl found it. I would have half-expected her to give up sooner than she did. She’s dealing with frustration better than she was a few years ago. But she loves jumping as much as she always has:

The discovery of the day: the bbs bounce right off the archery target.

We could pick them up and reuse them, just like the arrows…

A View into a Mind

It was a difficult poem, to be sure. But I'd adjusted accordingly.

First, I'd given students plenty of footnoted definitions. Words like "smouldered" and "pungence" (the poem used British English) would have left them flummoxed otherwise.

Additionally, I'd asked a fairly simple series of questions as part of our weekly inference practice: "What can we tell about this lady? What does she look like? Is she old or young?" As always, I expect the students to back up their answer with the text, and I've given them a simple formula to follow.

  • Make a claim: "The lady is x."
  • Back it up from the text: "I know this because the text says..."
  • Explain your thinking with one or two sentences: "This shows she's x because..."

I really don't feel like it's all that challenging. Besides, it's something we do every Friday -- inference work.

"It's like shooting free throws," I tell them. "It's the most basic skill we do when we read, inferring." It's why we do it every Friday, week after week.

Thirdly, I'd cut the text: we were only working on the first stanza. The rest of the poem, I felt, might confuse them more.

Finally, I am always walking about the room as students work, offering help and answering questions, helping redirect or clarify thinking or ask questions that help them see the text in a new way, and there is a co-teacher in the room as well.

The text itself was a poem by Amy Lowell, "The Lady."

You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your eyes
Smoulder the fallen roses of outlived minutes,
And the perfume of your soul
Is vague and suffusing,
With the pungence of sealed spice-jars.
Your half-tones delight me,
And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colors.

So given the questions -- "What can we tell about this lady? What does she look like? Is she old or young?" -- and the formula we've been using all year, something like this was my objective for student achievement:

The lady in the poem is beautiful. I know this because the poem starts with the words, "You are beautiful." The poem wouldn't say "You are beautiful" unless the lady was beautiful. The writer might be joking, but I don't think so.

Also, the lady in the poem is old. I know this because the poem says, "You are beautiful and faded." I know from my own experience with clothes that usually it's old things that fade. So if the writer says the lady is faded, she must be old.

Of course there would be varying degrees of writing proficiency with that (I don't teach writing -- I'm the literature/reading teacher), and I would have to help some students reach that second realization. Also, that final sentence of the first paragraph requires some evidence as it makes a claim. What in the poem suggests the writer Still, most of them saw these things and wrote something similar.

Many, but not all.

There are several students who receive special ed services in that class -- it's an inclusion class, and there's a co-teacher in there for that very reason. Many of the inclusion students have behavior issues that accompany their learning disabilities, but some just quietly do the best the can.

One such student produced the following in reply to the above prompt:

we know about this woman that she is beautiful and she likes an old opera tune and the perfume of her soul and she is young and her appearance is a grow mad with gazing and eighteenth-century boudior and her personality is blent colors

The lack of punctuation and capitalization is fairly typical of average eighth-grade students these days, at least in my school. That's not my concern with this excerpt. What initially fascinates (and saddens) me is the content: it simply makes little to no sense at all past the first two clause-like elements: "we know about this woman that she is beautiful and she likes an old opera tune." Beyond that, it seems like just a random collection of elements from the original text.

There is, however, a pattern. She clearly referred back to the questions: she explains about "her appearance" and then "her personality." So this was not an apathetic student just randomly grabbing some words and throwing them together. This was not a vindictive act of "I'll just put complete nonsense there because..." It's a genuine effort at answering what was for her an incredibly difficult question.

Yet there's more than just that. Look closely: she links "appearance" with "gazing," a verb connected to seeing. She links "personality" to "blent colors" because the poem says "your blent colors," so she clearly recognized that possessive pronoun and made a stab that that might be related to "her personality." It's not a bad interpretation, to be honest.

It's really a valiant effort, truth be told.

But I didn't see that at first. Grading so many such assignments, week in, week out, I get to where I'm only scanning, truth be told. Which is to say, I read it, but I read it so very fast that I'm not really reading it in the truest sense of the word. I'm not reading it like I read a book that I'm really enjoying, or even an email from a colleague. I'm looking for specific things very quickly.

I'm doing what I tell my students not to do.

Sunny Sunday Afternoon

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