Matching Tracksuits

In the switch from science to social studies at the day treatment program with teach in, I’ve gone from trying to follow the appropriate grade-level curriculum in science to allowing the kids (and myself) a bit of freedom in what we’re covering now in social studies. (We switch subjects every six-week grading period.) On talking to the lead teacher, I realized that it’s not as critical that we follow the curriculum because there’s such a mix of kids.

M-Jezzy, of science fame, has been asking about slavery. How did it begin? Who started it? How’d they get the slaves?

In explaining that we’d be looking at slavery next week, I got a response I’d been thinking I might hear, but had hoped to avoid nonetheless. Basically, a young man asked, “What can a white guy teach black people about slavery?” Now, to his credit, it was very polite — surprisingly maturely and subtly phrased, in fact. It was more like, “I don’t mean any offense or anything, but, you know, I’d rather hear about slavery from someone who’s experienced it, someone whose people experienced it.”

“That’s a very good point,” I said, thinking, “Am I glad I did some research before mentioning this,” for that’s exactly what I found:

In the 1930s, the Works Progress Administration (WPA) sponsored a federal project dedicated to chronicling the experience of slavery as remembered by former slaves and their descendants. Their stories were recorded and transcribed, and this site presents dozens of select sound recordings and hundreds of transcriptions from the interviews. Beyond the content of the interviews, little to no biographical information is available on the individuals whose interviews appear here.

These interviews are available at PBS’s site for their series Slavery and the Making of America.

I work at a day treatment facility for troubled youth. They wind up in our program either through long-term suspension or via adjudication.

It can be a tough bunch of kids.

Recently, I set up a blog for the whole program with the aim of using it as a way for students to write for an actual audience, instead of just writing for the teacher, as is often the case.

But for that, we need an audience.

That’s obvious enough.

Since I’m just trying to get the kids excited about the idea of writing on a regular basis, I’m not having them do much of any correction. Small steps”

Read it with a smile. So I’m asking any willing readers to pop over to akacoolpeople.com and read what the kids have written so far, make a few comments (even if it’s “Hey, that sounds really great!”) and – most importantly – to keep checking back from time to time to make comments. It’ll be slow for a while (right now, there are only a few posts – two of them mine), but I’m hoping that as kids get comments, it will encourage them to write more. (And obviously enough, I’m looking for comments to the kids’ posts, not my own!)

Additionally, if you yourself have a blog or web site and would be willing, give “aka cool people” a mention and see if you can steer some more traffic our way.

Thanks in advance for your help.

One of the young men I work with was doing afternoon chores today, and he asked me to show him how to tie up a garbage bag. When I finished, I asked, “Would you like me to help and take the trash out for you?”

“If you would, please.”

Such a simple response — something most of us might not pay much attention to. But when working with kids who sometimes demonstrate that, through no fault of their own, they have somewhat limited social skills, I notice.

Indeed, it’s my job, among other things, to notice.

I pointed out that I felt he’d earned 2,000 points for that interaction. He pulled out his point card and jotted them down, and after I signed it, I asked, “Do you know what you did to earn those points?”

He explained that he’d been polite.

“Correct.” I asked, “Do you know why it’s important to accept help politely like that?”

“Not really.”

Indeed, why? I paused for a moment, thinking about it. Why is it better to say, “If you would, please” than respond, “Yeah,” or “If you want to,” or any number of less-than-perfect formulations. It’s one of those things many of us parse without thinking, a response we expect to hear.

I thought for a moment, but not long. To be honest, I’m beginning to develop a skill for this explaining of social conventions.

“Because the next time you need help, I’ll be more likely to offer it. If you’d just said, ‘Yeah, if you want,’ I probably wouldn’t have felt that you really appreciated my help. But saying it like you did showed me that you really appreciated it, and so I’ll be more likely to offer to help you the next time I see you working on something.” Not a bad reason.
He accepted it and moved on.

The question is, will he remember it next time?

I’m starting to be optimistic enough about my job to think it’s quite possible. Dare I say, likely?

In science class, we’re learning about the atomic world and what makes different elements different. To their surprise, it’s just the number of protons. Some are somewhat interested, but we’re not yet to the interest level that produces questions like, “You mean mercury could turn into into gold if we just took away one proton and one electron.”

What I wouldn’t give for a question like that. But we’re getting there.

One thing I’ve done to try to keep interest levels up is to make as many lessons hands-on as possible. Thus, last Friday we put all our new knowledge to work by making clay models of atoms. Each student chose an element (from a list I provided — I didn’t want anyone coming up with protactinium, for example) and then devised a way to make a model. Forgetting about the number of neutrons, we made semi-anatomically-correct models of sodium, oxygen, neon, and others. And at the end of the lesson, I announced there would be a quiz Monday.

The young men I work with probably have made very few A’s in their lives. This is not because of a lack of ability or intelligence, but the fact that their behavior problems get in the way of learning. And so, to this point, the grades have been relatively low as I learn how to tweak my lessons and quizzes and homework assignments just so — they must be instructive, vaguely interesting, challenging, yet not defeatingly so.

The quiz was simple: I put each clay model on a piece of paper that had a number in the corner, gave the students a periodic chart and sheet of paper, and told them to identify the elements. I let them take the time they needed, because when I saw some counting protons, others counting electrons, I thought, “This could be it — the quiz everyone passes.”

Not only that, but everyone got an “A.”

There was some bravado, as showing pleasure at having aced a quiz would have been a sign of weakness to some of these kids. But their eyes told me that they were pleased.

With that positive start, it was difficult not to have a productive lesson