Matching Tracksuits

education and teaching

Park

Thursday 4 April 2013

Dear Terrence,

I took my kids to the park today. Yesterday, too. “Daddy, can we come back tomorrow?” my daughter asked just before we left, so it looks like we might be heading back tomorrow as well.

VIV_9694-640x424

It’s a real privilege to be able to spend so much time with my kids. It’s one of the perks of being a teacher: I get spring break off too. And so I spend it with my family.

I wonder how many times you got to spend the afternoon at the park with your dad. I know you live with your mom, and for all I know, your dad could be out of the picture altogether. It’s not at all uncommon these days.

I know you’ll likely say, “It is what it is.” Perhaps. It is, but it shouldn’t be. I’m always a little taken aback at how cavalierly some of you guys take the fact that your parents are divorced. I cannot image my parents divorcing; I cannot imagine divorcing my wife. We’re in to for good — there is no problem we won’t work out somehow. And so I’ll always be able to take my kid to the park on sunny spring afternoons. Because it’s important — the smallest things always are.

I hope you’ll take this to heart when you start your own family. It’s likely to be difficult for you, not having any solid role model to serve as a pattern. Still, it’s possible. Just say to yourself daily, “My child will have a more stable family life than I did.” Say it now. Say it again. There — that’s a start.

Tired but satisfied,
Your Teacher

#21 — Filling and Creating Emptiness

Friday 8 March 2013

To harm a person is to receive something from him. […] We have gained in importance. We have expanded. We have filled an emptiness by creating one in somebody else (50).

Perhaps the best example of filling an emptiness by creating one in another is bullying. Working at a middle school, I’m witness to many major and minor instances of bullying on a daily basis, and it seems to be getting only worse. Statisticians tell us that’s definitely the case, but even if they weren’t providing empirical evidence, I get enough anecdotal evidence daily to make a strong case.

As a teacher, I find I have to walk a thin line. On the one hand, we’ve seen the headlines of recent years, this or that tragic suicide traced back to prolonged bullying, actions that have created situations in which some people feel suicide is the only alternative. Bullying, then, is literally a deadly serious, and as the authority figure in the room or hallways, I have a responsibility to put an end to it when I encounter it. Yet most bullying today is not like the bullying I occasionally encountered. Today’s bullying, ban and large, is verbal. Indeed, there is a whole category of bullying that could be only mental: cyber bullying. In other words, a lot of bullying is of the type “Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me.” Yet the truth is, words do hurt. Still, we need resilient, self-assured kids who can take care of themselves and who know how to avoid internalizing the stupid little comments they hear and will hear, in one form or another, throughout life, so I don’t want to help kids become dependent on me — or anyone else — to swoop in and save the day every single time says something mean and bullying.

And so when I do encounter something that I judge to be relatively minor but still behavior that could be considered “bullying,” I try to strike a balance. I deal with the individual who said the hateful words, but I spend more time talking to the person to whom he or she directed the words. (That was a long way to get around saying “victim.” It was a conscious choice.) I tell her that there are individuals who only feel good about themselves when making others feel bad. To quote Weil, these individuals have “gained in importance,” but only in their own mind.

A Day in the Life

Tuesday 29 January 2013

Chalk dust is a thing of the past, as are dry erase markers. Today, I’m more likely to be frustrated with some technological glitch rather than dry skin from chalk dusk or headaches from whiteboard cleaner. The advantages, of course, vastly outweigh the disadvantages.

Notes from first and fifth about determining the main idea from progress report 4

Of all the high, sophisticated advantages, there are some more simple, basic boosts to productivity.

Notes from second and fourth periods

For example, I can save every single thing we put on the board. Which I’m sure can be somewhat overwhelming to some students.

Hidden Skills

Friday 25 January 2013

“Teachers, please check your email now. Again, teachers, please check your email now.” With the weather forecast that students had been bouncing around among themselves before school started — snow, sleet, blizzard, nothing, depending on the individual student’s optimism — it seemed obvious what the email would tell us. Sure enough: “School will be dismissed early today. Will let you know more details later.”

I finished reading and, turning around, met a chorus of pleas: “What did it say?!” “Tell us!” “Are we getting out early!?” I just smiled and continued with where I’d been in the lesson.

“Come on!!” was the only response I got.

Still, I pressed on. We were working on using transition words as markers in an argument. “Even if” was our phrase of the moment, and I smiled and gave as an example, “Even if we have early dismissal today, it won’t affect our first period class.”

Still later, a trickle of announcements begins interrupting our work: “Jane Doe, please come to the office for early dismissal.” “Michael Smith, please come to the office. You have an early dismissal.”

It seemed obvious by now, but still, I said nothing.

Finally, though, the clincher: “Those students who borrowed a belt from Mrs. Thomas, please return them now.” With a mandatory belt a part of our school’s dress code, Mrs. Thomas has taken to lending belts to students who arrive without in an effort to help them avoid the inconvenient consequences. But that’s not what the students heard. They heard, “We’re getting an early dismissal.”

It was a teachable moment I couldn’t pass up. Recalling a student’s comment earlier in the year about how she never infers as part of her day, I asked the class, “Since you all now think you’re getting an early dismissal, would you mind telling me what skill you’re employing to reach that conclusion?”

Miss I-Never-Infer-And-Likely-Was-Only-Trying-To-Be-Contrary said, “We inferred!”

We went through the observations we’d made in order to make that inference:

  1. “You got that email. No one ever makes an announcement for teachers to check their email!”
  2. “You used that ‘Even if’ example!”
  3. “We’ve been having half the school called to the front for early dismissal.”
  4. “Everyone only has to take their belts back to Mrs. Thomas. You only have to do that at the end of the day.”

I agreed to each one, probing a bit further to get them to express their reasoning a little more fully. Finally, I asked, “What about the most obvious piece of evidence?”

Seemingly all hands in the room pointed to the window. “The weather!”

Only one thing to do — put a bow on it: “So don’t tell me you don’t infer endlessly on a daily basis.”

Overheard

Thursday 24 January 2013

Overheard, after passing out report cards:

“My parents don’t care what I get, as long as I pass. Sometimes, when I brought home an F, my dad would yell at me. But I yell back. He knows better. He sometimes forgets, but I yell back, and he backs off.”

Empathy

Wednesday 23 January 2013

empathy

The questions for the anticipation guide were seemingly straightforward. One would think that responses — “Do you agree or disagree and why?” — to these questions would be somewhat predictable.

  1. Sometimes, it’s better to remain ignorant about certain things.
  2. It’s fair to treat people differently based on their intelligence.
  3. It is better to be smart and lonely than unintelligent and happy.
  4. Our relationships with other people, not our achievements, are what fulfill us.
  5. It is better to accept your fate than to try to change it.
  6. It is important to have empathy for others.

Granted, for question one, adolescents might not necessarily have learned the beauty of ignorance. It seems unlikely that any adult would disagree with the statement, and in fact, a slight majority of the students agreed this afternoon.

Question two is a bit tricky: most kids think of it as a question of politeness and manners. I’m almost always the only person indicating agreement with the statement. When I explain about differentiation and remind them of special education services, most students understand where I’m coming from and smile at how I “tricked” them.

Question three is fluff. It gets conversation going, but there’s really no expected response for what I (and I hope others) would consider a well-adjusted, emotionally healthy individual.

Question four hints at the shallowness of materialism. Students seem split on the issue, but for eighth graders, one might expect that.

Question five is an interesting question for my students because so many of them — particularly those who struggle in school — are completely fatalistic. Perhaps they don’t see that in themselves, though, because many disagree with this statement.

Question six, though, seems almost painfully predictable in a room of well-adjusted, emotionally healthy individuals. The inability to feel empathy, after all, is one of the most horrifying aspects of sociopaths and one of the most tragic facets of autism.

So when a young man looked at me this afternoon with an expression of disgust and almost anger when I asked him why he didn’t think empathy is important, why he disagreed when almost everyone else agreed, why he seemed put off by the fact that I was unable to hide my surprise at his response, it left me briefly speechless.

“You mean don’t think it’s important to try to understand the lives of those less fortunate than you?” I asked after a moment.

“I never thought about it,” came the flippant response.

“And now that you’ve thought about it?” I continued.

He shrugged and glared.

 

Defining Courage

Monday 7 January 2013

I’ve been using ideas from George Hillocks, Jr.’s Teaching Argument Writing (Heinemann) in my classroom for some months now. South Carolina’s shift to the Common Core standards necessitates a shift in writing focus to argumentative writing, which is not the same as persuasive writing. The latter relies on rhetorical tricks — arguments from emotion, arguments from authority, etc. — while the former involves claims, counterclaims, evidence, warrants, backing, and a host of other rhetorical goodies.

We’ve been working on “how to develop and support criteria for arguments” (to quote Jim Burke’s blurb about the book), and one of the things Hillocks suggests is to use inductive reasoning to determine some general criteria from specific examples. The extended example he uses in his book is about courage, and since that fits perfectly with my current district-mandated heros-theme unit (the theme is mandated, not the unit itself — well, not entirely), I thought I would use it as is, out of the box, so to speak. Hillocks provides specific scenarios for students to discuss and generalize about. I gave students all the scenarios and told the groups to choose five.

We began working as a class so we could get the feel for the work, and I gave them as an example the easiest.

In the small town of Clinton, teenage boys liked to play “chicken” with their cars. Two boys raced their cars directly at each other. The first boy to swerve to avoid the crash lost. Were the boys courageous when they played “chicken”?

Obviously, the boys of Clinton might be foolhardy or immature, but a courageous act this is not. Indeed, it somehow seems to be the opposite of courageous. Yet a handful of students doggedly insisted, against the judgment of the rest of the class that this acts lack of overriding noble cause (not their exact words) made this foolish at best, that this was a very courageous act.

“They’re risking their lives! They could die!” they persisted.

I thought it might be a fluke, perhaps some kids insisting on playing devil’s advocate. But these same kinds held the same line in all similar scenarios.

Harry learned that millions of dollars in gold would be moved by train from Washington, D.C. to Chicago. He knew it would be heavily guarded and protected by the very best alarm systems. The security guards were top-notch and heavily armed. Harry and his two companions were also heavily armed when they dropped from a bridge to the top of one of the train’s boxcars. They immediately took fire from a guard stationed on the top of another car. They returned fire, killing the guard. Was their attempt to steal the gold courageous?

Who cares about these guys’ motivation? Who cares that they were violating countless moral dictates and laws for material personal gain: these guys were risking their lives and that made their acts courageous.

On the oceanfront, Mr. Jones heard a swimmer shouting for help. He saw sights indicating that this part of the beach was extremely dangerous because of undertows. A lifeguard asked Jones to help him move a boat into the water to be used to help rescue the drowning man. Instead, Jones said, “Don’t be silly!” He ran into the water to swim out to the drowning person. Was Jones’s effort to save the swimmer courageous?

Who cares that the lifeguard clearly knows something Mr. Jones doesn’t, hence his insistence on using the boat? Who cares that in acting impetuously, Mr. Jones was likely giving the lifeguard another potential victim. He was risking his life, and that’s all that matters.

I know of course that much of this is a function of age: thirteen-year-olds are quite fond of justice and courage, and they see the lack of the former in as many places as they see examples of the latter.

Sonnets, Again

Friday 14 December 2012

We’re writing sonnets again in English I. “The hardest thing I’ve ever written” is the common consensus. So much to worry about: meter, rhyme, thematic development.

Notes from the board

The kids wonder why we’re doing it. “It’s not like we’ll ever write one of these again,” some protest, and it’s true. At the same time, they’ve never struggled over a piece of writing word by word; they’ve never searched for the right word only to find it’s actually not quite right; they’ve never planned a piece of writing simultaneously word by word, line by line, quatrain by quatrain. In short, they’ve never written like a poet.

What’s the value in this? In a society where most of these kids are fluent with text shortcuts and seem never to slow down, the question almost answers itself.

Observing and Inferring

Thursday 13 December 2012

Of the many things I have to teach my students, one of the most difficult is the art of inference. When we read, we infer, but I try to show students that we infer constantly: about people’s body language, about who’s walking behind us, about the mood of our mothers and fathers — simply everything. But as we begin working with it at a visual level, inferring from photographs, I find that students often think an inference is merely an observation. In other words, they look at a situation, make a generalization about it, and think they’re merely reciting facts.

For example, take a look at the picture below.

It’s tempting to say that one observation is simple: this is in a store. After all, there’s plenty to indicate that:

  • in the foreground there’s a display case with meat;
  • in the background there’s what looks like a refrigerator display case; and
  • there are people who appear to be client and salesman.

However, the very verbage of the description belies the fact that it’s not an observation (after all, I used the term “indicate”) but instead an inference. It might be an inference with a very high degree of probability, but an inference it is.

I think that this might be a source of political friction between the liberals and conservatives. They’re both making inferences that they assume to be mere observations, and when the other side calls them on it, the discussion often slides into ad hominem arguments. Anyone who can’t see the obvious inference — which to the speaker is just an observation — is an idiot. After all, it’s as simple as seeing that the woman in the picture above is clearly shopping for Christmas dinner.

The Privilege of Teaching

Friday 30 November 2012

“You’re raising our daughter! She spends more time with teachers than with her parents,” a parent once told me regarding a student.

It was the first time anyone had said aloud what I’ve thought often enough. Such notions most forcefully — and most obsessively — worked their way into my thinking when we began leaving our daughter with “strangers” at day care. It was a stab of guilt, feeling K and I were somehow neglecting our responsibilities as parents, letting someone do the majority of our childrearing for us.

The irony of being a teacher myself didn’t go unnoticed. I thought of a film — I can’t remember the title — that had a scene in which a young girl drops off her child for day care then heads uptown to her job as a nanny.

I see into parts of their lives no one else sees. A young man writes, “I ask my mom [to play chess with me]. ‘I’m too busy at the moment. How about later?’ Knowing that later will be near 7 PM, I slither back to my room.” It’s a vivid flash of what his evening is like, of what he might be experiencing at the very moment I’m reading his paper. It’s a window few look through.

Free Time

Monday 26 November 2012

Dear Terrence,

The other day was a teacher workday, which means we teachers are at school while you kids are free. I wonder what that freedom brings you.

I know you have more “freedom” than the average student because of all the out-of-school suspensions you’ve served. I’ve often wondered about the wisdom of that. I’ll bet in some ways, at least during some of the more tiring stretches of the school year, OSS seems more like a gift than a punishment. After all, there’s no one to make you do this or that. You get to choose who you spend your time with. You can pass that time however you please.

Or can you? Perhaps your mother makes you clean house while you’re serving OSS. Maybe she has a long list of tasks that she expects completed fully and well when she returns from work. Possibly, but somehow I doubt it. She might be struggling just to get enough money to keep a roof over your head and food on your table — she might not sweat the small stuff. Whatever it is you do during those OSS days, I’m fairly certain you prefer it to what you do at school.

And all of this makes me wonder about the wisdom of OSS. I’ve already mentioned to you that I think you would benefit from some direct instruction in how to learn, in how to be successful in school and life. Couldn’t we replace OSS (and ISS, for that matter) with something like that? It would be tricky, because we would have to find a teacher with a certain patience and dedication to young people because, let’s face it, you and your friends can be a real handful in the classroom. It seems possible and even desirable, but I somehow doubt it will ever happen. The American school system likes to think of itself as being cutting edge and progressive, but it’s still relatively set in its old ways in many regards, and how to help students like you is a perfect example.

So I don’t really know what you might be doing today during your day off. Whatever it is, I hope it’s not what I’ve heard in rumor among teachers: I hope you’re not spending all your time trying to impress the members of some gang — for all I know, your gang, for I hear, as the colloquial expression goes, that you “bang.” I have some thoughts I’d like to share with you on that as well, but for now, I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doing on your day off.

With hope,
Your  Friend in Room 302

Lost

Friday 16 November 2012

Dear Terrence,

I heard today: You’ve been tossed out of alternative school, with your latest offense being the proclamation to a teacher that she could just “– off.”

It’s time I took the gloves off, so to speak. That’s stupid. That’s simply stupid. Look back over your long, checkered school experience: when has something like that ever made a situation better? When has such behavior ever helped? When has such behavior ever brought about anything but more trouble from a teacher? When has a teacher ever replied along the lines of, “Oh my! I’m so sorry to have offended you. Please forgive me!”? When has such language ever helped get you out of trouble? When has that language ever done anything other than get you into more trouble?

I swear, sometimes I think you guys simply don’t think.

Annoyed and saddened,
Your Frustrated Friend in Room 302

Board

Friday 9 November 2012

It’s one of the highlights of the year for me as a teacher. After working (some might say “struggling”) our way the Odyssey, I surprise students with the culminating project: a board game based on Odysseus’s adventures. They think it’s fun; I design the details of the assignment to require some real problem-solving practice, legitimate “technical” writing (they have to create instructions for their game, and they must be clear enough that other groups can play without their help), and some creativity.

Today, they played the game.

Students playing peers’ board game

I walked around, snapping pictures, listening in on conversations, smiling when they get so involved in the whole procedure that they don’t even notice me, don’t even remember they’re also supposed to be evaluating the projects as well.

It’s a good day to be in the classroom.

Head Down, Finger Up

Tuesday 30 October 2012

Dear JT,

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve come lately simply to ignore when you’ve put your head down in my class. There are enough behavior problems in that class to deal with that I don’t want to pick a fight, so to speak, with you. I know I’ll likely only get attitude, and even if you do comply, it’ll only be temporarily.

It bothers me because it’s disrespectful, but quite honestly, you don’t seem to care, and you’re only a kid, so like I said earlier, bigger fish to fry and such. Today, however, you were disrespectful to close to 10,000,000 people. Did you know it was even possible to disrespect so many people at the same time? I really didn’t either: I’d never really given it much thought. But when you put your head down and slept through our Holocaust-based writing exercise as we prepared to read Anne Frank’s diary, you basically put your middle finger up to all those who died in one of the evilest atrocities in history. For all intents and pursposes, you said,

I don’t care about you. I don’t care that you lost your family to a murderous regime. I don’t care that the last image you had of your child was of her being ripped out of your hands, screaming. I don’t care that you had the responsibility of burning the corpses of thousands upon thousands of gassing victims. I don’t care that you were “experimented” upon, shot, kicked, beaten, tortured, and treated like a roach. What I care about is that I’m a little sleepy now in first period, so screw you — I’m going to sleep.

I anticipate your response being something along the lines of, “I don’t care.” That’s fine. No one can make you care about anything. But if you find yourself one day alone, if you find yourself wondering if anyone in the world cares for you, and if you decide that the answer to that question is, “No, no one other than my mother,” perhaps you’ll know how those millions upon millions of Holocaust victims felt. And ironically, the fact that you put your head down during that class session would go a long way in explain why no one cared for you.

Then again, maybe that’s what you’re experiencing now. Maybe you already feel that way. It’s a bit presumptuous of me to suggest that I know you so well as to make such an accurate assessment. After all, I only see you for a small slice of your life. Still, it strikes me as a real possibility.

At the same time, there are plenty of others who have lived lives devoid of anyone really showing them any concern or compassion as children who have grown up to be perfectly empathetic individuals. (And there are plenty who have experienced the opposite.) I do know that you’ll have an easier time in life — a more fulfilling life — if you manage to purge “I don’t care” from your vocabulary.

Still caring for you, but with greater difficulty today,
Your Friend in Room 302

P.S. I said nothing to you when you put your head down the second time after I’d already asked you politely and privately to show some respect. I didn’t want to damage the atmosphere I had created in the classroom. I will, though, address it tomorrow.

Trying

Thursday 25 October 2012

Dear Paul,

I hope you won’t take this the wrong way. I like you a lot, and I enjoy having you in my class, but sometimes, buddy, you just try too hard. Way too hard. I see you trying to carry on with some of the other kids as if you’re like this with them (visualize me crossing my middle finger over my forefinger), and it pains me. You’re a sweet kid: all this “gangsta” air you’re trying to affect just doesn’t suit you. And the other kids see it, too. And that’s probably why you don’t fit in, because you’re trying to squeeze yourself into a shape that just isn’t you. You can’t fit into the self you’re trying to create, so how can you then take that shape at fit it into anything?

Please know that you don’t have to be “tough” to be loved. You don’t have to have “swag” and bravado to be popular. You don’t have to strut (and let me tell you, as a friend, your strut looks a little more like a limp) to get attention. You’re a kind, sweet kid. Let that be your calling card and I guarantee you’ll have more friends than you know what to do with.

Sincerely,
Your Friend in Room 302

Broken Spell

Wednesday 24 October 2012

Occasionally, there’s an absolute spell in the classroom. Somehow, all the stars and temperaments align, the moon is waxing, everyone has a full belly and sufficient motivation, and things just work. The kids just work. Even kids who previously had done little or nothing work. They ask intelligent questions. They work together as adults. And I sit — for a brief moment, because in such situations, rare as they are, I’m always helping this or that kid — in the midst of it in awe.

Earthquake Drill

And then the earthquake drill (in South Carolina?!?!) comes and breaks the spell into a million little shards of idle conversation.

Choices

Wednesday 17 October 2012

Dear Terrence,

I spoke to your English teacher today. She told me about a problem you had with another student, that this boy did something that so angered you that you were willing to fight him. That you turned over a desk and started marching toward the kid with every evil intent that anyone could imagine glowing your eyes.

Remember, we had a conversation in the hallway about this the other day. You’re letting people push your buttons. You’re essentially giving them a remote control and saying, “Hey, you want me to hop on one leg, press this button. You want me to laugh, press that one. If you want me to hit you, the red button’s the one.”

What saddened me most about what your teacher said, though, was your response later, how you asked in a low voice, “Ms. Jones, did you write me up for that?”

“What choice did you give me, Terrence?” she said.

I know that you feel you don’t have a lot of choices right now, Terrence. I know you feel that no matter what decision you make, things always turn out the same way. I know that a lack of choices feels like a prison, but not a conventional one — this one has invisible bars that seem to change location but hold you fast just the same. I know you feel you have few choices, but I’m wondering if your teachers don’t feel the same way.

“What choice did you give me, Terrence?” asked Ms. Jones, and in that, I can almost hear as much frustration as I hear when you tell me some of your stories. What choice does any teacher have when facing a child like you, a child who really needs some positive attention and someone who can sit down with him and explain and practice, as many times as it takes, some of the rules of the game that you seem somehow to have missed out on?

Before you can learn math, science, history, or English, you need, quite frankly, to learn how to learn. To learn how to be comfortable with your own stillness. To learn how to look at someone who’s giving you instruction the same way you look at me when we’re standing in my doorway, chatting. To learn how to listen with a slight smile of anticipation like you do when I call your name out as you walk down the hall and motion you over to me.

But unfortunately, we’re not in a situation where we can take a lot of time to teach you how to learn. We teachers have got deadlines and testing hovering over us, and it feels like the tests are pressing our buttons. We have choices — I’m convinced of that — but I’m not sure we’re all aware of these choices, of the various options that might lead to more success for you and kids like you in the classroom. I’m certain there are choices, but I’m not as sure that they’ve even all been discovered yet. So in a way, we teachers are just groping around, feeling out these invisible bars just like you.

I do know that for most of us, being in the classroom is a conscious choice. We’re an idealistic group at heart: it’s what led most of us to the profession and it’s what keeps us there. Maybe if you can keep that in your conscious thoughts — that everyone who stands in front of you day in and day out is there because they choose to be there, because they want to help, because they feel called to do what they do — then you’ll start to see some new choices, too.

Sincerely,
Your Friend in Room 302

Connections

Thursday 11 October 2012

Nightjohn tells the story of a young slave girl, Sarny, who surreptitiously begins learning how to read — an act that is utterly forbidden for a slave. She and John, her teacher, face potential whipping and worse in scratching out letters in the dust of the slave quarters. It’s a vivid example of the power of education and literacy, and the two classes of mine that are reading it have become utterly engrossed. So when I was munching on peanuts during my planning period, taking the ten minute news break I allow myself, and I read the story of Malala Yousafzai, I knew I had to incorporate her story into our unit.

Malala Yousafzai in her hospital bed

Yesterday I had students read an article from the Washington Post, practicing some literacy strategies we’ve worked on this year to make sense of the difficult passages, then had students write a brief compare/contrast paragraph about Malala’s situation and the dangers Sarny faces in the book. The parallels are striking: both girls are risking death for an education; both girls are being denied an education because of xenophobia; both girls defiantly stand up to the xenophobia; both girls suffer because of their courage — the list could be virtually endless.

Today, the students came into class talking about the story.

“I watched it on the news. The article we read said she was shot in the neck, but on the news, they said she was shot in the head,” one girl explained.

“Yeah,” another added, “but I heard she’s been moved to another hospital and should be okay.”

They continued this way for some time and were excited when they discovered the bell ringer included passages from Yousafzai’s diary.

At the end of the day, when my first period comes back for the final thirty minutes of “flex time” (which doesn’t seem to be as flexible as the name would indicate), a girl who often seems disengaged and occasionally even refuses simply to do anything in class came in excited to tell me that the Yousafzai story was featured on the daily kids news show students watch in social students.

“Mr. Scott, she wasn’t shot in the neck,” she explained. “She was shot in the neck and the head!” She, who sometimes would sleep through class if I allowed it, was excited, engaged, and eager to discuss it — one of those moments that make me realize what a blessing it is to be a teacher.

Making Me Smile

Tuesday 2 October 2012

I was out sick today: it’s hard to teach when one can’t talk, and that was indeed the case for me today. Still, duty calls, and I updated my school web site to reflect the fact that I wasn’t there and therefore there is no homework.

I shortly got a couple of responses from students wishing me well. It did more for my spirits than all the meds I’m now taking.

Homework with the Girl

Monday 24 September 2012

She sits at the table — fewer distractions — and draws. “Draw three pictures each of things that begin with the letters P, Q, R, S, and T.” It’s getting close to the Girl’s bedtime, and as we know she is a perfectionist, we encourage her to choose examples that are easily drawn.

Homework

For “P” she settles on pot, pencil, and potato. “Q” seems tricky, but the Girl thinks of quilt, question mark, and Q-tip. “R” yields red (my own idea that got the Girl giggling), ring, and rain. For “S” she ends up with snake, sun, and star. At three objects per letter and twenty-six letters in the alphabet, we’re looking at more than seventy-five drawings over the next few days.

A bit much?