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education and teaching

Motivation

Monday 23 September 2019 | 0 Comments

Written in seventh period

What motivates me? That depends on what we’re talking about. What motivates me to go to work? Honestly, at its most basic level, it’s the desire to make sure I’m providing for my family. We have to pay for someplace to live, some food to eat, and the like.

But just about any job could provide that: there are plenty of jobs that pay as much as what I earn as a teacher that I could have selected, I guess; there are plenty of jobs that pay more–some, much more–than I what I earn as a teacher, so the next question would have to be, “What motivates me to be a teacher?” Part of it is that I just like working with kids. It keeps me in touch with new ideas. And the behavior is part of it as well: when an adult acts like a child, I find it much more infuriating and difficult to put up with than when a child acts like a child. When kids are petty, they’re just being kids–they’ll outgrow it. When adults are being petty, there’s a likely chance that that’s just how they are–they won’t outgrow it. I can’t put up with that. I would not be able to keep my mouth shut, and when someone did something foolishly immature, it would grate on my nerves.

Long Week

Thursday 19 September 2019 | 0 Comments

Written in seventh period

This has been an absolutely endless week. When Monday lasts a week in and of itself, it’s no surprise that by the time Wednesday rolls around we all feel like it must be Saturday. Add to it the simple and dumb fact that I stayed up longer than I really needed to last night means I am utterly and completely exhausted, yawning endlessly and wondering if I can make it to this evening without falling asleep.

Not having to put E to bed tonight will certainly help. I do love how he cuddles up to me when it’s bedtime, but on a night like tonight, “Snuggle Time” as he loves to call it would prove deadly: I’d fall asleep and then spend the rest of the evening in a daze.

I look at my students now and none of them seem like they could possibly be as tired as I am. A just types away, gnawing on her lanyard without a trace sleepiness in her eyes. R is so calm and simply focused — typing, typing, typing. L’s cracking a smile as she types, suggesting that she’s alert enough to write something amusing and then recognize it as such. Everyone looks like their thirteen or fourteen and filled with energy. At nearly forty-seven, I feel like my battery is always hovering at around 14% — just enough to get you through the rest of the day but nothing more.

Open House

Tuesday 17 September 2019 | 0 Comments

Written in sevneth period.

Last night we had open house here at Hughes. In some ways, I really don’t enjoy that, but that’s only because of how long it makes the day. It’s a small price for what actually occurs. I got to meet several students’ parents, and while it’s no different in some ways from Meet the Teacher night, the real difference lies in me: I know the kids now. They’re not just names on a roster. I know how they act, how they think (to a degree), what makes them laugh, how well they do with this or that skill. They’re no longer just names on a paper but people with whom I work. An odd thought: my students as my coworkers. Not an odd thought–an unconventional thought.

Open House

Monday 16 September 2019 | 0 Comments

We have Meet the Teacher night before the school year gets started, but all the students are still just unknown names on rosters. By the time tonight rolls around, when parents come to ramble through the school and follow their children's schedules, I have faces to go with the names. And personalities. And fears. And excitements.

I got a chance to talk to C's parents. She's new to the school, having changed schools just at the start of the final year of middle school. A tough time to make that switch. "She's having a tough time," her mother confided in me. She misses her friends; she misses her teachers; she misses not having such a strict dress code -- all the worries of a thirteen-year-old, I suppose.

I got a chance to talk to I's mother and tell her what a powerful leader she can be in class. "She was making sure everyone in the class stayed on task today, really taking a strong leadership role," I told her. Both I and her mother smiled.

I got a chance to talk to A's parents. A is, in his mother's words, "a diamond in the rough." All parents see their kids like that, I know, but I think that's really an accurate description of A. He displays flashes of brilliance in his comments and performance at times, but they're often couched in moments of apparent apathy. Or insecurity. It's hard to tell with eighth-graders. I think it's hard for them to tell sometimes.

I and K with the rest of the 100%-ers

I got to meet K's mother. K is in the same class as I. They're real gems. K has made it to the 100% club every week (i.e., 100% positive behavior as recorded in Class Dojo). Her mom saw that and whipped out her phone. "I'm getting a picture of this!" K laughed and tugged on her arm. "No! No! This needs a picture!" If only every child could have a parent that supportive.

I didn't get to meet other parents, parents I really wanted to talk to because of genuine concerns that are growing. Sure, I can call them, perhaps email them, but talking to them in person is always so much more productive. I try not to judge -- maybe they had to work or had prior commitments -- but I can't help but see a correlation.

Montressor

Thursday 12 September 2019 | 0 Comments

We had one of my favorite lessons in English I today. I love that moment when everyone has the realization that Montressor is receiving the sacrament of Last Rites. It always kind of frustrates me that no one has ever gotten the importance of that one word, that little “You” that gets the ball rolling. I sometimes think that if I could set things up with some background knowledge, get them reading some texts that deal with the idea of confession, that they might figure that out. But still, how to do that without giving it to them immediately? As I told Emily A, the struggle is almost more important than the right answer. The struggle is where we build our mental muscles.

All classes have gone fairly well today. I’m exhausted, yawning and longing for a cup of coffee, but that is always a good sign. But still, on this end of seventh period, feeling the heaviness in my head, wishing I could just lie down and take a little nap, I wish I wasn’t quite so tired even if that means lessons didn’t go quite so well.

Band

Tuesday 10 September 2019 | 0 Comments

I stopped and listened to the band rehearse a little while after my morning duty, and I realized how much I love the fact that Hughes has a band. It teaches kids a lot of valuable lessons — above all, teamwork. It is the ultimate group project because no one can slack if it’s to sound right in the end, and unless it’s a concerto or something, there are no stars so to speak. Everyone has their little part to play, and often those things don’t even sound all that good by themselves — a bit plain, a bit boring, a bit repetitive — but in the end, it all comes together to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

Other benefits: the self-control (one cannot play what one wants as loud as one wants), the discipline (practice, practice, practice!), and the simple value of learning music, which improves cognitive abilities and creativity among many other things.

I played sax in the band in fifth and sixth grade, but once I got to junior high (we didn’t have middle school, just junior high — seventh and eighth grades), I quit. In eighth grade, I talked my folks into letting me sell my sax and use the money to be a CD player. CD players weren’t brand new then, and that’s why my father agreed to let me buy one: it was clear it wasn’t just a fad, something that would disappear in a couple of years like Beta Max tapes did. Still, thirty-some years later (I was in eighth grade in 1986, I guess), they have proven to be little more than a long-lived fad.

Fear

Thursday 05 September 2019 | 0 Comments

Dear Teresa,

There are some students that I would believe could be afraid of me. I do try to seem sterner in the opening days of the school year than I actually am — it’s not an accident. It’s an act, but not an accident.

You, though, try to come off tough as iron, as if nothing moves you, frightens you, or disturbs you. That was certainly the impression I got when I met you, and it was certainly the image previous teachers painted. Or at least, that that was the impression you wanted everyone to have of you.

So when Mr. Smith told me that you absolutely refused to come to my room during advisory period to get help with your work on account of being afraid of me, I had to smile a bit.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t really want you to be afraid of me. But a little fear does go a long way: It has shades of humility that you try so hard not to exhibit. It has shadows of understanding one’s place and accepting it, which you try so hard to suggest you don’t do, won’t do, for anyone. Those attributes are essential for being able to accept help. And we all need a little help.

With hope for a fear-free, help-filled year,
Your Teacher

The Year So Far

Wednesday 04 September 2019 | 0 Comments

During homeroom, students had a simple task:

Go to the Hughes Website and select two teachers/administrators/counselors and send an email to them telling them how your year has been so far.

A few minutes after everyone had left for first period, I had a chance to check my email. I wasn’t really expecting anything other than the torrent of emails from parents, administrators, spammers, salespersons, teachers, students, and sundry interested parties about the usual things: Try this new product! My child is worried about your class! Here’s more paperwork for you! Instead, there was an email from a young lady in one of my classes with the subject, “Hello, Mr. Scott!”

During homeroom, I got to thinking about how my year had been going so far. I’ve one student whose behavior already worries me, and another student whose behavior today took a slight turn that was both unexpected and sadly anticipated. Other than that, no issues. Everyone has been respectful and engaged, perhaps because I try my best to model that respect and engagement. I like to think so, anyway.

I’m behind already in all my classes, but that’s just because I’ve slowed down to accomodate the needs of students. In past years, I’d be worrying about when I might make up the time; this year, I’m just thinking, “It’ll play out as student needs dictate.”

I’m lucky to have that kind of freedom. I have a district pacing guide that indicates where I should be, but it’s general enough that fudging here and there is not problematic. Plus, I work with administrators who would wholeheartedly support my decision to slow down as needed: student achievement and learning trumps all.

All in all, I’m pleased — very pleased — with how the year is turning out, all the more so because students seem to feel the same way. The letter?

[Sentence of embarrassing accolade.] Yes, your class is challenging, and yes, you hand out a lot of work. However, where would society be today if nobody worked? I enjoy your class–both of them. Your sense of humor makes me laugh everyday, and I learn something valuable and new in each of your classes. I am so excited to see where you take me, and I know that I will be prepared for high school and beyond. Thank you!

The initial accolades embarrass me a little, hence the redaction, but the rest of it confirms that everything I’ve been trying to do has, at least for one student, been working.

We should probably be sending these types of letters to students every week…

Random memory from the time machine:

First Day 2019

Tuesday 20 August 2019 | 0 Comments

The Girl started seventh grade today, the Boy began second grade. The Boy, in his multi-age classroom, is now an “older friend” as opposed to a “younger friend.” “I know my teachers,” he explained when I asked why he was so confident about going to second grade. There’s a lot to be said for the continuity of having the same teachers for a couple of years.

The Girl starts algebra this year, and she’s on the school volleyball team, and she makes her own breakfast and packs her own lunch. Our little girl is no more; she’s a young lady, looking more and more like her maternal grandmother every day.

I began, I believe, my 20th or 21st year of teaching. I could count it up, I suppose, but what’s the point? More or less is more or less enough. Taking all I’ve learned from teaching, I began all classes with very little worry, very little concern: I know what works for an opening day; I know what doesn’t work. I filled the day with the former and successfully avoided even a hint of the latter. The kids are sufficiently assured that I can be as tough as I need to be and adequately convinced that my class can even be — dare I say it — amusing and fun at times.

Reading with the Boy

Wednesday 12 June 2019 | 0 Comments

We try to get the Boy to read a little every night. Tonight we worked on L's old book about spiders. I found the place we'd left off, but the Boy insisted that he'd finished with K last night.

"Well, it doesn't hurt to read it again," I said. It might have sounded like I was just being lazy, but being able to read a tricky passage fluently will build his confidence. We learn by repetition, especially recognition of new words.

"The back part of a spider's body is called the abdomen," he began.

"Wow -- you read that tough word like a pro," I added.

"What word?"

"Abdomen."

He sighed. "Daddy, I recognized the word."

"I know. And that's a long word to know. How many letters?"

He counted: "Seven."

"You recognized a seven letter word!"

"No, wait," he said, counting hopefully again. "No, just seven."

He continued, stumbling a bit: "It has the spider's hear -- hear?"

"Heart," I helped.

"Heart and the spinnerets, which make silk," he continued.

"Spinnerets?!" I gasped. "Are you kidding? You read that like a pro as well!"

"But daddy, I stumbled over a" and he paused to count. "A five-letter word." He often stumbles over words, words that sometimes surprise me.  And he recognizes and reads fluently words that sometimes surprise me. It's part of learning to read.

"That's okay," I reassured. "You stumbled over that word, but you nailed 'spinnerets.'"'

Many of my students over the years have face similar struggles, and struggling readers are not confident readers. I've sat with kids who were reading, asked them to read aloud, and heard difficult passages come out like this: "It has the spider's hea hear -- whatever -- and the spin spin -- I don't know -- which make the silk." If that's what's going on in their head as they read silently, and there's no reason to think it wouldn't be, it's no wonder they don't feel confident with reading: the struggle produces nothing but a confusing text. And they're likely to anticipate all this: before they begin reading, they've convinced themselves that they won't understand it. And all of this builds and calcifies into not a mere reluctance to reading but a positive aversion to it.

Confidence eliminates those "whatevers" and "I-don't-knows." And so I have the Boy read books a second, third, and fourth time.

"But I already know this book," he complains.

"I know -- that's the point," I think.