matching tracksuits

fun in threes, sometimes fours

education and teaching

Getting to Know Them

Wednesday 30 September 2009 | 0 Comments

Donald Graves, in A Fresh Look at Writing, suggests a deceptively easy pen-and-paper method to gauge one’s familiarity with students. After creating a three-column table for a given class, begin writing students’ names in the left-hand column and including information about interests (especially academic) and not-quite-obvious personality traits in the middle. The third column is to indicate whether that has been specifically confirmed by the student.

Doing it all from memory should show how well a teacher knows his students. It also shows the students a teacher enjoys and worries about most (the first listed) and the students who are not immediately noticeable in the classroom (those listed last and/or forgotten).

I tried it mentally immediately after reading Graves. There is only one excuse for how insufficiency and insignificance of my list: it’s still very early in the year. It looked something like this (names changed, of course):

Samuel Enjoys talking with friends; plays The Godfather like a master but has never seen the film √
Justine Plays violin; switched piano violin . √
Andrew Likes eating hot food √
Susan Shy; admittedly tends to think of herself as inferior to many others in her class √
Janet Likes dancing

It continued on like this for another five or six students.

I learned that I still know nothing terribly significant about anyone in that class. I have given myself a mandate: learn more about these students by the month’s end.

Yet how? The opportunities to have a genuine conversation with students are few. Certainly one could simply spend class time talking to some of them, during student conferences and such, but that’s not always the most efficient method, not to mention it being a particularly ineffective use of class time.

A few of the ideas I have begun implementing:

  • In the hallway between classes. Because our school uses the team-teaching model, students stay in the same area of the hall throughout most of the day. They have the time to chat with each other, so they have the time to chat with me.
  • In lunch lines. There’s always a long line of students waiting to get their lunch. They chat with each other, and it’s a good, non-academic environment for conversation.
  • In the hallway, on the way to the library/lunchroom/computer lab/etc. While I require my students to remain silent as we walk along, I break my own rule and chat with one or two of them quietly. Perhaps it’s unfair, but as a colleague tells students, “I earned a college degree to get this privilege.”
  • During fire drills. Once we get the students outside and counted, there’s always a few minutes before we’re called back into the building.

The single best way to get to know students, though, is through a journal assignment. I have one class writing a thrice-weekly journal, and I learn more about the students in ten minutes of reading than I could ever learn in 180 days of teaching. This girl runs cross country; that boy enjoys using Google’s Sketch Up; she has a talkative father; he has a talkative mother. I walk into class the next day and see a whole person rather than a 50-minute sliver.

Teaching Writing

Tuesday 15 September 2009 | 0 Comments

Teaching writing means reading things like this

  • The crowd looks like a box of crayons with their colorful shirts on to support their favorite school.
  • The most magnificent and wonderful part of day is the night that takes us within. It gives you your dreams and time to think about the day that trailed behind you.
  • I ask my mom. “I’m too busy at the moment. How about later?” Knowing that later will be near 7 PM, I slither back to my room.

How can you not smile when gems like this are scattered through student writing? Evaluating each assignment becomes a treasure hunt.

Pushing Buttons

Wednesday 09 September 2009 | 5 Comments

"Buttons, Arduino & unsped shield" by musicalgeometry on Flickr

Many of my students expose their emotional buttons and switches freely and openly. Within a few minutes of meeting some of them, I can tell what their sensitivities are.

"How many administrative referrals did you get last year?" I ask some of them, with a smile that I hope says, "I'm not trying to size you up -- I'm just curious."

"A lot," a girl -- call her Ann -- responds.

"Did you notice my question?" I query. "I didn't ask, 'Did you receive any referrals?' but rather 'How many did you get?' I'll bet you got several of those referrals because you simply walked away from a teacher who was saying something you didn't want to hear."

I have her attention: she's curious, and that's always a good thing.

"How could you tell?" Ann asks.

With their posture, gait, tone and volume of voice, many of these kids speak loads without saying a word. Yet they're totally unaware of it. Of more concern is that they're unaware that others are aware of it and can use it against them.

"When you advertise what 'makes' you lose control," I explain, "You provide others with ammunition. The teacher who doesn't like you at that moment knows: 'All I have to do is push a little harder and she'll definitely give me something to write up.' You let others know your weakness and they might use them against you." I pause for a moment, deciding to use a bit of vernacular: "Then who got played? Who got owned?"

"Me," she says meekly.

I have these little conversations after class with the kids that would be labeled "at risk" because they are at risk: they're in danger of becoming slaves to their own impulses and the people who can pick up on those signals and use them.

Occasionally, there are moments that illustrate that they are indeed beginning to pick up on the signals they give off. They are aware that others can only "make them" mad if they allow it by advertising their sensitivities and reacting predictably.

This afternoon, while students were waiting for their buses, I was joking with a young man that I could probably get him in a state that would end in a disciplinary referral for him. We'd been joking with each other all class about such things, and he stridently denied that I could "push his buttons."

"How about you," I ask the boy's neighbor. "Do you think you have advertised what gets you hot? Do you think I could push your buttons and get you furious in just a few moments in class" He shrugs his shoulders.

I turn to Ann, always one of the last students waiting for her bus. "I'll bet I could get you." I know I can: I already have, inadvertently. The question -- the hope -- appears in my mind: "Will she own up to it?"

"You already have, Mr. S." Her grin is an odd combination of devilish delight and sheepish vulnerability.

I smile. "Do you think I could do it again if I tried? I won't ever try, but if I were to try, what do you think?"

She shrugs her shoulders and looks away. For just a moment, though, her eyes say, "I don't think so. At least I hope not." A first step -- an admission of ownership and of personal responsibility.

"One small step for man..." I think, as the students leave for the bus. I glance down at the roll book and see four more names that need to have such a brief moment of self-confidence in their ability to control their lives.

"I'll start on him next week," I mumble.

It's all part of the growing realization I'm having about working with these "tough" kids. The cliche is spot on: they don't care what I know until they know that I care. And they're beginning to know that I care because with me, it's not business as usual in the discipline department. The etymology of "discipline" includes notions of teaching, not notions of punishing, and I try to put that into practice in the classroom.

Confusion

Saturday 05 September 2009 | 0 Comments

Some weeks seem intent on confusing the sense out me. Students say things that literally leave me speechless, wondering whether or not the kid is joking. Parents and pundits around the land fall into spasms of paranoia about a presidential speech intended to encourage students to take their studies seriously. An odd, high-pitched whistle begins drifting into the house through the back windows at various times during the week leaving everyone wondering what the devil that sound could be.

A long weekend away from all the confusion and nonsense hopefully will help. At the very least, L will experience and hopefully enjoy her first camping trip.

Journals

Thursday 03 September 2009 | 0 Comments

How does one keep a journal? It’s something I’ve done for so long that I no longer even think about it. And yet when you’re starting out, doing it on command–and for a grade, no less–then it might seem a little intimidating.

“Three hundred words, three times a week,” I said. “About anything.”

“Anything?” the students ask incredulously.

“Yes, anything.”

“Anything” is an awfully big topic. So big it could be overwhelming. I understand their concerns.

One thing I mentioned was writing about school work and projects. I need to tell them, “You should think of a journal as a place where you simply think aloud.” Perhaps that will help. “It’s a place where you can think through the Lord of the Flies project or tease out all the reasons you don’t really like So-and-so, or where you can simply play with language.

“Here language, fetch.”

Students tend to question the value of it, especially when I tell them that I won’t be reading each journal in its entirety. “Then why write it?”

“Writing is just like any other activity: the more you do it, the better you get.”
Some buy it, some don’t.

Fork

Friday 28 August 2009 | 0 Comments

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.

Learning

Tuesday 25 August 2009 | 0 Comments

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 | 2 Comments

“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.

Focus

Friday 21 August 2009 | 0 Comments

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 | 3 Comments

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 schoolers, and even more important with working with middle schoolers 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.